


The Renaissance

by Abi_Faye



Category: The Chronicles
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 1,176,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_Faye/pseuds/Abi_Faye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last year, Devin and Nadia fought themselves in what they now refer to as their "dark ages" as each succumbed to lesser desires and impulses. Bullies triumphed initially, tearing the best friends and lovers apart. The troubles of teenagers were made worse however, by the overhanging prejudice of bloodline, a war that has gone on for centuries...and all was made right when Devin fought his cousin, Alcott and Hols admitted their feelings, and the Gryffindors triumphed in the Quidditch Cup. Friendships never expected were forged, love thought to be madness has begun to grow, and all went to the summer holidays in peace as their renaissance dawned.</p><p>But all is not well. Over the summer, Eliza has finally learned the truth of her parents love story and found her father; Alcott and Hols have grown dangerously attached while their respective secrets threaten them both, Lynn and Alcott continued to bicker, Lynn and Nick had their own private island for a weekend, and...well Nadia and Devin watched a lot of batman and spent every waking minute together they could, but Devin recieved a visit from their enemy, his old friend, and cousin Sam that makes it clear: this war has only just begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bad Moon Rising

&. 

 **Alcott:** *sitting on the top of the Quidditch bleachers, hand firmly grasping the bottle Absinthe and he's looking up at the moon with a firm glare, not turning around or moving when he hears someone behind him, taking just a steadying breath*

 **Eliza:** *sits down beside him not saying anything at first and just tucking a strand of hair back and sitting with him* 

 **Alcott:** *finally casts his eyes over to look at her and his lips twitch with wry amusement for a moment and then he clears his throat and sits up straighter, gesturing up to the moon with his bottle* It looks full.

 **Eliza:** *confused  & says hesitantly* Well, it's almost there...

 **Alcott:** *cuts her off* But it looks full. 

 **Eliza:** It does.

 **Alcott:** Month ago I would have thought it was. 

 **Eliza:** *wets her bottom lip and she just nods* Oh.

 **Alcott:** But now, obviously it's not, and if you can't tell by looking at the sky, just look at me. *head shaking, running his hand across his chest* No fur. *hand across his mouth* No fangs. Not full yet. I'll know when it is. 

 **Eliza:** *voice breaks and she leans forward* Alcott--

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head and leans backwards, just lifting the bottle and taking far too large a swig so he doubles over coughing as he swallows it back and then he straightens again while she sits looking troubled and annoyed*

 **Eliza:** Where did you even get that?

 **Alcott:** *laughs once, wiping off his lips* Birthday present.

 **Eliza:** *laughs once* Of course. 

 **Alcott:** You know I can't help but realize I have yet to get _your_ birthday present you know... *teasing* 

 **Eliza:** *brow arching grinning* What makes you think you're worth a present? 

 **Alcott:** *jaw prat-falls for a second* Hey.

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small package and handing it over to him* You are so spoiled. 

 **Alcott:** *takes it and tilts his head laughing* A book?

 **Eliza:** *pokes him* Would you just open it? 

 **Alcott:** *head shrugging and he goes to open it, before his jaw falls silently and he realizes what the leather-bound tiny book is, drawing breath for a second and lifts it up, flicking through the first pages* How did you...?

 **Eliza:** *winks* Now now, a Lady never tells. 

 **Alcott:** *his lips twitch and as he reaches the back page, a piece of parchment slips out and he holds it up curiously*

 **Eliza:** *nodding, smiling* I found it. 

 **Alcott:** *is looking at a beautifully hand-drawn rendered chart of the wand trees and their corresponding years, and he tilts his head looking at her with an incredulous smile* I've been looking for this. 

 **Eliza:** Yeah. *grins* I found it over spring break. When you and the others had decided to go swimming at three in the morning.

 **Alcott:** And you said you were going to sleep while us idiots drowned? 

 **Eliza:** *grins* Did I say that?

 **Alcott:** You did, yeah. *grinning*

 **Eliza:** Well, I went looking for a romance book in the library to read to sleep and--

 **Alcott:** We need to get you a guy.

 **Eliza:** *laughs once* Are you calling me pathetic? 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Not at all.

 **Eliza:** *nudging his shoulder again, shaking her head* Well, anyway it was tucked between two of the romance novels. No clue why, though I guess maybe your mother left it there so she'd know where to find it...I mean. They drew it together right? Or rather she did the illustrations? 

 **Alcott:** *his hand running over the names in the corner of the chart, H.  & L. Brackner and he smiles at her just nodding once*

 **Eliza:** I'd have given it to you then but...well your birthday was close enough. *smiles* 

 **Alcott:** *turns the book back over, looking at the title, _Wandlore: The Art of Crafting the Ultimate Magical Tool_ , written by _Alferian Gwydion MacLir_ and he just looks back up grinning* Thanks. 

 **Eliza:** *laughs once* See, now you're glad it was a book.

 **Alcott:** Yeah, well, Hogwarts doesn't have this one. *amused*

 **Eliza:** Yeah, I think that's because of chapter twelve. 

 **Alcott:** *immediately turns the book to that chapter* 

 **Eliza:** You are so predictable.

 **Alcott:** *looks up* Crafting with Elder? You don't make wands out of Elder. That's literally like, the basics.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitching* Superstition. 

 **Alcott:** No, it's because the wood's hard to work with and selling them is pretty impossible due to that superstition. 

 **Eliza:** Unless you're making the actual Elder wand.

 **Alcott:** *laughs once* Now you're just being ridiculous. 

 **Eliza:** *just shakes her head* Well read and see. 

 **Alcott:** Yeah, if this is about to tell me all about how to make an unbeatable wand...*pauses and then he just shakes his head, even though there was a gleam in his eye* It's impossible.

 **Eliza:** *noted the gleam* Well, there must be some reason Hogwarts doesn't like the book. 

 **Alcott:** *shrugs his shoulders* Can't be superstition. 

 **Eliza:** *laughs once and then she just gestures at it* Okay, so, read it and tell me then. 

 **Alcott:** *nodding and -- rather gingerly-- tucking the chart back into the book flap and slipping both into his pocket* 

 **Eliza:** *waits a beat* And happy birthday. 

 **Alcott:** *his grin fades slightly and he nods* It's not technically my birthday anymore you know. 

 **Eliza:** *beat, checking her watch* Right. *breath* We should go. 

 **Alcott:** How did you know I was out here?

 **Eliza:** *runs a hand through her hair, just looks at him for a second* 

 **Alcott:** ...Sienna. 

 **Eliza:** *biting her bottom lip and she just nods* Yeah. Are you going to tell her? 

 **Alcott:** *firmly* No. 

 **Eliza:** *gently but just as firmly* She's driving me crazy. 

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* To that effect I'm sorry. 

 **Eliza:** *purses her lips* Weren't you planning on spending the entire evening with her? Devin and I couldn't pry you apart not six hours ago. 

 **Alcott:** *exhales* Yeah. 

 **Eliza:** And then you went for a walk, and you mentioned wanting to go flying, she didn't want to but she told you to go on with it. 

 **Alcott:** *snorts* Did she give you a play by play?

 **Eliza:** *still biting her lip* She's worried.

 **Alcott:** *breath hitches for a second* And that gives her the right to tell you--

 **Eliza:** Girls talk, Al.

 **Alcott:** Apparently. *wry* 

 **Eliza:** And I'm worried too--

 **Alcott:** *eyes narrow and he turns away from her still clutching the bottle harder* Don't be. 

 **Eliza:** *exhales* If I were her--

 **Alcott:** *snaps* You're not. Okay? You're not. You get it. She won't. It's that simple. 

 **Eliza:** *looks at him for a second still walking with him and she says hesitantly* I understand. I do. But I think you've been pushing her away. Picking fights with her, befriending Irene--

 **Alcott:** *tilts his head at her incredulously* Since when do you think it's a bad thing that--

 **Eliza:** I don't! I like Irene. *beat* I just....two months ago you wouldn't have gone near her. 

 **Alcott:** *blinks and says quietly* Two months ago a lot of things were different. 

 **Eliza:** *swallows painfully and just looks at him* It just seems like you're doing as much as you possibly can to piss Sienna off. 

 **Alcott:** *blinks* You think I have some master plan here? Get her to break up with me? If I didn't want to date her any more, I wouldn't be dating her. *rolls his eyes* 

 **Eliza:** *bites her lip* And do you think it's fair? 

 **Alcott:** I'm not doing anything to her! *looking at her incredulously, aggravated* I'm living my life Eliza, okay? Best I can. I'm dealing this the _best_ I can and I'd really like to see you do better. It's not as though there's some guide book I can go pick up on who and how I reveal this and I know perfectly goddamn well that if I tell the wrong person! If the wrong person finds out?! I'm out of school. Locked up in a god damn zoo somewhere, kept out of the public's way, disowned, disavowed and left with--- 

 **Eliza:** *breath hitches, letting him yell* Alcott! 

 **Alcott:** *groans* Nothing. Left with absolutely nothing. So no. I can't tell her. I won't. This wasn't supposed to happen, Eliza! I wasn't supposed to... *turns away from her* Sienna expects me to...be something I...*biting his bottom lip, hard even as he doesn't look at her and just stops walking* She expects me to be the pure blood she can marry in two years, have a kid with in another two. A respectable gentleman, perfect golden couple. 

 **Eliza:** *tilts her head at his back and says quietly* I know. 

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head and says annoyed under his breath.* Becoming a wolf once a month is not that. 

 **Eliza:** *straightens, looking at him upset and just waits for a second, before saying quietly* Do you think that if you can't be really honest with her...

 **Alcott:** *rubs his forehead and he groans* I get it, I do and I know. But I'm not executing some...master plan trying to get her to break up with me. That's what I _want_ , Eliza! I just want it to go back to being....being simple. 

 **Eliza:** *laughs once*

 **Alcott:** *turns around looking at her confused* What?

 **Eliza:** Simple? *arches her brow incredulously* You two were never simple. You were hiding your relationship from your family...she was...sabotaging all the relationships your Mum would mention--

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Yeah, well, they disapproved because they thought we're too independent. Too likely to abandon that plan. *grins* 

 **Eliza:** Which, if you're being honest, is what you want to do anyways right? That perfect pureblood lifestyle--do you really want to have kids in four years? 

 **Alcott:** *bites his lip and he just shakes his head*

 **Eliza:** And merlin knows Sienna doesn't want to be a mother. Not that fast anyways. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs* All right, all right, so it's not simple. *rubs his forehead and says quietly* But this....this threw the plan away more than I wanted to, Eliza. 

 **Eliza:** *quieter* I know. *beat* And so you think, if Sienna breaks up with you--

 **Alcott:** I'm not trying to get her to break up with me! *rolls his eyes, starting to walk with her again* 

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow, walking besides him* Okay. Except Alcott?

 **Alcott:** *tilts his head at her without saying a word, out of the corner of his eye he's looking up at the sky again and he blinks back at her with a head tilts* 

 **Eliza:** You know Sienna never wants to go flying with you. 

 **Alcott:** *looks at her for a second and then his lips press together and he just looks away from her; his head jerks in a single nod and he speeds up his walk*

april 17th, 2027

 **Sienna:** *sits down across from Devin at the table in the corner, looking slightly harried and exasperated* Can you help me? 

 **Devin:** *looks up in surprise from where he was packing a first aid kit surreptitiously into his bag and he blinks, lips twitching* Hi Sienna.

 **Sienna:** *blinks, then smirks slightly* Hi Devin. Can you help me?

 **Devin:** *looks over her shoulder for a moment where he sees Alcott standing with a bag over his shoulder, gesturing at him like 'are we going?'; seeing who Devin's with Alcott's face turns into a frustrated frown; Dev looks back at Sienna* With what?

 **Sienna:** *bringing a book out of her bag; not apparently noticing that Eliza had just walked in* 

-&-

**Eliza:** *stops walking, looking similarly harried and then turns to Alcott* ...What are you still--

 **Alcott:** *gestures at Sienna and Devin in the corner*

 **Eliza:** *beat* Yeah, I lost her.

 **Alcott:** I can see that.

 **Eliza:** *head shakes* Well you and Devin weren't still supposed to be here!

 **Alcott:** *holding up a vial* Dev found a sedative. That we're hoping is going to be more effective than...*bites his lip and falls silent, just gesturing to his bag, within which could be a distinct rattle of chains* 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* Oh.

 **Alcott:** *exasperated* How did you lose her? 

 **Eliza:** We were in the library, trying to do homework, when she gave up and said Devin would probably know the answer. 

 **Alcott:** Excellant. 

 **Eliza:** *annoyed* You always could have told her.

 **Alcott:** We're not doing that right now. 

 **Eliza:** *beat* Right. _Sorry._  

-&-

**Devin:** *swallowing, looking at the book* Right, that one. *points*

 **Sienna:** *blinks* That doesn't make sense.

 **Devin:** It's-- ... *beat* do we really have to do this now?

 **Sienna:** *biting her bottom lip and furrows her brow* Do you have somewhere else you need to be? 

 **Devin:** *falters* Well. *swallows* It's not like I'm at your beck and ca--

 **Sienna:** I thought you said Nadia was busy today.

 **Devin:** *beat* She is.

 **Sienna:** *now puppy dog eying him* So can you please--please--please--

-&-

**Alcott:** *groans at Eliza and then tilts his head* Wait. 

 **Eliza:** What? 

 **Alcott:** Well. *arching his eyebrow* This is perfect.

 **Eliza:** What's perfect?

 **Alcott:** You come with me instead. Sienna can't possibly think she's being distracted by Devin when she's the one that approached him. 

 **Eliza:** *blinks* Oh, well, I--*beat* Yeah, you're right-- *Alcott's already walking over to Devin and Sienna* 

-&-

**Alcott:** *cuts off Sienna's puppy-dog with a rather convincing smirk and looks at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek* Uh oh. *looks at Devin* What are you trying to get him to do?

 **Sienna:** *blinks in surprise as she sees Alcott and then pouts up at him* Do _you_ understand what our DADA professor said?

 **Alcott:** *laughs* No. *tilts head at Devin* I thought you did?

 **Devin:** *is confused and arching his eyebrow* Well I do, but--

 **Eliza:** *to Sienna* Oh good, see, I said he would. 

 **Sienna:** *lips twitch* You said not to bother him.

 **Devin:** *is completely flummoxed and falls silent, starting to catch on slowly and looks between them* 

 **Eliza:** Well right, I thought he'd be with Nadia. 

 **Devin:** *waving a hand* Can I clear up that even though I'm _not_ at this particular moment otherwise occupied, I'm not--

 **Alcott:** *glares at him; Eliza is meanwhile sliding her hand into Devin's bag and getting the first aid kit out*

 **Devin:** *glaring back* --just here to provide homework answers to difficult assignments? 

 **Sienna:** Of course you're not. *sliding free of Alcott* But I'd _so_ owe you. 

 **Devin:** *beat  & sighs, extending his hand* Give me the book. 

 **Sienna:** *beams and leans over to kiss his cheek* Thank you babe. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Really Sienna? Just cause Nadia's not here--

 **Alcott:** *pointedly* _I_ am--

 **Sienna:** *lips twitch waving both off* Oh for merlin's sakes you both know that didn't mean anything. 

 **Devin:** *sighing, now a little in amusement, but also with the realization that he's about to spend the entire day with Sienna and looks rather tired already, head tilting and looking at the assignment* Are we going to-- 

 **Alcott:** *head shakes amused* I'm certainly not.

 **Devin:** You haven't finished this either. *pointed* 

 **Alcott:** Yeah, but with the match coming up...

 **Devin:** Emergency practice? 

 **Sienna:** *looks up from the book slightly put out* Wait really?

 **Alcott:** *nodding* Yeah. I...won't be back till really late either. 

 **Sienna:** *purses her lips* 

 **Alcott:** *looking at her pointedly with an eyebrow arch* Come on, you know we owe Gryffindor. Think of the look on Graft's face when we win.

 **Devin:** *eyebrows arching behind his book and he makes a noise that he passes off slightly convincingly as a cough* 

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow at Devin* 

 **Sienna:** *mollified, but she teases* Oh just go. *pushes him away from her* 

 **Alcott:** Not even a kiss good-bye? *teasing back*

 **Sienna:** *pouting* No.

 **Alcott:** *turns*

 **Sienna:** Oh, come here. *turning him back around and kissing him* 

 **Alcott:** *kisses back for a second and pulls back smirking* Bye.

 **Eliza:** *hopping up from the table* I'll come with you.

 **Alcott:** *tilts his head at her almost warningly* Are you sure?

 **Eliza:** *grinning* Yes, seeing as how I doubt you're the only one that will have this idea and I must say, watching all you guys work out is certainly not the _worst_ way to spend an afternoon.

 **Devin:** *is slightly glaring at her  & she purses her lips, half mouthing a 'sorry'* 

 **Sienna:** *sighs* And I'm still banned from the pitch.

 **Devin:** *pointedly* Because you distract the hell out of Al.

 **Sienna:** Who me? 

 **Alcott:** *winks at her and leaves; Eliza waving goodbye to both of them leaving, not noticing that Sam watches them leave together*

 **Sienna:** *watches them walk off*

 **Devin:** Okay. So the principle involved in this is--

 **Sienna:** *face falls and turns back around to look at Devin pointedly* What's going on?

 **Devin:** *blinks* I was helping you with the--

 **Sienna:** *arches her eyebrow* And Alcott basically just said 'see you tomorrow'.

 **Devin:** *awkwardly* Okay?

 **Sienna:** *determinedly* Did I do something?

 **Devin:** *laughs once* Do you really think I know? 

 **Sienna:** *beat and then shrugs her shoulder, sighing* Well he certainly seems to be talking to you more lately than me. 

 **Devin:** *shrugs*

 **Sienna:** *purses her lips* You're not going to tell me either are you?

 **Devin:** Tell you _what_ exactly...?

 **Sienna:** *arching her eyebrow* Whatever secret the three of you have.

 **Devin:** Must not betray the fellowship. 

 **Sienna:** What?

 **Devin:** It's a--never mind. *shakes his head* Is this why you ambushed me or do you really need help on the homework? 

 **Sienna:** *sighs* I really do need help on the homework. But...

 **Devin:** *frowns a bit at her* I'm sorry. I can't help you with anything else.

 **Sienna:** *arches his eyebrow* But you've noticed too haven't you?

 **Devin:** Again, noticed _what_ exactly?  

 **Sienna:** *frustratedly shakes her hair back* I don't know--that's the point! He's keeping something from me. 

 **Devin:** *swallows, noticing over her shoulder that Sam just got up as well and tilts his head* 

 **Sienna:** *turns around and tilts her head for a second and looks back at Devin* What?

 **Devin:** *frowning* I don't-- I don't know, Sam just...*trails off*

 **Sienna:** *groan* Let's not go there.

 **Devin:** *exhales and looks at her, tilting his head* You sided with him didn't you? 

 **Sienna:** *carefully* I sided with Alcott.

 **Devin:** *arching his eyebrow* 

 **Sienna:** *breathes* He's cool with you, so am I. *head nods* 

 **Devin:** *still just looks at her*  

 **Sienna:** *swallows* If you're asking me if I took offense, yes Devin, I did. I thought a lot of what you said was hypocritical, judgmental bullshit. 

 **Devin:** *smirk flicks a bit and he just tilts his head in a 'that's what i thought' gesture* 

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip* But there's also no love lost between Sam and I considering what he did to Eliza. You know Alcott punched him too right? 

 **Devin:** *pause* I didn't actually. 

 **Sienna:** *shrugs* Yeah. So, whatever. 

 **Devin:** *arching his eyebrow saying pointedly* And you have a problem with Nadia. 

 **Sienna:** *swallows and tilts her head at him* I haven't said anything.

 **Devin:** Which is completely unlike you.

 **Sienna:** *presses her lips together in a half smile* If you want to date Nadia it's not my call. 

 **Devin:** Also isn't like you.

 **Sienna:** If you already know the answers why are you --

 **Devin:** I want to know why. *plainly* I want to know what she ever did to you. 

 **Sienna:** *exhales* I've never even met her. 

 **Devin:** See and now you're making my points for me. 

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip* I just don't like it. Okay? I don't. 

 **Devin:** So, because? That's your answer? Why are you judging someone without knowing them-- because?

 **Sienna:** Because--because the Ministry is restricting itself and instead of celebrating, the natural union between witch and wizard it's...*head shakes* It's...unnatural.

 **Devin:** Bull shit.

 **Sienna:** You're entitled to your opinion. I'm not trying to make my beliefs law. I just would not personally...engage in that.

 **Devin:** *snorts* 'That'. Engage in what exactly? 

 **Sienna:** What's wrong with my having my own standards? And how is that any different than--

 **Devin:** Because there's no way to get to the end of that statement without insinuating that those born to non-magical parents are somehow less than those born to magical ones! And watching you trip all over it makes me want to hammer you over the head. 

 **Sienna:** *narrows her eyes* I know what I believe. 

 **Devin:** *incredulous* Two weeks ago I believed Nadia never wanted to talk to me again. 

 **Sienna:** Good for her for forgiving you then. 

 **Devin:** *tilting his head* Yes, I'm pretty thrilled, but that wasn't my point--

 **Sienna:** *groans frustratedly* Then your point is? 

 **Devin:** That beliefs change based on new information we acquire and thus attribute to them. What has Nadia done to you? Your answer, nothing. Why should you dislike her? Your answer, because. I mean it's not worth a Order of Merlin or anything but wow, stellar way to explain yourself. 

 **Sienna:** *with her eyes narrowed* Are you done?

 **Devin:** *exhales after a beat* Yes.

 **Sienna:** Good, thank you. *runs her hand through her hair* Now can you listen to me? I'm not saying anything in particular against her. I'm not attacking her, nor have I said anything against her at all from what I can remember. I don't have to like everyone you do.

 **Devin:** *says after a moment* I'm sick of people judging her, Sienna. 

 **Sienna:** I can see that. 

 **Devin:** I'm sick of people judging me. 

 **Sienna:** You made that clear.

 **Devin:** You still judge me. 

 **Sienna:** *exhales* I'm here, are't I? 

 **Devin:** Yeah, because you need my help on a homework assignment and because you wanted to pry information out of me about Alcott--

 **Sienna:** *curiously arching her eyebrow* Is this what you really think of me? Because seriously, I must be a terrible person.

 **Devin:** *falls silent for a second* I didn't say that.

 **Sienna:** *snorts* Yes, I want help and I want information but that doesn't mean I'd never talk to you again if you didn't help. 

 **Devin:** ....okay.  

 **Sienna:** *pointedly* I mean you're not my favorite person.

 **Devin:** You're not really mine either.

 **Sienna:** I didn't think I was. *shrugs* But I don't hate you. 

 **Devin:** Understood. *beat* So you consider us friends? 

 **Sienna:** Evidently. 

 **Devin:** Oh.

 **Sienna:** *laughs once in disbelief* So you _don't_ consider us friends?

 **Devin:** I-- well. I didn't think you liked me.

 **Sienna:** *amused* And you thought instead...?

 **Devin:** *plainly* I thought you put up with me. 

 **Sienna:** *shrugs* Well I don't.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Thank you. 

 **Sienna:** *lips twitch amused* Right then.

 **Devin:** *grins* So now that we understand each other. *points to the chapter* 

 **Sienna:** *sighs in exasperation* Right, lay it on me.

-&-

"Eliza."

"And just remember that w-- what?" 

"You need to get out of here." 

"We have a few minutes--"

"No. We don't." 

And just like that Eliza had left her best friend to become a monster. As she crunched and shoved her way through the forest back, she was wiping furiously at her cheeks to stay sobs. Alcott hadn't shed a tear himself. He'd looked back at her wearing nothing but elastic shorts, cold iron and a ghost of his usual smirk twisted into a determined grimace. Another tear traced her cheek at the hours old memory; he was always the tough guy. He always had to deal with things on his own. 

Alcott had been there for her since she'd been six years old and determined to ride a horse much too tall for her, one that had thrown her unceremoniously from his back six or perhaps seven times already at the moment Alcott picked her up off the ground. He'd promptly told her that she was an idiot for trying to ride it, that the horse was much too tall for her, and then helped her mount again and again until she'd mastered the horse and his expectations. 

Her lips twitched at the memory of them arguing for the better part of a day and how he'd ended by telling her in no uncertain terms he was impressed, however he'd put it at six years old. Never once had Alcott judged her for wanting to find her father nor for her bloodline; he'd been the one person her entire life she could count on turning around and finding there still in her corner, and god dammit if she wasn't going to be in his. 

How could she just be leaving him to this? 

He'd kill her for turning back. She knew that. What scared her was how literal the thought was: if the rational Alcott would want to strangle her for deliberately putting her life in danger, the irrational werewolf wouldn't hesitate to rip her throat out. It didn't matter how much she wanted to be there for him, how little she wanted to leave him alone; she had no choice but to leave him to his determined smile and dark fate. 

Her watch told her exactly how little time she had as she ran for her life; the sky darkening overhead a constant reminder the same as her second hand. Each second that ticked away was another second closer to what that damn journal described as unimaginable pain, what Alyssa had told her was impossible to prepare for and what Alcott had told her repeatedly to let him deal with on his own. It was all very well and fine that he deal on his own, but every time he'd said it, she swore his voice and expression tore another little hole in her heart. 

As she looked up at the sky to see the moon, she chuckled bitterly to herself, quoting hastily, _"There's a bad moon rising..."_ Smoke in the darkening air told her she was close to Jenny's cabin. Pulling up at the fringe of the trees, Eliza's relentless sprint had colored her cheeks red and cut air out of her lungs. Breathing heavily and walking a still furious pace, she tugged twigs out of her hair and wiped more tears out of her eyes before succumbing to them and collapsing at the base of a tree. Burying her palms into her eyes, she rubbed hard trying to think of something else, anything else than this dreadful knowledge. 

"Hey, are you okay?" 

Startled by the interruption, Eliza looked up and knocked her gold hair back into the tree trying to clear her eyes. She expected Jenny; she'd purposefully run in that direction. If she was caught in the forest, she would have an adult to help and Alcott had told her strictly he would run in the opposite direction far before he turned; he wanted as much distance between the castle filled with human life and...well him.

It wasn't Jenny. 

"Yeah." She spoke unconvincingly, rubbing tears off her cheeks. "I'm fine. I'm...I'm fine." 

He stopped in front of her and arched an eyebrow that told her plainly he didn't believe her. Aggravated by the fact, she ignored that she wouldn't have believed herself and narrowed her eyes while she responded, 

"It was Rory, right?" 

"Yeah." Rory looked down at her with lips pursed as he noticed her narrowed eyes and offered her a hand. Examining it for several seconds, Rory laughed once under his breath and said easily,

"I promise it's not diseased." 

Abashed, Eliza took it and let him help her back to her feet. She was suddenly grateful for the sprint having painted her cheeks: it saved her the embarrassment of a moment of blushing. Lips twitching for a moment, she said instead as she let his hand fall, 

"I didn't think it was diseased." 

Rory looked surprised and tilted his head back at her amused. "Oh no?" 

"No, I thought I saw one of those buzzer things that when you shake hands it shocks the person." 

Rory laughed and Eliza simply smiled back at him. Patting his hand against his thigh as if to indicate he was not about to electrocute himself, he continued, 

"Oh, I see." 

"Yeah." Her smirk flicked. "See, shouldn't be so quick to judge me." 

Rory tilted his head as though surprised by the truth of her statement and said nothing at first, but cast his gaze over her shoulder to the forest. Her breath hitched: he was going to ask and she didn't have a cover story in mind at all, and she knew beyond anything she couldn't betray Alcott's secret, let alone to a near-complete stranger who also happened to be a Gryffindor and--

"Shouldn't be so close to the forest." Rory interrupted her thoughts and she brought her eyes back to his. "Especially not so close to dark." 

Wiping at her eyes again, Eliza patted her cheeks by and steadied her jaw with a stiff lip. 

"I'm not helpless." She was quick to say. 

He appeared surprised. "I didn't say you were." His hands fidgeting near his side even as his eyes locked with her. 

"Good." She took a breath and looked back to the forest herself, biting her bottom lip. As she gazed, Rory watched hesitantly himself and said softer, "Look, let me take you back to the castle." 

Her head whipped around quickly. "Why would you do that?" 

"You don't look..."

"I said I was fine." 

Rory just looked at her for a moment and she relented: this was why she couldn't play poker. She had the worst poker face in the world. And really this was why Alcott shouldn't have trusted that she could somehow keep this secret from Sienna, who really had to be the recipient of some type of gossip award. 

"All right." She exhaled. "I'm not fine." 

Rory's lips twitched a silent 'no kidding'. 

"I'm also not the one in trouble." She continued, knowing full well that would do nothing but confuse him and she tucked hair behind both ears. "Nor do I want to go back to the castle."

Rory blinked at her awkward and then gestured towards the Quidditch field instead. 

"At least let me get you away from the forest." 

Eliza nodded, grateful and shivering. He blinked at her, noted the goose bumps and then without saying a word, removed his jacket and offered it to her. Eliza started to stare at it before realizing she was about to have to pretend it was covered in shock buzzers as well and took it with a silent, grateful nod. 

Banners rippled high in the breeze over the deserted field and she leaned a head against the stands staring up at the wooden goal post. An unnatural light cast the too-green grass bright even as dusk fell. Ghostly light from the rising moon bathed her hair in an unholy golden halo as she tucked it back behind her ears. Twenty-four hours ago, Alcott had been sitting in that exact spot and now he was lost somewhere in the forest, resigned to losing his mind. The thought made another tear cross her cheeks and she buried herself further in the jacket, shutting both eyes. Rory stood staring at her awkwardly and clearly uncomfortable. When she didn't move, he turned until he found her hand staying his arm and turning him back around in surprise. 

"Wait." She said quietly. He said nothing, lost in confusion but concerned for the look of panic and hurt across her lips. 

"Don't leave me?" Her whispered plead caught his ear with such intensity she might have shouted it. "I need someone to keep me from the forest tonight. You can't ask why."

"I wasn't going to ask." Rory said calmly, turning his arm so as to tuck hers within his, gently pulling them to be seated on the grass. She took a slow breath, rubbing at eyes that seemed to be nothing but well-oiled tear ducts at this rate. He lifted his arm slowly to tuck around her shoulders and after a moment of discomfort, she buried her head in his shoulder staring up at the moon on the rise. 

-&.- 

There was no way she had run fast enough, Alcott thought. She shouldn't have come at all. That had been foolish. He hadn't really needed an escort into the forest, even if she had taken care of chaining his backpack high and out of his reach, marking the spot magically so they could find it again in the morning. Eliza was putting herself in danger for him unnecessarily and it twisted his stomach into further knots. Someone should take a study out on how many different types of anxiety any one person could feel at once, he thought curiously for a moment, before wishing he couldn't think at all. 

The truth of the fact that he was about to get his wish hit him very hard and he groaned. 

He sat sprawled in the dirt laughing to himself at the absurdity of waiting. Four weeks ago now he'd wished to skip this day and now he really did wish it would just bloody hurry up and get on with it already. If he had to do this, if he had to go through it, did the moon have to rise so slowly? He let out another chuckle. 

His breath hitching, the anticipation alone was killing him. They'd done a marvelous job of building this up--whoever 'they' were from the journal Eliza had found him. Vivid drawings of people in excruciating pain as limbs broke in unnatural ways accompanied written descriptions that included colorful phrases such as "a fire was set to my every limb," "death would have been preferable", or Alcott's perusal favorite entry of: "Sod it, for the English language does not include enough profanity, but bugger did i have a bloody good try at using all those it goddamn bleeding does include." 

Sliding a hand down his pocket, Alcott pulled out the sedative Devin had given him, unstoppered it and--

 _Smash_. 

Letting out a guttural yell as his arm snapped back, his face contorted in pain at the unnatural bend. Glass cut into his hand, the liquid spilled free and soaked his palm, stinging as it spliced with his cuts. Breathing heavily, and slamming his knees into the ground, Alcott's other arms snapped back with a loud crack. The bone crunched as it broke, limbs alight in flames. He yelled again as his body broke out in an instant sweat, skin wet and breathing a sudden chore. 

Oh god damn it, he realized dimly, the book hadn't lied. It had been his last desperate hope. 

Hair was sprouting down his chest as his legs stretched behind him, kicking the ground, trying in vain to smack the pain out of his skin. It was in his very veins, every loud heartbeat in his ears reminding him he was alive like a hammer. His back ripped open as his spine unhinged, he ate leaves and twigs, breathing in dirt. The smell of excrement in the forest dirt, he swore he might retch. His thoughts sounded like they were coming from a badly-tuned radio, sounds in the forest assaulting his ears loud enough he swore he'd go deaf. He swore he might die. He swore in general.  

It would be funny, was his last conscious thought, if it wasn't for the thumbscrews boring into his skull, knives cutting his tendons, blades slicing his limbs like a hacksaw for what had to be hours. 

It would be goddamn hilarious. 

He was collapsed, cast in the unholy light of the full moon. His jaw ached as sharp teeth cut out over his lips, a tongue far too long lolling in his pant. Staggering onto four shaky limbs, four paws sank into the dirt. A snout perked up into dry air, picking the suddenly delicious smells of the forest out. Breaths became growls, and growls became a low-pitched howl as he stalked forward. Testing limbs that felt sore, poisonous-amber eyes narrowed in discomfort, wishing to shake off the pain and leap, lunge, tear, _bite_. 

Trees shivered in the wind, powerful branches cracking over head. The sharp scent of an animal cracked over his snout. Delicious. He didn't know what small animal that was; this was all new. All this power, curled in taut limbs, a transformation that was dying to be explored. He reared back on haunches, limbs uncurling as he suddenly sprung, landing full force on top of a rabbit. It elicited only one high-pitched squeal, writhing in shock before his jaws snapped over its neck, ripping tendons, blood blooming on his lolling tongue. It was a need boiled into him, a need for blood, a need to cause the pain curled into his limbs. That one tang of blood was shockingly sweet as he licked his upper lips, his maw dark and wet with the pulsing scarlet flow. The rabbit went limp, and the wolf simply smirked, batting away the rag doll. 

Next, he thought. More. Instinct drove him forward, slowing only to gain control over limbs that still shook in protest of movement, stiffening only through the hours he ran and hunted, desperate for that taste again, the carcasses of dead rodent after dead rodent in his torrid wake, cutting life as easily as he moved. Nothing meant anything but survival and survival included the need to _feed_. 

He came to a sudden stand still; his snout perked into the air as he was attacked with a new scent. This animal was tall, he detected instantly, walking with no care for the forest around or what might hear it. His teeth spread in a low growl of pleasure for the discovery of new, larger game to satisfy his blood lust. 

The wolf didn't detect nor care who this was. He didn't recognize Sam as he walked into the clearing. All he recognized was the sudden flash of pain when hit with a spell; the shock of pain bolting his limbs together and sending him tumbling into the dirt. Incensed, he lunged forward again and barreled into the man full force, claws out and tearing into his flesh, drawing ruby red trails down his chest knocking him back into a tree, his arm crunching against a rock as they landed. The scent of this man was intoxicating; dizzying him with the need to taste his blood and rip open his throat. Pulling his jaw back to snap, he found the thin stick of wood the man held to blast him again, throwing him off, his hind leg hitching a claw into the man's thighs and wrenching flesh free.  

A stick had turned against him, it seemed, perhaps retribution for how many he had broken as he stalked through the forest. Chunks of his own fur littered the ground and the wolf limped back, his jaw bound by a hasty spell. Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his amber eyes gleamed as he considered his adversary; the stick still pointed at him. 

Another large animal came out of nowhere, barreling into the man and surely saving the wolf who promptly scampered off into the night, paws beating the ground.


	2. When A Tornado Meets A Volcano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What could it have changed, Hols?" 
> 
> "Nothing, Al."

**&.**

**Lynn:** *wearing white sandals (heeled a bit, naturally) a sun-flower printed sun dress  & pull over white cardigan, leaning against the staircase, reading a witches version of Cosmo, sunglasses pushing her red hair back; having already said goodbye to Hols; looks up when she hears him approach & lowers the magazine grinning wickedly/looking thrilled* Hey there.

 **Nick:** *coming down the staircase from his common room, sporting a simple jeans and t-shirt combo, grinning as she looks up* Hey there gorgeous. *cups her cheek as he reaches her and kisses her once, softly, in greeting before pulling back to look her over* You look fantastic. 

 **Lynn:** *looking up absolutely delighted, kissing him back for a moment--her grip on the magazine tightens-and she pulls back still grinning as he looks her over, lips twitching  & even with a slight blush says cheekily* I know. *rolling the magazine up and sticking it in her purse, which she fixes on her shoulder, smiling back at him, 'relenting'* You look good too. 

 **Nick:** *grins once more with a small chuckle as she acknowledges that she looks great  & then tilts his head as she "relents" and laughs once* Oh why thank you. *grins again, and holds up his arm* Ready to go?

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles in response still grinning and then tucks her arm with his tightly, nodding* Whenever you are. 

 **Nick:** I was born ready, babe. *arches his eyebrow with a small smirk  & then leads them out to the grounds, heading towards the gate cause they don't give a shit apparently* How was your week? 

 **Lynn:** *smile* Good. *eyebrow pops grinning at him with the remark, walking down with him  & then brightens at the question* Oh, I'm still celebrating. *grinning* And trying how to figure out how to convince my brother that since I helped him on Thursday find a way to sing for his girl that he owes me an encore...*head shake* He disagrees. *smiles* How was yours? 

 **Nick:** *laughs softly and nods* Celebrating without me? I quite enjoyed our mini celebration last week *grins and then chuckles* Mmh, your best bet is to talk to his girl then, assuming he's wrapped around her finger. Pretty uneventful. Though Binns' asked me to tutor one of the younger students, I meet them next week. 

 **Lynn:** *grins back, teasing* Picturing it? *brightens at the idea  & grins* Oh! Good point. And yeah, well, they've pretty much been dating since they were in diapers really, so...save for the recent stuff I'm ignoring. *frown flicks across her lips but she clears her throat and smiles again* Oh? Do you know their name? 

 **Nick:** Hmm, maybe. *grins and shrugs* That's a long time. *chuckles and then nods at the ignoring comment before smiling when she does* Yeah. A fourth year, her name's Nadia Tudor, do you know? 

 **Lynn:** *laughs, blinks and she turns slightly, just kind of looking at him in surprise as she realizes he's serious, and she blinks again* Yeah, *smiles* I...have. We....were just talking about her actually. *amused* She's dating my brother. *smile flicks, and she exhales beaming in one breath* God-I-love-that-I-can-say-that-again. *beams* 

 **Nick:** *blinks as well as she looks at him oddly and then his mouth opens in understanding* Ooh...in that case forget I asked, let's pretend I already knew that. *laughs* I gotta tell you, what an impression must I be making on your brother. *Grins* First his sister and now I have to steal his girlfriend a way for a couple of hours every night. *shakes head*

 **Lynn:** *smiles* Right. Momentary lapse of memory. *headshakes amused, and then she laughs once, lips pressed together, teasing* Not a good one. *groans slightly* He's asked to meet you sometime actually...*amused* But I think this is great. Nadia's awesome. 

 **Nick:** Exactly. *lips twitch* No, not a good one at all.*laughs and then nods, amused before popping his eyebrows briefly* Oh I'm sure he 'asked' in the most polite manner possible. *chuckles and then takes out his wand as they approach the gate* I'm sure she is. *grins and then turns to gate* I'm sure she is. *grins and then turns to gate, undoing the spells before turning back to Lynn* On Hogsmeade weekends the difficult security spells get taken off because Filch has to handle the gate *lips twitch in amusement* They don't get replaced till the nightly rounds after curfew. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch slightly annoyed, muttering* Well he better be polite...*head shake  & looks back brighter, nodding* She's kind of grown up at my house at my house as much as I have at hers, so. *amused* You know she's Hols sister? *blinks as he turns, undoing the spells, her eyes widening a bit & she grins suddenly* Oh! *blinks, then goes on her toes & kisses him soundly for a second, pulling back & grins* ...Can you teach me how to undo the easy ones? 

 **Nick:** *blinks in even more surprise* Oh yeah, yeah I know...well I know now *grins and chuckles, kissing her back when she does and laughs once at her request, nodding* Sure. *opens the gate, and leads her through it before closing it with a flick of his wand* Put it on the list of other things I have to teach you. *teasing* 

 **Lynn:** *smirk flicks amused* All right, all right. *laughs once* See, now we have to find things I can teach you...*follows through the gate, hmming and teasing, turning now that they're beyond the bounds  & resting her arm around him to prepare for apparition* We could start with how to pick a 'winning' football team....

 **Nick:** I could think of a couple *brow wiggling and laughs at her suggestion, shaking his head and then pursing his lips in amusement* Cheeky, as you English would say it. *grins and then disapparates them to an alley in LA, near the mall he wanted to take her* Welcome to Cali. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *brow flicks and she grins amused* Well in that case, suggest away...*tightens her grip around her as they disparate  & blinks in surprise when they arrive, letting him go to look around & then smiles, bouncing slightly* ...an alleyway? *laughs* Glamorous. 

 **Nick:** *laughs* Yes, an alleyway. this is the *real* California. *grins and takes her hand, leading her out of the alley and into the busy street, taking out his sun glasses immediately and putting them on, turning to Lynn with a grin* Shades are a must here, I'l have you know. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, taking his hand and follows with her free hand taking her shades off too  & slipping them her shades off too & slipping them on immediately, following asking confused* Is there a fake Cali...? *blinks and smiles, tucking herself into his arm a bit closer to avoid someone on the street, grinning* Wow. *squints slightly against the light* Is it always so bright? 

 **Nick:** *laughs and shakes his head, amused* Probably the Cali you've made up in your mind *grins* most days, yeah. The sun is pretty common *lips twitch*. See why I had a problem getting off the plan? *teasing* Though, I'm glad I did. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs  & tilts her head amused* All right, true--*lips twitch* I don't suppose it's actually possible I could run into Johnny Depp? *pause* No wait, he's in France anyways...*waves this off; smiling back at him* Oh? And why is that? 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* I'm sure if you're lucky you'd be able to catch a glimpse of some other celebrities. *teasing and grins cheekily at her question, raising his eyebrows in a "what indeed" before answering jokingly* Cause my leg was starting to fall asleep.

 **Lynn:** *presses her lips together teasingly* I'll keep my eyes peeled then. *pretending to search over his shoulder for a moment, deliberating out loud teasingly* Of course then if I'm looking elsewhere I can't be looking at you...*lips purse still not looking at him, even as her hand squeezes his  & then she laughs at his answer, shaking her head amused* Ah. So practical. 

 **Nick:** *grins sincerely* That would be a sad thing, I do so love being looked at. *only halfway joking as he squeezes her hand as well, grinning at his own joke* Of course. *tilts his head sideways at the entrance of the mall* Right here. 

 **Lynn:** Yes, well. *lips twitch* I guess we have that in common. *just shakes her head at him amused, finally looking back at him and turning to the mall* so it was...Spencer's, right? 

 **Nick:** Of that, I have no doubt. *grins and then nods at her question* Right, Spencer's. *opens the door to the mall and leads her in* It'll be right next to Hot Topic..*chuckles* Trust me, we won't miss the stores. 

 **Lynn:** *pushing the sunglasses back up so she can look around, recognizing like, none of them  & thus completely intrigued & then grins back at him* You know your way around this mall that well? *smile flicks* How close by do you live? Or...did live...or whatever, *waving her free hand* 

 **Nick:** Well I lived in Santa Monica, close to the beach, which is like twenty-five minutes way, but I came here a lot. Great parties *grins* that and I always got stuck babysitting my little sister and her friends. Half of whom were in love with me *lips twitch* Not without reason, but. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs, her brow arching at him teasing* Oh, only half? Bit of a let down, don't you think? I mean really, *gestures at him* look at you. *head shakes and then pauses* ...wait, Hollywood parties? 

 **Nick:** *grins at her teasing, then shrugs* Well, I just didn't want to make you jealous *teasing as well and then laughs, nodding* Sometimes, yeah. If you know the bouncers and they like you...which admittedly is difficult when you're a guy. *chuckles* I went to a premiere though, and the after party when my friend got a role in a movie. All on looks, really, she's a god awful actress. 

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Oh, is *that* what you were doing? *amused* I don't get jealous. Because, well, *repeats previous gesture at herself, teasing* Look at me. *lips twitch *Then she brightens, and grins at him* But then I could get us in. *laughs again, head shaking* Oh, very supportive of you...what was the movie? 

 **Nick:** *grins and indeed looks her up and down with a small smirk* Oh, good point. *grins* You could probably do that easily enough. *laughs* Well, I'm honest. *grins* And I've teased her enough about it as it is..*shrugs* Generic action flick--TNT 2, have you seen it? Guns. Cars. Fighting. Attractive guy pent on revenge. Hot chick driving the getaway car? *laughs* 

 **Lynn:** *wetting her bottom lip subconsciously as he looks at her and smiles again* Well there's always ways around uncooperative bouncers anyways....*grins at the description* With even less plot than the first one? *head shakes amused* Haven't seen that particular one no, but then again it sounds like I have. *brushes a strand of her hair back* Ever go out for a part yourself? 

 **Nick:** Is there? *grins* Oh, I need to see this for myself soon. *lips twitch* Though now that I'm of age it'd be relatively easy to just...apparate into the bathroom or something. *laughs* Yeah, exactly. *shakes head* Oh no, I can't act *laughs* 

 **Lynn:** *winks, but then laughs once in false-protest* Oh but what fun would that be? *wiggles her eyebrow  & beams* Well. If the guy's really hot it's *obviously* still worth seeing..*shrugs a shoulder* That's what they want us to believe anyway. And it does make them a lot of money. *amused and then turns to him* Oh no? *bites her bottom lip* Not even a little, such as role-play? *pinches her finger/thumb together teasingly* 

 **Nick:** *grins* The fun in knowing you have more time to party, obviously. *shrugs and then laughs* Well, it works. *lips twitch* Well, *tilts his head* Maybe a little bit. *stops in front of the store and motions to it* Voila. 

 **Lynn:** Oh a little...*lips twitch* we can work with that...*stops in front of the store and her jaw falls for a second, and she just laughs in surprise/amusement, turning back to him after a few seconds* ...you weren't kidding. 

 **Nick:** *watches her reaction with a grin on his face, laughing once when she does and shakes his head in amusement* Nope, I wasn't. *squeezes her hand once and leads her inside* The best part though, that's at the back. *grins* 

 **Lynn:** *just laughing, with the slightest blush  & bright smile, squeezing his hand back and following, teasing* Well, that's *usually* the case... *looking around as though she really doesn't know where to even *go* at first & blinks a few times, grinning at one that says 'Responsibly Drink Heavily' & nods in approval, and then blinks at the book section grinning at the titles and lets his hand go to start looking through them, picking up Cosmo's Truth or Dare and turning to him, just lifting it up, wiggling her eyebrow* 

 **Nick:** *laughs and just keeps looking at her to watch her reactions, lips twitching as she nods at the shirt and grins as she heads for the books and puts his hand in his pocket as she lets it go for the moment, grinning at the book she picks up* Mmh, sounds like fun times. 

 **Lynn:** *wiggling her brow still nodding, and then gestures w/ truth or dare (because evidently she's buying that) at one that reads 'Stuff Every Man Should Know', lips twitching  & teasing* Oh, see, maybe I won't have as much to teach you if you get that...

 **Nick:** *looks at the book as she gestures to it and then laughs* Oh, but what fun would that be? *grins* After all, visual and tactile learning are just as effective. And more entertaining. *wiggles his eyebrows in a small smirk* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch and she chuckles once, teasing* More fun if I'm not talking you through it, I suppose? *head shakes and puts the book down, eyebrows flicking* Should we venture to the back? 

 **Nick:** hmm, well I'm a fast learner. *grins and then shrugs before laughing once* if you're mentally prepared for it *teasing* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Ah, of course, ravenclaw. *grinning, looking over his shoulder for a moment and then back at him, and instead of responding out loud she just puts her hand on his shoulder as she walks by him, dragging her hand down his arm to tuck her hand back with his/spin him and bring him with her*

 **Nick:** *just grins and shrugs as she comments and chuckles as she takes his hand again and turns around to walk with her, putting his arm around her waist* 

 **Lynn:** *tucks closer to him, smiling to herself for a moment  & turning to slide her own arm around his mid-back, she grins at him & then blinks seeing the assortment of objects back there, laughs once incredulous shock/awe, bites her bottom lip and blushes again, blinks in quick succession and just says in exhale* ...damn. *brow wiggles, looking at him* Well *these* look like fun... 

 **Nick:** *grins as he sees her reaction and laughs as she blushes slightly, finding it adorable, grinning again and nodding in agreement* Yes, yes they do and are for the most part. *eyebrow wiggles and smirks once* 

 **Lynn:** *tightening her arm around his waist as he chuckles  & she presses her hand to her cheeks laughing* Stop it...*pushes his shoulder, despite that she still has an arm around him & just shakes her head* Oh? *lips twitch* Well do you have recommendations, or would you be up to something new for both of us? *brow wiggles* 

 **Nick:** *smirk flicks a bit and laughs once as she tries to push him away* Oh I'm definitely up for something new *grins and looks around* Something catch your interest already? 

 **Lynn:** *with her free hand toying with her bottom lip, she looks around for a second and then nods, her lips twitching around her thumb/forefinger into a smirk, brows wiggling and points at a set of candy lingerie* 

 **Nick:** *follows her pointing finger and then laughs once before breaking out into a smirk* Oh...*licks his bottom lip* Delicious. 

 **Lynn:** *grinning  & drops her finger, looking back at him (after picking said boxes up) grinning* And you?

 **Nick:** *looks around and first picks up the edible body paint* Well, seeing as how we originally came for this *grins and then looks around again and picks up a 'sexual nirvana' card game* Huh. *grins* 

 **Lynn:** *grins at the tube and brightens* Right. *lips twitch* Almost forgot. *looking around too, blinking in amusement at just some of the titles on things and then laughs once when she sees what he's holding* Nirvana? *putting her hand back on his shaking her head, looking back at him almost matter of faculty, lips twitching* Well, I do love card games. 

 **Nick:** No idea. *laughs* But it looks interesting enough *grins and shrugs before the ringtone "Livin' On a Prayer" is heard and he reaches into his back pocket, taking out his phone and clicking to read text and then sighs* SOS.

 **Lynn:** *when she hears the song she grins  & starts singing along with it, head shaking and tossing her hair over her shoulder waiting for him to read it, and then blinks confused* ....SOS?? 

 **Nick:** *grins at the fact that she knows the song* Oh you've got points back for that one. *teasing and then shakes his head* "Save our Sanity". It's something me and my siblings came up with *lips twitch* It's Jesse. Probably needs help with Henry. *pauses* My nephew, I mean. Otherwise he wouldn't have texted...would you mind coming with me to check on him? 

 **Lynn:** *grins, sticking her hands in her back pockets and bouncing on her toes for a second* It's Bon Jovi baby, of course I know the song. *blinks as he explains surprised* You...have a nephew? *beams after a moment* Yeah absolutely. *delighted* I'd love to meet them. 

 **Nick:** *just grins* Yes well, you English people are deceiving. *teasing and then nods* Yeah, he's almost a year old. *grins* Great, I'll just pay for the things and we'll leave. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Little mystery never hurt anyone. *blinks and looks at the boxes/book in her hand and furrows her brow* Oh..no that's okay, I can pay for these. *presses her lips together, and then adds smiling* Excited I get to meet your brother...

 **Nick:** no, its not a bother, please. i want to. prove that all chivalry isn't dead and what not *lips twitch* hmm, he's an...odd breed, Jesse. *chuckles* I don't know quite how to explain it but, you'll see I guess. And Henry is...possibly the quietest baby i've ever seen, it's shocking. *shakes head*

 **Lynn:** *purses her lips together for a moment deliberating hesitantly even as she's smiling and then she exhales, nods and hands them to him* Well I suppose really you're the one that's going to eat the candy anyways. *lips twitch too* And chivalrous too. *amused and then laughs once* Anything I should know? *blinks* A quiet baby? *blink* I thought that was an oxymoron...

 **Nick:** *takes the items with a bright smile, nodding at her explanation* well now that you've sold me your soul *jokingly and then tilts his head towards the checkout register and walks towards it, still looking at her and then chuckles* not really, well except not to ask about Henry's mother, she bailed. *grins* see, that was my reaction too. but now i've figured it out *puts the items on the counter and then takes out his wallet* He's not quiet. He's plotting. observing. He's going to take over the world.

 **Lynn:** *teasing back, even though she's blushing again a little bit* Just my virtue. Possibly. *walking with him and then her eyebrows go up at that, blinking in surprise* She what? But...*biting her bottom lip and just shakes her head a few times* ...unbelievable. *brow furrows, exhales* But you...help your brother out as much as possible then? *softer, much less teasing/smirking and more genuine smile, and then she laughs again* Oh, actually you know, it wouldn't be that surprising at all if that were true. *head shake* Always the quiet ones...*tiniest eye roll* And then, *lips twitch* if he's anywhere near as brilliant as his uncle...*smiles*

 **Nick:** *lips twitching then repeats* Possibly. *smiling leaving his face for a moment and then nods sadly* afraid so. It's all complicated and he's never really told anyone the real story but thats it *shrugs* I do what I can, yeah. My sis and my mom also like to babysit Henry and help out. But Jesse's doing good. As good as any 22 year old single parent can be that is. *smiles and then chuckles* then he'd take over the world by 5 years old, of course.

 **Lynn:** That's...terrible. *her brow furrowed as she listens, looking borderline between furious-with-the-girl, sad, and appreciative that their family is so close-knit, and she just nods as he shrugs, her brow twitching higher and half-smiling* Right. I can't even imagine...*shaking her head still incredulous, sighs and continues with her smile widening* I mean, it's good you're all there too...*her smile is really sincere, and then she laughs again* Right. By five? Sounds like he's the member of your family I should make sure likes me the most really then....

 **Nick:** A bit, yeah. But as terrible as it is? She was...not the most respectable of women. a part of me thinks its for the best, though the other part...she is his mom, ya know? *sighs and then shakes his head* though Jesse always raves about the magnetic force a young single dad w/ a baby. *chuckles* 'We joke to deal with pain' as my mom likes to say. *He pays for the things and thanks the cashier, handing Lynn the bag and putting his wallet back in his pocket before taking her hand once more and laughs* Oh I'm sure he'll love you immediately. 

 **Lynn:** *nodding, still listening earnestly with her eyes glued to his, taking the bag, sliding it over her wrist and then taking his hand too, nodding to the cashier as well and exiting with him, laughing a bit under her breath* Well, Jesse's definitely on to something. *amused lips twitch and then blinks in surprise and smiles again* My mum says something like that too. She's pretty big on never giving up really. *brushing her hair back as they walk, and grins* Well I am fairly lovable. *pause* Are we apparating or taxi cab-ing or...?

 **Nick:** yeah, I used to think of his as the relationship guru *lips twitch* but now that i have my own skills, of course, i don't need to consult him *grins and then chuckles, nodding* I guess great minds think alike then. *walking with her, grinning still* I wouldn't deny that. Apparating, he still lives in Santa Monica in an apartment, tiniest thing you can imagine but he's really prideful, wont let either of my parents help him out financially in everything except...diapers and baby formula *chuckles* i'd otherwise take a taxi but he'll probably be texting agai- *phone starts ringing again and then he closes his mouth, nodding* man never misses a cue.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Of course. *nodding and then laughs amused* So like a man *head-shaking, teasing*, but, well. That's really great actually, that he's that determined. And it sounds like Henry's very lucky to have hi--*as the phone rings, she chuckles again*--well and you, apparently. *lips twitch* Are you psychic now? *brow arching*

 **Nick:** I would not be that stubborn...well, maybe, but *laughs* yeah, one of his many redeeming qualities. *reads the text, lips twitching, before he puts the phone back in his pocket* no, just very knowledgeable of my brother's impatience. *grins* so now for a...private enough place to apparate. 

 **Lynn:** Oh no? *amusedly twitching her lips and as he adds 'well maybe' she grins wider and nods, and then turns so as not to see his phone's message, waiting while he reads, arching her eyebrow curiously but not asking and then grins again* Hmmm...*points after a moment at one of the photo booths in the mall, with the curtain pulled and she smirks for a moment, turning back* Bet we could disapparate in there. 

 **Nick:** *looks around at the photo booth pulled up and then laughs once, grinning, images instantly running across his mind, and nods* alright, good plan. *leads her to the photo booth and holds the curtain open for her to go in and goes in afterwards, closing the curtain before he sits and pulls her down with him* but as long as we're here...*grins and puts a couple of dollars into the machine*

 **Lynn:** *laughing once, delighted as he holds the curtain open for her and then goes in still holding his hand, standing against the side and chuckling again in surprise when he pulls her down, laying one hand on his shoulder, crossing her ankles under the dress and looking amused as he puts the dollars in--she's also just intrigued by dollars as opposed to pounds btw XD-- and turns her head amused, wiggling her brow in the close quarters* You do realize this is completely adorable of you right? *lips twitching* 

 **Nick:** *laughs and then nods* Yeah, I realize that. *grins* I can be pretty diverse. Adorable and *leans in and looks down at her lips before smirking once against her lips, whispers* hot. *camera takes the first picture and he laughs after the flash, grinning*

 **Lynn:** *her hand on his shoulder tightening as he leans in, her gaze dropping to his lips for a moment without her realizing it and she exhales staying perfectly still with his whisper, blinking as the flash goes off and she laughs as well, pushing him with her hand again and shaking her head saying matter-of-factly* And a tease? *as the flash goes off again, and she laughs turning towards the camera to insure that at least *one* of these shows her actual face*

 **Nick:** *laughs again as she pushes him away and calls him a tease, camera taking a picture of that before he grins and turns to the camera for the other picture as well, one hand around her waist and the other making horns with his fingers and putting it at the back of her head for the picture*

 **Lynn:** *laughing too as she realizes the horns, proceeding to grin wickedly with pursed lips and narrowed eyes in an attempt to complement the photo and after it flashes she turns to him for the last photo, one hand still on his shoulder, the other she moves to bunch up the front of his shirt and she leans in and kisses him before the flash goes off, pulling back a breath and saying amused* You know, I actually do love a Femme Fatale...

 **Nick:** *turns to face her for the last photo as she bunches the front of his shirt, hand wrapping tighter across her waist as the other cups her neck as he kisses her back for the brief moment, grinning once as she pulls away* hmm, you know that doesn't surprise me at all.

 **Lynn:** *laughs, hmming and unclenching her fist to run her palm down his chest (with her gaze for a moment), as the pictures print and she smiles back up at him saying with feigned reluctance* I'm thinking we should probably...go, before it's your brother's text interrupting us when we'd rather .. not be. *brow wiggle, and she turns, taking her free hand to pull out the photos and looks at her sheet, handing him the other one and laughing, exclaiming amused* These are great...

 **Nick:** hmm *reluctantly nods, sighing out* i think you're right. *tilts his head* but then again, you're used to hearing that right? *teasing and then takes his sheet and chuckles, smiling before taking out his wallet to put them in there* it's just because we're so incredibly photogenic. *grinning and then taps her thigh so she'd stand up, standing up as well* ready to go?

 **Lynn:** *grins and says simply with a cheeky grin.* Damn straight. *sliding her own sheet into her purse, and zipping it back up, sliding her purse on her arm and following his hand, eyebrow arching for a second and she stands up too, wrapping one arm around his waist, the other around his neck, her purse/their bag from the store hanging off her wrist at his waist and she just nods* Let's go.

 

the morning of april 18th, 2027

Twigs and branches crushed and snapped under weight as she ran through the forest. She felt the dirt underneath her claws give way as she dug her paws into the ground, lunging forward with long strides. The night in the forest had been quiet, very quiet. The animals all were taking shelter, even the centaurs seemed to be impossible to locate for the night. One look earlier in the reflection of the river showed the reason- it was a full moon.

Hols fur immediately stood up on edge, a shiver running down her spine as she was once again reminded of the fact by a distant howl in the night. She came to a halt, however, when she heard a not so distant howl and snarl followed by a human yell. In that instant, Hols sprinted towards the origin of the sounds, muscles reverberating as her legs hit against the ground hard, propelling herself forward even faster than before.

A few more seconds and she was able to see the scene ahead: Sam Roswell, with his wand pointed at a wolf, no a werewolf. Hols didn't think, she just reacted; she kept moving forward and lunged forward with a roar, sending Sam falling to the ground with a loud thump, the weight of her lioness form crushing him under her. She heard more than a few bones snap, and Sam's pained yell soon after. Hols looked around and picked up his wand with her mouth, snapping it in a moment with her teeth while she turned immediately to the werewolf and roared, baring her teeth and warning him off. The last thing she needed was for a werewolf to follow her out.

As soon as the werewolf ran away, she was turning back to Sam; Hols knew she would have winced if she was a human. A chunk of his leg had been missing and he was all scratched up, and still he wasn't unconscious, just splurting out blood. She snarled as she realized she had to help the guy. Her mouth instinctively went for his neck but further thinking made him realize that it wasn't a good idea. She closed it around one arm, pulling him forward when another yell pierced through her ears, the arm must have been broken then.

Paying it no mind, she continued to haul him backwards, eyes kept in front of her just in case the werewolf decided to come back. No matter how terrified she was of the werewolf, she couldn't let it show and didn't; she was bigger and had claws and fangs as well. Fear was only making her act out more aggressively, her form unhappy with being threatened.

Sam tried to fight her off, with whatever strength he still had left, but she couldn’t understand a word coming out of his mouth if indeed there was anything but screams to be detected. She just pulled on his arm harder, angry with the human for making this that much difficult on her.

As soon as they were out of the forest and Sam was on the ground, Hols morphed back into a human. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise but Hols quickly took out her wand from her back pocket and pointed it at him. “Obliviate,” she said quietly, and wiped Sam’s memories of the events of tonight. A memory modification could be broken, and the last thing she needed was for Sam Roswell to know that she was an animagi and for him to go blabbing about a werewolf attacking him.

“Stupefy,” she muttered next, effectively knocking him out. Hols exhaled and closed her eyes before she cursed under her breath. A fucking werewolf. Not that she didn’t expect to run into one sooner or later –she had run into almost every single animal that called the forests of England its home-, but she had hoped she wouldn’t have. Hols didn’t have a problem with werewolves; her uncle Lucan was a werewolf but this particular werewolf was running around the forbidden forest, bloodthirsty and probably without the wolfsbane potion. Shit.

But first thing’s first; she needed to check if Sam had gotten bitten. She kneeled down on the ground, and checked his wounds. Hols had dealt with broken bones before, and with a best friend that wanted to become Mungo’s next director, she knew her fair share of spells. Yet, the werewolf had done a bang up good job at fucking Sam up, but at least he hadn’t bitten him.

“Fucking werewolf has me fucking helping fucking Sam fucking Roswell, fuck,” she muttered under her breath after she did as many healing spells as she could which in reality didn’t really do shit. She had to get him to the hospital wing.

“Let’s give Hols a big heart, let Hols be a nice person underneath her hardcore exterior, she’ll help anybody,” she spoke out sarcastically and annoyed as she put a disillusionment charm on both her and Sam, before taking a deep breath and heaving him up, putting him over her shoulders. She stumbled back a few steps under his weight and kept walking forward for a couple of more steps before she just grew tired of it and took out her wand again, putting a feather-light charm on Sam; much better.

“Oh, she loathes Sam with every fiber of her being? Even better! Prove to the world she’d help out an enemy, that’s just great,” she continued to mutter as she walked up the grounds, back to the castle.

“No she won’t get any recognition for this, no one will know who saved the asshole from a werewolf but hey, at least she’d have performed her good deed of the day. Ain’t life grand?”

She stopped talking as she neared the school, opening the doors of the castle silently and then continued to walk up to the Hospital Wing as stealthily as she could. Once there she placed Sam on a bed and took the disillusionment charm off of him, and walked out of the hospital wing after setting a ‘bang!’ out of her wand to wake up Madam Pomfrey. She was so perturbed by the sight of Sam there, all bloodied up and bruised to even think twice about the source of the noise.

Hols then knew where she was going to go: back to the forest. She needed to find that werewolf, needed to make sure that no one was else, whether human, animal, or magical creature, was suffering at the end of its rage and more importantly…that werewolf was a person, a human being. If she could find them -talk to them in the morning, inform them of the wonders of wolfsbane and a designated safe-house-, then she could help them. Hell, she could even provide the wolfsbane; her uncle Jandro had a million connections and he never asked any questions.

All she had to do was make sure she didn’t get bitten. Easier said than done.

Hols exhaled and then made her way back down the stairs again, out of the castle and back into the grounds. She took off her disillusionment charm and stuffed her wand back in her back pocket before she turned back into her lioness form.

With one look back at the castle, she dug her paws in the ground once more before she took off into the forest.

&.

 

 **Nick:** *grins at how comfortable she gets and then nods before turning on the spot and apparating inside of his brother's apartment to avoid any muggles catching them, standing right inside the door which is basically the living room, sees Henry in his play pen there and immediately grins, Henry looking up in a small laugh* hey champ! long time.

 **Jesse:** *from the bathroom* is that my idiot brother I hear? Is that Nickyyyy? Sure took your damn time! *flush is heard, then sink turns on*

 **Nick:** *just shakes his head as he looks at Lynn and then just points in the direction of the bathroom which is right ahead of them* can you believe this guy?

 **Jesse:** *from bathroom still* is that company I hear?

 **Nick:** cool, just keep embarrassing me in front of said gorgeous company, go right ahead.

 **Jesse:** *comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel before he grins as he sees Nick and Lynn* you weren't kidding about that adjective. *hugs Nick*

 **Nick:** *hugs Jesse and then turns and motions to Lynn* Jesse this is Lynn, Lynn, my brother Jesse.

 **Jesse:** *extends his hand out* nice to meet you *grins*

 **Lynn:** *grinning as she releases him, casting her eyes/gaze between him and Henry and immediately all but beaming as she sees him in the play pen, waving at him once too instantly, about to add her own hello when she hears Jesse and she just grins hearing them, pressing her lips together amused and nodding, mouthing/saying quietly so Jesse doesn't hear her* Brothers, trust me, I completely understand. *lips twitching and she turns when she sees Nick, her hand still up and so she offers a half wave, smile flicking as they hug, her eyebrow arching and she can't help but ask* Oh? Adjective? *lips flick, teasing* Was he bragging about me again? *as they release and he turns to her, she takes his hand smiling and shakes it* Nice to meet you too. 

 **Nick:** *grinning as Lynn waves to Henry, Henry smiling back at the company, before he has to interact with his brother, just chuckling and nodding as Lynn says she understands*

 **Jesse:** again is definitely the correct word *grins*

 **Nick:** *turns around to pick up Henry from his play pen and holds him up, speaking to Henry* can you believe this Henry? not three minutes in here and I'm already being picked on.

 **Jesse:** the adjectives were many, by the way. he's chatty, you see. *makes the motion with his hand*

 **Nick:** *shakes his head and then he steps forward again* and Lynn, this is Henry. Henry this is Lynn, can you wave hi? *grins as he watches Henry hold his hand up and clench and unclench his hand in a wave*

 **Jesse:** the one people always come to visit *teasing*

 **Nick:** yeah, about that, what's the deal? I told you I was *turns to Lynn and grins, winking once* busy *turns back to Jesse* this weekend, whats the emergency?

 **Jesse:** *teases* I just missed ya, bud.

 **Nick:** yeah, yeah. which date?

 **Jesse:** *slow grins* Erica.

 **Nick:** Kristen bailed?

 **Jesse:** fundraiser car wash.

 **Nick:** hmm *looks down at Henry* your daddy is predictable. so naturally he interrupts *our* *gestures to him and Lynn* date. *looks up at Jesse* i think we deserve an apology.

 **Jesse:** no problem. *turns to Lynn* Lynn, sweet-british-accented Lynn, I'm sorry...that I didn't save you from my brother sooner- *breaks into laughter as Nick throws a rattle at his head*

 **Lynn:** *her smile wide and lips pressing against each other harder as if to remind herself she couldn't actually melt at the sight, waving once again s moment later and returning* Hi Henry. Charmed. *her lips flick at Henry's half wave and she looks, frankly, like she would squeal at how adorable that is, but just turns gesturing at Nick/Henry at Jesse's remark and teasing* Well, naturally, considering what an absolute stud he is. *grinning, looking between them and casting a smile at Nick's wink just listening for a moment and then laughs too, surprised turn as he starts to apologize, her lips flicking at the modifiers/adjectives and she just shakes her head* Rattle-throwing tendency aside, *teasingly*, trust me, I don't want to be saved. *smiles* But I was glad for the chance to meet you, so, no apology necessary. 

 **Nick:** *looking down at Henry as he actually babbles a bit but then goes back to being silent* see, I'd told you he'd like you.

 **Jesse:** oh he gets them all from his daddy *passes the back of his fingers across Henry's feet to make him giggle* the Callaway genes are a blessing.

 **Nick:** *cant help but nod at that, grinning and then laughs at Lynn response* that's right, Jesse. she doesn't need to be rescued. *winks at Lynn*

 **Jesse:** uh oh. *turns to nick* did you make a mistake and find someone impervious to your charm? *teases*

 **Nick:** *smirks*...no.

 **Jesse:** *shakes his head and turns back to Lynn, grinning* it was great to meet you too. *checks his watch* its almost about time to pick her up. Okay, how do I look?

 **Nick:** like shit.

 **Jesse:** no cursing around my child, damnit. *turns to the door* Coming. *picks up Henry momentarily and kisses him bye before giving him back to Nick* thanks again, bro. *claps his shoulder and turns to Lynn* i'll make it up to you guys.

 **Nick:** better be a promise.

 **Jesse:** *putting on his shoes* there's tequila on top of the fridge if you get Henry to fall asleep.

 **Lynn:** *startled a bit but beaming as he babbles* You did. But then you also said he was quiet... *smiling as Henry giggles* ...so I guess I'm just special. *looks up as he winks at her again and she just purses her lips amused, shaking her head and then her jaw prat-falls and she scoffs saying teasingly* Oh yeah, you're definitely being charming right now... *head shakes again and she props her elbow on her palm, toying with her ear and smiling as they say goodbye, nodding her goodbye and then brightening* Tequila? *lips twitch* 

 **Jesse:** he usually doesn't...eerie. you really must be special. *turns to Nick* she's a keeper.

 **Nick:** *chuckles, just grinning at his comment and laughs again at Lynn's comment, and then shrugs innocently*

 **Jesse:** *grins* Patron. *picks up his keys and then heads to the door, waving bye again* see you all later. *walks out of the house*

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then shakes his head, turning to look at Henry* you going to fall asleep? *Henry turns to look at him, blinking and then starts laughing* Thought not. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs and adds to Jesse* She can hear you, you know. *still toying with her ear, waving once at Jesse as he leaves with a simple* Nice to meet you. *shaking her head amused and looks back around at Henry/Nick, laughing once more as Henry does and with her eyebrows arched she grins* Well, wow, you really weren't kidding. He's hard to describe. *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** *laughs* yeah, he's....Jesse. simple as that, really. *grins* but he's one of the best guys I know. though I'm not exactly the most unbiased person *grins again and shrugs and then goes to sit down on the couch, patting the seat next to him to indicate Lynn could sit down* really am sorry about this by the way *chuckles* not exactly the plan I was going for *grins*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitching in amusement eyes following him and then sits next to him, setting her purse/their bag down at the coffee table and fixing her skirt as she sits, grinning at him and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear* Seriously, no worries. I mean, if my brother texted me like that--*pauses thinking out loud, her head turning a bit* --well actually I suppose that would mean my brother was touching a cell phone which quite frankly would be cause for another celebration but--*pauses, turns back and she smiles*-- I'd go to him too. *beat* Honestly, it's great. *lips twitch* And besides, *gestures to Henry a bit* as far as a plan goes, *amused* you know there really is no sight more alluring than a man with a baby. *presses her lips together amused* 

 **Nick:** *laughs, nodding his head as she explains she'd do the same thing, lips lifting in a small smirk at her next comment* of course *looks down at Henry* you're helping me get points champ *grins, looking back up at Lynn* do you wanna hold him? 

 **Lynn:** *grins at Henry nodding in agreement* I can't help it really. *head shake* Hormones or something. *brightens and then nods* Yes! *grinning and holding out her arms to take him*

 **Nick:** *laughs at her enthusiasm and passes Henry over, Henry looking around as he's moved, looking up at Lynn with a smile* hey, uncool buddy, I already called dibs. *lips twitch in amusement*

 **Lynn:** *holding him closely to her and grinning back* Hi Henry. You have a beautiful smile, you know that? *lips twitch* Callaway genes, I guess. *looks overtop of Henry half gasping again and she shakes her head amused* Excuse me? Dibs? *lips twitch* Flattering, but keep talking about me like that and the only Callaway I'll be touching is Henry here. *teasing*

 **Nick:** *grins as he watches Henry giggle and nods* yes, those great genes. *lips twitch and then throws his hands up in defense* wait a minute there, I meant no offense you know *teasing and then chuckles* but alright, no dibs. well I mean...of that sort. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *laughs, mhmming for a moment and nodding, pursing her lips teasingly and looks down at Henry* What do you think, Henry? Should I forgive him? *Henry just looks at her wide eyed still smiling for several moments and then makes a tiny noise, and she blinks, laughs and just looks up feigning-relenting still teasing* Well, I mean if Henry says I should. 

 **Nick:** *laughs and then tickles Henry's foot making him laugh in giddiness and Nick grins* the champ always has my back. *looks back up at Lynn with the same grin* so I have a question.

 **Lynn:** *beaming as Henry laughs and shakes her head amused* Of course he does. *blinks for a moment and then lips twitch* Sure. Shoot. 

 **Nick:** *grins* well, though its cliche and wasn't spoken in the most sensitive manner *lips twitch* my brother's right. you're a keeper. *grins* question is will you be my girlfriend?

 **Lynn:** *blinks in slight surprise and then just starts smiling, nodding and shifts Henry slightly so she can hold him with one arm, taking her now free hand to reach and ghost her fingers down his cheek, leaning into kiss him once, softly and pulls back and nods again* Absolutely. *laughs once under her breath* 

 **Nick:** *kisses her back just as softly, grinning as soon as she pulls away and nods once as well* great. *grins and then kisses her once again, looking down at Henry as he starts giggling* Henry, you're not allowed to see this! *covers up his eyes playfully, grinning*

 **Lynn:** *grinning and meeting him in the kiss, laughing in surprise as Henry starts giggling, and pulling back as he covers Henry's eyes and she just starts giggling too, shaking her head* Well between this and the swearing Henry's getting quite the education isn't he? *amused*

 

&.

 

Hols follows the trail of small animal carcasses, the smell of blood leading her to the clearing and she approaches it stealthily the rest of the way, her shoulders hunched low as she sees the wolf. A snarl captures in her mouth at the sight of slaughter before she snaps her eyes to the hunched wolf, ears perking up at a pained moan.

With the moon's light starting to wane, the wolf stops stalking and pacing. Every muscle in his wolf's body aches in exhaustion, his fur matted and twisted with blood. Whose anymore he can't tell. He knows he was hit with spells, he knows he wrestled animals larger than him-- he knows... he knows...

That thought scares him, consciousness was beginning to awaken, flickering awareness back into him and he collapsed curled onto the ground, his tail thumping the dirt up. As he offered a low and piteous moan, that sounds suddenly to his protesting ears like an all too-human cry as bones snap into place, thick black hair recedes and tears fall down from eyes not golden but amber brown to soak human cheeks.

It was _Alcott._ Jolted by the recognition, Hols' stiffens with fur stuck up, tail jerking to the sky. For a few moments she remains at a loss, a statue of shock. Then the mighty lioness hunches, bowing her head in sadness.

Exhausted, Alcott curls into a fetal position. He lays in the dirt until he can't stand the stink of rotting flesh and sits up slowly to inch away and leave the flies their feast.  Wiping blood off his sticky chest, he winces. Disgusted as he looks around him and sees the carcasses of rabbits, squirrels, and birds. Hissing in pain, his limbs shuddering and protesting every movement, it occurs to him he's far from okay. He's alive though, and he has no bloody intention of staying in that clearing. 

As he lifts his head he realizes that the spell Eliza cast worked. He was back in the right clearing and he stands up going for the backpack in the tree, quickly throwing a shirt and shorts over scarlet streaks. His face is gaunt, haunted by the uncertain memories of the night and the blood drying behind his yellowed nails.

Muscles protesting the stiff bow, Hols slowly stalks backwards without taking her eyes off Alcott when her paw land on a mess of sticks. Despite how far off she is, Alcott hears. At the dull crack of stepped-on twigs behind him, Alcott jerks up. Snatching his wand, ignoring protesting muscles, a dry throat croaks, 

"Who's there?"

His head spins this way and that as he looks, even though he's still breathing heavily and even though he's in no shape to fight his grip his firm. Eyes dark as he casts, the tip of his wand floods the clearing with light beyond the far-off rising sun to reveal a hulking, golden-brown lioness. 

"Shit--" Alcott raises his wand again. 

She casts her eyes down momentarily as sudden light hurts her eyes, then growls as he raises his wand in her direction once more. Smoothly morphing back into a human at once, standing up with her hands in the air, her growl turns into actual words, 

"Right, all right, calm your ass down!"

About to cast, Alcott jumps a bit (and promptly swears again) as the lioness transforms. His jaw drops in total surprise, sweat dripping off his brow, shirt sticking to his chest. Wand leaping even higher in surprise, he snaps,

"Graft?!" 

"Brackner."

The rough jerk of his arm was answered by a sharp pain shooting from his elbow to shoulder. Alcott lowers his arm just as quickly, proving he hadn't learned the lesson. Hols keeps her hands up to show she means no harm. Heavy silence is only broken as she asks,

"Can you stop pointing that at me?" 

He turns the wand. 

"Morning." 

She inclines her head to him in mockery, lowering her hands now as he does the wand. Determined not to look at the carcasses, she locks gaze with him. He just stands there, looking at her. He blinks. He bites his lip - then winces at the sharp pang. Oh dear God. Had she seen? Of course she'd fucking seen, he mentally chides himself, bitter at his own fear as it floods his chest and robs him of breath. Get a grip. Clearing his throat, he says instead,

"When I said you were an unregistered Animagus? I was joking."

"When I said  you were an animal and could give me rabies i was joking too..." 

There's another stretch of silence, as Hols trails her gaze over him. Alcott just mirrors the incredulity, recalling with ease when she had said that. Yet he couldn't remember for the life of him what happened in the night -- and judging by the state of the clearing, he didn't want to. 

Her shrug and swallow jerks them to the present again.

"Guess the joke's on us," Hols was dry as ever. 

"Right." 

He laughs, tilting his head and pressing his lips together. Hols doesn't move to continue, both of them determined to keep awkward silence at bay. 

"...for how long?"

Alcott exhales himself. He doesn't answer her question at first, just swallowing and looks away from her gaze cast skywards. Dawn had was winning it's eternal war against the night, pink and orange rays streaking across the sky. He stiffens, rubbing at his shorts to try and expel sweat, blood and memory. 

Hols bites down on her bottom lip, nodding to herself: the silence was an answer. His first time then. "Bloody hell," she's mutters to herself. Passing a hand through her hair, she casts another glance over him, trailing slower over blood as she remembers where it came from. She exhales again. 

"Maybe you should sit down. You look like shit." 

His eyes cast down to the ground for a second. He's thinking over in his head that his panic that she might tell is a little bit mollified. After all, doesn't he know her secret too? He could use that. But his head is still pounding, the tiniest sounds are piercing already-ruptured eardrums and the world's kind of spinning, so he just laughs once, shakes his head at her and bites out, 

"Do you care?"

Hols rolls her eyes, curses under her breath, biting back, "Are we really going to do this right now? Just sit down. You're about to collapse, and I'm not set on taking you to the hospital wing."  

She exhales, spinning away from him. Deciding she can't take the carnage and takes out her wand, she starts vanishing the carcasses, muttering, " _Had enough of that already..."_ Alcott ignores this, wordlessly sliding his own wand away and studies the nearest trunk, as if the wood-grain has the answer to life in it. Scratching at the bark, without looking at her, he shrugs and half grumbles out,

"Look, I'm sorry all right? Not the best of nights." He exhales somewhat painfully. Hols stops momentarily mid vanishing when the words 'I'm sorry' leave his lips, shakes her head and just continues. Hating the third awkward silence, Alcott bristles and shakes his head. "What are you...doing here?" 

His eyebrows narrow, "When I was --" He cuts himself off, and only now does he turn around to lock eyes with hers. 

"I could have hurt you."

"I was --" She stops talking, realizing what she was going to say and disliking the way it sounds. Fuck that. Finishing the vanishing before she looks back up, she says instead," But you didn't. No harm, no foul." She shrugs. "On my account, that is." 

There's a slight pause. Alcott's head tilts as she cuts herself off, eyes narrowing and frown deepening. She corrects, 

"How much do your remember of your night?" 

"What did I do?" 

His face hard, the immediate question was tight as his chest seemed to cave in on itself, clench around his heart. There was fear in his eyes. Hols bites her bottom lip, and pockets her wand in her back pocket before answering.

"You attacked Sam." 

Alcott's entire body seemed to seize as she just relates the initial fact. Not taking a breath until lungs still sore protest the lack of oxygen. He half gasps out, steely-eyed as he spins away. Hols continues without moving, "Busted him up pretty badly, but he sent you flying back before you could bite him. I pounced on him to keep him from doing anymore damage, snapped his wand in two, and you ran off when I roared. Dragged him out of the forest, erased his memory and took him up to the hospital wing, came back to find you."

Yet even as Hols still talks, he's moving, rocking, fist clenching at his side and punching uselessly in the air, just missing the tree. Alcott didn't know if he was disappointed or glad not to smash his knuckles to the wood. Exhaling what would have been a shout had he the breath, " _Goddammit!"_

He takes a steadying breath as his eyes shut, both hands falling to his side as he focuses on hard, long breaths. Hols doesn't move but she stops, knowing that she doesn't have to tell him what he did in the mean time. The evidence of his bloodlust had been scattered around them. 

When Alcott opens his eyes to look back at her, it's with confusion, blinking as if he's just seeing her. His question was half muttered while his eyebrow arched, 

"You saved me?" 

Hols purses her lips as he takes in the nod, exhaling under her breath. Not really knowing what to say, she tilts her head slightly as he just turns to look at her. The question makes her chuckle once.

"Well, don't sound too surprised. I would have done the same for anyone." 

Plainly, "Most people wouldn't have."

Alcott laughs once just looking at her again, still shaking his head incredulously. Hols shrugs, adding quickly, "He'll be fine, by the way...lots of broken bones, most caused by me landing on him actually, scratches and..." Hols is unable to restrain a wince at the memory. 

"Injuries, but nothing fatal." 

He's still breathing a bit unsteadily at the list, eyes fluttering, squeezing and shutting, only to open with his hesitant admittance, "I didn't....mean to...I didn't want to hurt anyone." 

Alcott doesn't know why he said that. 

"Hmm..." Hols tilts her head, "True. Most people don't turn into the very animal they have tattooed on their shoulder either." 

"You have a lioness tat?" 

His lips flick with sudden amusement. She only 'Hmm's. Smirking, thinking that maybe now wasn't the best time Alcott is unable to keep from imagining for at least a moment. 

She shrugs as if she knows, nodding only once, twice, at his words and returning, "Well. If you had meant to hurt someone, you'd be a pretty sick fucker." She purses lips already taut. "Wolfsbane helps with that - I assume and hope you're working on that?" Her eyebrows rise.

"Yes. Devin's been getting the ingredients and learning how to make it." Alcott swallows and nods, wry and humorlessly acknowledging that he 'would' be and then nods once more. Why in the world did he have to agree with Hols again? He presses on, 

"If that fails though...I'll find another way to send for it. I just figure I'm going to need to make my own. For...for you know. Now .. on."

Her only response is another 'Hm' at first, not surprised he has Devin working on how to make it. She nods slowly along, "Right...you should keep extra just in case." 

Before Alcott could say another word, she'd jerked her chin up with her pursed bottom lip jutting out to state, "Time for the unpopular opinion...have you considered telling the headmaster and staff?" 

"No, and you can't either."

"Excuse me?"  Head jerking up panicked, he snapped without thinking. Hols' eyebrows rise further and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Care to try that again? a little bit nicer this time? i did save your life. And Sam's. It was a suggestion- and a damn good one at that, you can't do this on your own, they'd help." 

"No, they'd take me out of classes." 

"They helped my uncle. Took him to the Shrieking Shack every month, gave him Wolfsbane, the professors were understanding, they wouldn't lock you up..." 

"They'd put me under lock and key back home where I would promptly end up disowned instantly- I just nearly killed a student! There's absolutely no way they could think I'll be safe, here. This -- this can't, get out." His eyebrows narrow, hissing through clenched teeth words foreign, "I'm grateful for the help, I am, but this has to stay secret." 

Hols exhales and then frowns as he mentions disowned, not really being able to argue with that and gets a bit peeved.

"So I'm just supposed to keep my mouth shut, then? huh, what if you accidentally hurt someone else again?" 

His jaw tightens a bit, he bites the inside of his lip - regretting that instantly as his body screams in protesting reminders of it's non inconsiderate ordeal. That's the only reason why he sounds pleading when he looks back at her, "Please."

Hols throws up her hands up in exasperation. Bugger wasn't even not paying attention. She pinches the bridge of her nose before exhaling, looking back at him as he says please. Astonished and pretty damn sure the word had never crossed his lips before, she just nods. 

"Yeah, you better." 

"I'll have the Wolfsbane next time." He swallows, and then can't resist from challenging, "Unless you have a better idea." 

A small moment of deliberation and a frustrated groan later, she snaps, "No, not exactly." 

"Thought not." Alcott's usual smug-smirk was back with the matter-of-fact snap. 

Her hands go to her hips as she glares at him. 

"I'll only keep my mouth shut if you do the same. If this gets out, you may be disowned, but I'd be jailed."  

"I'll keep your secret. If you keep mine." He doesn't look away, promising that. 

"Good." She mutters under her breath, arms crossing back on her chest, _I have enough people trying to expose me somehow without you in the mix._

Arching his eyebrow as he hears her mutter, rubbing his ear in annoyance at the way his hearing is still adjusting and can't help himself from asking, "Whose trying to expose you?" 

She blinks as he hears it, and then exhales. Right, super sensitive werewolf-hearing. Bloody fantastic. "I've shared enough secrets for the day." 

Alcott just looks at her, then he figures it can't hurt, "For informations, sake, the only people who know of me are Devin and Eliza." He pauses to wet a lip still too dry and cracked, "And now you."

She shakes her hair back, tossing over her shoulder, "And Lynn, Keagan and Corey are the only ones who know mine, though you probably don't know the majority of those." 

He snorts. "Well of course Lynn knows, thick as thieves."

"Damn straight." 

"Guess we're both just lucky the other has a secret too." 

Her eyebrow rises, "Lucky wouldn't be the word I would use." Sarcasm drips from her lips as she continues, "Though it makes me feel _loads_ better to know you would have gotten me incarcerated otherwise."

He arches his eyebrow, and just says pointedly, "As you would have had me exposed and disavowed?" 

Hols furrows hers in response, snapping, "I'd have done no such thing. I do have scruples. I'm just not stupid enough to ignore the current leverage." 

"Well, if you'd noticed, I hadn't threatened once to expose you either. In any sense of the word. I'm not a snitch. I just won't let you play me either."

"And neither am I, I think I already proved that before this, eh?" She glares, then shaking her head: this was mind-numbing, aggravating, and she was exhausted of it already. 

"That's true. You had."

"Fine. so we both keep our mouths shut about this to everyone and this doesn't have to get ugly. And i do mean everyone, including Dev and Eliza." Suddenly she realizes he didn't say Sienna's name. Confused, and kind of curious, she decides not to say anything. "And I won't tell my partner's in crime." 

His lips twitch, but he nods immediately in agreement, reaching down to unstick his shirt. It smacks back. She nods, smug and appeased.

"Oh, I think it's better we keep this between us anyway. Considering...Sam." Alcott swallows tightly and double-checks because he's anxious about that, "He won't remember anything?" 

The smug look turned serious, "Nope, not a single thing, not after the sun went down. I took care of it."

Alcott's lips twitch as she looks smug, but he too turns serious and tightens his jaw. Letting a rather lengthy pause fall while he simply looks over her shoulder at the rising sun, he meets her eyes again before speaking, words weighed with guilt despite the brevity, 

"Thanks." 

"Your welcome." She nods, then adds quickly with a hand jerking between the two of them, "This doesn't change anything." 

She frowns, thinking it over, and then shakes her head, more to herself than anyone else. Alcott arches his eyebrow at her as she thinks for a moment and he laughs once under his breath when she speaks. 

"Considering you already thought me an animal, or considering you refuse to believe there might be anything we have in common at all?"

She deliberates. "The first one. And kind of the second one, except I don't like the wording. We _don't_ have anything in common. Well. Save a secret we don't want to get out. And maybe a touch of narcissism, at most." 

"Narcissism? I thought it was more like confidence. As for other things we have in common, I would not know." His lips flick up, still challenging, more at ease now as his breath evens and headache lessens, "You refuse to find out." 

"I know another thing." Hols' lips twitch before she rolls her eyes, "There goes that damn r word again. Refuse?" Scoffing, "In order for me to even be able to refuse, I'd have to have had an opportunity to accept or reject the offer. Was an offer ever made? No. Therefore, no refusal is possible."

"If we're going to be technical." And oh, is he smirking now, "Then Then I have to point out that you preempted any chance for me to offer by snapping it's pointlessness. But I didn't know you were so into technicalities. Seems a bit of a word game to cover up something really."

"Then I'd have to point out how unappealing yet wholly unsurprising it is for you to be deterred so easily." She tilts her head at him, smirking herself, "Enlighten me, cover up what exactly?" 

"I haven't been deterred." 

Hols purses her lips in brief amusement.  "You haven't?" Her lips twitch back open while she exhales, shaking her head and chuckling once, 

"As you said, I am not turned around lightly." 

"What a joy." It's sarcastic. 

Alcott's smile is starting to turn genuine. "And I don't know. Neither do you. That's the point." With an idle shoulder shrug, "There's certainly been nothing to cover up yet. Only the fact that if there were truly nothing at all you wouldn't be so determined to constantly remind me of it."

Rolling her eyes before arching her eyebrows even higher at this answer, she scoffs again, "I think you're over thinking. The reasoning could be, and _is,_ as simple as the fact that there really is nothing."

Fixing his shirt again and hiking the backpack up on his shoulder, Hols gaze flicks to his torso momentarily - and away as she catches herself. He looks back at her with a tiny grin only to say, "Of course. I didn't think it had changed anything. My point was that you didn't have to assure me of it." He winks. 

"Because really. What could it have changed Hols?" 

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all Al." 

She pauses in confusion, suddenly noticing the use of first names. Blinking, she shakes her head, "...which means is about time for me to walk away." 

One eyebrow flicks upwards as she calls him Al, Alcott gets a tiny smirk in place. Amused, pleased, and also slightly confused, he decides to just nod in agreement, gesturing away from him as if to say 'be my guest.' 

"Don't point your wand in the face of other defenseless animals, alright? Don't think I forgot you were going to hex me." 

"Don't think I forgot you were watching me get dressed." 

Alcott says nothing more as she snorts, turns, runs forward a bit jumps to land on all fours with a thumb. The lioness looks back over her shoulder at Alcott, stalking out chin high. 

Alcott jumps back a bit and exclaims another curse as she morphs. Stumbling backwards as his limbs ache, he slams a hand up against the tree trunk and watches the lioness stalk out with his brows still flicking. Breathing is still a chore. It's only after she leaves that he admits to the weakness, and leans back against the tree. 

Focusing on breathing and looking up at the sun muttering under his breath nothing but "Oh bloody hell." And then after staying in place for a few minutes trying to breathe and order things in his mind, he remembers Eliza and Devin are to meet him. Swearing again, he fetches his shrunk-broomstick and mounts so that he can leave at high-speed.

&.

 **Eliza:** *startles awake and blinks, realizing she's curled up against Rory's side underneath his jacket and she jolts her head off his shoulder; he jerks awake as well and looks around at her; she slides down the bench a bit in surprise, swallowing and shaking her head at him* Oh! Ohmygod.

 **Rory:** *looks at her awkwardly and hesitantly, confused as she's panicking; catching his jacket as she shrugs it off accidentally*

 **Eliza:** I--I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep--

 **Rory:** *waves that off* It's fine. 

 **Eliza:** *in the dim morning light, she checks her watch, her other hand flattening her hair behind her ear, breathing very quickly* What--what time is it? *spies the clock face and turns around seeing the sun coming up and wets her bottom lip, biting it* Oh. *turns back around* Oh wow. I'm so sorry. 

 **Rory:** *furrows his brow looking at her back before she turns back around, but he waves it off with another shrug* Seriously, don't worry about it. 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip and nods like a bobble head, still awkward* It was just...*shivers and running her hand over her arms* just, a bad night. *breath* 

 **Rory:** *nods* 

 **Eliza:** *brow furrowing as he doesn't speak, only increasing her panic* You could have woken me up, really, I wouldn't have minded--

 **Rory:** *head shakes once* It's fine. 

 **Eliza:** *breath* But. I...I feel like I totally took advantage of you. 

 **Rory:** *arches his eyebrow kind of amused* Took advantage of me? 

 **Eliza:** *arching her own eyebrow back, lips twitched in a half smile in spite of herself as she insists* Yes! You were being...so nice to me and you still are and--and never mind. *blinks* 

 **Rory:** *head shakes I didn't...I didn't mind.

 **Eliza:** Oh. *breathing a bit easier* Okay.

 **Rory:** *looking up at the sun himself, standing* Besides, I hadn't seen the sun rise in a while.

 **Eliza:** *smiles at him and looks back around* Right. *there's a beat where they just look at each other and then her face suddenly breaks again* Right! Sun rise. *swivels back around staring up at the rising sun and runs her hand still trying to fix her hair, looking back at him* I'm sorry--I have somewhere I...look you need to sleep. *thinks to herself: _I am such a terrible liar._ * -- Thank you, so much, but...

 **Rory:** *waves this off* Don't bother explaining. Seriously, Eliza, it's fine. 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* Right. Thanks. Really. *nods at him and starts hurrying off the Quidditch field towards Jenny's house again; turning around when she gets there and looking back to see where Rory went, watching him walk into the castle courtyard, breathing a sigh of relief and going back around the house into the very edge of the forest, seeing instantly Devin standing where they'd arranged, but no Alcott* 

 **Devin:** *looking up with his face stretched into a look of stern determination--a look Eliza has begun to recognize when he doesn't want to show his own panic and worry--takes one look at Eliza and blinks in surprise, dropping his bag and pulling her into a hug* What happened?

 **Eliza:** *startled, but grateful and hugs him back for a moment, breathing into his shoulder* Oh nothing. I just made a fool of myself. 

 **Devin:** *blinks* How?

 **Eliza:** Not important. *releases him, rubbing at her tired eyes*

 **Devin:** *looks at her* 

 **Eliza:** *ignores this and shakes her head* Where's...isn't Alcott supposed to be here by now? 

 **Devin:** *firmly* There's no reason to panic yet. 

 **Eliza:** *bottom lip trembles a bit, but she nods* Right. *nods, clears her throat and shakes her head again saying firmer* Right! We're new to this. 

 **Devin:** *arches his eyebrow at her* You didn't come back to the Common Room last night at all, did you?

 **Eliza:** *bites her lip* Were you waiting for me?

 **Devin:** *shrugs a bit* Well. I...not really, because so long as you were gone I was able to say when she asked to Sienna that Alcott was just with you--

 **Alcott:** *behind them both, rugged and clearly exhausted, his broomstick leaning up against the tree and he looks at them both with his customary smirk despite the blood evident on his shirt and the guilt in his eyes, saying matter of factly* --Has the added benefit of being true. 

 **Eliza:** *with a half squeal, she launches herself at Alcott and hugs him* Alcott!!

 **Alcott:** *with a sudden inhaled hiss of pain with the tight embrace, his face breaks into a wider smile as he none the less hugs her back, moving her hair out of his face and lips twitching* Morning, Eliza.

 **Devin:** *looking similarly relieved, though obviously less restrained and chuckles once under his breath remarking lightly* Going to let him breathe?

 **Eliza:** *is wiping more tears out of her eyes and shakes her head, her smile now an undeniable beam* Shush. *letting him go and she grins at him, looks at him for a second and realizing exactly how awful he looks in everything but spirit, and bites her bottom lip*

 **Alcott:** *noting what she's looking at and he shakes his head*

 **Devin:** *standing next to Eliza with his own shake of his head, grinning at Alcott before Eliza could speak and adding* All right, mate? 

 **Alcott:** *nods once, his smirk twisting and he breathes, a hand rubbing his chest, exhales in a soft chuckle* Yeah. 

 **Devin:** *reaching a hand out; the pair grasp hands and pull into a quick hug, Alcott hitting Dev's upper back, Dev just keeps his hand on Al's upper back fearful slightly of hurting him and pulls back*

 **Eliza:** *speaking breathlessly and going to the backpack* Okay. Okay, so, I brought a new shirt, that one has--

 **Alcott:** *looks down and his brow furrows a bit, realizing the blood and he frowns, immediately taking the shirt off and taking the one Eliza tosses him* 

 **Eliza:** \--yeah, and and we brought water, and food, and Pepper-Up, and bandages and--*eyeing the scratches on his chest as he takes the shirt off and she blinks* 

 **Devin:** Actually Eliza, I think _you_ need to breathe...*with the intention of cutting her off from mentioning them* 

 **Alcott:** *puts the new shirt on over the scratches instantly and he shakes his head at them both* What I really need is to sleep. *nonetheless taking the water handed to him by Eliza and downs half the bottle at once* 

 **Devin:** *nods* Of course. 

 **Eliza:** *falls silent for a moment and then asks breathlessly* How...how was it? 

 **Alcott:** *swallows and his face falls, lowering the water bottle, thinks for a second and then says quietly* There's no description. 

 **Eliza:** *firmly* You did it. You, you did it! And, it'll get easier, and you'll have Wolfsbane, and it'll happen faster and...

 **Alcott:** *cuts her off, with his own small determined grimace* We don't know that. 

 **Eliza:** *falls silent and then adds firmly* But still. You did it. 

 **Alcott:** *rubbing his forehead* There's something...there's something else. Why I'm a little...late, getting back here, I had a run in with....*he looks at them for a moment* Sam.

 **Devin:** *insta!frown* 

 **Eliza:** *surprised, her brow furrowing and gasps once*

 **Alcott:** *looks between them* 

 **Devin:** Sam? 

 **Eliza:** This morning? He was in the forest? He didn't see you tr--

 **Alcott:** *waving this off* No, no, nothing like that. He...*gestures to the broomstick* I just...had to take him to the hospital wing. *is thinking to himself that he should actually double-check this story with Hols and groans under his breath at the prospect; Eliza/Dev ignore the groan, thinking it's guilt alone.* 

 **Eliza:** *cuts herself off and looks at him pained, asking quieter* What? 

 **Devin:** *exhaling and saying point-blank* You attacked him last night?

 **Alcott:** *jaw tightens and takes a breath, saying nothing, but he nods once* 

 **Devin:** *breath* You didn't mean to.

 **Eliza:** *looking haunted and practically hysterical, but she keeps her voice steady when she asks* How...how is, he? 

 **Alcott:** *looks at Eliza with clear pain in his eyes and he exhales before saying instantly* He'll be fine. Nothing...nothing fatal. And I didn't...I didn't bite him, I guess, so that's..that's good...

 **Devin:** *nods instantly* Definitely good. 

 **Eliza:** *is rubbing her eyes, her breath having hitched and she just exhales looking back away for a moment and blinks as she looks back before echoing Dev firmly, her eyes perfectly dry* You didn't mean to, Alcott. 

 **Alcott:** *childishly* It doesn't mean I didn't.

 **Eliza:** *insistant* You can't blame yourself.

 **Alcott:** I can't?

 **Eliza:** No! You...you didn't have control, you tried to stay away from all humans last night, it's not...

 **Alcott:** *shaking his head* 

 **Devin:** *eyes narrow* That's where he went.

Alcott/ **Eliza:** *look around at him* What? 

 **Devin:** Sam. *looks back at them, having not realized he spoke around* He left the Common Room when you did yesterday afternoon; he looked...*frowns* pissed. Suspicious. And pretty much up to no good but I thought, well, that's pretty much always how he looks...

 **Alcott:** *nods* True fact.

 **Devin:** *swallows* You don't think he followed you both into the forest? 

 **Eliza:** *with a frustrated exhale gasp* You mean, that he was spying on me? 

 **Devin:** *looking hesitant* 

 **Eliza:** *aggravated* I'm going to-- *pauses realizing that he's already in the hospital wing, her face falls and decidedly she looks around at Alcott changing her statement* So you were far enough in away from everyone who wasn't dumb enough to follow. This _really_ isn't your fault. 

 **Alcott:** *breathless, just looks at her* Eliza...

 **Eliza:** *firmly repeats* It's not your fault.

 **Devin:** *rubs his forehead* Do you have any idea what he remembers?

 **Alcott:** Nothing. *is still looking

 **Devin:** *beat* Meaning you don't remember or--

 **Alcott:** No, he remembers nothing. *exhales* His memory was obliviated. 

 **Devin:** *brow flicks surprised* You modified his memory?

 **Alcott:** Yes. I...did. 

 **Devin:** *blinks looking a bit impressed and then nods* Okay. 

 **Alcott:** *has finished off the water bottle, just looking back at them both; his face lined with his exhaustion, guilt, and pain, even if he's still smiling* Seriously. *tosses empty bottle at Dev, who catches it and puts it back in the bag* I desperately need a shower and a bed. 

 **Eliza:** *promptly wraps her arms around him again as they walk back to the castle* 


	3. Wake of Devastation

_Transfiguration Class, 9:00 AM_

**Sienna:** *sits down next to Eliza, rubbing her forehead*

 **Eliza:** *had been looking hesitantly over at the Gryffindors where Rory is sitting, but looks around to Sienna. blinks, looks once at Devin-- who makes a gesture like 'oh no, i had her all day yesterday; your turn', and looks back at his book determinedly--Eliza sighs, mouthing "not helpful", and then looks back at Sienna* What's wrong?

 **Sienna:** *head shaking* I can't find Al. 

 **Eliza:** *blinks* What do you mean I can't find him?

 **Sienna:** I mean he wasn't in the common room all morning, he wasn't at breakfast, and-- actually, where were you two anyways?

Dev: *immediately* Early jog. 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* Quidditch field.

 **Devin:** *looks at her in surprise* What?

 **Eliza:** *eyes dart back to Rory's back and Sienna catches this, looking around, confused, not sure where Eliza was looking at, and looks back at Eliza, who had promptly blushed* 

 **Sienna:** Why were you at the Quidditch field? 

 **Devin:** *curiously looking at Eliza himself* 

 **Eliza:** *sighs* I sort of accidentally fell asleep there last night.

 **Sienna:** *blinks, her lips twitching in amusement* Alone?

 **Eliza:** Not exactly.

 **Sienna:** *whistles* Do I know this guy?

Devin; *slightly amused* You know _every_ guy in the school, Sienna.

 **Sienna:** *pause* True. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Doesn't matter.

 **Sienna:** *grin flicks* Why not?

 **Eliza:** Because I'm pretty sure he's avoiding me.

 **Devin:** ...it's been less than three hours.

 **Eliza:** *frustratedly rubs her brow* It was awkward, okay? Can we drop this?

 **Sienna:** *with no intention of doing that, opens her mouth* 

 **Devin:** *over Eliza instantly to stop Sienna* Alcott was asleep when I left this morning, Sienna. 

 **Sienna:** *spins around to him in surprise* Really?

 **Devin:** *nods*

 **Eliza:** *grateful to Dev* Oh, well that explains that then. He was working out pretty hard yesterday. Probably collapsed.

 **Devin:** *shoulder shrug* 

 **Sienna:** *beats, blinking* He's missing class...

 **Devin:** *laughs once* I'm sure he'll be fine. 

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip* 

&.

 

 **Lynn:** *running her hand over her lips, toying with the bottom one, spinning around and then plopping down on the couch, grinning practically silly, crossing her sandals on the top of the couch and sitting backwards, her hair fall over the sides when Hols comes in and she grins, still stroking her necklace* Hi! I didn't expect you to be up. ...so you were in the forest? 

 **Hols:** *coming in to the common room, still a bit in shock and disbelief of everything that has happened thus far and blinks as she hears someone say hi and tilts her head at the joyful and happy Lynn* Hey! ...I...yeah...couldn't sleep. *explains and then smiles* Did you just get back then? 

 **Lynn:** *spins around on the couch to put her feet down, hop up  & hugs Hols--noting the looking on her face & blinks a few times* Oh! Yes I did. *bouncing* ...everything okay? 

 **Hols:** *hugs Lynn back, grinning at her enthusiasm and immediately opens her mouth to answer, and then remembers she can't and closes it again, and nods* Yeah, I was just...worrying again. The negatives. *purses her lips* But enough of that--tell me how it went! *pulls her back down on the couch*

 **Lynn:** *brows flick as Hols goes to answer  & hesitates, but she gives herself a little shake, face falling for a heartbeat &nodding* -Oh-*and resumes beaming and then laughs as she's pushed down & falls with her onto the couch, tucking her dress around her again as it balloons* It...was amazing. *grinning and tucking her hair back* I...don't even know where to start...except yes I do because I'm totally impatient & I'm skipping to the end first or well middle where he asked me to be his girlfriend. *lips twitch, beat later* Oh, and I said yes. *is beaming* ...nonverbally at first but he definitely got the message.

 **Hols:** *squeals once!* He did?! *squeals again, bouncing in her seat* Oh my god, Lynn!! You have a boyfriend! An amazing, hot, awesome boyfriend. *grins* Tell me more! What did you guys do? 

 **Lynn:** *squeals with her, unable to stop beaming and nods three or four times in quick succession* I know!! *bites her bottom lip* I...it's funny. Most of the day we spent at the mall, where he took me somewhere you are absolutely *never* to tell Dev we went--it's this store called Spencer's? *lips twitch* Where I got...*reaching into her purse to pull out the candy lingerie, grinning, as she does so she accidentally knocks the photo booth photos to the ground* Oh! *picks them up amused and hands them to Hols* This too. *grins* And I met his brother! And--get this--his one year old *nephew*. You know, it is *totally* not fair, seeing him holding a baby and calling him champ...*head shake* Does things to me that should be illegal. *pause* Though if they were illegal then they'd just be even more risqué and therefore hotter so...

 **Hols:** *eyebrow arches in curiosity as she's told she can never tell Dev and then wiggles them when she sees the candy lingerie* Ooh la la, I think I'd like this store. *takes the pictures and then laughs and smirks and then awws* That's all kinds of adorable *grins and then blinks* You did? A baby? Awww! *laughs* That sounds so cute. *wiggles eyebrows* Hotter still? Dear Merlin, Lynn. *laughs and grins* That sounds great. 

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Oh, it was...an incredible store we def should go sometime. *brow wiggling  & then she laughs as Hols looks at the pictures* I know right? And yeah--a baby. *head shake* It's actually...well a bit of a story. Henry--that's the baby--his mother bailed I guess. So Jesse, his brother, who by the way there's no description for but him and Nick are hilarious together, is kind of a single parent. Jesse texted him for help and which of *course* I didn't even if the emergency did turn out to be him on a date with their sister unable to babysit last minute...*smiles* I loved, actually, seeing his family. 

 **Hols:** I'm holding you to that *grins and tucks her hair behind her ear as she listens to the story, frowning as she hears about the mother running out on the baby, lips twitching at Jesse's description and laughs as she hears the emergency date* Definitely an emergency. *lips twitch and then grins* Of course, *I'd* feel awkward around a guy's family, but you love it. *teasing good-naturedly* 

 **Lynn:** Next time we're in the states. *takes Hols hands leaning in the states. *takes Hols hands leaning in grinning* Which by the way, Iii can get us out through the gates now on Hogsmeade weekends. *lips twitching* Told you he could be bad. *nodding* Well Nick was properly annoyed, Jesse properly apologetic, and Henry properly adorable. And they liked me. *beat  & exhales* So I *guess* I should let him meet Dev now. *lips twitch* Well! *laughs* I love seeing anyone care about their family, come on. *head shaking* 

 **Hols:** *nods with a grin and then her jaw drops* ...nuh uh. *grins wider* Wicked. *nodding* Well, of course they liked you! *beams* What's not to like? *laughs* Yeah, you probably should. *nods* I know. *grins* How much more perfect is he for you?! *beams* 

 **Lynn:** Uh huuuuh. *swings their hands teasingly grinning  & shrugs her shoulder nonchalantly even as she's grinning wickedly & then laughs again* I--well! I was scared. Cause I mean Nick and I started seeing each other during the ... time that is not to be mentioned, so it really wasn't helpful that Dev was still being all protective brotherly on me. *sigh* I didn't...*fidgets slightly* Know what he'd say. *runs her hand through her hair* But! *brighter, exhaling* It should be good now, right? *is half blushing sheepishly through her beam* Because like you said. He's pretty perfect for me. 

 **Hols:** *laughs and shakes her head, nevertheless approving and then laughs* I doubt Nick would have been driven off by Dev, no matter what he said, anyhow but yeah, you're safe now I bet *grins* He is. And I'm so so so so *so* happy for you hon. *beaming* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch and she grins just as sheepishly, pressing a hand to her cheek* Yeah...he definitely proved one to be hard to drive away. Thank merlin. *just shakes her head* So really. Thank *you* for...you know, being totally pushy. *teases, but adds sincerely* You know and telling me to give him a chance even though I was all wrapped up in my own...*makes weird noise * drama. *lips twitch* Because seriously...I am so, so happy too. 

 **Hols:** *grins as Lynn as she thanks her for being pushy and she just grins, and nods once* well, you're welcome. *still grinning, hugs Lynn* And you deserve it, too. *beams* So I will continue to be pushy when I feel it necessary for your own good. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *laughs and hugs her again* And I'm holding you to that. *beams and presses her hands to her cheeks laughing* I really wish I could stop blushing! I'm not supposed to blush! *amused*

 **Hols:** *amused, lips twitching* i find it cute, your cheeks matching your hair color *teasing, laughs and then grins* why do you always do that when i don't have my camera though?! I need to document these things. 

 **Lynn:** *whacks her shoulder, blushing harder* Stop it! *narrows eyes at her teasingly and smiles* I'm just happy. *lips twitch* Really happy. *head shake and then adds curiously/seriously* But don't let that stop you from telling me whatever it is you stopped yourself from earlier. 

 **Hols:** *wiggles her eyebrows, a smirk on her lips and then it softens into a smile* good! as it should be. *beaming but it falters slightly as Lynn turns the topic back to her and exhales, looking at Lynn from the corner of her eye, pained at the inability to tell her* It was just like I said, I couldn't sleep. But now I'm pretty fucking tired. *chuckles* I'm thinking I'm gonna go to bed till 8:55. 5 mins is enough to get ready for class right? *lips twitch*

 **Lynn:** *sits back realizing the falter and just scrunches her brows together for a second and nods, laughing after a moment* You could basically roll out of bed and still look stunning. *lips twitch* So yeah. *hugs her again* I'll be right up. After the room stops spinning.

&.

 **Sienna:** *after knocking once on the door, realizing Alcott doesn't even stir, is asleep in nothing but his shorts, she inhales seeing the thin scratches on top of his chest and frowns, before sitting down on the bed with him; when he doesn't move then either, she curls up with him, hugging him tightly*

 **Alcott:** *after about ten minutes have passed, he stirs suddenly, for her hand accidentally brushed the scar on his shoulder from the bite and he turns in surprise, about to snap when he sees who it is; and startles* Oh. 

 **Sienna:** *exhales quietly* Sorry. 

 **Alcott:** God, Sienna, you scared me. *is speaking groggily, exhales* What are you doing here? *brow furrowed*

 **Sienna:** *with her own brows furrowed* You've literally been asleep all day. I ...

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips together in a thin line* You were worried.

 **Sienna:** I have a right to be! 

 **Alcott:** *is sitting up and massaging his chest; she just looks back up at him and lets a beat fall when he doesn't answer* 

 **Sienna:** *asking quietly* How did you get those? *her hand flicks over the scratches*

 **Alcott:** *looks down at his chest, curses under his breath* I went to Jenny's last night for a break with practice. 

 **Sienna:** *sighs* Crups again? 

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes* It wasn't a Crup; it was doing the bowtruckle assignment--

 **Sienna:** You have an explanation for everything, don't you?

 **Alcott:** *glares*

 **Sienna:** *snaps* I know perfectly well you can handle a bowtruckle just fine. 

 **Alcott:** Since when do you not believe me anyway? 

 **Sienna:** *eyes narrow* Since when have you started lying to me? *folding her arms on her chest*

 **Alcott:** *groans rubbing his forehead, his head is pounding, he still feels achey and sore and he just shakes his head, finally saying under his breath* You're right. 

 **Sienna:** *a bit startled* What?

 **Alcott:** You're right. *louder, his lips twitch, looking back at her* 

 **Sienna:** *mollified tiny smile, but when he doesn't elaborate she simply exhales, sitting up as well and looks at him over for a second and then adds quietly* You look like hell. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles humorlessly* Yeah. *groans and rubs his forehead; Sienna gets up for a second, moving to her purse, fishing out a balm of aloe vera as he watches; she starts applying the balm to his scratches* I know. 

 **Sienna:** *exhales and then says softer* I--there's news.

 **Alcott:** *looks around at her, brows flicking in worry* What? 

 **Sienna:** *her hand stops moving for a moment and she looks up at him* Sam. 

 **Alcott:** *tensing a bit under her touch and his head tilts without a word* 

 **Sienna:** *speaking slowly* He's in the hospital wing. I guess he was attacked last night. 

 **Alcott:** *lips pressing together tighter, exhales* By...by what?

 **Sienna:** *head shakes* Madam Pomfrey just found him there, dropped off, fucked up pretty badly. Some kind of animal, or maybe even two. But she said he was lucky, the claw...claw radius or something was equal to a werewolf, and I guess it was a full moon last night so the fact that none of his injuries were bites is good and--*is not noticing that Alcott had tensed again; she just starts moving her hand and shakes her head*--he'll live... 

 **Alcott:** *exhales tightly, hissing a bit as the salve stings* How's Eliza?

 **Sienna:** *immediately* Hospital wing.

 **Alcott:** *nods once, brows flicking and he just shakes his head* 

 **Sienna:** *hand stops moving* Are you going to tell me? 

 **Alcott:** *eyes open again* What?

 **Sienna:** *groans* I take that as a no, then? 

 **Alcott:** *exhales with his own groan* Sienna. Sam's in the hospital wing, I literally feel like hell right now and want another shower--can't this wait?

 **Sienna:** *bites her lip, groans and then nods* Fine. Fine, I'll wait. *aggravated, but she sits more towards him and finishes applying the first-aid, just tilts her head, sits with her arm around him, he stiffens and then rests his head against hers when she rests it on his chest; they sit in silence for a few minutes and then she asks quietly, with the slightest smile* About that other shower. Does it have to be alone?

 **Alcott:** *in surprise, looking down at her with an amused laugh and he shakes his head, grinning*

 **Sienna:** *grins flicks and she winks at him, standing up; her brows flick in concern as he winces a bit to stand, but otherwise appears quite fine now; he snakes a hand around her waist, she laughs and whacks his shoulder--the non-scarred one out of habit--and then they both leave the room*

&.

 

 **Eliza:** *sitting with her head in her hand just staring at the as-yet-unconscious Sam, Victoria's across from her with a half glare at Eliza, which Eliza's ignoring* 

 **Victoria:** *under her breath mutters* So now you care. 

 **Eliza:** *pretends she didn't hear her* 

 **Victoria:** *repeats herself a little louder* 

 **Eliza:** *exhales annoyed* 

 **Victoria:** *finally just speaks* Eliza.

 **Eliza:** *eyebrows flick* Seriously Vic, do you really want to do this now?

 **Victoria:** *presses her lips together annoyed* What are you doing here?

 **Eliza:** ...what do you mean, what am I doing here? *gestures to Sam*

 **Victoria:** *with a scoff* Do you reall--

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head* Okay, seriously? *sits up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear* If you absolutely have to be in the know here--*head shakes*--I am more than happy, that you two have finally stopped pretending there isn't something more between you than that one night. More than happy. 

 **Victoria:** *bites her bottom lip; with narrowed eyes* If you have something to say--

 **Eliza:** I have plenty to say. Most of it isn't very ladylike. But that's not why I'm not saying it. I'm not saying it because I've really stopped caring. 

 **Victoria:** *beat* Seriously? 

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow* Be together. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that you two deserve each other. 

 **Victoria:** And what's that supposed to mean?

 **Eliza:** *incredulously* Well gee, Vic, I don't know. *rolls eyes* 

 **Victoria:** *eye rolls to the ceiling* Fine. Glad we have your blessing. 

 **Eliza:** Merlin knows you didn't need it the first time. 

 **Sam:** *eyes fluttering and he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like 'Liza', which shuts them both up, Victoria hears and sighs, eyes narrowing; he stirs again, blinks at them almost startling and then slides back into the pillows with a groan, his eyes open again and he asks on a hoarse throat* Eliza? Victoria? *blinks a third time* 

 **Victoria:** *had immediately gone to his side and was holding a hand--Eliza rolls her eyes--and she runs her hand through Sam's hair, his lips twitching slightly and he speaks softer, _Hey_ \--and she smirks a bit* Hey.

 **Eliza:** *sits quite patiently while the pair whisper at each other for a moment* 

 **Sam:** *notices her in surprise -- having thought he'd just dreamed that -- and tilts his head at her asking again* Eliza? *eyes look a bit clearer* What--what...?

 **Eliza:** *half smirking, half distraught and she presses her lips together tightly* Don't try to talk too much. Seriously. 

 **Sam:** *just looks at her confused* 

 **Eliza:** *looks between Sam and Victoria with an eyebrow arched* 

 **Victoria:** *eyes narrow* Now you want me to leave? 

 **Eliza:** *doesn't say anything* 

 **Sam:** *with his eyes still on Eliza* Look, Victoria--

 **Victoria:** *scoffs* Yeah. I get it. *head shakes and then says firmly almost snapping* Ten minutes. 

 **Eliza:** *just nods; exhaling in a scoff as Victoria stalks past her, looking back at Sam with an eyebrow arched and then her lips twitch in a half smile and she remarks lightly* Unbelievable.

 **Sam:** *struggles to sit up which prompts Eliza to push him back down instantly, leaning over him in slight concern* ...what happened? 

 **Eliza:** *exhales* Do you remember what Pomfrey said? 

 **Sam:** *his eyes have gone to the hand Eliza laid on his chest, which she withdraws instantly noticing his eyes; he blinks up at her and then nods groggily* Yeah. 

 **Eliza:** *putting both hands in her pockets and not commenting on it, running her hand back through her hair, rocking on her feet and asks hesitantly* What...do you remember? 

 **Sam:** *takes several moments exhaling and then asks his own question* What are you doing here? 

 **Eliza:** *tilts her head* Sam. Come on.

 **Sam:** *eyebrow flicks* Last I checked you didn't give a damn. 

 **Eliza:** *defiantly* I don't. 

 **Sam:** *lips press together in a half smirk*

 **Eliza:** *head shakes* That doesn't mean I'm heartless. 

 **Sam:** *tilts his head* Is that it? *blinks*

 **Eliza:** ...why else do you think I'd be here? Outside of your fantasy, of course? Because I have news for you--you just kicked _that_ girl out. 

 **Sam:** *laughs once in acknowledgement and then tilts his head against the pillow* That's a good question.

 **Eliza:** ...what? 

 **Sam:** What else could you be doing here? 

 **Eliza:** *blinks* What do you mean? 

 **Sam:** Well, last thing I remember is seeing you and Al go off into the woods after lying to Sienn--

 **Eliza:** *aggravated* So you _were_ spying on me!

 **Sam:** *without acknowledging that* Why was Al lying to Sienna?

 **Eliza:** Absolutely none of your business.

 **Sam:** *brow pops* Well see. That's the thing. Last thing I remember are you two. Then I wake up in the hospital wing. Seem fishy to you? 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip. hard.*

 **Sam:** *lips flick* And that would make it very _much_ my business.

 **Eliza:** ...what's your point? 

 **Sam:** *scoffs once under his breath* An animal attack? Really? Seems pretty convenient. 

 **Eliza:** ...you _just_ admitted you were in the Forbidden Forest. There are some pretty dangerous animals in there last I checked. 

 **Sam:** And yet you went in there without a scratch on you.

 **Eliza:** Well, I wasn't dumb enough to go that deep. 

 **Sam:** *pressing insistently* If it was just an animal attack, how come I can't remember anything? 

 **Eliza:** *looking confused* Because...because sometimes the human mind suppresses traumatic events. 

 **Sam:** *laughs under his breath* Do you know how rehearsed that sounds? 

 **Eliza:** *aggravated* What the _hell_ are you talking about? 

 **Sam:** Someone had to carry me to the Hospital Wing. 

 **Eliza:** *voice rising* And thank god they did!

 **Sam:** *voice also rising* Yet they don't want me to know who they are? 

 **Eliza:** What exactly are you saying?

 **Sam:** I'm saying it doesn't seem very likely that I just happened to be an animal attack in the woods because if that was the case, I'd be left for dead right now. _Some_ thing human was involved. 

 **Eliza:** *exhales* It was traumatic. You're confused. 

 **Sam:** And you're ignoring the facts which actually tells me you clearly know a little bit more about this than--

 **Eliza:** *slightly breathless* There's _clearly_ nothing to know. 

 **Sam:** You always were a terrible liar.

 **Eliza:** *narrowed eyes* How could I be lying? _Why_ would I be lying? 

 **Sam:** *eyebrow arches* Well there's one guy I could think of right now who would attack me, that you'd jump all over yourself to cover for--

 **Eliza:** _Devin_? Are you fucking _serious_ right now? 

 **Sam:** *eyebrows flicking* Funny how fast your mind jumped to him. 

 **Eliza:** *scoffs* You've made it clear from the start you're jealous of the friendship Devin and I have, which by the way? Is com _pletely_ insane because if you don't remember from your _last_ visit to the hospital wing--he's very much in love with Nadia. *rolling her eyes*

 **Sam:** *arches his eyebrow and says cooly* He's already attacked me. And it looks like he took it one step farther this time...*his eyes flutter shut for a moment and then says with a moment of confusion, his head spinning*--and...Graft...

 **Eliza:** *startled* You're bringing _Hols_ into this too?

 **Sam:** *snorts* Much more her style than her sisters' don't you think?

 **Eliza:** Mmm, Sam if Hols is hitting someone she'd want you to remember it. 

 **Sam:** Not if she and Dev nearly got me killed--I imagine actually he would have and it probably was you or hell, Nadia, convinced him or them to stop and--

 **Eliza:** You have _quite_ the mind for conspiracies. *incredulously*--

 **Sam:** \--brought me to the hospital wing and now you're here to make sure I don't remember a thing, you know I even seem to remember you're fairly gifted at memory spells.

 **Eliza:** *is looking at him in shock and horror, shaking her head with a glare* I'm leaving. I'll be sure to send your whore in after me. 

 **Sam:** *scoffs at the remark* You just tell Devin this isn't over. 

 **Eliza:** *shaking her head* You stay the hell away from him and Nadia. And from me. 

 **Sam:** *with a tiny smirk* I decline.

 **Eliza:** *half panicked, half murderous, shaking her head* I can't be _lieve_ I was feeling sorry, for you. You look like hell, you know, you might want to clean up a little bit before you ignite this paranoid war. *narrowed eyes* It would be in _such_ bad taste for us to kick a cripple's ass. 

 **Sam:** *watching her leave and then leans back in the bed breathing heavily and looks up at the ceiling; Victoria coming in and leans next to him, rubbing her hand over his face and he breathes heavily for a few moments, still wincing in pain* 

 **Victoria:** What?

 **Sam:** *had not realized he spoke* What?

 **Victoria:** You-- you said Eliza knows something. 

 **Sam:** *breath, still rubbing his chest* She does. She's terrible at lying. 

 **Victoria:** *brows flick and says slightly snappish* She doesn't matter, babe.

 **Sam:** She does if she knows who or what attacked me. *is still looking after the door and then he blinks and looks back at Victoria* into a smirk* We're going to have to be careful about how we do this. 

 **Victoria:** *brow arching with a tiny smirk too* They attacked you first. Twice now.

 **Sam:** *exhale* I do believe I saw Hols you know.

 **Victoria:** *her hand still stroking his face* I know baby. But it's doubtful she was alone. 

 **Sam:** *exhales and just nods* Do you still have those negatives?

 **Victoria:** *her eyebrows arch in surprise as she sits on the side of the bed and she just nods at him* 

 **Sam:** *lips twitch* Good. 

&.

 

&.

 **Eliza:** *pulling Devin aside in the hallway; Alcott looks at her in confusion, but she just nods brightly at Sienna* Hi Sienna. 

 **Sienna:** *looking a bit aggravated and she blinks at Eliza* Hey.

 **Devin:** *looking at Eliza's hand on his forearm and blinking at her* What? 

 **Eliza:** Just a homework question. *nods at Alcott  & Sienna* Catch up with you both at the Great Hall? 

 **Alcott:** *realizing she won't tell him with Sienna there and just nods* Yeah. 

 **Sienna:** *still too aggravated to actually notice this and is just half glaring at Alcott* See you. 

 **Eliza:** *her eyebrows narrow as she looks between them and she pulls Devin into the courtyard*

 **Devin:** *immediately* Thank you.

 **Eliza:** *blinks at him* What?

 **Devin:** They're fighting. *nods over her shoulder where Alienna are walking off* And it's hell. 

 **Eliza:** He really needs to tell her.

 **Devin:** *biting his bottom lip* You know he's not going to.

 **Eliza:** *insistent* How long does he think he can keep this a secret?

 **Devin:** *quietly* Something tells me it's not gonna matter for much longer.

 **Eliza:** *beat and then puts her hands on her hips, looks at the ground and mutters under her breath* Yeah. I know.

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* It's probably for the best you know.

 **Eliza:** *her brows flick and she shrugs non-commitedly and then says panickedly* We have a problem. 

 **Devin:** ...because they're probably breaking up? 

 **Eliza:** Not that. I mean well yeah if that happens we will have a problem because it's gonna be awkward as hell even if it is for the best of both of them but that-- that's not the problem I'm talking about. 

 **Devin:** *immediately* What happened?

 **Eliza:** I went to see Sam.

 **Devin:** *swallows* Right?

 **Eliza:** And we have a problem. 

 **Devin:** *half-panicked under his breath talking* He doesn't remember seeing Alcott transform does he?

 **Eliza:** No--no--*breathlessly* I actually wish he had some hazy memory of that as opposed to this at this point. 

 **Devin:** *blinks, and then nods over her shoulder* Alcott--

 **Alcott:** *sans Sienna, standing beside them and folding his arms on his chest* You _wish_ he remembered that?

 **Devin:** What happened to--

 **Alcott:** *fixes him with a look* I told her to go on ahead, that I'd forgotten my wallet in the Common Room.

 **Eliza:** *frustrated* Alcott. Are you going to _tell_ her? 

 **Alcott:** *turns to Eliza* Seriously? Not right now. What did Sam say? 

 **Eliza:** *after half-glaring at Alcott, but she drops that and resumes her previous breathless tone with her eyes darting around panicked and she tightens her grip on her waist* He's blaming Devin. 

 **Devin:** *blinks* What?

 **Alcott:** *eyebrows arching* I don't understand. 

 **Eliza:** *scowls* Don't you? He's making it up. He can't remember what happened, but he's been looking for an excuse to--

 **Devin:** *is half growling* To go after me. Well, I did put him in the hospital wing. 

 **Alcott:** *his brows flick* Yeah, but I don't understand. Does he think _you're_ an animagus or something?

 **Eliza:** Well actually, he seemed to think you and Hols--

 **Alcott:** *stiffens and says immediately* What does Hols have to do with anything?

 **Devin:** *in that instant looks at Alcott, noting the sudden use of first name, his brows furrowing; Eliza completely misses this* Hols? 

 **Eliza:** *snaps* He's just making it up! He thinks you and Hols attacked him, made it look like an animal, and then he went so far as to insinuate that myself and Nadia--

 **Devin:** *immediately hisses* 

 **Eliza:** \--*finishing* made you and Hols stop and...and *quietly* that we took him to the Hospital Wing and I apparently modified his memory. 

 **Devin:** *glaring and heatedly* I could see why he'd jump to blame me. But where the hell did Hols come from? 

 **Alcott:** *just tenses; this time neither of them notice* 

 **Eliza:** *frustrated exhale* How the hell should I know how his mind works? He'll blame anyone right now. The more people he can blame, the more people he can go after and she's Nadia's sister and a Gryffindor and hell I bet he thinks if she's not in the Quidditch Match for some reason too then-- look I don't know where Hols or Nadia came from. He just included me because he could tell I was lying about _something_ and he twisted me into his bloody conspiracy to make it make sense to his twisted mind.

 **Alcott:** *is still just tense but he makes a tiny noise that makes Eliza's brows flick* 

 **Devin:** *growls not noticing this* Eliza. Did he threaten Nadia? 

 **Eliza:** *quivering slightly under the intensity of the hatred in Devin's eyes* Not...not explicitly. 

 **Devin:** *eyes narrow* So he threatened all of us? 

 **Alcott:** *snaps* Look. He has no proof of anything. He can't go to the professors without proof, the theory will look as ludicrous as it is. Eliza--breathe. You're literally hyperventilating and you're going to pass out.

 **Eliza:** *rubs her forehead and just nods at him* 

 **Alcott:** *continues half in orders* We have to remain calm. If it looks like he got us panicked, if we show any sign of weakness...I mean, he can't do anything without proof.

 **Devin:** *scoffs* He doesn't need proof to come after me. And I swear to God if he goes after Nadi--- *cuts himself off and then nods over his shoulder* Uhm. 

 **Alcott:** *tilts his head* What?

 **Devin:** *breathes and looks at Eliza, who also looks suddenly shocked and red/panicked* 

 **Alcott:** *realizing that really could only mean one thing and without turning around he stiffens and says half exasperatedly* Sienna?

 **Sienna:** *with her lips pressed into a thin little line* Your wallet was sticking out of your pocket, Al, I knew it wasn't in the common room. 

 **Alcott:** *biting his bottom lip* Right. 

 **Devin:** *exchanging a look with Eliza* We'll leave you two...

 **Sienna:** *false cheerily* Thanks Dev.

 **Devin:** *wrapping an arm around Eliza, who looks still panicked and tugging her out of the courtyard now* 

 **Alcott:** *waits until they leave and then turns around* 

 **Devin:** *in the main hallway with Eliza, looking at the panicked Eliza* Seriously, you do have to breathe. We'll figure this out. Like Alcott said, there's no proof. 

 **Eliza:** *snaps* And like you said, he wont 'need proof to launch his own revenge campaign. 

 **Devin:** So let him try and take revenge. *eyes narrow* We'll take care of it. 

 **Eliza:** *looks at him and nods once, focusing on breath* Right. Right. *nods* There's three of us. 

 **Devin:** Five. 

 **Eliza:** *tilts her head* What?

 **Devin:** Nadia. Who is a hell of a lot more kick ass than she appears. And...Hols, apparently. And honestly, there's Lynn too I'm sure. And...she’ll probably bring Nick...*brows flicking in slight annoyance*

 **Eliza:** Wait, really? 

 **Devin:** Yeah. He’s...her boyfriend.

 **Eliza:** *brightens slightly* So it’s official? 

 **Devin:** Why exactly do you look so happy about this?

 **Eliza:** Aren’t you happy for your sister?

 **Devin:** Of course I am. *smile flicks* I just also need to have a talk with him and she’s been putting off my meeting him. 

 **Eliza:** *snorts and rolls her eyes amused* Oh, Dev. 

 **Devin:** *clears his throat* My point was we outnumber him.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Right. 

 **Devin:** And there's only one of him.

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* Two. He really is dating Victoria you know. 

 **Devin:** *just rolls his eyes then pauses, and asks hesitantly* How are _you_ doing? 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch in a softer smile* I'm fine. Really. I am. 

 **Devin:** You sure? I mean, I'm not going to deny that I literally loathe him with every fiber of my being right now--

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Right.

 **Devin:** \--but that doesn't mean I forgot that you..I mean you two were close once. This can't be easy for you. 

 **Eliza:** *grateful little smile* The Sam I was close with doesn't exist. Never did. He played me because I was blonde and eager and easy. 

 **Devin:** *startled to hear her describe herself that way* Eliza--

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head* No no, it's fine. I was. Seriously. *exhales* Our entire relationship....well, not my finest moment. *then adds determinedly* But I'm better for it. And it's a mistake I will _never_ make again.

 **Devin:** *grin flicks* Right. A-- *cuts himself off again noticing Rory coming up and his brow flicks*

 **Eliza:** *turns around and then looks surprised suddenly smiling* Rory!

 **Rory:** *looking confused and awkward, but smiles slightly himself* Hey. 

 **Eliza:** *awkward smile herself, but bright* Hey! *lips twitch* What uhm--what..--

 **Rory:** *recognizing the signs of her about to start kind of babbling and just grins a little softer* Can we talk? 

 **Devin:** *looking between them and he nods* Yeah, I'll just-- I'll leave you to it. *gestures over his shoulder with his thumb and departs* 

 **Rory:** *to Eliza with an awkward smile still which she mirrors* In private? *looking around the hallway and she nods, following him into a nearby classroom*

&.

 **Alcott:** *turning around to Sienna and just looks at her* 

 **Sienna:** *with both eyebrows arched* If whatever you're about to say is another lie, save it. 

 **Alcott:** *exhales and shakes his head* I wasn't going to lie. 

 **Sienna:** *arching her eyebrow* How can I believe that? Every other word out of your mouth lately seems to be a lie! *says half incredulously* Not telling me something was one thing. I didn't like it, but you're entitled to privacy. 

 **Alcott:** *snorts* Entitled to privacy? Sienna, you interrogate everyone I know if you don't know where I am pretty much every single moment of every day--

 **Sienna:** I do not in _terrogate_ \--

 **Alcott:** Are you kidding?

 **Sienna:** Look. *snaps* I didn't keep asking about it did I? I tried to let that go. But this is...this is different! Lying all the time is different, Al. You've gotten comfortable enough lying to me that you don't even feel comfortable enough to tell me you want a private word with Eliza and Devin? 

 **Alcott:** *breath* Like you wouldn't have been upset and felt like we ditched you?

 **Sienna:** So lying to me was better? And you _did_ ditch me! What is it?! What is going on? 

 **Alcott:** *exhales again almost desperately and taking a step towards her * Sienna--

 **Sienna:** No. *shakes her head still looking at him* No. Either you trust me, or you don't. 

 **Alcott:** I _do_ trust ---

 **Sienna:** This isn't trust, Alcott! And it's sure as hell not love or affection of every kind! 

 **Alcott:** *jaw snaps shut and he struggles for a moment and then says* What do you want?

 **Sienna:** *jaw drops and she half-yells* I want the _truth_! 

 **Alcott:** *rubs his mouth and he shakes his head and he looks at the ground and then looks back up a moment later and just with a hard gaze looks at her* 

 **Sienna:** *looks back and then her breath hitches and she folds her arms on her chest and says with rising steam* You've been acting like you're mad at me, you forgave Devin when he attacked your family, my family--

 **Alcott:** *aggravated* Devin was mad at Sam--

 **Sienna:** Ditching me on your birthday to go flying?--

 **Alcott:** I was having a rough night--

 **Sienna:** Injuries you won't tell me where you got them from that just seem to appear, snapping that _I'm_ somehow wrong for worrying about you!?--

 **Alcott:** I didn't say you were wrong to worry--

 **Sienna:** Accusing me of interrogating and practically stalking you--

 **Alcott:** You DO!

 **Sienna:** \--and vanishing on me for whatever the hell their called...movie, nights with some Gryffindor?--

 **Alcott:** Lyss is not just...some Gryffindor. *snaps* She's my friend. 

 **Sienna:** *incredulously* And now you're _friends_ with Gryffindors? 

 **Alcott:** I'm not allowed to have friends now?! 

 **Sienna:** Oh you seem to be making all kinds of friends lately! At bars, too--

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes similarly incredulously* Oh for the love of--there's _nothing_ going on with me and Irene--

 **Sienna:** And don't think I haven't noticed all this quality time you've been spending with Graft either! 

 **Alcott:** *his eyebrows pop in shock* Arguing and threatening each other is hardly what I'd call 'spending quality time'. *rolling his eyes* What the hell do you think is going on?

 **Sienna:** *eyes narrow* Yeah, well, you seem to spend a lot of time thinking about those arguments and threats then.

 **Alcott:** She's...just infuriating! _Nothing_ happened! 

 **Sienna:** *snaps* And I can trust you?

 **Alcott:** *bites his bottom lip* I'm not lying!

 **Sienna:** And again, how do I believe that?!

 **Alcott:** *just gazing at her in that same breathless blazing way and then he breaks a moment and says quietly/frustratedly* Look. I know. I know stuff has changed. I know that Lyss...that Irene...I know you don't get it. Honestly? _I_ don't get it! *gestures to himself* But they're my friends! They care, and however it started on my end, I guess I care now too. 

 **Sienna:** *breathing heavily, just looking at him* 

 **Alcott:** And no, I don't have a problem with Devin dating Nadia and I don't think Sam's anything really but an egotistical cheating ass, and I... I've been going through something, okay? Something that...I can't talk about it--

 **Sienna:** *her breath hitches*

 **Alcott:** But it...it's changed. I've, changed, and I didn't ask for this, but I...*is looking away from her frustrated and quite honestly scared* -- but I have to deal with it. Everything's changed, now. *exhaling and says quietly* You have no idea how much. *beat, because she half scoffed at that and he looks back at her* I wish I could tell you...

 **Sienna:** You can. *snaps it, but then says defeatedly* You just don't want to. 

 **Alcott:** *after a pause, he nods* No, I don't. 

 **Sienna:** *her bottom lips starts to tremble and she shakes her head at him without tearing her gaze from his* Are you sure?

 **Alcott:** *takes a long breath just looking at her with a hard expression still that threatens to break and then after several long exaggerated moments of that, he just nods once*

 **Sienna:** *looks away from him, her grip tightening on her and she says in a voice that threatens tears with every syllable* You used to tell me everything. 

 **Alcott:** *swallows*

 **Sienna:** *breathless herself* Everything that was going on with you. I used to know-- I didn't have to try and find out through Eliza or Devin or looking for you for all hours of the night--

 **Alcott:** Sienna--

 **Sienna:** Do you know how Eliza's been looking at me lately? *her eyes narrowing with tears in them and she snaps, looking back at him* Such pity in her eyes. Such terrible knowing of that obvious fact that she knew something about my boyfriend that was hurting him and couldn't tell me and that he--my boyfriend, who is supposed to trust me above everything, whose supposed to be my partner and I his--he won't tell me either. He'll patronize me, he'll lie to me--

 **Alcott:** *jaw tightening*

 **Sienna:** \--but he won't just be honest with me. *exhales and rubs a tear out of her eye* Do you know how that's made me _feel_?

 **Alcott:** *after several moments of her just looking at him with a glare silently, he says under his breath* I haven't meant to hurt you, Sienna. I'm sorry for how I made you feel--and I never meant to put Eliza and you in that position. 

 **Sienna:** *incredulously* That's it?

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips together, looking at her and then says quietly* No, it's not. *rubs his forehead* Because you're right. This doesn't work as a relationship. Things have...things have changed. 

 **Sienna:** *is now very near tears but her bottom lip remains stiff and stubbornly held* Yes. Yes, it appears they have. I don't know who you even are, anymore. 

 **Alcott:** *says nothing, just looking at her* 

 **Sienna:** *her voice still shaking* So that's it, then. 

 **Alcott:** *swallows* 

 **Sienna:** *voice breaks* You know I still love you.

 **Alcott:** *after several moments of just looking at her, he nods*

 **Sienna:** But you don't love me. 

 **Alcott:** *swallows again just looking at her and then he says simply* Not the way you want me to. 

 **Sienna:** *breath hitches and she recoils as if slapped, opens her mouth to say something and then she just shakes her head*

 **Alcott:** *realizing she's not leaving until he makes it official and he breathes for a second and then repeats her words* Yes. That's it then. 

 **Sienna:** *her bottom lip trembles again and she just shakes her head, and then breathing hastily and rocking on her heels, she exhales furiously and says coldly through a voice still threatening tears* Goodbye, Alcott. 

 **Alcott:** *stays standing stock-still as he watches her leave, and then he swallows to himself, thinking that it really was for the best and that really he should have broken up with her the moment he'd gotten bitten, and that everything really had, changed in his life and it made it much easier that she'd broken up with him even if it was clear she wouldn't give up if he knew her at all, and he just shakes his head aggravated and irritable to himself and then heads in the other direction* 

 

&.

 **Rory:** *closing the door behind Eliza*

 **Eliza:** *turns around, eyebrows flicking in surprise, but she launches* Okay. I know it's been awkward. But I'm glad you came to--...what is it? *blinks* 

 **Rory:** *had not realized he had it written over his face and he inhales before saying slowly* I wanted to ask you something.

 **Eliza:** *her brows furrowing and she rocks on her heels before asking awkwardly and hestitantly* Okay...what?

 **Rory:** *beat* You used to date Sam Roswell, right? 

 **Eliza:** *breath hitches* Why--why do you ask?

 **Rory:** *slowly* Well. You were in the forest on Sunday, or at the edge of it...upset, and then Sam shows up in the hospital wing attacked in the forest? 

 **Eliza:** *half exasperatedly* So I suppose you have some conspiracy theory too?

 **Rory:** *startled* ....What conspiracy theory?

 **Eliza:** *beat* Nothing, I just meant it... I didn't attack, Sam, if that's what you're asking...

 **Rory:** *cuts her off even more surprised* Of course I'm not asking that! *blinks* I thought it was more likely that you...found him attacked, brought him to the hospital wing, I mean, doesn't he not know how he got there? 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch softly and says gently* I was at the forest, you obviously know that, so...I wouldn't have gone back, if I'd just dragged Sam out right? 

 **Rory:** *beat* Right.

 **Eliza:** *smiles softly* But thanks for not thinking I attacked him.

 **Rory:** *immediately* I couldn't have.

 **Eliza:** *brow arching in surprise but she smiles still* 

 **Rory:** I just...I just thought that it might explain why you were so upset that night.

 **Eliza:** *swallows* I really am sorry for that night, I really didn't mean to fall asleep and--

 **Rory:** *shakes his head* No, it really, I didn't mind. 

 **Eliza:** If you didn't mind...why have you avoided me in class all week? 

 **Rory:** *beat* I didn't avoid you on purpose. 

 **Eliza:** *over him* Oh please. Do not tell a girl whether or not they're being ignored on purpose because it is all over your face. So, you clearly minded. I don't blame you--

 **Rory:** I wasn't avoiding you --

 **Eliza:** \--please--

 **Rory:** \--because I thought you had taken advantage of me or something. 

 **Eliza:** *beat* Then why?

 **Rory:** It's... because I don't...I..don't like you.

 **Eliza:** *frowns* Well thanks for clearing that up.

 **Rory:** *shakes his head* I mean I never-- had, and you didn't like me either.

 **Eliza:** *swallows* Fair point.

 **Rory:** But it...falling asleep with you like that...it wasn't weird. It felt right actually and that freaked me out.

 **Eliza:** *after a breath* Oh.

 **Rory:** *awkward again* Yeah. And..it...isn't easy...

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch slightly* Because you're a Gryffindor and I'm--

 **Rory:** A Slytherin? *lips twitch as well*

 **Eliza:** And in Quidditch teams --

 **Rory:** \--and friends--

 **Eliza:** We're practically mortal enemies?

 **Rory:** But it felt right. *pause* I-- I mean--I don't know about you -- 

 **Eliza:** No, you're right. *beat* It did for me too. *runs a hand through her hair*

 **Rory:** *presses his lips together* Right. 

 **Eliza:** *pauses* Look, we're blowing this out of proportion. *beat* A gryffindor and a slytherin can be friends. It's okay. 

 **Rory:** *arches his eyebrow in slight disbelief* 

 **Eliza:** *pauses* Why don't we just...just hang out together tomorrow? And clear the air and...

 **Rory:** *smiles a bit* I'd like that.

 **Eliza:** *grinning* Well, good. Because it doesn't have to be weird. 

 **Rory:** *waves a hand at her and nods* Doesn't have to be. 

 **Eliza:** *pauses and then says awkwardly* Look--I think my friends going to need me soon. 

 **Rory:** *just nods* I'll meet you tomorrow tonight, then. 

 **Eliza:** *beaming* Tomorrow night. *exits, heading towards the courtyard, seeing Alcott and Sienna separating and she swallows, seeing that Devin was hanging out with his book in the corridor where Alcott was headed and she just nods, and goes after Sienna herself at a breakneck speed.*

&.

 

 **Devin:** *decidedly wearing a tank/gym pants and having gone for a run, he pauses when he sees Nadia and breaks into a smile, jogging her way instead and coming up saying amused* Well, that's one way to enjoy the weather. *amused twitch of his lips* Hey. 

 **Nadia:** *laying her head on her arms, humming a song to herself and opens her eyes as she hears someone walking her way, tilting her head to see who it is and grins when she sees it's Dev, putting a hand over her eyes to block the sun as she looks at him* Hmm, best way to enjoy the weather. *grins* Hii. Could you possibly move a little to the left? Suns blinding me *teasing*. 

 **Devin:** *laughs once and still regulating his breath he just shakes his head amused* Not afraid I might blind you instead? 

 **Nadia:** *grins* I'll take my chances. *sits up and then grabs his arm and tugs on him downwards* Can you stop being a giant already, come here. *beams* 

 **Devin:** *laughs, letting himself be tugged down and just presses his lips together amused, protesting* Hey--aha--you know, I'm supposed to let my heart attack? 

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and says teasingly* Maybe? *pulls him forward by his shirt, and kisses him greeting before pulling away a few seconds later* Hmm, sweaty. *grins* 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch amused brows flicking up as he meets her in the kiss  & grins pulling back a breath, returning* Hot. *lips twitch* How's your day been? 

 **Nadia:** *grins and then shrugs* Can't complain. Nothing too exciting. I was doing some homework, gave up, came out here. *beams* Yours? Apart from the sweating and panting of course *lips twitch* 

 **Devin:** *grinning* Well. *hmms* Eliza decided to hide all of Al's emergency stash. That made for an amusing morning. ....I mean it's still really pretty awkward because since Al and Sienna broke up, Eliza's been torn between who to hang with, *shoulder shrug* and she likes complaining about it *lips twitch* and I guess Al drove her crazy enough that well according to him, she just snapped  & violated his civil rights or something. Looked at me to back him up. *lips twitch* I went for a run. But I've been looking for you. *grin* Eliza says you guys have to hang out, which means I'm sure Alcott would tag along if only to not be outdone...*brow arching amused* Think you're up to it? Tonight? 

 **Nadia:** *laughs* I can imagine. She should come over to our common room and do the same to Rene. *nods, acknowledging the awkwardness and then her lips twitch* Violated civil rights? *laughs and then shakes her head* Very brave of you. *teasing and then smiles* ...yeah? *beams* Yeah, sure! Sounds great. 

 **Devin:** *laughs, amused* Actually you know that's not a bad idea as I'm fairly sure Al went looking for him. *chuckles* And hey! I was being diplomatic; I see both sides of it  & am...so Switzerland here. ...well except for the break up because while...I actually feel surprisingly bad for Sienna, *he sighs* it really is, for the best. *bites his lip* She has no idea how much. *lips twitch;smile softens with sincerity and he looks back at her nodding* Hey, I'd take credit for the idea but Eliza's been saying it for ages so. *grin* Figured I'd be gracious. *beams a bit* ...yeah? Really? 

 **Nadia:** I'm sure *amused and shakes her head in small disapproval of the hidden stashes* Like a true politician then? *teases and then chuckles before looking at him oddly as he talks about the Alcott  & Sienna break up* ...well, I'll take your word for it then, don't exactly know the circumstances. The rumors, yes, but *shrugs and then beams as he brings up hanging with his friends and nods* Yeah, definitely. *grins* Sounds fun, and they're cool. I'd love to. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Exactly. Really though, I suppose I *am* going to have to figure out how to...fix, problems eventually instead of problems eventually instead of accidentally creating them. *tiniest eye roll* Thanks to people's ridiculously overactive imaginations *exhale, then looks at her just as oddly/curiously, bemused* Wait. What are the rumors saying? *Then his lips twitch and he nods again* Well great. *smiles* Come hang with us tonight? Courtyard? 

 **Nadia:** Politicians fix problems? *teasing and then chuckles, nodding* You have time, you know. Even though you're so old, god, 15 already? And nothing accomplished? This is an outrage *sticks her tongue out teasingly and then laughs* Well, there's a rumor saying she walked in on him with two other girls. Another saying that he's gonna drop out and become a nomad and is breakage ties with everyone. Oh there's one rumor of her abusing him. *lips twitch* My guess is those stemmed from that...was it a crup bite? *shrugs* And the other...more unpleasant one is that..*winces* She broke up with him because he's "on his way to becoming a blood traitor" *brows furrow; smiles and nods* Sounds great, at what time? 

 **Devin:** *laughs* I know, I know, I've been slacking lately. *furrows brow, running his hand gently up her arm* You shouldn't happen to have any idea why I might be distracted lately, would you? *bemused smile, listening  & then laughs out loud* ...they get less and less accurate every time don't they? *lips twitch* Though I won't deny she certainly *looks* like she might hit him...*amused* Really though, it's pretty simple story--he lied to her. She asked for the truth. He wouldn't tell her, even when she staked the relationship on it. *idle shrug* So he broke up with her. Or well she walked away--I don't know it actually seemed pretty mutual to me *shrugs* --and really? I...think Al's been wanting to bolt for a little while. Actually the blood traitor thing might not be that far off. *pause* ...he just doesn't...care. 

 **Nadia:** *grinning slightly* Not the slightest idea. *chuckles and then listens to his explanation, nodding his head* Seems pretty simple...*bites her bottom lip briefly* Well I suppose if he doesn't care...*nose wrinkles* Such a sad subject though. Next. *beams* Six sounds good! 

 **Devin:** *lips twitching, still dancing his fingers across her skin  & he shakes his head amused* Guess it's just a mystery then. *grins and nods* I'll definitely see you then. *beat & then sighs* Yeah. Well actually. While we're on a sad subject. I...kind of have to warn you. *hesitantly & exhales* Sam? *has an immediate scowl just speaking the name* He has this idea in his head that...*I* attacked him. And that you stopped me from killing him. *beat then corrects* I mean again, obviously, not the time I *did* ...like that I'm the animal attack. Or me and Hols did actually, is his conspiracy theory. I literally have no idea where Hols came from. 

 **Nadia:** *smiling at the feel of his fingers, trying not to let a giggle pass her lips, nodding as he says he'll see her there and then sighing as be admits he had more sad news* Yipee. *blows a piece of hair out of her face, before she blinks* Wait, what? *jaw drops* He's blaming *us*? And Hols? Why? *blinks* I mean were clearly not animals, you certainly don't have claws. Why would you go to so much trouble when you've already punched him in the face?! *frowns* Just because he'd, be capable of near murder, doesn't mean either of us would! Certainly not you, and certainly not Hols--that's just...that's just ... *mini glare* I'm gonna go talk to him.. *still rambling* --piece of my mind--how dare he?! 

 **Devin:** *his eyes widen slightly as she reacts--lips twitching first in admiration--but he blinks and shakes his head instantly* No...no, please, don't go talk to him. *brows furrow* I don't want you anywhere. *near him* --well actually I don't want him anywhere near *you*--speaking with heat in his words*--and if he does, come near you.. *with slightly growl* Please, tell me? *exhales* I know it doesn't make any sense. I doubt he even believes it--I really think he just wants an excuse... *biting his bottom lip* And if he tries *anything* to you...*jaw tightens furiously* Well then maybe his theory wasn't so crazy in the first place. *beat* Though I still am confused as to his including Hols. 

 **Nadia:** *huffs out and puts a strand of hair behind her ear* But I have things to say to him. All unpleasant. *tiny glare and then sighs, calming down and runs her hand over her face, nodding* Yeah, I'll tell you. *brows furrow* If he tries anything you or Hols *I'll* turn murderous. It's possible you know. I'll call on my evil genes. *nods once* Who knows. Probably trying to take us all down at the same time. *Frowns* Or maybe it's a false memory cause Hols was nowhere near Sam when he got attacked. Well, I think. But it's not her style--if anything she would have *helped* him if she was there. I know I would have--this...gah. It's just--ugh. Merlin's balls! This is uncool. *frowns* You don't think he'd...I mean if he thinks we could have killed him you don't think...*bites on her bottom lip* 

 **Devin:** *sitting up as she rambles and leaning to pull her into a gentle embrace, holding onto her rather tightly  & running his hand through her hair as calmingly as he can manage* A false memory...*exhales, his brow furrows; exhales and then he just shakes his head a little to himself & says his head a little to himself & says instead of finishing her sentence* I won't allow that to happen. *nods* And like you said, neither will you. Evil genes. And who in their right mind really wants to take us all on anyways? Hols? I'm sure Lynn too? And honestly, Eliza, Al...*just shaking his head, whispering* We'll be more than fine. *exhales sitting with her for a moment & changes subject* So I hear you met Lynn's boyfriend before I did, by the way. *lips twitch* 

 **Nadia:** *calms down immediately when Dev pulls her into him, and nods as he explains that they'll be fine, smiling a bit as he kisses her forehead and then exhales* You better be right. *lips twitch in a smile once more and then chuckles and nods* Yep, Nick. He's pretty cool, you know. Asides from his unnatural love of the things I hate.

 **Devin:** 'Course I'm right. *lips twitch, still holding on to her relaxed, but he chuckles, amused as well* Things like what? I mean, besides goblin rebellions obviously...

 **Nadia:** History in general. I could care less about it. *pauses* Which is naturally why I'm failing, but *shrugs* confident person, that's for sure. He says he has a 'Nadia proof way of getting me interested in goblin rebellions' pah. Sure. *shakes head* He's really charming though, and nice. *looks up at Dev* So try not to embarrass Lynn too much? *teasing* 

 **Devin:** Ahh. *laugh* Well, see, he's already commandeering you every night...so these are hardly points in his favor. *lips twitch amused* A Nadia-proof way, hm? I'm intrigued...*shakes his head in mock-surprise* Me? Now would I do something like that? 

 **Nadia:** I'd rather you were there *chuckles* and it's only week nights. For now, but right before the exam I'm sue my usual panic will set in and I'll be unmoved from the library. *lips twitch* Yeah apparently, well have to see. *shrugs and then laughs* A brother thing. *exhales* Most annoying. *grins* Seriously though, be. Nice. *pinches his leg* 

 **Devin:** *laughs once* Well it's not like I can't relate to that. Exams are...obnoxiously close really. *grinning and feigns an 'wow' with his mouth* Again with the pinching! Seriously, what was the said about not having claws? *brow wiggle* 

 **Nadia:** Less than two months. Why does the school year have to be so long? *pouts* Rather just get it over with. *laughs!* I told you! You brought me back to the habit, I've been pinching people again, Kass almost cried *grins* Not really but. *eyebrow rises and brings up her hands* What? These? Hardly claws. *wiggles her fingers* They don't even leave a mark *grins*.

 **Devin:** *laughs* Yeah. Seriously, then summer. Hawaii. And...young Ambassadors. *beaming* And just you coming over without class. ...can't that be tomorrow? *exhale  & then laughs* Yeah, geesh. *head shake* Much as I enjoy corrupting you...*pauses* They don't leave a mark? *looks at his leg* We could check. 

 **Nadia:** Summer! *beams* I get to see my puppies and babies again! *grins* I love Hawaii. I'm still in awe of how pretty it is when I go there *chuckles* No they don't. *lips twitch* Sure go right ahead and take off your pants outside *teasing* ...

 **Devin:** *grinning wider just as she starts smiling* Yeah. It...is pretty beautiful. *laughs and furrows his brow for a few moments at her, lips twitching, teasing* All right see, now I feel like I'm getting set up when *you* were the one that had to go and pinch the inside of my thigh... 

 **Nadia:** *laughs and then grins* Well it's not *my* fault that you're just so irresistible. *pops her eyebrows briefly with a grin* If you can't handle well then..*sighs* I suppose I'll have to keep my hands to myself. 

 **Devin:** *head shaking, pausing for a moment and then decidedly leans down to kiss her instead of answering, his arm around her hugging her tighter* 

 **Nadia:** *grins and kisses him back for only a few seconds before she wiggles out of his hold by pinching him again and then stands up, backing away from him with a grin* Oh no no no no sir, if you're gonna complain about a couple of pinches I don't know if you're ready for these *wiggles her fingers again, then wiggles her eyebrows* 

 **Devin:** *eyebrows popping and he laughs watching her retreat in delight and pops his knees up so he can lean back on his hands and all but hop up to his feet with his hand tilting in delighted amusement* Oh dear lady. *lips twitch* Trust me, for that I was born. *proceeds to catch his arms sideways to spin, kissing her again* 

 **Nadia:** *grinning as he walks up to her again, laughing as he lifts and spins her and kisses him back, putting her hands around his neck* 

 **Devin:** *still spinning and kissing her back and then he stops and holds her a little closer as though something just occurred to him  & he grins at her* As a side note. As I've never actually asked. *lips twitch* Would you be my, girlfriend? *brow arches a bit and he exhales* 

 **Nadia:** *her grin turns into a soft smile at his question and then just all out beams* You're so adorable. *kisses him once* Asking as if there's even the slightest possibility I'd say no. *grins and then kisses him again, softer and lingering* ...yeah. *nodding* Definitely. 

 **Devin:** *laughs once, lips brushing up against hers in his grin  & he just says softly* Well, I hoped. But I still needed to ask. *wrapping his arms around her tighter and holding her higher again to bring his lips back down on hers* 

 **Nadia:** *wraps her legs around him tighter, grinning right before she meets him in slow but deep kiss* 

 **Devin:** *one hand slides down her side to hold onto her thigh, tightening his grip as they sink into the kiss, decidedly not pausing as his other hand lifts up her back to press into her hair, cupping the back of her head and holding her against him* 

 **Nadia:** *inhales through her nose suddenly and shivers pleasantly as his hand slides down to grip her thigh and continues to kiss him, lips moving against his and arching her chest slightly, a hand buried in his hair* 

 **Devin:** *with obvious enjoyment as she shivers, his hand on her thigh starts sliding up slowly without loosening it's grip, his lips and tongue starting to move with hers, stiffening as their chest press together, rocking them with the kiss* 

 **Nadia:** *a soft moan leaves her lips, muffled by his own lips and tongue, her hand gripping his hair as the other one drags her nails down the back of his neck and nipping at his bottom lip before taking it in her mouth* 

 **Devin:** *with a throaty groan as she takes his lip, his tongue slips over her lips and twists, strong fingers sliding through her hair and around her upper back to press them together; he starts moving them towards the nearest tree, leaning back against it to give support and pull her into him harder, hand now clutching her hip, his thumb rotate to her inner thigh* 

 **Nadia:** *exhales briefly to rematch her breath but returns to kissing him gain as he pushes them against a tree, pulling in closer to him with her hand on his neck as she uses a branch above his head to push them closer together against the tree, a soft moan emitting as he teases her inner thigh and moves her hips against his* 

 **Devin:** *exhaling all at once harshly as she does, his hips respond, automatically to hers, fingers sinking into her waist, his hand moving her hair out of the way to start kissing down her neck and throat, thumb rubbing again* 

 **Nadia:** *her cheeks getting more and more flushed, biting down on her bottom lip as he leaves her mouth and tilts her neck to give him more access, moving her hand around his neck and down his chest, whimpering slightly and then exhales* Devin. 

 **Devin:** *relishing in her whimper  & sigh, his trail of kisses lead to her collar bone, his nose brushing against her throat and the collar of her shirt, nipping with his teeth & soothing the spot with his tongue, hand on her waist gripping tighter to hold her around him higher and together tighter* 

 **Nadia:** *opens her eyes briefly in sudden pleasure, looking at Dev with darker and lustful eyes, pulling back on his hair to turn his face towards her again, capturing his lips once more before she lets her eyes flutter close, mouth moving desperately against his, tongues meeting in mid-air as her hand touches him experimentally through the fabric* 

 **Devin:** *with his whole body stiffening at her experimental touch and a sudden moan escaping his lips against hers even as he kisses her open-mouthed and passionately, his hand at her neck sliding around to undo the top button of the uniform, fingers brushing against her skin before he moves to the next one, his other hand moving around her waist so that his thumb rubs her, his other fingers cupping lower just as experimentally, his breath hasty and rushed* 

 **Nadia:** *reveling in his moan at her action and continues to massage him through the fabric at his urging, panting breathlessly and humming in pleasure as he unbuttons her shirt, moaning more high pitched against his lips as he touches her further, biting down on his bottom lip and pulling on it teasingly* 

 **Devin:** *shuddering with pleasure, he says in an exhale--* Nadia.*--and the hand on her chest slips below her shirt, resting and moving his fingers to trace around as his other hand rubs her harder, hand moving up and down, palm against her, and fingers tracing through the fabric his breath hitching, lips torrid against hers; his body practically convulsing at her massage  & his back hitting into the tree, muttering a tiny 'oomph' but ignoring it* 

 **Nadia:** *gasps as he rubs her harder as her head buries itself in his neck, breathing hard against his skin and dragging her teeth and tongue across it, her hand going past his waistband, about to touch him directly--

Oreo: *runs up to them and starts barking*

 **Nadia:** *pulls away and then looks at her side, breathless and surprised* Oreo? *panting and then blanches* Shit. *jumps off Devin and rebuttons her shirt, passing a hand through her hair, looking around to see if anyone was coming their way* 

 **Devin:** *his eyes rolling shut as she touches him, and then he breaks off in surprise as well, releasing her instantly, taking a few moments to remember where they were  & fixing his shirt/pants* Oh...fuck. *exhale, trying to adjust his mindset & breathing heavily, swallows, rubbing sweat off his forehead and then blinks again, laughing under his breath and looking at Oreo in surprise* You...have incredible timing Oreo, really. *exhales and looks around w/Nadia too* 

 **Nadia:** *is somehow redder now and then she hears something and turns around and pushes Dev down on the ground* Sit, sit down! *turns around and sees Oreo sit* Not you boy, just--*sits down on the ground too, in front of Dev to help hide his...ahem, arousal, and then pats her legs to tell Oreo to come to her, and she pets him after he does* Oh you're a good boy, yes you are. *let's Oreo lick her face with a small giggle* 

 **Hols:** *comes around the tree* Oh, hi guys you wouldn't happen to--Oreo! Baby! *pats her thighs and claps her hands once to make him come to her* Don't run off on me you rascal *scratching behind his ears, looking up at Navin, noticing their flushed appearances* ...you two all right? What are you up to? 

 **Nadia:** It's just..hot. *waves her had over her face* Really hot. 

 **Devin:** *still breathing heavily, he tilts his head about to ask why, when he hears someone coming and nods, sitting down in front of the tree  & bringing his knee up, draping his arms over his legs to sit comfortably & conveniently shade from view, looking directly over Nadia's shoulder laughing as Oreo sits too & is shaking his head back to fix his hair, biting his bottom lip and trying to think of something else to, ahem, help--when he sees Hols he blinks and then nods* Yeah, he's rig--*points as Oreo runs so he's pointing now at an empty spot, teasing* You know actually I thought he was right there but. *shoulder shrug; starting to relax, hands clasping together as Nadia answers and he nods in agreement* Yeah, I just finished a jog. *blinks* What's uhm....up with you? 

 **Hols:** *raising her eyebrows, looking from Dev, who seems to have it under control to Nadia who is still kind of red and looking down* Jogging? Boring. *lips twitch and decides to believe them and gestures at the bikini she's wearing* By the lake with Corey, Keagan, couple of more sixth years* I was dominating at chicken before this one *ruffles Oreo's ears and he wags his tall happily* Ran off. You guys wanna come? 

 **Nadia:** *laughs once and the mumbles under her breath*youhavenoidea.

 **Hols:** Hmm?

 **Nadia:** I said I don't think that's a good idea.

 **Devin:** *tilts his head to see the sixth years--a bit surprised he doesn't see Lynn, then figures she's with Nick--nodding once as if to 'affirm Hols story' and then hears Nadia, his face immediately breaking into an amused smirk, eyebrows popping for a half second and then he shakes his head clearing his throat looking back at Hols* I actually have to uh--go, meet some people. *looks back at Nadia* Uh--six? Courtyard? 

 **Hols:** All right, see you later then Dev.

 **Nadia:** *turns to look at Dev and nods with a smile* Yep, I'll be there. *kisses him goodbye chastely*

Oreo: *barks, wags tail*

 **Hols:** He says good bye. *lips twitch* 

 **Devin:** *nods, kissing her just as soft/sweet/short* See you then. *laughs once, eyebrows narrow at Oreo for a moment but he waves at him and Hols too* Goodbye to you too Oreo. And see you later Hols. *waves  & exits* 

 **Hols:** *watches him walk off and then turns to Nadia* Sweetie?

 **Nadia:** *running a hand through her hair again and then turns to Hols* Yeah? 

 **Hols:** *taps her neck and then points to Nadia's* You're gonna need concealer on that. 

 **Nadia:** *puts her hand on her neck and then puts her hair over her shoulders, blushing* Ohshutup.

 **Hols:** *smirks once and then waves her fingers in goodbye* Let's go, Oreo.

Oreo: *licks Nadia's face again before running towards the lake again with Hols*

 **Nadia:** *bites down on her bottom lip and let's her head fall back on the tree trunk, sighing*


	4. A Modern Myth

_Nick says he'd help stop Lynn talking but not to close her mouth...and Lynn promptly just closed her mouth rather teasingly at him. He goes off to change that. She legit had both arms fly up as he caught her because she initially intended on/did fake pushing him away, failed, and promptly wrapped said arms around his neck instead...._

**Lynn:** *with both arms still wrapped tight around his neck only breaking off to breathe/eyes opening and she looks up at him* ....Dammit. *lips twitching, teasing* You weren't supposed to win. 

 **Nick:** *loosens his hold on her waist only ever so slightly as she pulls away, smirking as she curses and then teases* well, at least you put up a gallant fight. *eyebrow rises as he grins*

 **Lynn:** *chuckles half incredulously, grinning back and fake-lamenting* At least. I suppose there are worse things to lose... *biting her bottom lip as she's struggling to catch her breath and it's not helped by her racing heart* How was studying? 

 **Nick:** *moves a hand upwards, tracing her side and arms until he reaches her neck and moves a strand of hair out of the way* Productive. *leans down to kiss her neck once* goblin filled. *does so again* if you keep it a secret I'll say even exasperating at times *and again* I'm ready to move on from it.

 **Lynn:** *sliding one hand into his hair as she smirks, tilting her head slightly and letting her eyes flutter shut as he kisses her neck, chuckling warmly, half speaking through an exhale* Oh...Secret's definitely safe with me...*lips twitch, still dancing her fingers across the base of his neck/playing with his hair* Oh? *teases* See here I thought I'd be keeping you from your true love, being a history buff and all...

 **Nick:** *kisses her neck a final time before leaning back up to kiss her on the lips once more* if my true love was the past that'd be more than just a tad depressing. *grins against her lips*

 **Lynn:** *laughs once against his lips, saying softly* I thought history just repeated itself? *kisses him once* Again? *kiss* and again...*kiss, now hardly putting breath behind her words* And again...*presses her lips against his harder rather suddenly, deepening the kiss*

 **Nick:** *lips twitching briefly as she begins to kiss him repeatedly and then tightens his hold around her waist, his hand cupping her cheek as he responds to the kiss, kissing her back passionately, pulling them together*

 **Lynn:** *kissing him back and moving her hand down his back as she gets pulled into him, she bunches his shirt into a fist somewhere around his mid back and arches flush into him, still moving her lips against his*

 **Nick:** *his fingers sink into the skin of her waist as his other hand buries itself in her hair, gripping it slightly as he moves his lips against hers, taking her bottom one into his mouth, nipping it and sucking on it*

 **Lynn:** *with a noise of enjoyment/pleasure as he tugs on her bottom lip, she swipes her tongue across his lips, her hips moving against his and she grips his shirt harder, turning them towards the wall*

 **Nick:** *a shiver runs down his spine at the feel of her tongue, a small groan leaving his lips as she starts to move her hips against his and he responds automatically, hand gripping her hips tighter, and pushing her up against the wall as she moves them toward it, pressing his whole body against hers, taking a leg and putting it around his waist as he grinds their hips together while kissing her passionately, slipping his tongue in*

 **Lynn:** *gasps harshly as she's pushed into the wall, breathing rapidly and cutting herself off again to fasten her lips to his, lifting her leg higher as they move and wrapping it tighter to pull him into her harder, moaning against his lips, her own swollen and lifting his shirt with the fistful of fabric, sliding her palm into the small of his back instead, her hips movement obeying his hand's direction* 

 **Nick:** *kissing her forcefully still, pressing himself even more against her if thats even possible, leaning away only the slightest bit and for the briefest of moments to take his shirt off, before returning back to her lips, another groan leaving his lips, his hand at her hips sliding her shirt upwards as well*

 **Lynn:** *as he leans back to work his shirt off her eyes open just to look, her gaze raking over him with a tiny smirk before they fly shut again as he catches her lips and meets him in the kiss only to arch so he can grasp her shirt and yank it off, tearing her lips back for a half second and breathing heavily, before her back presses into the wood again and their heated skin presses together, meeting her lips to his again with renewed vigor*

 **Nick:** *lets her shirt fall somewhere, uncaring of the location, before his dark and lustful eyes look her over once, before they're back to kissing once more, his hand leaving her hair and goes down to her chest, cupping and squeezing as he continues to move his lips against hers eagerly*

 **Lynn:** *her eyebrow pops with an amused twitch of her smirk as he looks at her, before she kisses him enthusiastically, her one hand sliding flat against his back as her leg tightens around him, the other coming around his front and sliding down his stomach, tracing his abs with one finger wile still kissing him, moaning at the motion of his hands* 

 **Nick:** *groans softly once more as her hand slides down his stomach, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip briefly, biting down on it softly before tracing his tongue over it, his hand going under the fabric of her bra to tease her nipple, while the other slides down her hips and to her inner thigh, rubbing her teasingly*

 **Lynn:** *is breathing in hard, controlled gasps, lips twisting as he groans, pleased and then hissing with her inhale as he bites, her hand on his back arching, fingers sinking into his skin and her leg spreading a little wider with his finger, her hand on his stomach sinking lower and her finger traces his outline, sucking against his lips, before turning her hand to fumble with his button*

 **Nick:** *relishing in the sound of her gasps and hisses, kissing her with growing passion and then stiffens as her finger traces him and then groans throatily against her mouth as his hand cups her through the fabric, moving his palm against her, rubbing up and down while his other hand teases her other nipple*

 **Lynn:** *her skin starting to redden with his demanding, feverish touch she moans in return, kissing his lips deeply and her hips gyrate into his with his motion, unable to help herself, her hand at his back moving them, nails biting into his skin, breath a luxury, wet through the fabric and she makes another noise before her finger succeeds in popping the button open*

 **Nick:** *stilling, and pauses in his actions only for a split second when she gyrates her hips against his, groaning once before he continues, hissing at the feel of her nails before kissing her breathlessly, mouth open and searching against hers, his hand retreating from her chest to help with the button and zipper, while his other hand moves the scant and wet fabric aside as he touches her center, fingers tracing her up and down before flicking her pleasure nub*

 **Lynn:** *breathing heavily in a half pant as he rubs, her eyelids are fluttering as she shudders, a shock going up her spine as he flicks, and she moans again, speaking rather breathlessly without being aware* Nick.. *the hand she ran up his back grips his neck now, fingers twisting in his hair as she starts dragging her lips across his, and his jaw and throat, kissing in a wet, desperate pattern, her breath still short gasps, her back pressed flat and hard into the wall and hitting it again as their hips moved; her other hand dipping below the fabric and denim to wrap her fingers around him and stroke.*

&.

 **Alcott:** *walking with Devin, talking about some assignment--though his expression is almost as though he's *determined* to think about something else  & when he sees Hols, his brow furrows & he swallows looking back to Devin saying slowly--cutting Dev off--* Hey, I'll meet you there, okay? 

 **Dev** : *brow flicks, but he appears hardly surprised that Al's distracted he just nods* Yeah, mate. *leaves, Alcott though he looks back for a moment--also noting Hols, his brows furrow--and he disappears around the corner while Alcott turns the other way.* 

 **Hols:** *has been debating this whole week on what to do, just making up her mind today and she set out to find him, knowing she'd probably have to deal with a posse of Slythies and is surprised when she finds him almost alone and just walks up to him after muttering a 'i can't believe this' hey. *She feels kind of awkward just saying hey* We need to talk. 

 **Alcott:** *stiffens slightly, looking over her shoulder to insure Dev left, and then looks back at her, biting his bottom lip* ...Hey. *is also awkward using that word* Yeah, right--*elongating the yeah, and then looks around, noting there's no way they can be alone in that hallway, spots a classroom behind him, gestures behind him with his thumb towards it* But...let's go in here. 

 **Hols:** *nods* After me then. *walks past him into a classroom before she turns around again, taking out her wand muffliato'ing the room-pockets her wand afterwards* I'm going to help. 

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head to himself as she walks in front of him, of the door as she locks it/muffliato's the room, folding his arms on his chest  & then blinking at her words* I...was going to tell you that Dev & Eliza think I, carried Sam to the hospital wing. *blinks again* Help? 

 **Hols:** *nods* It's better that way anyways. *reluctant noise* ...yes, when you transform. As a...well, in my animal form. I could make sure you don't do anything stupid. 

 **Alcott:** *nodded, but now is blinking in surprise and his jaw clenches for a second--torn between an immediate instinct to turn down  & his internal buried acknowledgement that he really does need help, narrows his eyes for a moment* You don't have to do that. 

 **Hols:** I don't? Well then that settles it, I'll just go then. *sarcastic and then shakes her head* Look, straight facts, no bullshit--if I hadn't been there either you, Sam, or both of you would be dead. Now, I know you'll have the Wolfsbane potion next time but that's not exactly a guarantee. I don't want anyone else, human or animal alike, to get hurt. 

 **Alcott:** *exhales listening, nods once reluctantly but says hesitantly* ...And if you come with me, I could end up hurting you. I don't think anyone animagus or not, should be...near me, with I transform, Hols. 

 **Hols:** *bites down on her bottom lip briefly, still not quite used to him using her first name and then shakes her head* Look, you won't hurt me. *holds her head up higher* I'm a lioness. I've got fangs and claws just like you, and 48 kg on you easily. *shrugs* I could take you. And you'd have your conscience, so we could communicate, I'm assuming anyways. 

 **Alcott:** *nods, biting his bottom lip before they twitch in slight amusement as she stands up straighter  & tosses her hair* Did you just admit I have a conscience? 

 **Hols:** *chuckles once and she shakes her head after clearing her throat once* I'll deny such a thing ever passed from my lips. *lips twitch and then looks at him seriously* Do we have an agreement then? 

 **Alcott:** *smirk twitches as she laughs once  & inclines his head* Expected nothing less. *head tilts at her her question, still wanting to turn it down but he swallows & just asks instead* How are we going to...set it up? Sneak into the woods together? *breath, muttering under his breath* Though I guess I don't have to explain it to Sienna...*is not used to that* 

 **Hols:** I'd figure I'd just meet you there or something *shrugs*. I assumed Dev or Eliza would want to stay until they had to leave...*lips purse momentarily as she hears him mutter and debates internally before just asking* Why not? 

 **Alcott:** They might not. *nods* But seeing as how neither of them transform in 48 kg-larger-than-me-lions, neither of them are going near the forest this time either. *exhales. surprised she she asked, he takes a moment, then straightens his head  & says simply, looking her straight in the eye* Because we broke up. 

 **Hols:** *nods, lips twitching a bit in amusement at his logic and then blinks in surprise as he says they broke up* Oh...I would say sorry but then you'd ask if I cared and it's this whole *waving her hand around* cycle that I'd rather break. *shrugs* So...what time would you want to meet up? 

 **Alcott:** *laughs once looking down at the floor over his folded arms nodding in amusement  & then looks back up, now simply smiling* Going off script. Sure you can handle that? *eyebrow arches a bit & then blinks, exhaling with the slightest frown* I should be there...an hour before sundown just..in case. 

 **Hols:** Oh yeah, *nods, amused* I was born for improv. *pleased that he doesn't object and then nods her head once* Okay, sounds good to me. See? It's relatively painless to do as I say. *Shrugs* 

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips together for a moment just looking at her grinning and his eyebrow arches with the slightest smirk* You have no idea, what you're getting yourself into. *eyebrow arches a little higher  & then he laughs once and adds* Relatively little bloodshed thus far. *brow quirks* But our alliance is about a minute old. 

 **Hols:** *laughs once, nodding in acknowledgement that he's probably right* Why don't you let me worry about that? *shakes head and actually grins for a moment* Yes well, it's only a matter of time before one of us snaps. 

 **Alcott:** *grins himself* Who said I was worrying? *brow quirks again  & he laughs at the assertion* True. But I bet you I won't fold first. 

 **Hols:** Mmh. Fair point, worry would require caring. *shrugs and then snorts* All right, we'll see about that. But if you're hoping for *me* to crack first, then you're sorely mistaken, pal. *lips twitch* 

 **Alcott:** *laughs again, his lips twitching* Oh, I'm a pal now? *brow arches* Well all right. You're on, pal. 

 **Hols:** *purses her lips in amusement, shaking her head before chuckling* Bring it then. *arching her eyebrows and smirking slightly before taking out her wand and taking off the silencing char,.o* With that said, it's a Friday night, I've got places to be, shots to down, people to song. *readjusts her bag and flips her hair over her shoulder* Guess I'll see you around, "pal". *chuckling and shakes her head again, walking past him and out the door* 

 **Alcott:** *laughs once and just nods, his arms tightening a bit on his forearms  & he just turns to watch her leave with his brows flicked & then he blinks, checking his watch for a minute & waiting to leave until he's certain she's not in the hall still, getting a surreptitious look & then exiting too; going to the library*

&.

 

 **Devin:** *sitting in the library pouring over books* 

 **Lynn:** *sits down next to him, beaming and holding a chocolate cake, taking a bite and looking over the books and blinks* Huh. Wolfsbane Potion. Don't recall that on the fourth year curriculum.

 **Devin:** *without missing a beat* Neither was Polyjuice, but you still had a hell of a time making that in fourth year didn't you?

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch laughing once* Point taken. Taking on any another potions vastly above the current grade level?

 **Devin:** Felix Felicis. *grins* Good luck goes a long ways doesn't it? 

 **Lynn:** *amused* Not trying to brew Amortentia too? Slacking off aren't you?

 **Devin:** Figured it wouldn't be the best time to be seen brewing love potions. *lips twitch*

 **Lynn:** Ah. Good point. *beat* Okay. Fine. 

 **Devin:** *blinks and looks up at her kind of amused* Fine?

 **Lynn:** When do you want to meet Nick? 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Ah. Fine.

 **Lynn:** Yes. Fine.

 **Devin:** Nick? *amused, tilting his head* You mean, your boyfriend?

 **Lynn:** Yesss, I mean my boyfriend. *poking his shoulder; eyes narrow* Don't be difficult.

 **Devin:** But difficult's more fun.

 **Lynn:** Someone's in a good mood.

 **Devin:** *amused* And the beam on your face is what? A lie? 

 **Lynn:** *smirks* Brother, you don't want to know.

 **Devin:** *beat and then rubs his forehead* You're right, I don't, and in answer to your question, as soon as possible. 

 **Lynn:** *grins at him* Awesome. 

 **Devin:** *smile softens* In all seriousness though...you look really happy. 

 **Lynn:** *smile softens as well and she just grins at him* Probably because I am. 

 **Devin:** *laughs once* Well good. I'm glad you guys are happy together.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Doesn't mean you won't threaten him of course.

 **Devin:** Brotherly duty. *teasing* Can't be helped. 

 **Lynn:** *looks at him for a second and then her forehead bunches and her brows flick* ...You look upset.

 **Devin:** *frowns* I'm not upset.

 **Lynn:** *arches her eyebrow*

 **Devin:** *sighs* I'm just...Eliza happened to mention something...she saw Sam in the hospital wing.

 **Lynn:** *tiniest glare* Oh for--we're supposed to have a reprieve! He's in the hospital wing! What's he done now?

 **Devin:** It's not something he's done. *breathes out* It's what he...might, do.

 **Lynn:** *head tilts slowly* What do you mean? 

 **Devin:** Know how he doesn't remember what happened? *arching his eyebrow*

 **Lynn:** Well yeah, but he was attacked by an animal. It's pretty hard to--*pause and then exhales groaning* He's blaming you isn't he? 

 **Devin:** Oh, not just me. *shakes his head* I think the way Eliza put it, Hols and I--

 **Lynn:** Hols?

 **Devin:** \--attacked him, made it look like an animal attack. Nadia convinced us to stop before we killed him and that we should take him to the hospital wing--

 **Lynn:** Nadia?!

 **Devin:** \--and Eliza modified his memory. 

 **Lynn:** *shaking her head* I think he forgot to blame the town crier for crying witch.

 **Devin:** *head shakes* It's ridiculous. 

 **Lynn:** You think? *frustrated growl* So he threatened us?

 **Devin:** *shoulder shrug* Seems that way.

 **Lynn:** He's dead.

 **Devin:** Lynn. *grabbing her wrist to turn her back around* If you go after him all you do is give in to the bait. End up expelled or worse.

 **Lynn:** *snatching her wrist back and sighs, running her hand through her hair* All right fine. You're right. 

 **Devin:** *nods* Thank you. *exhale and looks down, copying something out of his book* 

 **Lynn:** ...so a stealth attack's the only option. 

 **Devin:** *looks back up groaning* Lynn.

 **Lynn:** *holds a hand up* What? 

 **Devin:** *head shaking* Look, can you just promise me you won't do anything without running it by me first?

 **Lynn:** .....fine. For now.

 **Devin:** ...I'll take it. And I'm taking a bite of your cake. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Have it. *licks her finger* I have to go anyways.

 **Devin:** Meeting Nick?

 **Lynn:** *winks as she leaves* 

 **Devin:** *laughs once under his breath and shakes her head to herself; a few minutes later Alcott's sitting at the table and he looks up* Hey mate. So I'm pretty sure we'll have this done ahead, of schedule which gives us time to make a spare. 

 **Alcott:** Sounds good.*looking slightly distracted and pulling out books* 

 **Devin:** Uh. *blinks* Everything okay?

 **Alcott:** *blinks* Why wouldn't it be?

 **Devin:** *arches eyebrow* I...well I mean. What with Sienna and...the whole...

 **Alcott:** Wolf, thing? 

 **Devin:** *beat* And don't forget Sam.

 **Alcott:** Nor the massive pile of homework I've been avoiding. *gestures to it* 

 **Devin:** *laughs once* Right. *opens his book back up and goes back to work, Alcott also starting to work, before Dev asks once almost hesitantly* So what'd Hols want? 

 **Alcott:** *stiffens the tiniest bit but looks otherwise unphased* What?

 **Devin:** *brows flicker* I saw you..earlier...and...

 **Alcott:** *brows furrow* And?

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* Just looked serious mate.

 **Alcott:** Usually is with her.

 **Devin:** *laughs once* Usually?

 **Alcott:** *arches eyebrow* You've known her longer than I have. 

 **Devin:** I ...well yeah I just thought it's ... since when do you two have a usually? 

 **Alcott:** *shrugs a shoulder himself* Since a few weeks ago, though said usually includes insults, threats, and ... *pauses*

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* And yet you keep talking to her? 

 **Alcott:** *shrugs* Well, it’s never boring. *beat* What are you implying? 

 **Devin:** *amused* I imagine not. *head shake* Not implying anything. Just seems a little strange.

 **Alcott:** *beat and then his quill falls and he says begrudgingly* It is a little strange. 

 **Devin:** *noting the suddenly half-far-off look in Alcott's eyes and he arches his eyebrow not saying a word* 

 **Alcott:** *rubs his forehead* Last few weeks, have just been strange. *beat* And Hols kind of surprised me recently. 

 **Devin:** *small smile* 

 **Alcott:** *aggravated groan* Oh don't look at me like that.

 **Devin:** *arches his eyebrow* Like what?

 **Alcott:** *growls* Like I'm four years old and you're explaining that one plus one equals two. 

 **Devin:** It equals two? Here I thought all along it equaled four. *laughs once* I just was in agreement. Last few weeks have been strange. Last few months really. *beat* And Hols can be surprising. But I'm sorry, I thought you were accusing her of stalking you? *arches his eyebrow* 

 **Alcott:** I might have been overestimating. A tad.

 **Devin:** And the whole, can't stand her living breathing guts thing?

 **Alcott:** *shrugs* Maybe she's not...*so* bad. 

 **Devin:** So she’s *not* a preachy, bossy, insufferable, infuriating---

 **Alcott:** *cuts him off aggravated* Oh she's still infuriating. *rolls his eyes* World's not coming to an end, Dev.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Yeah. Right. 

 **Alcott:** *clears his throat* You think you can make a spare?

 **Devin:** *clears his throat too* Right, if we start brewing tonight in our room...

&.

 **Hols:** *pretending, when she spots Alcott, not to exist* 

 **Alcott:** "Funny. Don't you usually want to be noticed in the most spectacular fashion? *eyebrow arch* Yet to me you seem to pretend not to exist a lot."

 **Hols:** *laughs at that once under her breath before shaking her head*

 **Alcott:** "Don't tell me you're even trying to hide a laugh too. I can *see* you, you know.

 **Hols:** *purses her lips in amusement and raises her head* can you? then obviously my trying to be invisible isn't working. *lips twitch* is it time for our usual verbal sparring match or no?

 **Alcott:** *laughs once under his breath; smirking slightly amused* Obviously. Should I explain how peek-a-boo works or no? *lips twitch too and then he laughs, eyebrow arching a bit* Did you have something to yell at me about?

 **Hols:** hmm, maybe another time. sounds too complicated for me *sarcastic, shakes her head and then pauses, trying to think and then looks at him once and then shrugs* well I don't like your shirt, but don't think thats yell-worthy.

 **Alcott:** Mm. *tone laced with his amusement but he just smirks and then as she thinks, his smirk flicks wider that she actually has to search for something and then he says immediately, tilting his head* If you want me to take it off, all you have to do is ask.

 **Hols:** *laughs once in a small scoff and then raises her eyebrows* if i wanted it off, trust me, it'd be off. *shrugs and then adds nonchalantly* besides, I've seen plenty already.

 **Alcott:** *leaning back against a wall--where exactly are the?  --folding his arms on his chest lazily, amused and grinning as he nods* True. You know you never told me what you thought? *brow flicks* I'd ask but--*lips twitch* I have the feeling you wouldn't be particularly honest. It's the unfortunate of side effect of denial really.

 **Hols:** *eyebrow rises* well seeing as how the next moment you had a wand in my face i wasn't very inclined to share now was I? *eyebrow rises even further* but her lips twitch in amusement nonetheless* denial of what exactly?

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* I'm not gonna apologize for quick reflexes. *shrugs nonchalantly* That you like me, of course. 

 **Hols:** and seeing as how your quick reflex is to hurt an animal, you can see why im not so thrilled. *pauses and then just starts laughing sincerely, passing a hand over her mouth before clasping her hands together* oh wait, i gotta hear this logic. *lips quirk* and what makes you so sure?

 **Alcott:** I made no actual motion to hurt you. Simply to defend myself against the 48-kg-larger-than-me *lips twitch*--as you made so sure to state--lioness so far out of it's natural logical habitat. *bites his bottom lip for a moment as she laughs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, and then continues to smirk* Saving my life might have been a hint. And after all those times you've threatened to embed a bludger in my head and --what was it --- feed me, to the giant squid? *brow wiggles* too. *head shake* But then I suppose you didn't know it was me...*deliberates* so I'd have to say after. Keeping my secret. Both times. I meant as friends of course. *eyes narrow* Why? What did you think I meant? 

 **Hols:** ...fair point. *shrugs and purses her lips in amusement as she hears him explain, nodding when he mentions the giant squid to show he was right, nodding once more as he says she didn't know it was him, and she quickly blinks to herself as she begins to question if she would have had she known it was him and exhales under her breath when she realizes she would have* I know you meant it like that *lips twitch* Well I'm no snitch. That's why I kept the secrets. *shrugs* But I don't know...I don't _loathe_ you with every fiber of my being but thats hardly a 'like'. 

 **Alcott:** I've been known to have a few of them. *lips twitch, as she reiterates she knew and he blinks almost in surprise, lips pressing together bemused for a moment and then starts to laugh under his breath once as she rephrases* Well thanks, *lips twitch,* and point taken, but come on. You just didn't want to prove me right. *arches eyebrow*

 **Hols:** A surprise to me, that's for sure. *purses her lips and then her arches her eyebrows and shrugs* when the time comes in which you're right...i'll admit it. *lips twitch* maybe. but that time is not today. won't be tomorrow either, so don't ask. *pauses* besides, if i 'like you for keeping your secret' then you must like me for keeping mine. *eyebrow rises*

 **Alcott:** *brows flick amused* A monumental day to be sure. Well. *pauses at her logic flummoxed for a half second, then slowly smirks, subtly licking his bottom lip* I don't _loathe_ you with every fiber of my being. 

 **Hols:** *smug for the brief moment in which she catches him, gaze flicking to his lips briefly when licks them and then grins slightly and chuckles at his comment* eerie isn't it? the world might end soon. *purses her lips amused still*

 **Alcott:** *now biting his bottom lip and then he chuckles once* Well. We are certainly that important to the fate of the world. *brow wiggles* And if that's the case, we'd better make the most of it...*brow arches a bit higher suggestively*

 **Hols:** damn straight *amused and then corrects* well, at least...*I* am so by default, I guess you would be too. *lips twitch and then looks up at him tilting his head* ....hmm, another good point. *deliberate pause before she looks away from him* i wonder if Murray is busy.

 **Alcott:** Murray? *grin flicks* Thought your pups name was Oreo. *pause* Or were you trying to make me jealous?

 **Hols:** Ha. Ha. .....ha. You're funny. Not. *rolls her eyes and passes a hand through her hair, looking back at him* No, merely trying to deny your highly suggestive request in the nicest way possible. But if you want a flat out "hell no" then I can give that too.

 **Alcott:** *brow wiggles  & then he tilts his head* Suggestion? *lips twitch* If I was suggesting what I think you thought I was, I wouldn't be so polite. *rather suddenly leans off the wall hand coming up to cup her cheek and pull her in, the other to her shoulder, kissing her instantly & firmly* 

 **Hols:** Oh, I think you know what I thought cause you know it's true. *raises eyebrow* You call that polite? Geesh what-*gets cut off by his mouth claiming her, lips pressing against each other for a few seconds before she pulls back, opening her eyes and just searching his face, her mouth open but unable to say anything for a few seconds* ....what are you doing? *quietly* 

 **Alcott:** *pulling back an inch, looking similarly surprised as though he didn't exactly expect his *own* primal reaction to the kiss, breathless for several seconds as she searches him, half presuming he's about to get hit, and he blinks once lips twitching at the question and says in an exhale* This. *kisses her again, moving his lips against hers, his thumb moving against her cheek, his other hand dropping down her arm to suddenly grasp her waist and pull her in against him* 

 **Hols:** *exhales once silently, trying to catch her breath but mostly failing, inhaling once more right before he kisses her again, pulling her into him and is still in slight shock for a second before she moves her lips against his, her hand coming up to lay against his chest to grip his shirt subconsciously, before she realizes what she's doing, after a few more seconds and pulls away again, shaking her head* No--not okay--you can't just...*exhales, still sorta speechless and just stares at him*

 **Alcott:** *kissing her back until she pulls away and without moving, releases her and drops her hands to his side like dead weights; exhaling  & looking at her in similar surprise for several long moments* ...right. *admits hesitantly and so quietly he doesn't think he can hear it over his heart & repeats louder* Right. *biting his bottom lip now & just looking at her* I didn't...expect..anything. *swallows. hard.* 

 **Hols:** *exhales, pursing her lips briefly and just nods once and hesitantly at his words, exhaling again and hesitantly at his words, exhaling again and shaking her head* Just...I gotta go. *quietly and turns around and walks away as quickly as she can* 

 **Alcott:** *exhales, not moving and just nods once at her words, watching her leave as-fast-as-possible, staying standing there in his own state of shock for a few minutes honestly  & then turns away himself, brow furrowed in confusion & leaving*


	5. A Kiss with a Fist is Better Than None

**Lynn:** *with a rather determined look on her face as she slips something into her purse, flicking a finger at her lips with some pleasant memory, blinks in sudden surprise at Hols pacing* Hols? ...what happened?! *drops her bag on the bed* 

 **Hols:** *almost runs in to Lynn in the middle of her pacing and scowls as she asks what happened* who does he think he is?! What could possibly have been going through his head at the time, huh?! What gives him the *right* to- *throws her hands up in the air and resumes pacing, muttering to herself in Spanish*

 **Lynn:** *not thrown at all by the sudden spanish, she just furrows her brow and looks at her for a moment, not minding that she's almost barreled into and asks immediately in surprise* What 'he'? Who...did what? *is surprised almost as much by the fact that she honestly has no guesses* 

 **Hols:** *stops in her tracks and turns around on the balls of her feet* oath of secrecy right at this very moment- swear it. "Never shall I ever speak of this to any human, animal, or inanimate object", say it.

 **Lynn:** *immediately, holding up her pinky to her lips and repeats* Never shall I ever speak of this to any human, animal, or inanimate object. *twists pinky into the air away from her blowing a kiss* 

 **Hols:** *nods once, exhaling a breath and then just falls backwards on her bed, Oreo jumping out of it right before her back hits the mattress and puts her arm over her eyes and speaks out hesitantly in a half mumble* Its Alcott. He...kissed me.

 **Lynn:** *her eyes go perfectly wide, first at hearing just the name 'Alcott' and then as Hols continues, she is unable to help herself from laughing once under her breath* ...You're kidding. *her hand going back to covering her lips for a moment to blink at her; then gasps under her breath again* ...wait. You're not kidding? ...How the hell did that happen? 

 **Hols:** *takes her arm away to glare at Lynn as she starts laughing* Yeah, fucking hilarious joke, Lynn. That definitely sounds like my sense of humor. *hits her head against the mattress, wishing it was something harder* We were just talking, and then after a while he said a suggestive comment and I was like "hell no" and he said that he wasn't suggesting what I was thinking because otherwise he'd do- and thats when he...kissed me. *frowning* to...prove a point? I just *passes her hand over her face*

 **Lynn:** *presses her lips together very hard still sort of amused, running her hand through her hair* Sorry, it's just, I'm surprised...*blinks a few times, thinking idly that well, maybe, actually she really wasn't, furrowing her brow and sitting down on the edge of the bed listening curiously and arching her eyebrow higher* ...did you... I mean was it... how...*beat and then just asks in one breath* Well how was it? 

 **Hols:** *exhales and bites her lip momentarily* not the most pressing issue at the moment here!...I think. *frowns and then groans* I liked it. It was...not disappointing- but but that doesn't! *huffs* it doesn't...mean...anything, right? I mean okay I can't exactly say I detest him anymore but *puts her hands over her face again* I'm so confused.

 **Lynn:** ...if not most pressing certainly it's an important, issue...*is still pressing her lips together very tightly, focused on not laughing again, but she just blinks at her a few more times* ...Do you..want it to mean something? *brows flick* What did he say after anyways? 

 **Hols:** *groans* I don't know- I don't *think* so. I just started not hating him, it took me four years. This isn't exactly the next step *frowns* well I pulled away and told him, incoherently, that just...no, he couldn't just do that. And he just said he didn't...expect anything. I don't even *understand* what that means!

 **Lynn:** *eyebrows arch curiously* ...well that sounds to me like he...wanted it to mean something actually, but he doesn't expect it will. I mean. You're right, it did sound like he just grabbed you to prove a point...end the argument with his lips....*is deliberately phrasing it that way in memory of Hols saying one of the things she wanted in a boy was someone who would do just that XD* ...And next step? *arching eyebrow higher amused* As in you want to take your time but still end up here? 

 **Hols:** he didn't...want it to, I don't think...*frowns and then shakes her head...and brows furrow further as Lynn phrases it that way* ugh, he did do that. *sighs and then throws her hands up in the air* no! I...don't know! I just- Lynn! *takes a pillow and covers her face, mumbling through it* You're not not helping.

 **Lynn:** *exhales eyebrows arching watching her muffle herself and blinks a few times* I'm sorry, I'm sorry!! I'm just...this is...it'sBrackner! I'm a little stunned. And kind of not. At the same time. *blinks a few times* 

 **Hols:** *drops her pillow from her face and sits up* What do you mean, "kinda not" stunned? You were *expecting* this to happen?!

 **Lynn:** ...Expecting? No. Thinking it might be possible? ...well...it's just you've brought him up a lot lately! And have you *seen* the way he looks at you?!

 **Hols:** *scoffs* Well because he's infuriating me!! And and *huffs and then blinks* ...I hadn't noticed. *bites her bottom lip briefly and passes a hand through her hair* I just...this is uncool. I should have punched him in the face ?! *lets herself fall back on the mattress again* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* ...Well, I noticed. And he's as completely flummoxed but. *pause* Actually Dev noticed too. Asked me about it...then said I was reading into it  & well, I hoped. *runs her hand through her hair still just grinning as Hols sits back* Because you didn't want to. 

 **Hols:** *groans* Dev noticed? Well that's bloody fantastic, anybody else seem to know? *glares a bit and then sighs out* Apparently not. *purses her lips and closes her eyes* He makes me nervous. *frowns* And I don't like it. I don't like...pretty much any of it actually. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs once under her breath again; saying wryly* Yeah, cause Dev's one to gossip. *lips twitch again, softening a bit* Think the secret's safe. *beat, tilting her head* ...he makes you nervous? 

 **Hols:** *makes a begrudging noise to accept Lynn's gotta point and then bites her bottom lip* Yeah. It's annoying. I just don't like...not knowing what he's going to do or say--he was the most predictable, annoying, infuriating, impossible, insufferable, chaotic, rude, big mouthed, arrogant piece of shit Slytherin I've ever had the misfortune to meet. Now? ....well he's still most of those, just not predictable. And not a piece of shit...*groans and rolls over* Leave me alone to die. *mumbling through mattress* 

 **Lynn:** *is pressing her lips together even harder to avoid laughing at the adjectives  & she just leans up against the bedpost saying idly* Hols, lug, you know that sounds...dangerously close to denial right? *arches eyebrow still amused* 

 **Hols:** *still mumbling* Stop being amused, this is not an amusing--*lifts her head up from the mattress* Thing! I'm freaked out. 

 **Lynn:** *pauses for a moment  & then nods* ...I know. *softer* I'm sorry. I just...look you are freaked. *brow arches* That's pretty...telling.

 **Hols:** Yes I am. *mumbles and passes a band through her hair again* ...telling? *frowns* 

 **Lynn:** Well, you also just skipped my denial comment. Also telling. *brow arches* 

 **Hols:** I didn't skip it--*pauses and frowns* I'm going to take a shower. If I don't come back in an hour, I've successfully drowned myself. *stands up and goes to her trunk to get out her shower things* 

 **Lynn:** *passes her hand over her lips, still saying idly* Yeah, you're not avoiding at all. *stands up* Please don't drown. I'm not gonna tell anyone. You have time to figure whatever you want out. And I love you. *breath* Kay? 

 **Hols:** *smiles softly for a moment and then nods* Thanks Lynn. *hugs her* I love you too. *picks up her shower things* No talking to Al either. *throws her towel over her shoulder and walks out of the dormitory. 

 **Lynn:** *eyebrow arches* ...No, I won't talk to Al. *blinks at the nickname and watches her walk off kind of amused again; spins around in a circle for a moment blinking to herself and then walks out too, grabbing her purse* 

 

&.

 

 **Alcott:** *sitting in the kitchens, with a bottle*

 **Eliza:** *sighs seeing the bottle sitting down next to him* You already found more?

 **Alcott:** *laughs once and shows her the label* It's butter beer. Chill.

 **Eliza:** ....oh. *blinks* But your expression...

 **Alcott:** *arches his eyebrow at her* 

 **Eliza:** ...what happened?

 **Alcott:** *immediately* Nothing happened.

 **Eliza:** Al. I know you better than that. *eye roll* Is it Sienna? 

 **Alcott:** *groans under his breath* No. Well, maybe I guess someone else could construe it that way, I don't know. How do you know?

 **Eliza:** ...sweetie you're making no sense. *taking his butter beer to have a sip and handing it back to him* 

 **Alcott:** *rubs his forehead* Swear you to secrecy?

 **Eliza:** *groans* How many secrets do yo--

 **Alcott:** I kissed Hols Graft.

 **Eliza:** *cuts herself off looking stunned* _Oh._

 **Alcott:** *takes his butter beer back and tilts a long gulp down his throat* ...This is...so, so not doing the trick...

 **Eliza:** Deal with it. *is speaking breathlessly* You...you kissed...

 **Alcott:** *waving his hand as if to try and shush her but miserably failing* 

 **Eliza:** ...well wow. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs wryly* That about sums it up.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch amused for a second* Oh that good huh?

 **Alcott:** *blinks* ...Well yeah, I...that wasn't what I was talking about.

 **Eliza:** Right. Uhm. *breathlessly* ...when?

 **Alcott:** First period. Break. Guess she had one too. Ran into her in the hall, we were talking....*frowns a bit* ...it wasn't a big deal. 

 **Eliza:** *blinks and snorts under her breath once* Kissing her wasn't a big deal?

 **Alcott:** I mean it just kind of...happened.

 **Eliza:** ...it's kind of deliberate. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs once* Well yeah. 

 **Eliza:** Did you kiss her or--

 **Alcott:** I kissed her. 

 **Eliza:** I'm still missing the 'how' part.

 **Alcott:** Well, basically this *holds up his hand* did this *grabs Eliza's cheek/neck* and then my lips did--

 **Eliza:** Shut up. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs and lets her go*

 **Eliza:** I meant I'm confused on the details because last I checked you...hated her.

 **Alcott:** I never said I hated her. 

 **Eliza:** You said when she touched you, you hoped she got rabies, went insane, suffered through horribly disfiguring rashes and burns and died. 

 **Alcott:** *amused*...and you got hate from that...?

 **Eliza:** Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *sighs* I don't know what changed, all right? 

 **Eliza:** *eyebrow arching* You think you're on the rebound?

 **Alcott:** *immediately* No. 

 **Eliza:** ...well the facts kind of--

 **Alcott:** Eliza. *cuts her off looking at her seriously* I wasn't thinking about Sienna at all. Haven't been, in fact. This wasn't that. 

 **Eliza:** *cuts herself off to and just looks at him for a moment suddenly smiling a bit* So you like her. 

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips together, taking the bottle and taking another sip*

 **Eliza:** ...for the love of Merlin Al, talk to me. Or I'm taking that bottle too. 

 **Alcott:** *glares narrowed-eyes at her over the bottle and lowers it and then offers a non-committal shrug* ...I...she's...*groans* Yes. I guess...I do. 

 **Eliza:** *with a softer smile* Oh.

 **Alcott:** ...oh shut up. 

 **Eliza:** No, seriously. *smile flicking* If you like her...that's great. 

 **Alcott:** No, it's really not.

 **Eliza:** *arching eyebrow* Why?

 **Alcott:** A million and a half reasons. *groans* This would be much easier if it would just... go away. 

 **Eliza:** *rolling eyes* Oh Al...

 **Alcott:** *swallows* Well, it would. *shakes his head* 

 **Eliza:** So you never want anything else to happen. 

 **Alcott:** ....I didn't say that.

 **Eliza:** So you do.

 **Alcott:** I never said that either.

 **Eliza:** So you're neutral.

 **Alcott:** ...that would imply I didn't care. Unfortunately, I seem to.

 **Eliza:** ....I'm out of options. 

 **Alcott:** All of them. None of them. *groans*

 **Eliza:** ...do you want to kiss her again? 

 **Alcott:** *looks at her*

 **Eliza:** It's a simple question.

 **Alcott:** With an extraordinarily complex answer. 

 **Eliza:** Well, only if you make it extraordinarily complex. 

 **Alcott:** *sips his beer again*

 **Eliza:** Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *drops it* Yes. *frustrated* Okay? I do. I didn't want her to run off on me afterwards either. And I expected her to hit me and she didn't, and I really was just kissing her to prove a point I think, and see if she'd just stop. talking. and apparently, jokes on me. 

 **Eliza:** *softly* You really like her, don't you?

 **Alcott:** ...you're going to turn this into some ridiculous romance novel thing aren't you?

 **Eliza:** Again. Simple question.

 **Alcott:** *exhales* She helped me recently. A lot.

 **Eliza:** *brow furrows* 

 **Alcott:** With the...centaurs. You know. Warning us. 

 **Eliza:** ...right...*presses her lips together and shrugs her shoulders* And then?

 **Alcott:** And then we just....we verbal sparred quite a bit. Found myself enjoying it. That's it. Happy now? I talked. 

 **Eliza:** Are you going to ask her out?

 **Alcott:** No.

 **Eliza:** ... _Al_.

 **Alcott:** *echoes her tone* El _iza._

 **Eliza:** Oh come on.

 **Alcott:** Why are you acting like the mere thought of my asking out Hols Graft, who is pretty much our sworn mortal enemy, isn't completely ridiculous? 

 **Eliza:** Because the only one being completely ridiculous here is you.

 **Alcott:** I'm not.

 **Eliza:** _Sworn mortal enemy_?

 **Alcott:** All right maybe that's an overstatement.

 **Eliza:** You have been known to love hyperbole. 

 **Alcott:** It's still a ridiculous notion. 

 **Eliza:** *cuts him off* You're being stubborn. 

 **Alcott:** She thinks she knows everything--

 **Eliza:** Yeah, because you can't relate to that at all--

 **Alcott:** She's bossy as hell, demanding, really--

 **Eliza:** And you like her. 

 **Alcott:** She drives me up a wall.

 **Eliza:** And you like her.

 **Alcott:** She's a Gryffindor.

 **Eliza:** And you like her.

 **Alcott:** And she--would you stop saying that!?

 **Eliza:** I'm going to say it as often as you keep coming up with ridiculous reasons not to ask her out.

 **Alcott:** Sienna.

 **Eliza:** ...well that's an obstacle, sure. *beat* What about the uhm...

 **Alcott:** *exhales* You can say werewolf. It's not a bad word.

 **Eliza:** Yeah. *runs a hand through her hair* *sighs* Okay fine. With that I get why you wouldn't. 

 **Alcott:** *is aware that considering Hols already know that's basically the last reason that actually matters, but his lips twitch and he nods* 

 **Eliza:** Just so you know though. *smiles slightly* All I want you to be is happy. You don't have to be...afraid to tell me that you liked kissing her, because I'm friends with Sienna. 

 **Alcott:** *nods, saying slowly* I want Sienna to be happy, Eliza. I just know she never would have been with me. 

 **Eliza:** *just nods* 

 **Alcott:** And this has nothing to...do with that.

 **Eliza:** *laughs once* Yeah. I know. *hugs him for a second and kisses his forehead* It was that good a kiss huh?

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Well I never disappoint, Eliza.

 

&.

 **Lynn:** *fixing her hair as she walks because it got caught under her backpack in her haste  & heads down the steps quickly towards the classroom so that she's walking into the hallway when she spots him & she grins subconsciously instantly, walking towards him* Hey. *kissing his cheek in greeting* Can I steal you? 

 

 **Nick:** *walking with his friends but he tells them to go on ahead as he sees Lynn walk down the corridor* Hi. *kisses her cheek as well and grins* Oh please, go right ahead. *chuckles and takes her hand* 

 

 **Lynn:** *laughs once, squeezing his hand as he takes hers and grins* Great. *offers his friends a wave as they leave  & then turns to walk with him* Go for a walk? 

 

 **Nick:** *smiling and then nods* Sure. *walking them towards the grounds* So what's up? You seem...*tilts his head* rattled. 

 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch; kind of amused that he can already tell* ...I actually feel like I just got hit by a bludger but. *pause* I shouldn't? I just...I got told surprising news. 

 

 **Nick:** *eyebrow rises* A bludger? So I take it this news is not of the pleasant and positive kind? 

 

 **Lynn:** *with her free hand rubbing her forehead for a second and her lips flick* ...I don't know. *drops her hand and laughs once* When two people consistently say they hate each other...and then song..I feel like I just walked into a romantic comedy really. *head shake, rolling her eyes to the sky as she mutters under her breath* It was so. obvious. *lips twitch and looks back* ...sorry. I'd explain, I just, currently sworn to secrecy. Girl code. 

 

 **Nick:** *eyebrows rise  & then wiggle in amusement* Sounds exciting. *lips twitch and then shakes his head* No problem, I'm not a big fan of gossip either way. *grins* Sounds like a heavy case of denial though. 

 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Really? *smiles* ...okay that's refreshing. I just meant...it's not like I think you'd tell. *laughs as well* So deep in denial actually that I so much as say the word and she pretends it doesn't exist. 

 

 **Nick:** Who would I tell anyways? *lips twitch* Serious denial then. Even after the kiss? I thought that's what breaks the denial in movies. 

 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Mmm...you'd be surprised who you know now. *chuckles* Apparently? Well besides admitting to liking it and saying he's perhaps *not* a piece of shit. *head shake* Convincing. 

 

 **Nick:** *eyebrow rises and then laughs* Oh don't put me in the position to guess, I love guessing games. *teasing and then laughs* Well, sounds like more snogging is needed. 

 

 **Lynn:** *grins* All right..point taken. *tilts her head, amused  & shakes herself a bit at the image* Ahh. *lips twitch* That just...*blinkblink* Okay. See. The thing is I kind of hated the guy too... ...a lot. Might have contemplated putting...uhm *lips twitch again*...doxy eggs in his pumpkin juice? 

 

 **Nick:** *eyebrows rise* You hated the guy that your friend snogged? Awkward. *laughs* Might be time to...develop a better relationship with the guy. *lips twitch. 

 

 **Lynn:** *protests good naturedly* I have--had, I suppose-- good reason! He was an ass. *hmphs* And deserved it. *pause, then her face falls  & she sighs* ...and I know. *nudging his shoulder with his* ...stop being logical. 

 

 **Nick:** Oh I'm sure. And girls love assholes, well, some. *lips twitch and he laughs as she nudges his shoulder* Well, I have to be logical, I can't be emotional. *grins* But I'll stop. 

 

 **Lynn:** *arching her brow teasing* Hm...but see you're not an asshole. So by that logic I suppose I shouldn't be dating you? *brow wiggles  & then laughs* Oh no? Can't be emotional? *gaze flicks to his lips for a moment, biting her own* 

 

 **Nick:** No, I'm not. *grins and shrugs* That just means you're not most girls. But then again I already knew that. *lips twitch* No, not in this situation. I don't see people, I see...like triangles with person A and asshole B.

 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch  & she nods once, smiling warmly* ...true. *tucks the strand of her hair back and then chuckles* ...Oh that's definitely a good way to put that, I like that. *sincerely amused* ...wait a triangle? Whose the third side?

 

 **Nick:** Well not like a love triangle. *laughs* Just like little individual triangles to represent the people *lips twitch* can't really imagine triangles snogging but.

 

 **Lynn:** *blinks in amusement trying to picture, her brows furrowing* ...that is a strange image....*pauses* Couldn't you go with like, stick people? Pink and blue and what not? *eyebrow wiggles* 

 

 **Nick:** That's...somehow even more odd. *laughs* Seeing as how I associate stick figures with little kids. 

 

 **Lynn:** *laughs* True. Okay wait, you'd have to...I don't know, put a cloud of angst around them or something so they're teenagers. *head shakes* 

 

 **Nick:** That sounds appropriate. *laughs and then shakes his head* So what are you going to do?

 

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip thinking  & then just sighs* Whatever she wants me to do. I want, her to be happy. *furrows her brow* Of course that's not to say I'm not going to make sure he knows how lucky he is. *lips twitch* 

 

 **Nick:** *nods and then chuckles* Oh, I'm sure you'll be extensively thorough in informing him. *lips twitch* Can I tag along and watch? *teasing* 

 

 **Lynn:** *laughs  & then wiggles her eyebrow back at him, half smirking as he teases* Well I don't know, you might distract me...

 

 **Nick:** Hmm, maybe. *laughs* Well, what if I promise to behave? *smirks* For a while? 

 

 **Lynn:** *laughing* ...for a little while? *head shaking still teasing* Well, all right. I suppose when I'm done informing him, good behavior wouldn't be that desirable anyways. 

 

 **Nick:** Exactly. And actually good behavior right now is really *stops walking and turns to her, wrapping his arms around her waist* really difficult right now. 

 

 **Lynn:** *exclaims laughing once under her breath as he turns her  & grins up at him, arms going around his neck* Oh is it? *exhales breathlessly* Show me? 

 

 **Nick:** *smirks briefly at her request and then pulls her to him using his arms around her waist, closing the distance between them and kissing her slowly but deeply*

 

 **Lynn:** *pulling herself in slowly as she kisses him back, her eyes fluttering shut, her heart beat drowning out other sound until--

 **Devin:** *clears his throat, arching his eyebrow amused at them even as his jaws tight* Lynn--

 **Lynn:** *breaks off in surprise, her hand fluttering to her lips for a moment* Devin! 

 **Devin:** \--and-- I'm going to guess, Nick?

 **Lynn:** *flustered, blushing a bit* Yes--

 **Devin:** Or I hope, really--

 **Lynn:** Oh ha ha. 

 

 **Nick:** *pulls away as he hears the sound of a clearing throat, passing a hand over his mouth as Lynn exclaims Dev's name, looking between the siblings as they talk back and forth and he chuckles once and extends his hand out with one arm still around Lynn's waist* Nick Callaway, nice to meet you, man.

 

 **Lynn:** *is mouthing 'behave' at Devin too as she turns, staying within his loose grasp*

 **Devin:** *pressing his lips together slightly amused at Lynn's mouthing, and he takes Nick's hand after a moment, nodding and shaking it with what I consider to be a wholly unnecessary amount of force but I might be overstating that* Nice to meet you too. 

 **Lynn:** Great, you've met. *eyebrow arching* 

 **Devin:** *shakes head at Lynn laughs* I was wondering if you were hiding him.

 **Lynn:** I was not.

 **Devin:** *headshakes* Seems I was interrupting something though.

 **Lynn:** You were actually.

 **Devin:** *just looks at her for a moment* Well, I apologize.

 **Lynn:** *underherbreath* Don'tsoundverysorry--

 **Devin:** *turns to Nick* I assume she wasn't hiding you for any particular reason, right? 

 **Lynn:** Devin!

 

 **Nick:** *shakes Devin's hand, feeling the 'unnecessary amount of force' but otherwise not showing any indication of it, letting his hand fall to his side, lips twitching in amusement at how rattled Lynn is, and at their interaction, and chuckles as the question turns to him and then shrugs* I just figured she didn't want to share. At least *turns to Lynn* that's what I'm assuming right? Not ashamed of me or anything? *raises his eyebrows, half smirking in amusement*

 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles once, her cheeks still a bit red and she nods* Well you know how it is. *lips twitch* 

 **Devin:** *laughs*

Lynn ...and considering I'm already sharing you with Nadia every night. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* ...Yeah actually--

 **Lynn:** Dev--

 **Devin:** \--thank you, for that. I couldn't get her to focus on goblin rebellions. 

 **Lynn:** *amused* Actually, I bet you weren't focusing either--

 **Devin:** Okay, details. 

 

 **Nick:** *laughs once at the mention of the tutoring and nods* its no problem, really. She's a sweet girl, attention span of a goldfish though *lips twitch* reminds me a bit of my sister. sorry about stealing her every night though *chuckles*

 

 **Devin:** *laughs* No worries. She'd be in the library studying anyways.

 **Lynn:** And this stops him from distracting her.

 **Devin:** *amused* Yeah, Lynn, how much homework do you have to do right now?

 **Lynn:** We're not talking about me.

 **Devin:** That's what I thought. *headshake*

 

 **Nick:** *chuckles* studying unsuccessfully *lips twitch* actually, Lynn *turns to her* he has a point. we do have that essay to write, on Spencer's Gift? *eyebrows rise* We should probably work on that before I have to go tutor Nadia.

 

 **Devin:** ...most likely.

 **Lynn:** *straightens a bit at the question, and then starts to get a very wicked smirk, which she figures Dev will recognize so she clears her throat* Oh god, right. 

 **Devin:** Spencer's Gift? *curious* I've never heard of it..what...?

 **Lynn:** *waves this off* Later, Dev, I didn't realize how fast the due date was..*looks at Nick* coming. 

 

 **Nick:** its a relatively new theory *shrugs and then purses his lips in amusement at Lynn's comment* yeah, it just...popped up unexpectedly. *shrugs again* but, again, it was nice to officially meet you, Devin.

 

 **Lynn:** *amused, her arm around him gripping a little tighter at the comment and nodding* We really do need to finish...I'm afraid I've left the deadline a little tight. 

 **Devin:** *is pretty aware that something's going on but he rather 'graciously' doesn't say anything else about it and just nods amused* Of course. It was definitely nice to meet you too. I'll...see you around. *walks the other way* 

 **Lynn:** *turns amused after he leaves, her arm going around his neck again, mming* Popped up unexpectedly, hm? 

 

 **Nick:** *turns back to Lynn after Dev leaves, pulling her into him again, a grin on his lips, eyebrows popping* Yes. Apparently I didn't realize how fast it was...coming. *smirks and then kisses her again, leaning away barely from her lips* what do you say we go finish this essay in private?

 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles at her own innuendo against his lips smirking and just shakes her head amused a half inch, kissing him back breathlessly, her breath inhaling in a hiss and she nods once* I say, shut up and write. *kisses him once, hard; her hand sliding down his arm to grasp his hand so they can find privacy.*

&.

 

 **Alcott:** *locker room after working out, slams locker door shut with a bit of unnecessary force and leaning back against it, after he realizes he broke the hinges, not used to the amount of strength* ...Shit. *reaching for his wand* 

 **Devin:** *coming in with a work-out bag slung over his shoulder, wife-beater and shorts on and he tilts his head at Al; calling* ...oh hey mate.

 **Alcott:** *looks up in surprise, dropping the door and it falls to the floor*

 **Devin:** *head drops looking at the ground, tilting his head* ...Everything okay?

 **Alcott:** Yeah. Yeah mate, everything's fine...*picking up the door* ...everything is...just perfect. 

 **Devin:** ...uh huh. *hand coming up and flicking his ear, brow furrowed* 

 **Alcott:** *mutter* Just perfect.

 **Devin:** *drops the bag on the ground and leans back against the locker as Alcott fixes the door, brow arched* What happened?

 **Alcott:** *looks at him for a few moments and then he runs his hand across his forehead* I uh...all right you have to promise me you won't laugh. 

 **Devin:** ...I can do my best *brow furrows*, though really it's a bit of an uncontrollable function... 

 **Alcott:** *exhales, looks at Devin, waiting several long moments, then bites his bottom lip and then says defiantly* I kissed Hols.

 **Devin:** ...Graft? *lips press together with his immediate suppressing of laughter* 

 **Alcott:** *snaps* Yes, Graft, Hols Graft, I kissed her. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch and he snorts after a moment amused, now unable to stop laughing for a second* 

 **Alcott:** *smirks wryly and looking away* Yeah, yeah, go ahead...*arms folding across his chest* 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch again* Sorry mate it's just ... I mean..it's Hols. *eyebrow arch*

 **Alcott:** *snaps* I know man, I know. *turns away* 

 **Devin:** ...you're kind of...freaking out about this aren't you? 

 **Alcott:** *snorts* That obvious?

 **Devin:** Well I mean, was it...was it bad?

 **Alcott:** *head snaps back up* No. Nah nothing like that. 

 **Devin:** *confused shoulder shrug* Well okay then.

 **Alcott:** *blinks* ...that's it? Okay then? 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Uh. Al, not sure how to...put, this, but--

 **Alcott:** *snappish* Just say it.

 **Devin:** ...well I knew.

 **Alcott:** Knew what?

 **Devin:** *is now looking even more flummoxed and simultaneously amused* That you liked her. 

 **Alcott:** *snaps immediately* I don't! 

 **Devin:** *snorts* So you just kind of bumped lips accidentally. You tripped, right? 

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes* I--the hell do you mean you knew?

 **Devin:** *eyebrow arches higher* Well, in a twisted way...you guys have been hitting on each other for months. Sometimes literally hitting each other, actually... 

 **Alcott:** *narrows his eyes at Devin* 

 **Devin:** ...pretty basic psychology. You project dislike onto objects you most desire out of fear. *arches eyebrow* Look at uh--Darcy and Elizabeth or...

 **Alcott:** *wry amused* You're really going to quote classic literature at me right now? 

 **Devin:** I'll go Shakespeare if I have to. 

 **Alcott:** *snorts* Don't embarrass yourself. I know it much better than you. 

 **Devin:** *amused sudden smile* All right, so no Shakespeare. 

 **Alcott:** *leans back against the locker, frowning and hitting his head back* 

 **Devin:** *tilts his head* What happened afterwards? 

 **Alcott:** *shrugs his shoulder* She ran. Flat out fled, pretty much actually. 

 **Devin:** Immediately? 

 **Alcott:** *pauses* ...well no. 

 **Devin:** *brow arch* 

 **Alcott:** ...first she kissed back.

 **Devin:** *is now smirking* Ah. You're right, this is totally something to freak out over. A hot girl kissed you back. Mhm. 

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes* You're not helping. 

 **Devin:** *grins* Truth hurts, man.

 **Alcott:** *hoisting his own bag up on his shoulder shaking his head at him* It's not that simple. 

 **Devin:** ...you're looking at the poster guy of relationships with complications of disapproval and Houses. Just saying. 

 **Alcott:** Yeah and that worked for you and Nadia really well. 

 **Devin:** We're back together aren't we? 

 **Alcott:** *beat, aggravated groan* 

 **Devin:** So basically just don't be an ass and you'll be fine. *pauses, lips twitching as he teases with a smirk* I mean I know that'll be hard for you. Natural state and what not. 

 **Alcott:** You are such a dick. *with the towel over his shoulder he whips it at Devin's shoulder, who laughs and grabs the towel away* 

 **Devin:** Yup. *nods* And you like Hols. Word of advice man? Don't wait too long. Hols is uh...

 **Alcott:** *eyebrow arching at him* 

 **Devin:** *shoulder shrug* Well, she's special. *lips press together* 

 **Alcott:** *beat* So there's no way she's single long.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Well that, and...well don't keep her waiting. *clears throat* She deserves more than that. 

 **Alcott:** *looking at him curiously with a head tilt and he just smiles for a second and then nods* Yeah. Yeah all right man. *proceed to do that bromance hand grasp-hug and separate without so much a goodbye.*

 

&.

 

 **Hols:** *waiting outside a classroom waiting for the Hufflepuff fourth years to get out, still kinda jittery, and her hair still wet and just letting it drip on the floor not really giving a fuck about it*

 **Irene:** then I said, ‘bitch please-

 **Trent:** mmh hmm, tell it like it is-

 **Irene:** this is _not_ a push-up bra.’ I mean, for serious!

 **Alisha:** she was just jealous, obviously.

 **Nadia:** *shaking her head in disbelief and amusement and blinks as she sees Hols* Hey there….is something wrong?

 **Hols:** why would there be anything wrong?

 **Nadia:** *frowns* Well you never wait for me to get out of class…and you look anxious.

 **Hols:** I was hoping to talk to Irene, actually.

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow rises* Irene-

 **Irene:** *pops up* what do you need sweetums?

 **Hols:** Liquor. Hard.

 **Irene:** Oh of course, no problem honey *goes to open her purse*

 **Nadia:** *holds onto Irene’s wrist and looks at Hols with a raised eyebrow* Why?

 **Hols:** *not paying attention to her* Irene?

 **Nadia:** Hols.

 **Hols:** Nadia. *turns back to Irene* Irene.

 **Nadia:** Irene.

 **Irene:** Guys! *just gives Hols a shrunk bottle* not dealing with this.

 **Alisha:** *looking on with amusement* I think we should leave the sisters alone.

 **Trent:** good idea. Privacy is needed.

 **Irene:** *nods* yeah…and that’s saying something because I am a nosy mother fucker.

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* That’s right.

 **Hols:** *rolls eyes but still nods at Irene* Thanks, babe.

 **Irene:** Oh no problem. And you know, whenever you want to disregard your dislike of blondes-

 **Nadia:** bye guys.

 **Alisha:** *walking away with the other two, laughing* see you later, Nadia.

 **Hols:** *smirked a bit, shaking her head* I like her.

 **Nadia:** most people do. So tell me what’s wrong.

 **Hols:** bye Nadia *turns around*

 **Nadia:** um no *puts herself in front of Hols* not okay. Cuz you know what? If you are so entitled to every detail of my personal and romantic and scholarly life then merlindamnit, I think I deserve the same in return. *crosses her arms in front of her chest* So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But either way *raises her eyebrows* you’re going to tell me.

 **Hols:** *blinks in surprise* ….did you get laid?

 **Nadia:** what?! No! Why-

 **Hols:** I’m just saying, this new attitude-

 **Nadia:** I’ve had enough of being quiet right now. 

 **Hols:** Oh just shh- *takes her arm and drags her into a broom closet*

 **Nadia:** …may I ask why you always manage to find a _closet_ and not an empty classro-

 **Hols:** *after doing her routine lock of the door and muffliato* Oath of secrecy.

 **Nadia:** I solemnly swear, yadda yadda yadda- tell me.

 **Hols:** Alcott kissed me.

 **Nadia:** *blinks* …Dev’s Alcott?

 **Hols:** I didn’t realize Devin claimed ownership of him-

 **Nadia:** *interrupting* like, Alcott Brackner?

 **Hols:** *rolls eyes* how many Alcotts do you know?

 **Nadia:** …what the hell?

 **Hols:** Yeah.

 **Nadia:** *frowns* I don’t even…how did….you hate him.

 **Hols:** *reluctant noise* Not…anymore.

 **Nadia:** *blinks* When did…this happen?

 **Hols:** I have no fucking clue. It just happened okay?

 **Nadia:** And how come I’m only hearing about this now?!

 **Hols:** Because there was nothing to tell!

 **Nadia:** Obviously there was something to tell because now you two are _snogging!_

 **Hols:** it was only once!

 **Nadia:** when?

 **Hols:** *huffs out* this morning.

 **Nadia:** well, at least I’m not hearing about this like a week later or something.

 **Hols:** *purses lips* Nadia I don’t deliberately keep things from you.

 **Nadia:** whatever, not important, I need to know more.

 **Hols:** there’s nothing left to-

 **Nadia:** bullshit.

 **Hols:** You know, I need to record you like this because honest to Merlin? Absolutely no one believes me afterwards! They think you’re the sweetest thing to ever walk the planet, now fucking look at you.

 **Nadia:** well, you have that effect. And stop deviating!

 **Hols:** *throws her hands up in the air* What do you want me to say?!

 **Nadia:** well did you kiss back?

 **Hols:** well not at first.

 **Nadia:** so you did.

 **Hols:** it was kind of difficult not to.

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow rises* that good?

 **Hols:** shut up, it doesn’t matter.

 **Nadia:** um, kinda matters, yeah.

 **Hols:** no it doesn’t *snaps* besides, I stopped him quickly enough.

 **Nadia:** you are so in de-

 **Hols:** *puts a hand over her mouth* don’t say that word. Say that word, ever, and I swear I’m cutting off your tongue.

 **Nadia:** *rolls her eyes and pushes Hols’ hand away* denial.

 **Hols:** uncool.

 **Nadia:** listen to me, and listen carefully, alright? *eyebrow rises* if you liked kissing him then it’s not an absurdity to assume that maybe you like *him*

 **Hols:** I don’t li-

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow rises* are you seriously going to say right now that you don’t like the guy you snogged?

 **Hols:** *groans* stop using that word.

 **Nadia:** well?

 **Hols:** well I don’t hate him.

 **Nadia:** you’ve established that. Doesn’t explain why you kissed him back though.

 **Hols:** I was just horny.

 **Nadia:** then why did you stop him?

 **Hols:** because….*frowns* well, I wanted to stop…

 **Nadia:** …you sure?

 **Hols:** *frowns* well, yeah. Otherwise why...would I have?

 **Nadia:** because you were scared.

 **Hols:** *scoffs* I don’t get scared.

 **Nadia:** Holly Rae.

 **Hols:** …*rolls eyes* what would I be scared of?

 **Nadia:** wanting to continue. Admitting you like him. Commitment in general?

 **Hols:** I’m not scared of commitment-

 **Nadia:** name one relationship in which you haven’t broken up with a guy after they started getting serious?

 **Hols:** …*bites her bottom lip* well because I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere. 

 **Nadia:** the point being you stopped him because you were scared you wanted to continue, because if you wanted to continue it meant that you liked it, and if you liked it then that would mean that you like *him* and if you like him-

 **Hols:** *whines and just waves her hand in front of her face* stop stop stop stop stop. Stop with the logic!

 **Nadia:** *repeats* and if you like him-

 **Hols:** then what?!

 **Nadia:** Then…then…*frowns* Then I guess you find out if he feels the same.

 **Hols:** *rolls eyes* he doesn’t.

 **Nadia:** *smug* so you do feel something then?

 **Hols:** *glares* don’t trick me like that! And don’t put words in my mouth.

 **Nadia:** *shrugs* well either way, _he’s_ the one who kissed you.

 **Hols:** yeah to shut me up.

 **Nadia:** and was he smug right after the kiss because he succeeded?

 **Hols:** …no-

 **Nadia:** *nods and then smiles* and then, once you two admit you like each other, you-

 **Hols:** do what?

 **Nadia:** well you can go out!

 **Hols:** um, no.

 **Nadia:** well why the hell not?!

 **Hols:** because it’s just wrong.

 **Nadia:** why is it wrong?

 **Hols:** well because…*frowns* because.

 **Nadia:** that is definitely a good excuse.

 **Hols:** because I don’t want to.

 **Nadia:** you sure about that?

 **Hols:** ugh just shut up, Nadia!

 **Nadia:** the fact that it bothers you this much means something.

 **Hols:** I don’t want to talk about this anymore!

 **Nadia:** *sing song* Deniiiaaaal.

 **Hols:** *rolls eyes* this is why I didn’t want to tell you.

 **Nadia:** oh because you knew I was going to make you face the truth? *eyebrow arches*

 **Hols:** bye Nadia *kisses her cheek and walks past her to the door*

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* can I have the full details later?

 **Hols:** *walks out of the closet and doesn’t look back*

 **Nadia:** *shakes her head and walks out too, looking at her watch and then notices she’s late for tutoring* Dragon balls! *runs to the library.*

 

&.

 **Lynn:** *after kissing Nick good bye; fixing her hair in her mirror and walking out, she doesn't realize she's about to walk into Alcott until she stops very suddenly in front of him* Oh!

 **Alcott:** *looks up as well and he sighs; waiting for her to side step around him* 

 **Lynn:** *without moving, just kind of narrowing her eyes* ...oh it's you.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* It's me.

 **Lynn:** *exhales without moving again* 

 **Alcott:** ...what is it now, Lynn?

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip* Nothing. I'm not talking to you.

 **Alcott:** *stands straighter* Oh! I was confused by the whole, lips moving and making sounds thing.

 **Lynn:** *glares at him* 

 **Alcott:** ...but if you really aren't talking that would be a nice change*

 **Lynn:** *doesn't move* 

 **Alcott:** *after several moments he narrows his eyes as well* You actually wanted to talk to me don't you?

 **Lynn:** ....no.

 **Alcott:** *snorts* What exactly did _I_ do?

 **Lynn:** *incredulous* Really?!

 **Alcott:** *beat, and then breathless* ......oh. That. 

 **Lynn:** _Yes,_ that!

 **Alcott:** She told you.

 **Lynn:** Did you think she wouldn't?

 **Alcott:** I--well I hadn't really thought.

 **Lynn:** *snaps* She tells me everything, Brackner.

 **Alcott:** Ah. *lips twitch* Of course.

 **Lynn:** ...and what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?

 **Alcott:** I'm sorry, did I somehow personally offend you here?

 **Lynn:** Don't mess with her. If you mess with her, you're messing with me. 

 **Alcott:** *wry* _Touching_ sentiment. 

 **Lynn:** And anyways did you think you'd just keep it a secret? 

 **Alcott:** There wasn't much forward thinking that went into it, Lynn.

 **Lynn:** Don't need to tell _me_ that. 

 **Alcott:** *snorts*

 **Lynn:** But you hoped she wouldn't tell, didn't you?

 **Alcott:** *shrugs and then says in the same wry bemused tone* Hols is at perfect liberty to brag to whomever she wants.

 **Lynn:** Not likely. *snaps* 

 **Alcott:** *pauses* So she said she _didn't_...

 **Lynn:** Oh, your ego. *rolls her eyes* Forgot who I was talking to for a second.

 **Alcott:** The memory's probably these same place you store my first name.

 **Lynn:** If you act like you're ashamed for _one_ second _Alcott_ , I swear--

 **Alcott:** *immediately* I'm not ashamed. 

 **Lynn:** ...oh. *beat and then snaps* Well good. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs once* Was there something else? 

 **Lynn:** *beat* ...I'm not talking to you. Go away.

 **Alcott:** Gladly. *turns and leaves rather quickly, rubbing his forehead* 

 **Lynn:** *watches him leave and then mutters to herself* ....yeah, because that was definitely my developing a better relationship with him... *sighs aggravated and walks the other way*


	6. What Happens At Kendells, Stays at Kendells

**Devin:** Oh come on, *laughs* you can't honestly think they have a chance...

 **Eliza:** *protesting* I'll have you know I have been supporting the Cannons my whole life. *hmphs*

 **Alcott:** *behind his hand whispers* Masochist. Can't help it.

 **Eliza:** Says the guy who repeatedly rode a broomstick bucking him because he refused to believe it was cursed.

 **Alcott:** Notice she leaves out the part of the story about who cursed it.

 **Eliza:** I was coerced!! *lips twitch* You know that. Missy told me what you diddd...

 **Alcott:** *Hands up* Simple misunderstanding!

 **Devin:** *laughs, sipping butter beer* What did she misunderstand?

 **Eliza:** His level of lingering interest.

 **Devin:** Ahhh..*lips twitching*

 **Alcott:** Common mistake. 

 **Eliza:** You kissed her!

 **Alcott:** Drunk. At a party. I apologized!

 **Devin:** *lips twitch*

 **Eliza:** Yes, it's hard to imagine why she was mad at you...

 **Devin:** Missy's your cousin, right? *nodding to Eliza*

 **Eliza:** *laughs once  & nods*

 **Alcott:** and she was on to that West boy within a week come on, you know she was..

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* so maybe it was just funny seeing you bucked from the broom.

 **Alcott:** I could've been seriously injured.

 **Nadia:** *opens the door to the study room, secretly kind of nervous about it (oh Nadia XD) and just smiles as she enters the room* Hey guys! *sits next to Devin and leans in to kiss him in greeting quickly* how's everybody doing?

 **Eliza:** Are you admitting that I, might have hurt you, Mr. Tough --

 **Devin:** *turns as Al/Eliza continue for a moment, brightening/laughing* Nadia! Hey--*leans up to kiss her back, smiling up at her and patting the seat next to him*--was wondering where you were..

 **Eliza:** Hey Nadia. *grinning/waves* Tell this buffoon I can support whatever Quidditch team I want.

 **Devin:** *laugh* I didn't say you couldn't. I mean sure, if you want to lose..

 **Alcott:** *had a momentary look of panic at seeing Nadia, but he's cleared his throat  & he's smirking now* Masochist. I'm telling you. Hey Nadia.

 **Eliza:** Oh so it's gonna be like that? *lips twitch* and what is the record of your beloved Harpies?

 **Devin:** That's different, *teasing* you know he just watches that team for the girls...

 **Alcott:** They are very talented athletes!

 **Eliza:** You know what? I really must be a masochist, have you two as my best friends...

 **Alcott:** Is she insulting us?

 **Devin:** I think she might be!

 **Alcott:** Well. Rude. *sips his butter beer*

 **Devin:** I don't know, might have been a compliment, I mean she did say we're her best friends.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Well we certainly are 'best'

 **Eliza:** *groans, gestures at Nadia* See what I'm dealing with here?!

 **Devin:** *decidedly ignores this, lips twitching and looking at Nadia too* And how was studying?

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* well it depends...which team? *shakes head* well, the holyhead harpies are decent, and no, I’m not talking about their cleavages. *watches the trio interaction, eyes darting back and forth between all of them, smiling and laughing as Eliza turns to her and nods* Yeah, sounds rather impossible. *grins and then shrugs* boring. If I hear about the reasons about why Urg the Unclean decided to go on a killing spree one more time I might go on a killing spree myself.

 **Eliza:** Cannons. 

 **Alcott:** With the awe-inspiring motto -

 **Devin/Alcott:** Let's Just Cross Our Fingers And Hope for the Best!

 **Alcott:** *breaks off laughing/Eliza blows a strand of hair out of her eyes* 

 **Eliza:** Yeahhh yeah, keep laughing. Joke'll be on you one day.

 **Devin:** What day is that? 2075?

 **Alcott:** Now now, if she wants to be delusional-

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Weren't you just saying *I* was rude?!

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* If we were talking that, think the word "indecent" would be more-

 **Eliza:** *narrows eyes at him*

 **Alcott:** *brow arching  & mouths at her 'what?' while Dev talks over*

 **Devin:** *laughing; putting his arm around Nadia as she sits in a loose comfortable hold just shaking his head* He did like his killing sprees. But driving you to homicide-

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Might make for interesting papers for people to write in the future....I was driven to murder because I hated History of Magic..

 **Eliza:** *rolls her eyes*

 **Alcott:** Quite scandalous really. *amused*

 **Nadia:** *laughs* The Cannons? *laughs again and then stops*....oh, wait you're serious. *She grins sweetly.* Well right, but I mean stat wise, but *shrugs and then frowns* I’m not even joking. These tutoring sessions are just *blows a raspberry* hate history. Maybe I should just fail. Like fail *so* badly that they give up hope on me that they'll be like 'you don’t even have to take this class anymore, were not even going to wait for you to fail this OWL'.

 **Alcott:** *both burst out laughing as Nadia does*

 **Eliza:** *jaw falls in faux-shock  & she presses her lips together* Hey! You're supposed to be on _my_ side!

 **Devin:** *still chuckling, tilting his head* ...err, Liza? 

 **Eliza:** ...yes, even over your side Dev. *nod nod* Female power.

 **Alcott:** *immediately* That we have no problem with.

 **Devin:** At all.

 **Alcott:** *nods* In fact we encourage that.

 **Devin:** Very much so.

 **Alcott:** Except for losing Quidditch teams.

 **Eliza:** My day will come. *amused* I have faith.

 **Alcott:** Keep praying...*sips beer; pauses* Oh, hey, Nadia did you want one? *gestures with his bottle*

 **Devin:** *turns, still holding onto her, craning his neck* Oh we have chips around here too somewhere...

 **Eliza:** *sympathetic* That bad? *shakes her head* I hate History too..

 **Alcott:** Yeah, I'd offer to help but-

 **Eliza:** *immediately* You'd end up more confused.

 **Alcott:** Probably off topic too.

 **Devin:** I, *ignoring them*, just personally hate how much *time* it's taking up...

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Yeah, something you and Lynn can agree on...

 **Devin:** *narrows eyes playfully* Oh don't go there. Please don't go there. I do *not* want to think about that.

 **Nadia:** *honestly apologetic* I'm sorry! I just...they're *really* bad. they'd need to replace the whole team *and* down a couple of cauldrons of Felix felicis. *turns to Devin  & Alcott, glaring playfully as they encourage 'female power' and turns back to Eliza* are they always like this? *chuckles and then brightens* yeah, sure. *nods solemnly* yeah, I hate it, it hates me. *grins* thanks but one tutor is enough. *sighs* yeah. it’s for the rest of the year. *pouts but then laughs* Nick is a sweetie, really.

 **Eliza:** *nods matter of fact  & saying sweetly* 24-7. If not worse.

 **Alcott:** You know you love us. *smirking*

 **Eliza:** I must.

 **Devin:** *amused* It's not like a requirement...

 **Alcott:** Oh I think it is. *grin flicks* Total admiration. All I ask for. 

 **Devin:** Demand, really.

 **Eliza:** And it works *oh so well*...

 **Alcott:** I can hear you, Eliza

 **Eliza:** I'm not whispering, Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch*

 **Devin:** I'm sure he's perfectly nice.

 **Eliza:** Oh Dev.

 **Devin:** What? I met him- he was perfectly nice.

 **Eliza:** Tell me you behaved.

 **Alcott:** ..wait what? No way. *head shake* You gotta defend your sister. Make it clear he's not to get all handsy a--

 **Devin:** Stop mate, just stop.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Did I just hear right? Advocating defending Lynn, Al?

 **Alcott:** *beat, groaning* It's the principle of the thing.

 **Eliza:** Oh, oh I see. Mhmm.

 **Alcott:** *glare*

 **Nadia:** *laughs* I might have to leave, there's just not enough room for me with all this ego. *lips twitch* yeah he told me you met him. He said you behaved, I was content. *grins and then sighs* boys are so defensive- Chace is the exact same way. It's annoying. Brotherly protectiveness.*shrugs and then opens her butterbeer, lips twitching as Eliza teases al about defending Lynn* Lynn doesn't need anyone to defend her or intimidate her boyfriends *hits Devin's shoulder with her own*

 **Devin:** *holding her a little closer/tighter  & shakes his head, saying teasingly* Ooh no you don't...I've missed you too much.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* And that lowers the ego level how?

 **Devin:** *immediately* Al can leave.

 **Alcott:** *laugh* Oh I see how it is. Whatever happened to bros befo-

 **Eliza:** Alcott!

 **Alcott:** *cuts off with a laugh*

 **Devin:** *brow wiggles  & then he turns back to Nadia amused* Mm, my jaw remembers. *rubs his jaw with his free hand*

 **Alcott:** *snort*

 **Eliza:** ....men. *eye rolls*

 **Devin:** *pauses, grinning as he's nudged  & sighs reluctantly* ...true, true, but doesn't mean I won't.

 **Alcott:** *wry* Very touching.

 **Eliza:** Oh no you don't. *chuckle.* You proved you cared...can't take it back now.

 **Nadia:** *smiles* I’ve missed you too. *laughs* 'bros before hos' it’s a saying designated by single and unattractive men for single unattractive men. *grins and shrugs and then purses her lips and frowns before groaning* oh don't remind me. i get annoyed at both of you just remembering it. I’m still mad at him. we haven't talked in....*waves her hand annoyed; was about to say something but is realizing the Lynn topic is getting dangerously close to Hols and then takes a sip of her butterbeer* Dev, if I end up tutor less then it's all your fault. Who'll teach me about Uggo the Usurper then?

 **Devin:** *smile softens and nods*

 **Alcott:** *laughs unwillingly and shakes his head* All right, all right point taken but still. *lips twitch*

 **Eliza:** 'but still'--he's got to be right.

 **Alcott:** *nods* Exactly.

 **Eliza:** *shaking her head looking at him incredulously*

 **Devin:** *briefest frown* You...haven't talked to Chace? *blink* It's...fine, seriously. *blinks*

 **Eliza:** *clears her throat, saying amused* Err. I don't think that's a real goblin...

 **Alcott:** *laugh* No, don't think so.

 **Devin:** Al, you tend to sleep through the class.

 **Alcott:** Details. *gestures with his hand dismissively*

 **Nadia:** *sighs and shrugs* it's more complicated than that. I'd rather not talk about it *frowns and then frowns deepens as she realizes* You're giving me frown lines- stop! *smooths out her frown lines with her hands as she laughs*....well I’m sure there's a goblin named Uggo somewhere. and he might be a usurper. *grins* me and Irene just play hangman. *looks between Deval and then turns to Al* you're an influence *laughs* I haven't decided whether it's good or not.

 **Devin:** *his own frown deepens for a moment, looking at her in concern and with a slight tinge of guilt, but he drops it (fornow) with a nod, holding her a little closer to him again as he simply nods*

Wri: *blinks*

 **Alcott:** *shrugging in amused agreement* Probably even more than one.

 **Eliza:** More than one goblin named "Uggo"?

 **Alcott:** ...is it not a common name?

 **Eliza:** Would you name your child Uggo?

 **Alcott:** I'm not a goblin.

 **Eliza:** ...oh, my mistake.

 **Devin:** *laughs*

 **Alcott:** You know Eliza, you can be quite mean to me. *teasing grin*

 **Eliza:** *lips flick* Deal.

 **Devin:** Oh, a bad influence, definitely. *lips twitching*

 **Alcott:** *smirking* If Eliza's the angel on your shoulder...

 **Eliza:** Aw.

 **Alcott:** See? I'm nothing but nice to you--

 **Devin:** Al's the smooth-talking, devil. *amused*

 **Alcott:** Role I was born to play.

 **Nadia:** I'd name my penguin Uggo. Well, if I had a penguin...I would name it anything really because I'd just be so excited for my own penguin. I want a penguin. *grins and then shrugs* well, as long as the influences are balanced out. *amused* i don't have an angel on my shoulder...surrounded by too many bad influences *lips twitch* like moth to the flame.

 **Devin:** *is sincerely amused by the rambling* Oh? A penguin?

 **Alcott:** ...well, okay then. *lips twitch*

 **Eliza:** *chuckles* Trust me, I know the feeling.

 **Devin:** *grins* Well, you still somehow manage to be an angel all on your own...*smiles at her* shockingly. 

 **Alcott:** *arches his eyebrow, then shakes his head and sips the beer*

 **Eliza:** *amused* Should we leave you two alone?

 **Devin:** *lips twitch*

 **Nadia:** a Black-footed penguin. They live on islands off the south west coast of Africa. They're so cute. And if I had one they wouldn't miss the ice cuz they don’t live on ice and...*purses her lips* I’ll just...shut up now, cause...no one cares. *laughs and then smiles softly at him at his comment* shockingly. no thanks to you. *teasing, kisses him once and then laughs, pursing her lips to help from going red in the face* its fine. *takes a sip of her butterbeer-* so this is what you guys do when you hang out? scandalous. *lips twitch, teasing*

 **Eliza:** *grinning* Actually they do sound adorable.

 **Devin:** *leans into the kiss for a moment, pulling back only a bit and chuckles* 

 **Alcott:** *grins* Oh no, not always...*brow arching*

 **Devin:** *eyerolls*

 **Alcott:** Can't divulge all the secrets immediately, right?

 **Eliza:** I'm a little curious as to what these secrets are myself actually..

 **Alcott:** *just smirks* We're just going easy tonight.

 **Devin:** *just shakes his head*

 **Eliza:** *just rolls her eyes*

 **Nadia:** *beams, and nods and then mouths to only Eliza 'they are!'*

 **Nadia:** secrets? *tilts her head to look up at Dev* you're keeping secrets from me Dev? *takes a sip of butterbeer before laughing* 'easy'? what cuz, i couldn’t handle it? *joking and shakes her head, looks back up at Dev momentarily* he insults me. *to Al* you insult me. *laughs*

 **Alcott:** No, because *some*one stole from me.

 **Eliza:** *winks at Nadia*

 **Devin:** *amusedly, but firmly* Well, then I'd say he owes you an apology.

 **Alcott:** ..how about we invite you to go out with us instead? *grinning*

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* ...where are we going?

 **Alcott:** How about Kendalls? Friday?

 **Devin:** *rubs his forehead, but he's smiling  & turns to Nadia* I'm in if you are.

 **Nadia:** *grins as Eliza winks at her and then considers the offer, trying to rack her brain to see if she ever heard of a Kendalls but she’s admittedly lacking in clubbing knowledge but then nods with a grin* Sounds good to me! I’m in.

 

&.

 **Eliza:** *grabbing Alcott as they exit the Great Hall; she'd been sitting with Sienna for breakfast, and Devin/Alcott had scooted several seats down after a few awkward glances* 

 **Devin:** *looking slightly harried* Hey Liza--I'll catch up with you both okay? 

 **Eliza:** *brow furrows* Everything okay?

 **Devin:** *nod* Yeah, I just left my Potions book in the common room by accident. 

 **Eliza:** Oh, okay. *lips twitch* See you.

 **Devin:** *waves them off*

 **Eliza:** *turns to Al* You're not fooling me you know. 

 **Alcott:** *looks at her flummoxed* What?

 **Eliza:** Oh come on. *slight laugh, brow arch* You haven't stopped thinking about it since the moment it happened.

 **Alcott:** *with a frown flicking* I don't know what you're talking about. *starting to walk to Potions* 

 **Eliza:** *arms folded, tapping her heel as he walks away from her for a moment, then she scoffs with an amused grin and follows him* Oh no?

 **Alcott:** Not a clue. Hey, *turns to her* so I was thinking we invite Irene for Friday too.

 **Eliza:** *tilts head amused* Oh sure. *beat* Right. *beat* For _Kendells_.

 **Alcott:** *aggravated with a head shake/smirk* Wh--why you gotta say it like that? 

 **Eliza:** I'm not saying it any particular way.

 **Alcott:** Oh no? *mimics her tone* For _Kendells_. 

 **Eliza:** I do not sound like that.

 **Alcott:** You completely sound like that.

 **Eliza:** Well if I do, it's only because going to Kendells is completely transparent. 

 **Alcott:** *arches eyebrow* What?

 **Eliza:** Kendells? *laugh* Come on. I know what you're looking for. 

 **Alcott:** I--I happen to like Kendells very much and if you hadn't noticed, our public image was at stake. 

 **Eliza:** *brow arch* Image?

 **Alcott:** With Nadia. You know, going so _easy_ and tame and what not last night. 

 **Eliza:** You mean our image as partakers in alcohol, sex, drugs, and all manners of sins and debauchery. 

 **Alcott:** Very carefully honed. 

 **Eliza:** So we're going to a strip club. 

 **Alcott:** It's a burlesque.

 **Eliza:** Nice way to put it. 

 **Alcott:** Accurate way to put it.

 **Eliza:** And you're just hoping that one of the dancers will be drunk enough to snog you senseless so _you_ can forget about Hols for an evening. 

 **Alcott:** *rolls eyes, saying sarcastically* Yeah right, Eliza, because everything in the world revolves around Hols-freaking-Graft! 

 **Eliza:** *wry* No you're right, everything in the world revolves around Alcott-freaking-Brackner.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* I won't argue with that. 

 **Eliza:** It just so happens that at the moment _your_ world revolves around Hols-freaking-Graft. 

 **Alcott:** I'm not even dignifying that with a response. 

 **Eliza:** *mutters under her breath* Course not. 

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes as they come to the front of the Potions room* Are you done yet?

 **Eliza:** Oh I'm just getting started. 

 **Alcott:** Well great, sit with Sienna today, would you?

 **Eliza:** *amused pursing of her lips* Oh don't you remember? Slughorn partnered us. 

 **Alcott:** I'll partner with Dev.

 **Eliza:** He's partnered with Sienna.

 **Alcott:** Yeah, I'm sure he's thrilled about that.

 **Eliza:** Sorry. *lips twitch* Stuck with me. 

 **Alcott:** *groans as she walks in front of her, muttering under his breath with annoyance* Perfect.

&.

 **Irene:** so what are you going to wear?

 **Nadia:** *shrugs* something cute?

 **Irene:** you mean something hot.

 **Trent:** of course she means something hot- I’ll help pick out your outfit.

 **Alisha:** at least you don’t want to make it *amused*

 **Trent:** she has enough clothes thanks to the beautiful Kass.

 **Nadia:** *sighs* it’s true. But even with that I have nothing to wear.

 **Trent:** we’ll find something. You need something that says ‘after school, I shed off my Huffie robes and I party as good as any of you’

 **Irene:** along with ‘look now bitches-‘

 **Nadia:** I haven’t called anyone a bitch, ever. My outfit is certainly not going to either.

 **Alisha:** *shakes head* we’ll just leave the profanity speaking outfits to Irene.

 **Irene:** *beams* I’m so excited to go! I’ve never been there before.

 **Nadia:** neither have I.

 **Irene:** I hear it’s super…*wiggles eyebrows* intense.

 **Trent:** *looks cautiously at Nadia* maybe you shouldn’t go then.

 **Alisha:** oh she’ll be fine, she has Devin there to protect her. The one I’m worried about is-

 **Irene:** I’ll be *fine*

 **Alisha:** you’ll be the third wheel.

 **Irene:** *pfts* you’re talking to someone who goes to clubs and bars _alone_

 **Trent:** look how well that turned out last time.

 **Nadia:** guys, I’m going to keep an eye out.

 **Irene:** yes, *mother*

 **Alisha:** why don’t you take Justin?

 **Irene:** *goes to open her mouth to respond but is cut off-*

 **Justin:** *walks up behind them* take me where, exactly? *grinning*

 **Alisha:** *laughs* Irene and Nadia are going out tomorrow night-

 **Irene:** Kendells *smirks*

 **Justin:** *frowns for a second* Kendells? Well, damn.

 **Nadia:** *shakes her head* and they’re worried about her, because I’ll have Dev there but-

 **Irene:** oh I won’t be alone- Eliza and Alcott will be there too.

 **Justin:** mmh, yeah the guy who left you drunk and alone the last time you went out, that’s a relief.

 **Trent:** *mouths a ‘wow’*

 **Irene:** *eyebrow arches* in case you don’t remember, he apologized.

 **Justin:** right because that solves everything.

 **Irene:** you know, it’s not your business who I choose to go out with.

 **Nadia:** *quietly* we’re…gonna go. *grabbing Alisha and Trent’s hands and pulling them away*

 **Irene:** *waits until they’re out of earshot and then turns back to Justin* what the hell’s your problem?

 **Justin:** nothing, why would I have a problem? *sarcastic*

 **Irene:** *eyebrow arches and puts her hands on her hips* If you have a problem with my hanging out with Eliza, Dev, or Alcott-

 **Justin:** *sarcastic still* Oh I have no problem. Just like I have no problem with you hanging out with Chad. Or Will. Or Jacob. Or Murray. Or Gui. Or Lars. Or Ilythia for that matter. 

 **Irene:** oh well my bad, that’s definitely the tone of someone that doesn’t have a problem *rolls eyes* if you have something to say then be a man and say it to my face-

 **Justin:** *snaps* the problem is, Irene, that you’re hot and then you’re cold. One minute your flirting like a maniac with me and the next you’re admiring Eric’s biceps or Quincy’s ass or some random shit like that.

 **Irene:** well you know, from what I recall we *motions between them* don’t have anything going on right now, so you have no reason to be jealous-

 **Justin:** no reason? Are you shitting me?!

 **Irene:** *snaps* look, we’ve been playing around for a month now but the reason why I’m ‘whoring’ around-

 **Justin:** I didn’t say that-

 **Irene:** oh you were bloody thinking it! *glares* And I was talking, so shut up! *huffs* the reason is that you haven’t even bothered to ask me out on a real date.

 **Justin:** I’ve-

 **Irene:** of course, but back in January you were all up on asking out Nadia. After merely handing her a book.

 **Justin:** I didn’t-

 **Irene:** *not letting herself get interrupted* And what, so because she’s a well behaved girl, nice, sweet, polite girl you felt the need to treat her like a lady. Hell, any other girl you’ve asked out you’ve been more than amazing and polite with, but with *me*? We’ve gone to third base and we haven’t even gone out on one date!

 **Justin:** *is just silent, jaw clenched tightly*

 **Irene:** yeah, I’m more sexual than any girl you’ve ever dated, I get that. *huffs* But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be wooed, that I don’t want a real relationship- I do! I’ve had a crush on you since first year, merlin damit!

 **Justin:** *steps forward, reaching out his hand* Irene-

 **Irene:** *steps back* don’t touch me. Don’t you dare.

 **Justin:** *stops walking forward and sighs, letting his hand drop* I never…I didn’t think-

 **Irene:** exactly. You didn’t think. *glares*

 **Justin:** I’m sorry, I just figured-

 **Irene:** that I would *want* to be treated like a whore?

 **Justin:** no, no, of course not-

 **Irene:** well it sure seemed that way *snaps again and then sighs, holding her head up higher* So really, whom I choose to hang out with is none of your concern. If you haven’t asked me out yet, then you won’t do it at all-

 **Justin:** Irene-

 **Irene:** and quite frankly, if you were to ask me out any time after this I wouldn’t say yes. Because it’d feel like a pity date, and I don’t need your pity.

 **Justin:** Irene, I like you-

 **Irene:** no. You like these *grabs her breasts* and this *slaps her hands down on her bum* and you’re getting protective and territorial over all of this not me-

 **Justin:** Irene stop-

 **Irene:** *crosses her arms in front of her chest as he gets the point* you don’t like *me*. You don’t like the girl who’d do anything for her best friends, or the proud Hufflepuff who organized a house-wide dance number for a Quidditch game, the slightly broken daughter of a dad who wishes she were never born, and a mother who half of the time can’t even remember her daughter’s name.

 **Justin:** you never let me meet that person!

 **Irene:** you never bothered to find out! Because, heaven forbid, I stop sucking your dick! God, just *frowns and passes a hand over her face* you are such a guy! For all your talk of women being the arrow and that shit, you’ve managed to treat me worse than anyone else.

 **Justin:** I thought that’s all *you* wanted! You can’t make this all my fault Rene, never once did you express an interest in me that wasn’t physical.

 **Irene:** *throws her hands up in the air* I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You have a problem with the people I hang out with? You don’t want to share? Well, too fucking bad because you don’t fucking deserve it.

 **Justin:** Irene, I never meant-

 **Irene:** you never meant to let it get this far?

 **Justin:** *frowns*

 **Irene:** of course you didn’t. Because you never wanted to date me in the first place.

 **Justin:** that’s not true-

 **Irene:** of course it’s true! Any person in this school would be lucky to be with me- except you! Otherwise you would have asked me out long before I seduced you. *frowns* Because that’s what you do! You ask a girl out, you get to know her because you want to know more about them but that never happened with me.

 **Justin:** you’re my friend-

 **Irene:** who’s just a hot piece of ass.

 **Justin:** no, Irene, no-

 **Irene:** you know what? It’s fine. It’s fine, this whole conversation? I’m already over it. Consider it my mistake for thinking I wasn’t just a booty call. *turns around and starts walking away*

 **Justin:** Irene. Irene! *calls out after her*

 **Irene:** let me guess! *turns around* ‘we can still be friends; I’ll even fuck you to make you feel better?’ *eyebrow rises and doesn’t want for his answer before turning around again and walking out of his sight.*

 

&.

 

 **Eliza:** *holds up two dresses* Which one do you think?

 **Devin:** *looks over the top of his book and then arches his eyebrow* You're not serious?

 **Eliza:** Oh come on Dev! It's not like I'm asking you for alchemical scientific theories here. 

 **Devin:** ...those I'd know more than fashion. 

 **Eliza:** *aggravated noise* It's just a question of opinion.

 **Devin:** But I'm a ... guy.

 **Eliza:** So?

 **Devin:** ...so generally speaking we prefer when the clothes are, well, off.

 **Eliza:** And which of these dresses would you want to rip off more?

 **Devin:** *laughs*

 **Eliza:** *holds the dress up against her chest, tilting her head from side to side and then considers the other one* ...The red one. Yeah? I mean it goes with the whole sin and debauchery theme... 

 **Devin:** *shoulder shrug still reading his book, snorts once* Right, right.

 **Eliza:** *throws the dresses on the bed and sits down with a humph.* Not of course, that that's actually the reputation Al wants to protect tonight-

 **Devin:** *turns page*

 **Eliza:** \--and he can say it as much as he wants, I know perfectly well that he just wants to protect that whole "i don't care" reputation--

 **Devin:** *hand falls down the page as he reads*

 **Eliza:** \--that he's not a nice guy, Slytherin mystery sex-god thats you know, better than everyone and couldn't possibly like Hols Graft. *eyes roll to the ceiling* 

 **Devin:** *idly* Couldn't possibly.

 **Eliza:** And I mean this is just completely ridiculous anyways, because you know, Gryffindors and Slytherins can be friends! It's not that out of the realm of possibility, we're not you know, actually mortal enemies. We can hang out. Or you know, *fidget* even more than friends...if they...want that. *blows a strand of hair out of her eye* 

 **Devin:** *pauses and looks up from his book again, lowering it* ...Liza?

 **Eliza:** It's nothing. *exhale* Al's just being stubborn. 

 **Devin:** True.

 **Eliza:** You know if they were just in the same room together again, I bet they'd talk.

 **Devin:** I bet they'd do anything _except_ talk actually.

 **Eliza:** *pause* Well, *nod* but either way, nothing's gonna happen if they both keep determinedly ignoring each other like this. 

 **Devin:** *brows furrow slowly* 

 **Eliza:** A trip to Kendells. Just dear god. ...What?

 **Devin:** *slowly* What if we...could, get them in the same room together? 

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow in astonishment* How? 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch, sitting up straighter* Well. *gesturing over his book* Alcott invited Irene tonight too, there's enough of us going that obviously it's just kind of...friends going out, right? I mean, besides Nadia and I obviously? 

 **Eliza:** Right?

 **Devin:** So what if Hols gets invited too?

 **Eliza:** *snort* She won't go. 

 **Devin:** No-- I don't mean invited by Al. Or either of us-- she needs to be asked by someone she won't automatically say no to, nor suspect. 

 **Eliza:** *arches eyebrow* Like who?

 **Devin:** Like my sister. *sits up, his brow still furrowed*

 **Eliza:** And when Hols asks her whose going?

 **Devin:** Lynn won't know either; you won't ask Lynn to ask Hols, you just invite Lynn. 

 **Eliza:** And Nick.

 **Devin:** *beat* ..well yeah I guess.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* You don't think she'd go out on a Friday night without her boyfriend do you?

 **Devin:** Details-- the point is if Lynn just hears about this from you as in 'a bunch of us' are going, she'll invite Hols.

 **Eliza:** How do you know that? 

 **Devin:** *shoulder shrug* Because I know my sister. And because I doubt Al's the only one of them looking for a night out at a club as a distraction. 

 **Eliza:** ...you're devious.

 **Devin:** Is that a no?

 **Eliza:** Oh no, I'm totally on board and I will go tell Lynn right now. *grin* I just wanted you to know you're horrible. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Yeah, so Nadia's said. *goes back to his book as Eliza waves over her shoulder/departs* 

 

&.

 **Alcott:** *is walking back inside after Herbology, and he comes to an abrupt halt when he sees Irene walking out in a huff/upset and he blinks for a second and then turns to follow her calling out instantly* Hey! Irene--wait..what's...*blinks a few times, his hand going out to gently hold her arm so she'll just stop and his eyes are wide as he blinks at her* What...what happened? 

 **Irene:** *doesn't hear him call out her name, or rather is ignoring because Justin was still calling out her name as she left, refusing to cry, and then stops immediately as she feels a hand holding her arm and she turns around, ready to yell when she's surprised to see Alcott there* Alcott? what *hears his question* I...*frowns and shakes her head* I...*purses her lips and then sniffs once, lifting her head* nothing, everything's fine.

 **Alcott:** *blinks in surprise and drops her arm catching his breath for a moment and with the slightest frown flicking across his face, exhaling and nodding once*..Yeah. Course. ..All right look, you don't have to tell me. *brow flicks, saying matter of fact* But....*clears throat slightly uncomfortably, but sincerely* you know you can, right?

 **Irene:** *sniffs* can I? can I really? don't you guys all stick together, like it's some sort of male code or something? *frowns* sorry, I know you're not...*exhales* it doesn't matter, I've dealt with assholes all my life, it's nothing new, don't know why I expected him to be any different but lesson learned, and much better to learn it now than later, right? *bites her bottom lip and then mutters to herself* right.

 **Alcott:** *head shaking, eyes still wide* Not when it makes a beautiful woman upset, no. *brow arching a little confused but he frowns, his jaw stiff at first when she frowns too and after a few moments he just tilts his head and half-snaps rather seriously, though with concern obvious* Who? 

 **Irene:** *sighs and purses her lips briefly, frowning* blond haired, blue eyed wonder boy Justin Hall. *her bottom lip quivers briefly before clears her throat* its not a big deal. if anything I had it coming- i know what the rumors say about me, some are true, hell i think i started one of them myself. *exhales in frustration* i thought he'd be different, ya know? but he's not. he's just like every damn guy I've dated- and we didn't even date! *throwing her hands up in the air* so, it's almost like I have no reason to be upset because honestly I was disillusioned, thinking that maybe I'm more than a nice pair of tits, great ass, and a ridiculously talented mouth. Obviously I'm not, obviously *he* doesn't think so, why would he? why would anyone, actually?! *huffs out and passes a hand over her face* 

 **Alcott:** *is blinking and listening intently trying to follow--even though he frowned immediately hearing the name, recognizing it far beyond just having met him once obviously and exhaling aggravated, arms going to fold on his chest saying instantly* If he really thinks that? Then he's a moron, and he's blind, and he's completely...not worth your time. *brow furrows* Don't say that..I mean..*exhales* while all those things are most definitely true, there's a hell of a lot more to see, and this is coming from someone whose hung out with you maybe three or four times. *eyebrow arch* If I can see it in that amount of time? Then clearly Hall must be suffering from some kind of..lobotomy. 

 **Irene:** *exhales and just pulls at her hair a bit* I hate this. I'm just- this is so stupid. He's stupid. I'm stupid- the stupidest. It doesn't matter. He...doesn't matter. *blinks repeatedly* I mean it's not like he showed any interest in me before I snogged him, and I was just stupid to think that would change anything *frowns* I just *exhales* I really need to have a drink. *runs a hand through her hair*

 **Alcott:** *frowns slightly* You're not stupid. But if this is how he's treating you, Rene? Then you're right, he doesn't matter. *pause* Hm. I could use a drink too. *bites bottom lip* Unfortunately Eliza has seen fit to steal my entire stash *rolling eyes*...do you happen to have some? Or we could get out of here. 

 **Irene:** I just...I'm so confused. *groans* and then he has the audacity to be *jealous*. Like, really? He has no righ- *inhales and then exhales deeply, nodding* heard about that, babe. *pats her purse* I got us covered. *sighs* do you have class next?

 **Alcott:** Jealous? *eyebrow arching* Of what? *eyes follow her hand with a soft twitch of his smirk and then he just shrugs a shoulder* Eh. Not important. *pauses* I have a place in mind. *hands going into his pockets and gestures over his shoulder down the castle with an eyebrow arch to ask* 

 **Irene:** of me hanging out with gorgeous people, such as yourself- it's not my fault I like to associate myself with beautiful people and you know what?! It's none of his business. Especially right now. I didn't even snog any of them- okay Ilythia but he was right there- never mind. *purses her lips and then sighs, tilting her head as he says he has somewhere in mind and then lips twitch* lead the way.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch slightly* Well, suppose I can't blame him for being jealous of me. But you're right. *nods* None of his business. Wait, Ilythia? Really? *blinks* Huh. *curious and then grins and turns to lead her down the hall, darting down another corridor and stopping in front of a portrait* Hey. *folds his arms on his chest* 

 **Portrait:** Not today.

 **Alcott:** Tomorrow?

 **Portrait:** Never comes.

 **Alcott:** Then I guess all I have is today.

 **Portrait:** *swings to let them in*

 **Alcott:** *over his shoulder, rolling his eyes* Thats uh-- actually the password, you'll see why...*lips twitch and then turns down a corridor, flicking lights on with his wand revealing just a small room with rather comfy chairs, except in place of a ceiling there's a bright sun overhead like it's outside; like the Great Hall but smaller and turns around* Something about the sun going down being the end of today...I don't know, something. *laughs* I just like coming here to think sometimes.

 **Irene:** yeah really *shrugs* she's a pretty good kisser. *follows him down a corridor, looking at the interaction with amusement* huh...that's odd. *follows him inside and looks at the room in surprise, a small smile spreading naturally on her face, walking further in* how did you find this room? *turning around in the same spot before sitting on a chair*

 **Alcott:** *brow wiggling and smirks a bit at the remark and he nods* Yeah, she is. *sitting on the chair across from her lounging back and then smiles a bit at the question* Wish I could take credit. It was actually my uh-- well my Dad, told my Ma about it, she told me. I'm pretty sure they had many arguments with that portrait until they were let in...not sure what the original purpose of this room was. 

 **Irene:** *actually laughs once at his comment about Ilythia and her lips twitch before she listens to him talk about the room* I'm sure, that was a weird password. Your parents must be stubborn people. *looks around again* Well I can definitely see an orgy happening here. *lips twitch again* but i don't think that was it. *opens her purse and just takes out a couple of bottles of firewhiskey, engorgio-ing them to normal size before offering one to Al* so I know why I need this drink. Can I ask why you need yours?

 **Alcott:** *As ever, simply being reminded of his parents there's a slight pang he forces away, saying with ease.* Well I suppose I don't get it from nowhere. *laughs in surprise at her remark and looks around himself, tilting his head* Hmm, actually you may be on to something. *sitting up and taking the bottle with a grateful nod, pausing at her question and then biting his bottom lip and looking at her for an elongated moment, then exhales, eyes darting to the floor and says under his breath*...*looks back up* I uh. I kissed someone recently. Unexpectedly. Well I mean it was deliberate obviously, I just didn't really think about it before hand. Guess I really haven't been thinking clearly, seeing as how I--*cuts self off, had been about to mention werewolf and then covers easily* -- mean, I only just broke up with Sienna. *pauses* Thing is if I hadn't thought about it before hand, I certainly can't seem to stop thinking about it now. *groans*

 **Irene:** I'm an idea person, what can I say? *grins and then opens her bottle, taking a long swig and doesn't even flinch, and just listens to him explain, eyebrow rising with interest as he mentions kissing someone and then nods in understanding about the break up* well, I certainly haven't heard anything. *shrugs and then brows furrow in confusion* okay so...what's the big deal? You kissed somebody, you can't stop thinking about her, so just talk to her. I fail to understand the dilemma.

 **Alcott:** *brows furrow as well* Oh. You hadn't? ..Well oh. *beat and then exhales* Well she ran away...and then avoided me in the halls...and because it's...because it's Hols. *lips purse together in half protest and he immediately takes a long and rather grateful swig of the firewhiskey* 

 **Irene:** and that is saying a *lot*, Trent is a freaking gossip queen. *chuckles and then frowns not understanding whats the big deal until he hears Hols'' name*....well damn. That's definitely complicated...*lips twitch* I'm sorry I'm just trying to picture Hols running away from...*anything* it's just....you must really be under her skin. *takes a smaller sip*

 **Alcott:** *laughs wryly and nods* Well I suppose I'd actually rather this wasn't gossiped around the school. I just figured Nadia might have mentioned...but then it seems Hols probably swore her to secrecy. *brow twitching at the 'well damn' and nods again with the same self-satisfied smirk and then his brows furrow and he blinks* ...Er actually. She tends to walk away from me all the time. ...It's really uncommon?

 **Irene:** yeah she might have, she has an actual of oath of secrecy she has people recite, and this weird pinky thing *tries to mimic it but then just stops and shrugs, laughing a bit* yeah, mate. *really* uncommon. she's one of those "stare them down until they retreat" kind of people, if you will. *lips twitch and she takes another sip* I could seriously psychoanalyze that shit.

 **Alcott:** *amused as she tries to mimic the pinky-twist, finding a small smile on his face* Aha. That's cute. *pauses as he realizes it, then he frowns, gasps as he takes another shot of the bottle and grips it harder, settling back aggravated in the chair, lips twitching at the explanation--enjoying that--and then arches his eyebrow harder* Go for it. I'm not stopping you.

 **Irene:** *lips twitch as he watches him smile, biting her lip to refrain from saying an 'aww' and just cuts it off by taking a drink at the same time he does before she taps her finger on her lips as she deliberates* okay, well, considering she's not one of the people to run away, the fact that she *is* running away now means could mean that a) you rattle her beyond normal explanation,  she's never *dealt* with someone that rattles her this much, and/or c) that scares her. *contemplates a bit more* i've never seen Hols scared. I didn't think that was possible...hmm. Oh, i got another one! *sits up straighter in her chair* if she likes you, which I think she might now that I think about you guys' weird interactions and her facial expression when she came to visit me in the hospital wing and i said that you stopped by, then its possible that she's walking away subconsciously as a test. Like she *loves* guys who take charge which is why she kinda passed on Will and Jacob over to me to hang out with because I'm more naturally dominant, so she'd want you to stop her. To just put your foot down and lay down the law and say 'no, you're not walking away from me anymore', see what I'm saying? The other option is that she just....really really hates you. But I don't think that's it. I mean, you two kissed and she kissed back right? I'm assuming?

 **Alcott:** *his mind is completely spinning by this point, despite attempting to listen very intently, and he balances the bottle on his knee cap and his brow furrows discontentedly/disgruntled as he remarks idly* Weird interactions? I wasn't aware shouting and throwing things counted as a weird interaction. *hms and then his eyebrow arches at the advice--which quite frankly is what he was starting to plan on doing anyways--and then he snorts a bit and nods* Of course she kissed back. *bites bottom lip* But she hasn't made it a secret how much she hates me either. 

 **Irene:** well you two weren't shouting and throwing things to each other at the ministry *lips twitch* maybe at that time it was mostly because you *were* at the ministry but...tons of sexual tension. *shrugs and takes a sip of her drink, trying not to laugh as he says that 'of course' she kissed back* you don't kiss back someone you hate no matter how hot or talented at snogging they are. you punch them in the face. besides, anything she said before the kiss is now null and void until you guys talk about it. because truth is, she kissed back for a reason just as you kissed her for a reason, and there's a reason why you can't stop thinking about it. *beams a slight bit before taking another sip* 

 **Alcott:** *just shuts his eyes, not wanting to admit she might have a point, let alone that he thinks she's perfectly right in the fact that he does, want to talk to her and then he groans under his breath again, replacing the bottle on his knee cap and his eyebrow arching* I guess talking to her couldn't hurt. *presses lips together  & clears his throat* So you are in for Kendells on Friday though?

 **Irene:** *nods once, satisfied as he agrees to talk to Hols and beams in smugness for just a brief second before taking another swig of her drink, and gulps it three times as if it were a regular drink and then gasps out slightly at the burn, blinking away the tears as her eyes water a bit and then nods immediately* oh definitely. I'm excited. *grins* I've never been. Besides, I definitely need the distraction. 

 **Alcott:** *eyes narrow a bit uncomfortably as he notices her eyes tearing up and he sits up a bit straighter with his jaw line creased as he contemplates* Rene. *exhales and says firmly, if awkwardly* I was serious. If the guy doesn't realize how great you are...well I mean to say *shrug* this is absolutely, his loss. *exhales again and says quieter* Though I understand it's disappointing. *beat and then adds a bit brighter* As for the distraction, I had much the same thought in mind myself.

 **Irene:** *had been looking at the floor previously as she drank from the bottle but at him saying her nickname, she looks up, smiling softly but sincerely at his words* thanks, Al. really. and also thanks....for proving me right, *lips twitch into a small smirk for the briefest of seconds and then chuckles* so, i'm at a loss, is this more of a revealing and kind of slutty dress kind of club or a revealing sexy top and tight jeans club?

 **Alcott:** Proving you right? *furrows brow* How'd I manage that? *blinks, quite happy to have the alcohol in hand and doing another shot -and smacks his lips for a moment as he settles back in the chair looking up at the fake sun and propping his legs up on the table lazily, chuckling at the question* Oh definitely a dress. Though far be it from me to give fashion advice--you should ask Eliza. 

 **Irene:** *laughs and then wiggles her eyebrows* you're not as big of an ass as you want people to think. *grins and takes another swig*- hmm, sounds like a plan to me. I have many a dress. I love dresses, and heels. Strapped heels. and I'm guessing you love to take dresses off *laughs*

 **Alcott:** Ah, that. *lips twitch, he's feeling much more relaxed now and he just shakes his head* See, I knew my rep was getting scuttled but even so--shh. *rolls eyes amused* Can't have everyone knowing. *grin flicks* Mmm, yes, yes I definitely do. But heels now, those can stay on. 

 **Irene:** *giggles once, shaking her head and then rests it back to look at the ceiling too, exhaling* no worries. your secret's safe with me. Both of them. and...this room. *gestures by waving her hand around* I'll make sure to ask you before I thrown an orgy here. *lips twitch* such a guy thing to say. I'm actually curious, *why* is that sexy?

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* I'd appreciate that. *brow furrows in small confusion -- 'waitbothofthem?'--but he doesn't comment, thinking he perhaps doesn't want to know what she's thinking now and then he chuckles and casts his eyes over her for a second just as a visual as he remarks simply* It's what it does to the leg line and butt. *brow pops* Extra bouncy, see.

 **Irene:** hmmm, actually when you say it like that it makes sense. *lips twitch* ill keep that in mind. i mean not that my bum needs it, I'm quite proud of it, but still, never hurts. *takes one more sip of her bottle before she puts the top back on and sets it down on the floor* unless the guy's into spanking and I can't really say I mind it either.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch as he is naturally predictably flooded with images-- even if he doesn't want to-- and he purses his lips for a moment, shaking his head to clear it laughing once at her remark in wry amusement* Oh? Well well, Miss Burns, exactly how kinky do you like it then..?

 **Irene:** *laughs and then smirks, shaking her head twice* I'm pretty open to new things. *lips twitch as she realizes how that sounds* I'm a tri-sexual. I try everything at least once *grins* i like...bondage though. i think that's my favorite. how bout you?

 **Alcott:** *amused, twisting the cap around on his finger/on the table without looking at it as he listens and he chuckles once when she does* Tri-sexual, hm? So threesome would definitely be in the realm of possibility here? Or well hey if you're throwing an orgy...*is chuckling and then his eyebrow goes up* Definitely all for bondage. And trying new things. *grinning* Though I will say I tend to enjoy changing up the place, the most. That thrill of getting caught, the different textures...*simply nods* 

 **Irene:** oh yeah, definitely. *nodding* i don't think i'd be in the middle though. *grins* yeah, naked bodies everywhere. *lips twitch, shrugging and then her eyebrows wiggle* oh, i approve. thrill of getting caught? hmm...yes. *nods with him* so naturally i have to ask, what is the craziest or most unexpected place you've done it?

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Hmm...anywhere but bottom for me, really. *at the question he grins wider and his finger stops spinning the twist-cap, looking back at her with an eyebrow arch* Well. I suppose that depends on which you think is crazier. I suppose the most unexpected place might be...ever hear of the Saint-Jean de Luz beach, French and Spanish border? *lips twitch* There's somewhat secluded area there the wood table, bright multi-colored canvas umbrella...it was where people picnicked, really. Which is not to say we did not find things quite delicious. *smirking as his brow wiggles* But seeing as how sex on a beach is not as crazy I presume... the Louvre. And not in the bathroom stall or anything, we cast a quick spell so as to repel muggles and everything for twenty minutes, ensured the screams weren't heard, and on top of one of those cushions in the exhibit rooms...*head shake* Just too much of a must-have-you-now moment really. *smirking* And you?

 **Irene:** *laughs once* yeah, figured *nodding and then lifts her head to look at him while she listens with curiosity at his answers, shaking her head to answer his questions but nevertheless amused at the choice and then laughs out loud as he says the louvre* Oh my merlin - that...is definitely a winner *laughs again and then ponders* well, definitely no place like the *Louvre* that's for sure. *grins and then laughs* okay so one time i told my dad i was going to spend the week at my grandparents' house during the summer, and i stayed with Alisha instead, Because they don't mind, and they love her. they wish she'd wear less eyeliner but *lips twitch* Alisha lives in Liverpool, her whole family's from there, so I met a couple of her friends...really hit it off with one guy...*shakes head* Liverpool Cathedral. in one of those little...cubicle of sorts where people go to confess. *laughs, biting on her bottom lip.*

&.

 **Eliza:** *spying Lynn reading in the courtyard, she heads over to her and sits down* Hey!

 **Lynn:** *blinks in surprise and looks up at her, tilting her head* Oh hey Eliza. What's up? 

 **Eliza:** *grinning* Not much. Have you ever heard of Kendells?

 **Lynn:** *laugh* The strip club?

 **Eliza:** Slash burlesque slash--

 **Lynn:** \--drug haven slash free alcohol slash teenage heaven? *nods* Yeah totally. 

 **Eliza:** Ever been?

 **Lynn:** Nah. Someday. *lips twitch* 

 **Eliza:** *stretches her brows and says startled* Really? You should come tonight. 

 **Lynn:** *tilts her head* You're going to Kendells tonight?

 **Eliza:** Yeah, a bunch of us are -- Nadia and your brother, think Nadia's bringing her friend Irene...*pause* I mean if you and Nick already have plans obviously--

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* I'll ask him. 

 **Eliza:** We'll meet up there? Say like, 8, 9? 

 **Lynn:** *nods* Sounds great.

 **Eliza:** I'd say we could all leave together but--

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* But even _Filch_ would notice if a bunch of us went out the front door...

 **Eliza:** *nods grinning* See you tonight then. 

 **Lynn:** *nodding and waves her off* 

 **Eliza:** *walks off with an amused bounce in her step, brows flicking with a triumphant grin in place* 

-&-

-&-

 **Eliza:** *turns in the hallway and almost runs into Rory; who pulls up short blinking and then she grins* Oh! Hi Rory. 

 

 **Rory:** *grins in sheepish surprise, blinking several times* Oh. Uh. Hey Eliza. *hand grips his backpack straps a little bit tighter for a moment* 

 

 **Eliza:** *bright smile falters at the awkward moment but she's grinning nonetheless* Sorry for almost hitting you, I just was...*pauses* I apologize to you a lot, don't I? 

 

 **Rory:** *grin flicks* You do, yeah. 

 

 **Eliza:** Sorry. *bites her bottom lip as she grins and casts her eyes to the floor shaking her head* And I did it again.

 

 **Rory:** *laughs once* It's all right, really, it's kind of adorable. 

 

 **Eliza:** *shakes her hair back, now flushing almost red* Oh. Thanks.

 

 **Rory:** *nod*

 

 **Eliza:** *beat; decidedly pushing past awkward moment two* So uh. You know a bunch of us are kind of...going out tonight, to Kendells? 

 

 **Rory:** *eyes widen in surprise* Kendells? Isn't that a strip club?

 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Long story. 

 

 **Rory:** *amused* You're asking me to go to a strip club?

 

 **Eliza:** *flustered* Right, no, I mean, If you don't want to go--

 

 **Rory:** No, no. *head shake* I do. You just uh--you surprised me. 

 

 **Eliza:** *with a little smirk* Well I'd apologize but--

 

 **Rory:** \--you'd be doing it again?

 

 **Eliza:** *laughs* Actually, I was going to say I wasn't sorry. I like surprising you. 

 

 **Rory:** Well good. *grin* I like being surprised. *getting called by his friends and holds up a hand calling back* Yeah--be right there.

 

 **Eliza:** *clears throat and casts her glance over his shoulder as he calls to his friends, a bit awkwardly and then grins back at him when he does* So uh-- 8:30? We're all meeting there whenever we can get away, 9 kind of the latest, so that Filch doesn't notice a whole bunch of people walking out and everything. Cause it'd be obvious. *beat, realizing she's rambling* 8:30. 

 

 **Rory:** *nods, grinning* 8:30. 

 

 **Eliza:** *is now completely beaming* I'll see you there. 

 

 **Rory:** *nods and walks around her the other direction*

 

 **Eliza:** *she watches him walk off, then looks back to the wall, shaking her head, muttering under her breath looking like "god i need to get better at that" at the same time she's just thrilled and goes to put said red dress on* 

 

-&-

 **Hols:** *sitting at the common room playing poker with a couple of first years- teaching them apparently* okay no, Bobby, you can't bluff. You have a tell, i already told youuu.

Bobby: but you wont tell me my tell!

 **Hols:** this is a dog eat dog world, Bobby, I'm not handing you this on a silver platter, calm down. Now-

Ashley: *puts down a royal flush*

 **Hols:** ....oh. you got game? alright, a'ight, okay *takes back the cards* now it's for real.

 **Lynn:** *coming into the common room and fluffing her hair out as she climbs through the portrait hole and she blinks spotting Hols, grinning and then her jaw drops at the royal flush* ...was that a-- ...well damn. *blinks* I'm pretty sure that's actually kind of when you call it a night, Hols. 

 **Hols:** *looks at Lynn when she comes and then turns to Ashley, Ashley's smirking and Hols' eyebrow arches before beaming* you're my favorite.

Bobby: hey!

 **Hols:** *points at Ashley* this isn't over. *then points to Bobby* take him under your wing. *picks up her cards and puts them in her back pocket and stands up* Hey Lynn, what's up?

 **Lynn:** *just chuckles for a moment* Sorry Bobby, better luck next time. *grinning at Hols as she stands up and turns around* Hey babe. Well. At the moment, nothing but..it's friday, we need to fix that. *grinning* 

 **Hols:** oh...yes, please immediately. *looks about* not in front of the kids, *take Lynn's arm with her own* do you have anything in mind already? *eyebrow wiggles*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch slightly and she waves once a goodbye to Bobby  & Ashley and grins as they walk away, brow wiggling* I do actually. Kendells. I mean, Nick's coming too already but there will be plenty of hot guys and girls there to dance with, so there's no third wheel possibility at all. Besides I guess Irene and Nadia are going too. *waves her hand* You in?

 **Hols:** *instantly smirks at the name of the club* oh baby, I love the way you think. *grins and then shrugs* oh it's no problem babe, I'll find someone there. *blinks a bit at Irene and Nadia coming* Nadia? at Kendells?....well damn. *chuckles* so it's just a group of people going then?

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles* I think it's been a tough enough week to warrant it, don't you? *laughs at the question* Yeah, a group...*shrugs shoulder* And I know! I was surprised too. Dev's going though so. *grins and gestures up the stairs* Should we get ready? 

 **Hols:** *exhales* yes ma'am. *frowning a bit at this whole group outing thing but then shrugs, not really caring, she just figures she can do her own thing if she doesn't find anyone interesting in the group* well, that makes a little more sense...*grins and nods* hell yes! lets go. *leading them up the stairs.*

&.

 **Nick:** *entering the club, his arm wrapped around Lynn's waist loosely as they walk in, he takes it in, lips twitching in amusement and then his eyebrows rising as he sees some pills being distributed and then whistles* well. I've been to my share of L.A. clubs and parties but this....this is pretty raw.

 **Hols:** *walking in with Lyck, all but strutting into the place while wearing...sigh this (thats the back...) and looks around, lips twitching in a small smirk as she does and then laughs once at Nick's adjective use* raw?

 **Nick:** yeah like...sick.

 **Hols:** *eyebrow rises*

 **Nick:** *sighs* 'wicked'?

 **Hols:** *grins* gotcha. in that case I have to agree, raw. *eyebrow rises and then smirks again, waving her fingers in a wiggle as a group of guys walk by, and then leans in to whisper to Lynn* i love you a lot right now.

 **Lynn:** *in aforementioned dress, with one arm tucked around Nick, the other tucked with Hols arm as they strut; she's also got glittery eye-shadow on and black heeled boots that only go up to her calves; chuckling in amusement at the adjectives, and tilts her head at the whisper, a smirk flicking across her lips as she responds idly, teasingly under her breath.* Like a whole lot? *exhales as she watches the guys go by that Hols finger-wiggle waves at, her eyebrow arching as she remarks with the same light tease* Oh my. He-- *points to indicate with her head, looking at Hols* -- is almost hot enough to make me wish I wasn't taken. *purses her lips teasingly and then pauses adding under her breath* ...though he's probably gay right?

-&-

 **Alcott:** : *chuckles as he picks up a shot glass from the table, head shaking* Eliza, that was inspired.

 **Eliza:** *is blushing a bit* Well, he wasn't going to let us in. 

 **Alcott:** : But how did you even know he was French?

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow* His name was Jean-Pierre, Al.

 **Alcott:** : ...oh right. *amused* Still, the flirting was quite inspired. 

 **Eliza:** You know just as well as I do that I slipped him money. 

 **Alcott:** : Much less than I'd have had to...*tilting his head back to do the shot*

 **Devin:** *sitting back in a booth, arm draped around Nadia's shoulders and hand grasping a beer, shaking his head and laughing, and then turns to her, gesturing at the atmosphere* So? *amused*

 **Alcott:** : *brow wiggling* Yes, Nadia, what do you think? 

 **Irene:** *wearing this small, skimpy black dress and looking fabulous, currently sipping on a cocktail because Nadia would have ripped out of her hair had she started doing shots from the beginning and then wiggles her eyebrows* for real, Eliza, I could not have done any better. *grins* is it wrong to be proud?

 **Nadia:** *sitting next to Dev, sipping on a cocktail as well, wearing this dress that Irene picked up because it was 'funny, fitting, and hot too' and then chuckles* you shouldn't be, you played no part in it.

 **Irene:** I can pretend I did.

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and then sighs, looking around once more at the club, biting down on her bottom lip and then shaking her head* well, I think that i am never gonna tease you all about what you do for fun ever again. *takes a sip of her drink*

 **Irene:** and I am going to have to beg you guys to take me with you everytime you go out *smirks*

 

-&-

 **Hols:** infinity. *grins and then turns to look at them again, eyes gazing over them quickly and then smirks* he's definitely gay hon, he struts as well as both of us. *lips twitch* you always think the gay one is the hottest. it never fails.

 **Nick:** I'm not gay *adds, obviously overhearing their conversation and joining in, lips twitching*

 **Hols:** there are always exceptions of course *laughs* come on, let's go get a drink.

 **Nick:** *leading them over to the bar, eyes going around the club again and smirks* we can't put on a show here Lynn, I'm afraid.

 **Hols:** cuz Dev's supposed to show up? *lips twitch*

 **Nick:** ...well I was gonna say cuz they already have performers up on stage *grins and then tilts his head* but that too.

 **Hols:** *leans back on the bar, waiting for the tender to come up to them as she looks around too* not a bad looking crowd really. *eyebrow arches and then grins, turning around to face Lyck* i'm excited.

 **Lynn:** *laughing and tosses her hair over her shoulder* I know, I know, it's a curse, I swear to Merlin...*pauses* or perhaps its a blessing, I don't know, seeing as I'm already quite happy...*following Nick to the bar, ducking around one of the girls and then seeing a rather elaborate drink/cocktail on the tray the girls carrying she turns her head and then her lips twitch* ...Oh I have to try that. *listening and then grins, leaning back against the bar as well* Mmm...*lips twitch* shame. *hms* Suppose I could always *gestures with her head at the stage, brow flicking* -- put a show like that for you later though. *just looking at him with a smirk and then turns when Hols looks back around and she laughs once* Oh good! That was the point really. 

-&-

 **Eliza:** *chuckles* Oh you can feel proud; the next move would definitely have involved you Irene. *brow wiggle and blows her a kiss*

 **Alcott:** : ...cruel, Liza.

 **Eliza:** You know you don't *have* to imagine right--

 **Alcott:** : *has popped the lime into his mouth for a moment and pretends she didn't speak; his eyebrow going up as one of the girls go by and he blinks,*

 **Eliza:** *exhales amused* Always welcome, Nadia. 

 **Dev:** *looking at to Nadia the...entire time quite honestly, and shaking his head with an amused grin* ...I don't know, if it means you put on more dresses like this one...*lips twitching*

 **Alcott:** : *grins at Irene* No begging every necessary.

 **Dev:** Not to say he doesn't encourage it. *sipping the beer with a smirk as well* 

 **Irene:** *puts her hand over her 'heart'* you flatter me, Liza. *winks as Eliza blows her a kiss and then laughs at Al's comment and the way Eliza teased him* Eliza, i really hope that I find a guy to distract me because if not I *might* just have to seduce you.

 **Nadia:** *rolls her eyes as she shakes her head though she's still amused and grinning before tilting her head to look up at Dev and then chuckles, biting her bottom lip and then grinning* what? you don't like it? *teasing*

 **Irene:** well, there's better things to do while on my kn- oww! *Nadia kicked her and she rubs her shin* what?

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow rises* what do you mean?

 **Irene:** *fake glares*

-&-

 **Hols:** well it's a blessing *now* at least *laughs a bit and then tilts her head with curiosity as a tray with little blue pills passes by, eyebrow arching but pays it no mind after that*

 **Nick:** *smirks at her suggestion* don't tease me like that, I'll just be tempted to skip this whole club scene and head straight for the *lips twitch* private show.

 **Hols:** *lips pursing in amusement as she overhears but doesnt make a comment about it as she turns around* exactly what I needed. *looks up as the bartender comes their way*

 **Nick:** hey, we'll have-

 **Hols:** *goes to open her mouth to order but Nick quickly finishes*

 **Nick:** three shots please. *lips twitch and turns to Hols with a raised eyebrow* to start it off right, correct?

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and then nods once, turning to the bartender* what he said. *turns to Lynn* your boyfriend's got a fast tongue.

 **Nick:** *just smirks as the shots get poured in front of them*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch in her smirk but she just half-purrs* Patience is a virtue, you know. *eyes also following the blue pills and her lips flick again; looking back at Hols to add* ...in a little bit maybe? *grins and then falls silent as they *both* start to order, decidedly not trying and she grins, turning back to the bar and she mms under her breath, nodding once* Oh...I know. *smirk* You have no idea. *lifting up her shot and waits for them to pick theirs up saying with a grin looking at Nick* Want to do the honors then?

-&-

 **Eliza:** *laughs* See you know, normally I'd be all for that--

 **Alcott:** : *groans*-

 **Eliza:** \--but I actually...possibly, hopefully, have someone coming here too.

 **Alcott:** : *beat* Wait, who?

 **Eliza:** So we'll just have to find you a guy. *tilting her head to start looking around the club* 

 **Devin:** *is still rather distractedly looking at Nadia and then his lips twitch laughing* Oh no, I don't. In fact, *leans to whisper in her ear, his grip tightening around her shoulder a tad bit* I think it'd be better if you took it off right now.

 **Alcott:** : *lips twitch at Irene's remark, pouring another shot for himself; lifting the glass but not drinking it yet and looking back at Eliza* ...Seriously, who are you looking for?

 **Dev:** *after laughing at the glare/kick, which he apparently felt--looks back around* Wait who else did you invite?

 **Alcott:** : Else?

 **Devin:** She invited Lynn and Nick. *head shake, mutters under his breath* Cause she wants to torture me apparently...

 **Eliza:** *brightens* Oh-- he's right over there. *had spotted Rory/his friends leaning against the bar and getting up, patting Irene's knee* Excuse me babe --*with a wink to her again*--

 **Alcott:** : *spins around so his gaze follows Eliza as she walks to the bar, then pauses blushing when she sees Rory turn around and he blinks a few times* Whose that?

 **Dev:** *in surprise* Rory Palmer. 

 **Alcott:** : *tilting his head doing a double take* The Gryffindor? 

 **Dev:** *nods; not noticing that Alcott's not looking at him because he's still distractedly looking at Nadia;

 **Alcott:** : *his gaze travels over the top of the booth down the bar; another patron moves out of the way and he suddenly jaw drops, looking stunned and falls silent*

 **Irene:** *laughs and then perks up* oh? you go girl *grinning and then eyebrow wiggles before she laughs once more* oh yes please *takes a sip of her drink* preferably someone not blonde.

 **Nadia:** *frown flicks for a moment as she hears Irene's comment but doesn't acknowledge it mostly because she's too distracted by Dev, eyebrows popping in amusement, her cheeks going a bit pink but then just grins* i think there's enough women at this club doing that already baby.

 **Irene:** Lynn and Nick are coming? *looks around for a sign of them*

 **Nadia:** *immediately associates Lynn with Hols and then looks at Eliza curiously and then at Dev because he knew she invited them, eyes narrowing in curiosity but doesn't ask anything, merely takes a sip of her drink*

 **Irene:** *grins* go right ahead, hon. *follows her with her eyes and then beams and squeals* she invited Rory! oh *beams again* that is so cute, Rory is a sweetie, really.

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch in amusement and grinning as Dev can't stop looking at her* baby, you're gonna make me blush. even *more*

 **Irene:** *taking a sip and then sees Al awestruck* ...whats up, Al? you look like cat got your tongue *laughs*

-&-

 **Nick:** yeah...a virtue I think I'm lacking tonight *chuckles and then shakes his head*

 **Hols:** *nodding at Lynn's question* yeah, cuz I'm almost dying of curiosity right now actually.

wri: *facepalm* pills. pah.

 **Nick:** *smirks, eyebrows wiggling at Lynn's own smirk* well I wasn't about to let Hols interrupt me.

 **Hols:** it's a habit! *chuckles, picking up her glass, tilting her head to Nick* yes, please do.

 **Nick:** *chuckles as he picks up his glass too, holding it up* ladies, to a great night in amazing company. may they never be in short supply.

 **Hols:** salud! *tilts her glass forward a bit before downing the shot*

 **Nick:** *downs his shot as well*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* That's okay baby, we didn't come here to be particularly virtuous...*smirking still and then laughs* Ahh...and I do so prefer you to be alive you know...*lifts her shot up and her eyebrow pops up and she echoes* Here here! *downs her shot, swallowing it back without so much as a quiver or gasp, smirking and folding her arms across the top of the bar, grinning, looking down the length of the bar and then brightening* Oh there's Eliza. *beat* So that means Nadia and Dev around here somewhere too...*tilting her head back to look around, furrowing her brows*

 **Eliza:** *coming to a stop and beaming, looking slightly surprised that he has slacks/nice shirt on, but she brushes her hair over her strap-less shoulder as she's about to speak, when one of Rory's friends hits his shoulder*

 **Rory:** *turning around and after getting a sudden smirk, his smile softens and after a few moments of them looking at each other he seems to remember to speak* Hey Eliza. *turns away from his friends who seem to spot someone (/females) and nod that they'll be back in a bit* 

 **Eliza:** *as they walk by she nods at them without taking her eyes off of Rory and she grins at him, clapping her hands together beaming* You came!

 **Rory:** *grin* Not every day a man gets this invitation you know. 

 **Eliza:** How'd you get in? 

 **Rory:** *laugh* I have my ways. 

 **Eliza:** *grinning easier and leaning against the bar* You didn't flirt with the bouncer too, did you?

 **Rory:** *grin flicks* You flirted with the bouncer?

 **Eliza:** *presses her lips together as she grins and nods*

 **Rory:** *smiles* That must have been something to see...*signals to the bartender to get her another drink too*]

-&-

 **Devin:** *laughs once, his brow popping* Mm, true. And I do so hate to share. *sips his beer again, still smirking, looks back over at Irene*

 **Alcott:** : *blink*

 **Devin:** *nodding* Yeah I think so. I didn't know she'd invited Rory too..*shoulder shrug*

 **Alcott:** : *blink*

 **Devin:** *looks back at Nadia with the eyes narrowing-look and his brow flicks for a moment with a small smile, and he half-nods once without remarking and takes another sip of her beer as well and then laughs* I haven't met him, I wouldn't know...*lowering his beer to rest on the top of his knee*

 **Alcott:** : *blink*

 **Devin:** *grin flicks and he casts his eyes up, Nadia, and then tilts his head* Well, it'd be only fair. *teasingly whispers to her again under his breath* Considering the things you're doing to my body...

 **Alcott:** : *blink*

 **Devin:** *looks around at Irene's question, craning his neck for a moment to see, recognizing Lynn first and then grins slowly with the earlier "plan" smirk and he chuckles* A lioness maybe.

 **Alcott:** : *turns around at *that* immediately* What? 

 **Devin:** *brow arches at **Alcott:** a bit in surprise, but he can't help but laugh * 

 **Alcott:** : *eye rolling* Oh shut up. *tips the shot back and pops the lime into his mouth immediately*

 **Devin:** *looks back at Irene/Nadia* Hols is here.

 **Nadia:** *teasing* you don't believe in sharing is caring? *lips twitch*

 **Irene:** the more the merrier then *lips twitch* well, I mean, maybe it kinda sucks for you Dev seeing as how she's your sister and all but *laughs*

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch as her eyebrow rises at his half nod but merely takes another sip of her drink* he's nice, really friendly. some of his friends though-

 **Irene:** womanizers, but you know, that's mostly just the hormones and the fact that we're teenagers.

 **Nadia:** *bites her bottom lip at his whisper and then tilts her head to whisper under her breath in return* nothing compared to what i want to be doing....*eyebrow rises and then smirks slightly*

wri:...*blinks*

 **Irene:** *brow furrows in confusion as she hears 'lioness' and then her eyes widen as Dev says Hols is here and she looks up* what?! *searching for her*

 **Nadia:** *nodding, not surprised anymore seeing as how she figured but looks for her as well*

 **Irene:** where-

 **Nadia:** lioness tat, right there *points*

 **Irene:** ...well damn. that's hot. *looks down at herself* all of a sudden i feel unworthy, let me just go slut this outfit up-

 **Nadia:** you're not going anywhere, sit.

 **Irene:** but *look* at her!

-&-

 **Nick:** an understatement, I think *laughs*

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* being alive is quite the great thing right now actually. *grins and then turns to look when Lynn mentions Eliza* oh I didn't know she knew Rory. *confused but mostly amused* how large is this group were supposed to meet up with? *turns around from the bar and looks around with Lynn, her eyes falling on a booth and then her eyes widen, mouth opening slightly*...fuck.

 **Nick:** what? *turns around too*

 **Devin:** *grin flicks* Not so much, no. *groaning once in agreement with Irene and just shakes his head laughing under his breath* Yeah, kind of sucks. 

 **Alcott:** : *is looking determinedly at Devin* Did you know they knew each other?

 **Devin:** *blink* Who? ..Rory and Eliza? *shoulder shrug* Seen them together a few times..

 **Alcott:** : Really?

 **Devin:** *smirk flicks* I'm pretty observant, see.

 **Alcott:** : *starts pouring another shot the *moment* the lioness tattoo comes up*

 **Devin:** *is pursing his lips together *quite* hard and then he chuckles watching Nadia order Irene stay seated and his lips twitch as he's unable to help it and he casts his eyes at **Alcott:** saying idly* Think he's trying not too actually-

 **Alcott:** : Dick-

 **Devin:** *smirks and sips his beer* 

 **Irene:** hang in there, mate *pats his shoulder once, amused*

 **Nadia:** hey it's a pretty big club, we can escape if necessary later...*grins, wiggles her eyebrows and then laughs once*

 **Irene:** *gaze flicks back to **Alcott:** after Dev comments about him and then she needs to bite back a smirk and then sighs* i'm not going to get any guys if i have to compete with her, ya know.

 **Nadia:** *notices that was calculated, tilts her head, and is now wondering how Irene knows before she waves at Lyck and Hols, small amusement on her face*

 **Devin:** *grins back at Nadia* We might need too.

 **Alcott:** : *downs said shot and just looks back at Irene, his brows flicking and he shakes his head saying easily* Are you kidding Rene? You look gorgeous.

 **Devin:** *inclines his head* True. *has his eyes still on Nadia as she waves and his lips twitch, and then he looks back around his shoulder saying easily* We should invite them over...*starts gesturing with his head, ignoring the fact that Al is basically death glaring at the shot glass now*

 **Hols:** *turns around immediately after glaring slightly at Nadia's wave and then asks the tender* another shot please, two more actually. the strongest thing you have here. *turns to Lynn* yeah you better not have known he was going to be here, or I'd kill you!

 **Nick:** *blinking and then looks at Lynn in confusion, non-verbally asking for an explanation and then blinks* oh...well whats the problem-

 **Hols:** *snaps* we snogged, I've been avoiding him, quite successfully i might add, until now and this is bloody unfair because it's supposed to be my night off.

 **Nick:** *lips twitch, glad that he was right when he guessed that Lynn had been talking about Hols* oh...shit.

 **Hols:** *corrects* fuck.

 **Nadia:** *quietly* especially after the nukes start flying

 **Irene:** well yes, I know that's true *twirling a strand of hair on her finger* but not jaw-dropping gorgeous apparently *slight tease and then looks back up at Hols and Lyck, shaking her head*

 **Nadia:** oh we should! good idea, Dev. *slight smirks and then waves to get Lynn and Nick's attention seeing as how Hols is turned around and then beckons them over, mouthing 'come here'*

 **Lynn:** *signaling for another shot of her own and with her hand up and saying immediately* I didn't know, I swear. Eliza invited me, she just said a group. *as the shots arrive she reaches for hers and simply downs it immediately, turning back around and looking up, noticing the twitch/moment of satisfaction and she chuckles once under her breath; presuming he'd assumed it was Hols as well but couldn't say, nodding and her own lips flick; she looks back over and sees Nadia's mouthing, exhaling a bit* Nadia's saying we should come over....

 **Devin:** *under his breath mutters in agreement with Nadia* Yeah...we should steal their wands. 

 **Alcott:** : *pops *out* the lime and rubs his lips with the back of his hand, his brows furrowed deep in thought and he seems not even to hear, Nadia or Dev at this moment, just looking at the bottle and then thinks to himself 'this is completely ridiculous' and without being aware of it he's standing up and starts walking over to the bar himself*

 **Devin:** ...or...maybe not necessary. *arches his brow curiously, looking back at Nadia*

 **Alcott:** : *noting that Hols is still turned around, he goes to the other side of her where Lynn/Nick aren't and leans against the bar, not even looking at them (despite Lynn's half glare, half lips-pursed-in-amusement); and remarks simply with his eyebrow arched* That. *gestures with a hand* is quite a dress, Hols. 

 **Hols:** *passes a hand over her face* unbelievable *as lynn explains and then sighs, scowling* well Nadia can go fuck herself. im not going over there.

 **Nick:** that won't be necessary *eyebrow arching*

 **Hols:** why?

 **Nick:** because he's coming over here.

 **Hols:** ....*groans quietly* great. *not only five seconds pass and she sees out of the corner of her eye Al leaning up against the bar next to her, and stubbornly just keeps looking forward for a bit, raising her finger up to him to indicate that he should wait a moment and then picks up the shot that was served for her and downs it before turning to him* ...if that's a compliment, you're gonna have to do better.

 **Nick:** *eyebrow rises and then tugs Lynn around her shoulder slightly indicating they should leave them alone* 

 **Alcott:** : *lips twitch in amusement as she makes him wait, just clenching his hand around the end of the bar and completely, ignoring Lyck, waiting as she turns around and then he chuckles under his breath, looking at her* ...It's hard to compliment that which isn't much there actually.

 **Hols:** *purses her lips and then inclines her head slightly* true. but thats the point of it- render speechless. *shrugs* but obviously with you capable of voicing thoughts its not exactly working very well.

 **Alcott:** : *chuckles once* My ability to voice thoughts? *brow flick and speaks with a slight tease/voice laced with amusement* Well Hols, stop complimenting me, I assure you I already have quite the ego. *brow pops and he signals the tender to bring him another shot as well, exhaling as he does so, still clasping the edge of the bar tightly* 

 **Hols:** yeah, something that still catches me by surprise sometimes. *shakes her head slightly and then watching as he calls for the tender to give him another shot and then exhales* what are you doing here, Al?

 **Alcott:** : *bites his bottom lip amused and pauses for a beat at the question, waiting until he has his shot and deliberately waits as well, downing the shot quickly with another half-gasp, clearing his throat and then looks back at her and tilts his head saying slowly* ....you ran. *shrugs his shoulder without moving, though the gesture moves him closer to her for a second* Considered ignoring and avoiding you too. *brow arches* But I've never been a coward, Hols. 

-&-

 **Lynn:** *with the odd expression of a smirk with narrowed eyes like she should be aggravated but instead is kind of impressed he just walked up and feels more like shes suppressing a laugh; following Nick with his shoulder tug and walks backwards at first because she's still watching Ally* Oh for the love of-- that is not--did he just...I can't believe he's here. *eye roll, looks back up at Nick and sighs* Okay yes, he, she, they are who I was talking about. *gestures with her hand at them with her head shake* I'm sure even you know how much they...supposedly, hate...d...each other. *rubbing her forehead* And considering I rammed into him, I just can't wrap my mind around this...that..*gestures at them again* Them! *head shakes incredulously* Blah, I should have figured he'd be here. 

 **Nick:** *nods once* I figured it was him, yeah. and yes, I'm very aware. I'm also very aware that while yes, you did ram into him with your broomstick, he's the one that started throwing fists first. *eyebrow arches and then shakes his head* yeah, this...well it's kind of surreal seeing it in person. *chuckles* I'm like...half expecting hexes to start flying.

 **Lynn:** *beat and then blinks with a half smile and says softer* ...Right, he was. You saw me ... then, then? *presses her lips together and she looks around for a moment at them too and then says quite honestly* ...that would almost make more sense then them actually flirting at a bar though. 

 **Nick:** *chuckles and nods* I did, actually. First game of quidditch at school that I saw *laughs* i think thats when i started liking you actually *lips twitch* ...yeah, this...is a tad odd. has she explained how they went from...hatred to snogging?

 **Lynn:** *smiling, her lips flicking for a moment* Well, what an exciting match to start off with. *chuckling under her breath and running her hand back through her hair and then beams* I was quite proud of myself that day. *beat* Even if I had to apologize later. *pauses* ...later being like two months but *waves her hand* details. *smiling still but at that her lips flick with annoyance and she shakes her head* Not at all, actually. I...mean she's brought him up enough that I was really starting to suspect on my own that they might not totally hate each other and I think they were talking a lot more than they used to without throwing things anyways but otherwise..........*she trails off for a moment just looking back at Ally and then frowns and looks back to Nick leaning back against the back of a booth* ...no, but. *beat* I have, had the feeling lately that there's something she's keeping from me.

 **Nick:** oh it was quiet the spectacle, I enjoyed it *grins and then laughs* well, an apology is an apology. *lips twitch and then just listens to her talk about this, turning his head to look at Ally once before turning back to her, confused* well, from what I've gathered, Hols tells you everything so I don't...understand.

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Too bad you weren't in the common room that evening I suppose...*lips twitching* There were a few celebratory body shots involved. *gestures with her shoulder/head that they could sit down at a nearby booth, sliding into it and thinking still, leaning back against the bright scarlet cushion and leaning her head back against it after taking off the black jacket, exhaling* ...I know. She always has anyways. And I...I know, that it's not like she actually has to, it's not like I'm obligated to tell her everything but...I do anyways. *rubs her forehead* I don't get it either. I...well there is something else bothering her. And I don't blame her for it, so I guess it could just be that, but the thing is there's been a few times I've asked her what's going on and she looks completely, caught for a moment and then just passes it off as that again and it...I want to believe her obviously, but I don't think I do? I think something else is going on. *bites her bottom lip* 

-&-

 **Hols:** *purses her lips, not liking how that 'you ran' sounds and then dislikes the way that 'considering ignoring and avoiding' sounded, and then *really* dislikes the coward comment* I'm not. a coward. I- what was i supposed to do? keep snogging you? *eyebrow rises and then exhales* you can't possibly tell me you didn't feel even the slightest freaked or weirded out by that.

 **Alcott:** : *beat looking at her and says just as simply, intensely* I wasn't calling you one. *sets shot glass down without looking away from her eyes* I was saying I would have been one if I'd done that-- *eyebrow arching as hers does and he shakes his head once* -- because, *continuing earlier thought* I ...was, a little freaked out. *beat still just looking at her*

 **Hols:** *purses her lips and licks them, lips suddenly dry as she tries to talk and as he keeps looking at her and then clears her throat, nodding once as he admits to feeling a bit freaked out, feeling like less of an anomaly somehow* yeah. I...*exhales, passing a hand through her hair* words have never escaped me like they have at this moment. *frowning slightly before exhaling again and looking at him* i mean look, we were freaked out for a reason right? its just odd, weird, kinda wrong. 

 **Alcott:** : *chuckles once under his breath and he nods, bemused by her initial comment* I'm aware. *furrows his brow and remains looking at her while she pauses, looking for the words (having absolutely none himself) and then he bites his bottom lip harder for a second, pushing the shot glass away from him as his jaw tenses and his back straightens; he waits a few moments himself before shaking his head* ...odd, weird, yes. But I think it's freakier that it felt only kind of wrong. *lips twitch* The good kind of wrong.

 **Hols:** *bites down on her bottom lip, a noise of reluctant admittance leaving her mouth as she nods agreeing with the sentiment of it being the 'good kind of wrong'* Yeah...I guess so. *brow furrows for a moment before she takes a deep breath and exhales it* That still doesn't give me a clue what the fuck to do about it thought. 

-&-

 **Eliza:** *laughing* No…no, you…

 **Rory:** Me? *grinning*

 **Eliza:** Yes, you! Oh you…you…I can’t think of what you are, you’re just _mean_. You really think I want to shag _Flitwick_?

 **Rory:** Well, he _does_ apparently have a new lady friend. Supposedly blond, too, so it was a _practical_ thought…

 **Eliza:** *whacks his shoulder* Just for that, I’m saying McGonagall for you.

 **Rory:** *laughing* Well, naturally. Who else?

 **Eliza:** *leans over to steal a sip from his beer, as she’s finished her own, and she shakes her head grinning at him over the top of it* I actually was going to say someone else.

 **Rory:** *wiggling a brow over the top of a smirk* Were you?

 **Eliza:** *going a bit pink, as she takes another sip to steady herself and nods* Yes, I was, I was going to say me. *arches her eyebrow at him teasingly*

 **Rory:** *smile flicks* I thought that went without saying.

 **Eliza:** *smiling coy over the top of the bottle and her fingernail hits the glass amused* You’re right. It does. I don’t mind though.

 **Rory:** *laughs* I bet you don’t.

 **Eliza:** *grinning* Well, a lot of guys _want_ to.

 **Rory:** Ahhh, I see.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* But hey, I’m here with you.

 **Rory:** *nods, grinning* I’m lucky.

 **Eliza:** *pauses, blinking, a bit off guard that he said that* …wait, yeah?

 **Rory:** *blinks once, his smile softening, taking the bottle away from her and nods* Yeah.

 **Eliza:** *pauses and then looks up at him grinning, and nods breathlessly, saying quietly as she brings an arm around his neck* You should have said you, for me.

 **Rory:** *he slides an arm around her waist and looks down at her, smiling* I didn’t want to presume.

 **Eliza:** Modesty. *a light chuckle* I’m not used to it. *bringing her hand up to his cheek, sliding her fingers down it, muttering amused* Unless it’s false.

 **Rory:** *chuckles and nods, his own hand cupping her neck* Eliza?

 **Eliza:** Hm? *teasingly chuckles in an exhale, her breath against his lips*

 **Rory:** Stop talking. *a brow wiggles*

 **Eliza:** *she goes on her toes to kiss him as he kisses her, deep, intent, her mouth opening under his; as their lips meet in fire, she gasps, the kiss hot enough to brand her, and she blinks at him in surprise; he laughs once and then kisses her again*

_Within a few minutes, they’ve retreated to the bathroom stall at Kendells._

-&-

 **Nick:** *grins and laughs, lips twitching* As long as I'm there for the ones you'll do when you guys win the cup. *smirks and then nods, following her into the booth, putting an arm around her shoulder as he listens to her* Well..if there's something wrong and she's not telling you then maybe it's something that she thinks you might not understand? Or maybe she doesn't want you to worry?

 **Lynn:** *turning slightly so she settles into him, brow furrowing as she contemplates for a few moments, frowning a bit* ...I just...*exhales* if she's that, worried? I want to help. I'm already kind of panicked that *eyesshut* Sam...*eyes open  & looks at him* My cousin, Sam, the one in the hospital wing with the animal attack, that Dev beat up, etc? *breath* He's made it clear that Hols...myself...Dev...Nadia...we're supposedly just targets at this point. And if Hols knows something...*trails off, looking trouble* 

 **Alcott:** : *as she reluctantly admits it, his brow pops for a moment & tilts his head with small amusement which, leans him even closer* Ah, well right, but *leanscloser*, as to that I actually had an idea. *leans closer and then promptly kisses her again, over the top of the bar and pushing her shot glass out of the way too* 

 **Nick:** *eyebrows furrow for a moment as he listens to her* Well maybe it isn't that big of a deal. And if it were because of Sam then I don't think she'd exclude you, because it involves you too. 

 **Hols:** *bites on her bottom lip again and her gaze flickers to his lips momentarily as he leans in closer and then inhales a bit before their lips meet, closing her eyes and she kiss him back, leaning closer to him as well* 

 **Lynn:** *brow furrows* I just---I know this sounds ridiculously self-centered but...I can't think *why* she'd exclude me. *beat, brow still furrowed, looks back around and then blinks* Oh damn. 

 **Alcott:** : *kissing her harder as she kisses him back, he leans off the counter so his arm can come up and snake around her, grabbing her and pulling her in as he moves his lips against hers fervently, lost to the taste of the drink and gloss and her* 

 **Nick:** *shakes head* It doesn't sound self-centered, it sounds like you're concerned because this hasn't happened before, and rightly so. *looks around when Lynn speaks up and then looks shocked for a few seconds before he just laughs* 

 **Hols:** *lets herself be pulls against him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull herself in closer, responding back to his restless lips heatedly, all but intoxicated by the kiss* 

 **Lynn:** *is blinking several times  & then she exhales when he just laughs & looks back up at him waiting for a moment and saying wryly* So that...was totally predictable wasn't it? 

 **Alcott:** : *with his hand moving down her shoulder & arm & side before it rests again at her waist, fingers gripping and sinking into her skin, his mouth opens against hers, tongue prying her lips open & slipping in* 

 **Nick:** *shakes his head before turning back to Lynn, lips twitching* Yeah, I think so. Just a bit. *shakes his head before turning back to Lynn, lips twitching* Yeah, I think so. Just a bit. *shakes his head again* Who would have thought it four months ago? 

 **Hols:** *a small shiver running down her spine as his hand slides to her waist and his fingers dig into her, opening her mouth to him, her tongue meeting his expertly as one of her hands slides into his hair, gripping it* 

 **Lynn:** *shakes her head, amused against her will* It wasn't even the cliche, we hate each other, denial thing for a long time you know? *bites her bottom lip* He was truly awful. I...don't get why that's changed. *brow furrows* Though Dev's certainly been yelling it at me for ages...*head shake again* 

 **Alcott:** : *as she grips him, he spins them so her back hits and presses into the bar, kissing her passionately tongue licking her top lip as his teeth bring her bottom lip into his mouth, nipping and sucking on it* 

 **Nick:** Yeah, the denial being recent...*shrugs* Maybe he's had a life changing experience or something. *chuckles and shrugs* Whatever it was, it certainly grabbed Hols attention. 

 **Hols:** *gasps slightly as he spins and presses them into the bar, briefly reminded of their location but not really caring enough to stop, nails dragging against the back of his neck as he pulls her bottom lip into his mouth, covering his top lip with her own after sweeping her tongue over it and then pulling back a bit while his teeth hold onto her bottom lip* 

 **Lynn:** *snorts* Must have been one hell of a life changing experience. *just shakes her head, smiling a bit at that* Actually I think he just grabbed her but..*purses her lips* I just don't get it. I want to. I do. But he's...*sighs* It's not Quidditch rivalry or something, he's been attacking myself and my parents for literally as long as I can remember. We're not good enough, we shouldn't have magic, disgrace to the Wizarding world--all, of that judgmental, hypocritical discriminatory bullshit. *beat* And now he's snogging my best friend. *nose wrinkles* Excellent. 

 **Alcott:** : *exhaling in a throaty groan, he fastens his lips closed over her own, tongue exploring and hands sliding around to her lower back, one hand dipping lower to palm & grip*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch in amusement at her comment of him just grabbing her and then his eyebrows furrow* Well, it sounds like he needs to apologize to you. To start. *eyebrow arches* Do you feel like...I don't know, like Hols is betraying you, or something? 

 **Hols:** *breathlessly kissing him back, tongue passing over his teeth and the roof of his mouth before gasping slightly against his lips as his hands slide downwards, and then pulls away only slightly to catch her breath before she opens her eyes again to look at him, panting slightly* ....not bad. *lips twitching* 

 **Lynn:** *laughs once in an exhale and remarks wryly* Yeah, that'll happen. *amused and then looks back at them for a moment, turning back to Nick when he adds, exclaiming in slight surprise* What? No. I mean...*blinks, then realizes OKmaybehehasapoint, and she furrows her brow again  & bites her bottom lip thinking* ...no. I wouldn't and couldn't possibly try to tell her who she should or shouldn't date, if he makes her happy...*brow flicks* I just....*swallows hard and admits quietly, needing to lean closer to him over the loud din of the club* I just think this is what she thinks she can't tell me. Freaking out about it, fine, but wanting more? Knowing how much I can't stand him? That I could....see why she wouldn't want to tell me, and I...wish she felt like she could. And if they start to date? He already has her keeping something from me, I don't...*swallows* I don't want that to...grow. 

 **Alcott:** : *breathlessly kissing her back, hand gripping tighter before she pulls back a bit & his eyes open, gazing at her with an intent and dark stare while he catches his own breath and after several moments he seems to hear her & releases her without moving away, hands coming up to rest on the side of the bar so he's looking down at her, looking thoroughly kissed & his lips twitch at the remark* ...was that almost a compliment? 

 **Nick:** *frowns a bit, seeing her getting upset and then holds her closer to him and kisses her forehead* You won't know if that's what she's keeping from you until you ask and I think you should tell her what you just told me, because I doubt she'd want you to feel this way. 

 **Hols:** *almost shudders again at the way he's looking at her, her lips visibly swollen, not a trace of lip gloss left as she looks up at him, lips twitching* Almost. *exhales once and then chuckles softly* I...need a drink.

 **Lynn:** *softens a bit and rests her head on his shoulder, her hand coming to sit on his opposing knee, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses her  & she sits a moment, exhaling* Thanks. *says quietly after sitting another few moments* I...really, didn't expect...*brow furrows* I've been mad at him since I met him and it's because he's so damn judgmental of me. But Dev's right, isn't he? *sits up straighter without letting him go* I'm just as judgmental of him? 

 **Alcott:** : *brow pops and he lifts a hand to her cheek for a second to wipe the side of her lip clean, biting his own as he drops his hand and his grin flicks* Don't expect you'll let me pay for that? 

 **Nick:** *shakes his head immediately* I think that you give as you get and that so far he hasn't given you a reason to show anything but disrespect for the guy. *shrugs* 

 **Hols:** *watches his hand cup her cheek and rub at the side of her mouth, lips twitching into a brief and soft smile before she raises her eyebrows and then purses her lips in amusement* Well. If you insist. *shrugs and turns around to order something fruity and col, ignoring the bartender's smirky gaze, biting on her bottom lip briefly to keep a soft smile at bay* 

 **Lynn:** *her lips flick in an appreciative smile instantly  & she nods* Yeah. And it looks like he did give Hols one. Or a few. *sighing with an exhale* ...I seriously need a drink. 

 **Alcott:** : *grinning wider and moving as she turns around, hand slipping into his back pocket to remove his wallet & tossing a few Sickles down as he remarks idly with a little smirk* I do insist. I've been doing what you say long enough, I think. 

 **Nick:** I'll just have a scotch on the rocks, thanks. *turns back to Lynn and then smirks* I think I can arrange that. *cups her face and leans in to kiss her*

 **Hols:** I was't aware three weeks were an eternity. *looks up as he motions to one of those trays, looking at them curiously again* I want to try one. 

 **Lynn:** Oh? *amused* You think you can? *grinning as he leans in, she meets him in the kiss, her hand squeezing his thigh  & turning to lean against him, kissing him back breathlessly* 

 **Alcott:** : *smirk flicks* Depends I suppose. But in this case...oh definitely. *is speaking while signaling the girl to turn around again grin widening* I had a feeling you might. 

 **Nick:** *wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her in against him as he kiss her back passionately, lips moving against hers* 

 **Hols:** *takes a sip of her drink while she watches the girl return with the tray* Well, I'm a curious person. *gaze flicks back to him* And apparently predictable now? *eyebrow rises* 

 **Lynn:** *breathless, kissing back fervently turning as he pulls her in, tucking her knee under her so she can press against him, hand inching higher on his thigh* 

 **Alcott:** : *pauses for a moment as he takes two of the pills, handing one to her & his brow furrows* ...no, certainly not predictable, I don't know you that well. 

 **Nick:** *hand on her cheek travels downward, fingers sinking as they slide down her neck, shoulder, and arm to wrap around her waist as well as he pulls her so she's sitting on his lap as he keeps kissing her intensely* 

 **Hols:** *eyebrow arched but her lips twitch in amusement and then shrugging while she takes the pill* Hmm,well, at least. *examines the pill for a moment before she places it on the tip of her tongue and brings it into her mouth* 

 **Lynn:** *with an unintelligible murmur as his fingers dig, she pulls back for a moment so she can straddle him and sit more comfortably, her hair accidentally falling against his cheeks as she leans down to kiss him again* 

 **Alcott:** : *watching her as she examines the pill, with a small smirk popping his own pill and using the shot of alcohol as a chaser before grinning at her again* At least? 

 **Nick:** *exhales in a small groan as she straddle him and then digs his fingers into her hips as they kiss, nipping and taking her bottom lip with his teeth and pulling on it slightly, soothing it over with his tongue* 

 **Hols:** *takes a sip of her cocktail again, chuckling and then elaborates* At least I'm not predictable. One stable thing so far. 

 **Lynn:** *running her hands from around his neck, down his chest as she kisses him back, inhaling with a hiss as he nips, her hands curling into fists around his shirt and pressing herself closer into him* 

 **Alcott:** : *chuckles once & nods, leaning up against the counter again, still rather close again, still rather close to her even just to talk; feeling rather warm already just from the atmosphere/alcohol* Stable? *bites his bottom lip* I hardly doubt this, *gestures between them* is...stable. Whatever it...is. 

 **Nick:** *As his hands slide downwards and squeeze, his lips flick into a smirk against her own lips as he realizes she's not wearing underwear* Oh...naughty...*spoken in a heated whisper before he continues kissing her, pressing their hips closer together*

 **Hols:** *biting down on her lip too briefly and nods* True. *takes the final sip of her drink and puts the glass on the counter, turning back to him* Well, whatever it is...think we can wait to figure it out till the morning? *eyebrow rising* 

 **Lynn:** *laughs once under her breath, and mms against his lips, grinning as he realizes and presses his lips, grinning as he realizes and presses her lips back to his breathlessly for her answer, her knees harder into his thighs as she kiss him again* 

 **Alcott:** : *lips twitch, following her gaze for a heartbeat to her lips & then mhms* If even then?

 

...the rest of the night is a bit of a blur to them all ...


	7. That's What You Get For Waking Up in Hogwarts

**Nadia:** *stirs awake slowly, blinking as her sight is blurry and realizing as she spots cushions and walls made of cloth that she's sleeping in the tent outside. Realizing she woke up because she was a bit cold, she tucks her feet closer to her, realizing she's just in her underwear though she can't remember taking off her dress. she groans a little bit with a small headache and moves to stretch when she finds Devin's arms draped over and holding her and she smiles softly for a moment, running the back of her fingers against his arm before she turns around in his hold to face him* Dev...Devin, baby...*yawns a bit* wake up.

 **Devin:** *his first thought is trying to figure out why he's a bit cold, before realizing he's propped up on cushions, tangled in sheets he can barely feel covering his body, the only real source of warmth a very familiar form he's curled against and he promptly moves closer, just trying to get warmer as he's only wearing boxer shorts. his eyes press together tightly as he hears her speak his name, his head feeling heavy and his thoughts foggy; he's reluctant to stir or move in the slightest, though he knows that's a pointless thought and he blinks open his eyes hesitantly, trying to filter in the light so he can get used to it, focusing on her face--blurred as it is--to steady him as his head pounds and he groans as well, keeping his arm around her and shakes his head stubbornly, speaking childishly* I don't want to. *promptly shuts his eyes again and holds her a bit closer, whispering in a tease through pursed lips* ...five more minutes. 

 **Nadia:** *her smile becomes even wider as he protests against waking up and giggles a bit, closing her eyes as well momentarily and then sighs as he holds her closer and then purses her lips in amusement* no, i'm awake noooowww, stay awake with meee. *smiles and then leans her head on top of his chest* im cold, we forgot the heating charms *tucking her toes closer to him and then pauses*...how did I get my tent? *blinking*

 **Devin:** *head shakes teasingly for a moment, just pressing his eyes together tighter even though moving his head gives him an odd sensation that he's underwater, or perhaps for some reason in quick sand, exhaling a small groan in protest and then sighs and opens his eyes again at her question, even as he hugs her closer and he blinks twice* ...your tent? *pauses* That explains the breeze. *blinks* ...I guess heating charms aren't the only thing we forgot...

 **Nadia:** *nodding softly and slowly, not wanting to increase her headache by any kind of level* yeah...*frowns slightly* how did we even get back here? *lifts her head up slowly to look around the tent for any clues and just sees everything just pretty much strewn all over the place, her dress draped over a chair, his clothes all around them and just a general state of dishevel* ...do you remember anything, Dev? *blinks again*

 **Devin:** *his hand falls to her back as she sits up, gently moving his fingers against her upper back as she looks around, content for the moment not to move and just smiling (without really being aware) at her, finding himself a bit breathless. at her question, a frown flicks across his lips and he purses his lips trying to think, feeling rather as though he instantly hits a brick wall when he does, and he starts to shake his head slowly, put off by the pounding and then says simply* ....I remember being at the bar with you, getting left alone after Al and Hols...*bites his bottom lip* ...and I remember seeing my sister and Nick for a few...minutes? Seconds? *pauses and then decidedly clarifies* ...No I don't remember at all actually. *beat* Did I...have, one of those pills? *has lifted a hand now to rub at his eyes* Because I...couldn't remember last time after that either...

 **Nadia:** *nods as well, immediately put off by this inability to remember anything and frowns a bit, passing a hand over her eyes for a moment but still somehow smiling if only as a lingering reaction to waking up in Dev's arms* yeah and Irene said she needed to go find her own snog session...*blinks* i...*tries to remember* ...yeah, I think so- oh. Yeah, i remember. we...*chuckles, biting down on her lip briefly before nodding once* yeah, i teased you about it and you kinda...*lips twitch* tongue wreslted the pill away from my mouth.

 **Devin:** *simply watches her, still not really wanting to get up or move at all and he blinks once, lips twitching at the memory and saying* Yeah. Oh, didn't one of those...guys that came with Rory, didn't one of them kind of...grab her? *blinks* Or dance with her or...or...*beat* Okay well anyway I remember one of them was with her at some point in the evening doing something. This not remembering details thing is inconvenient. *lips twitch again as she recounts and he chuckles under his breath, ignoring how the sound hits his ears* ...particularly as that sounds like a fun memory...did I really? *amused*

 **Nadia:** i think she...grabbed him? or a mutual gra- doesn't matter. *blinking and then sits up, passing her fingers through her hair to work out a couple of knots, and then bringing her knees up to her chest and then chuckles and nods at his question* Yeah, you did. I don't think you meant to swallow it though...I don't remember much- but I didn't take...anything. At least I don't think I did. Do they put something in the drinks or...*wraps her arms around her knees*

 **Nadia:** i think she...grabbed him? or a mutual gra- doesn't matter. *blinking and then sits up, passing her fingers through her hair to work out a couple of knots, and then bringing her knees up to her chest and then chuckles and nods at his question* Yeah, you did. I don't think you meant to swallow it though...I don't remember much- but I didn't take...anything. At least I don't think I did. Do they put something in the drinks or...*wraps her arms around her knees*

 **Devin:** *laughs once and remarks idly* Wouldn't surprise me if she grabbed him though... *shrugs a shoulder, still thinking through a fog and then almost reluctantly sits up himself, shifting so he can take the blanket off of his legs and wrap it around her, smiling slightly* Well I know I definitely...didn't mean to swallow it, I didn't really want to go through this again. And last time Eliza stayed perfectly sober the whole time so she was able to insure Al and I got home. Complaining about it the whole time of course. *beat* Maybe there was something in the drinks. *brow furrows* Or...well. Do you know how many drinks we actually...had?

 **Nadia:** *smiles as he wraps the blanket around her and then grabs the edges of it to keep it tight around herself and then nods* yeah...sorry about that then. *chuckles again and then teases* yeah, she seems to do that quite a bit. *grins slightly* she wouldn't have it any other way. *scooches closer to him while keeping the blanket around herself and then frowns a bit* i...don't remember. We started doing shots though, that I do remember...I don't know when we stopped though. *shakes head at herself, and then closes her eyes when it bothers her a little bit, opening her eyes again* I wonder how everyone else is faring. *purses her lips*...oh god, Rene better be back in the common room or I'm gonna kill her.

 **Devin:** *grinning and moving closer to her too, nodding only once as his head still is pounding and he's realizing he probably has already been sick at least once and he inhales carefully for a moment, thinking about absolutely nothing but looking at Nadia, and then his hand lifts to flick hair back, blinking once* ...I...well I know Al was guilty about the last time all were out, so I mean. *beat* There's no way any of us just left right? We probably came back together? Got the tent and you and I came out here? ...I ... bloody hell, they'd better all, be okay too. *beat* We should get dressed? Go check?

 **Nadia:** *bites on her bottom lip briefly before she stops and pouts, muttering an oww when she realizes her lip is pretty swollen, probably from snogging and then nods* Yeah that...that sounds like it makes sense. *pauses and then nods once again* yeah, let's go look for them. *exhales and then leans her head on her shoulder* in five minutes.

 **Devin:** *laughs once quietly and takes a second to move behind her so he can wrap his arms around her gently, softly and holds onto her grinning, eyes shutting again and still breathing a bit carefully* Five minutes. *agrees softly*

-&-

 

 **Lynn:** *awakening rather slowly, she opens one eye for a fluttered moment she instantly regrets as she finds her head not very friendly to light and promptly shuts both eyes tightly and groans under her breath. she stays like that a moment, not paying attention to the fact that she'd made out an unfamiliar coffee table (with shot glasses lying on their side), or the familiar walls of the room of requirement. she was grateful only for the small shield her hair had offered her from the light coming through the window, before realizing the weight around her is much heavier than that of just a blanket and she opens both eyes a crack looking down to see an arm. she smiles softer, delighted to recognize it, comfortable in his hold. she exhales as she tilts her head, trying to see behind her, reluctant to dislodge his arm or wake Nick, shifting only slightly to look at him, before murmuring with her exhale when she sees him stirring too* Morning. 

 **Nick:** *stirs awake naturally and peacefully as well, opening his eyes slowly, finding himself face to face with red hair at first before his eyes focus on Lynn's face, a smile widening on his face as she says morning and he rubs his eyes with his hand* Good morning to you too. *blinking before realizing that his eyes aren't getting used to the light because his head is all but pounding* well...maybe not as good as i thought. *chuckles slightly*...sleep well?

 **Lynn:** *chuckles once under her breath, before stopping abruptly as she realizes how much that hurts, grinning instead--she looks down, realizing she's sleeping only in his shirt and blinks, her brow furrowing and she nods, looking throughly confused* I...well I think so. *lips twitch, even though she's speaking very softly* I can't uh...seem to...*blink* remember, much, but yes, I think so. *shifts slightly and purses her lips for a moment* ...do you happen to know how we got here? 

 **Nick:** I...last thing I remember we were at the club...at the booth...*lips twitch* having fun. *grins slightly and then rubs his eyes again before lifting his head up from the pillow to look around the room* I...am not sure how...I'm guessing we're in the room of requirement though...so at least we're in the castle. *brings his head back down on the pillow as it seems extremely heavy to him at that moment* I don't even remember walking back to Hogwarts.

 **Lynn:** *settling as he sits up and pressing her head into the folds of the cushion, trying to drown out extraneous noise, for it's filling her ears with a dull and persistent ringing and she furrows her brow trying to think, feeling as though even basic facts seem to be very hard to grasp at the moment; her eyes follow him as he sits back down and she blinks again* I remember the drinks coming...I guess that would start to explain the black out point too then. *turns and lifts her hand to her eyes, rubbing for a second* I remember ...seeing Rory dance with Eliza...my brother the complete hypocrite...and Hols and Alcott disappearing from the bar... and then suddenly they snap open as she realizes and she sits up straight, and then winces at the movement, settling her back against the arm of the couch* ...Hols. *she looks around to ascertain they're alone in the room and then back down at him* ...okay she's probably in the Gryffindor tower, right? ... I.. right?

 **Nick:** *bit startled as Lynn all of a sudden sits up straight in the middle of her explaining what she remembers and puts his hand over heart before exhaling and looking back up at Lynn* yeah, calm down. I hardly think you would have left without her...even if we can't remember it. *frowns a bit and sits up as well, only slower* shes either there or with Brackner. *shrugs and then wonders* think everybody else made it to the castle alright?

 **Lynn:** *beat* ...you're right, I wouldn't have. *swallows* I just...wish I could...remember. *as he points out she might be with Al, she exhales in annoyed reluctance muttering under her breath* Right. *her tone sardonic as she folds her elbow against the arm of the couch too so she can fold her forehead into her palm and cradle, her other arm tucking a strand of her hair back and blinks at him, still squinting in the light* ....well they'd better have. How many people do we have to account for? *furrows her brow* Besides us and Hols and Brackner...Rory, Eliza, Irene? Dev, Nadia? And Rory's friends? ...merlindammit, I have absolutely no idea.

 **Nick:** *smiles apologetically as he brings up the possibility of hols being with al, and just watches her hold up her head with his hand and then nods as she recounts the number of people they have to account for* that sounds about right. I...*pinches the bridge of his nose trying to remember and exhales* I remember leaving the club...or at least making the effort to try and gather everyone so we could leave...

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch the slightest bit at his apologetic smile and she shifts a bit to sit more comfortably while looking at him* Right...I mean, no matter how screwed up we were I...can't imagine we just left. *blinks* ...I guess we should just go...check. I mean they're probably all in their common rooms and everything? *beat, dragging her hand down the center of her chest fidgeting for a moment as she blinks again at the shirt, her eyes snap back up a moment later to look around the room, this time seeing the shot glasses much more clearly, noticing candles burned down as well and she blinks, taking several moments and asking hesitantly* Do you remember...anything, of what we...*pauses and then bites her bottom lip, casting her eyes back down at the shirt and pulling it down with a pinched forefinger and thumb* ...how far we uhm....*tilts her head again, running her hand back through her hair and asks in one breath* We didn't have sex, did we? 

 **Nick:** *takes a deep breath and then uses his arms to bring himself up to a sitting position to look at her better, exhaling afterwards at the movement and then nods* yeah that sounds like a good idea. *closes his eyes for a moment, still not adjusted to the light and then opens them slowly as she begins to ask hesitantly, blinking for a moment as she starts fumbling with the question and then frowns a bit, trying to remember and then shakes his head* i don't...remember. Which means we better...not have. *chuckles once before he stops himself, knowing that it isn't really a very joke-like question* well..do you feel sore?

 **Lynn:** *watching him sit up almost hesitantly and searchingly, waiting while continuing to fidget as he thinks and then bites her bottom lip hard, brows flicking as he chuckles once and she echoes it with an unamused under-her-breath chuckle and sheepish half smile; at his question she blinks and immediately flushes scarlet, and makes a smalll incredulous, sheepish, rather embarrassed noise and then shakes her head* ...No. We'd remember though. Right? I...*drops her hand from her head and presses her lips together hard* would hope we'd remember, considering that would be my ... well. 

 **Nick:** *can't help but to grin as she blushes, amused that he can do that to her and then nods* then we...probably didn't. *bit awkward but then nods his head slowly* i'd like to think that i'd be quite...memorable, so. *easy grin and then shrugs before nods* Yeah, yeah I know. But also considering I have my boxers on I think we're okay. 

 **Lynn:** *purses her lips in amusement and embarrassment as he grins and she just shakes her head a fraction of an inch, ignoring the ringing in her ears and snorts, decidedly not commenting on his amusement before furrowing her brow* Right, right. Wait, you know? *blinks, rather happy about that* I...figured with my reputation...*is now smiling too, the blush receding* 

 **Nick:** *nods and smiles softly* Yeah, well, I kinda figured. *licks his lips mostly cuz his mouth is dry but then chuckles once* I could tell you why I thought that but seeing as how your blush is just starting to go away I don't think that'd be very chivalrous of me. *smiles and then traces her cheek with the back of his hand* 

 **Lynn:** *pauses for a moment, stilling as he caresses her, finally stopping fidgeting, and just starts smiling at him softly for several moments and then chuckles at the comment, saying simply with much more her usual smirk* Ah, right. Suppose I can guess actually. *brow pops, much more relaxed* But it's...going to be memorable. *nods once*

 **Nick:** hmm *eyebrows rising naturally for a moment before nodding* I had a feeling you could. *grins easily and then nods as well* exactly, as it should be. *leans in to kiss her once, chastely and leans back* you wanna get out of here, find out if Hols is in the common room?

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks and she kisses him back for the moment, before nodding as he pulls back* Yeah, I do. And make sure my brother and Nadia got back safely too. *beat* So we need...clothes. *pauses and then brightens as she realizes the moment she said it, new outfits appeared on the coffee table and she grins, leaning over to take them* ...I love the room of requirement. 

 **Nick:** *nods and then looks over to the coffee table to see the new outfits ready for them and then blinks once and chuckles* this...is pretty cool. *grins* we don't have anything like this back in Cali. *reaches over and looks at the clothes, nodding once as he approves of them* now the trick is going to be to stand up *slight teasing*

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles as she grins* Welcome to England, baby. *setting the sundress across her lap, she laughs once under her breath at his remark and swivels so her feet are on the ground, pointedly standing (and gripping the side of the couch quite hard), turning back around to pop her eyebrow at him with a slight challenging smirk*

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then mumbles* that accent...*shakes his head and then watches her stand up with an attitude and then smirks once before shaking his head again and standing up as well, closing his eyes only briefly as he's just the tad bit dizzy* what's next? *teases and then unbuttons the jeans before slipping them on, doing the same with the extra shirt provided to him by the room*

 **Lynn:** *just smirking as she hears his mumble, wiggling her brow at him and shrugging a shoulder as she does so, she turns slightly to first slipping the underwear on, and then put the bra on, all underneath, his shirt, dizzy herself and leaning back against the couch to add additional support at the manuever, before taking his shirt off and in one rather fluid motion, donning the dress as well, fluffing her hair out and then pausing as she realizes the amount of knots in it, blinking once* ...my hair has to look terrible, doesn't it?

 **Nick:** *took brief amusement in watching her put on underwear while still wearing the shirt and then chuckles once at her question and then shakes his head* No, I think it looks sexy, really. I have a thing for disheveled hair I'll let you know. *wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Lynn:** *with the slightest blush as she realizes he's still watching her, her smirk flicks and she laughs once almost unwillingly* Oh, well in that case I won't bother fixing it. *lips twitch* Good to know really, here I was wasting all this time brushing and styling it...and the money I'll save on product alone...*also wiggling her eyebrows*

 **Nick:** you mean to tell me that all this time you were actually keeping your hair in the best possible condition for *me*? *slight smirk* and not for yourself and your own want to look fabulous? *grins* i'm beyond flattered. 

 **Lynn:** *smirking* Oh, but I look fabulous effortlessly. *laughs, absolutely delighted and just grins* And mm, no no, actually I'd be making it disheveled for you considering you just said that's what you actually prefer...*shrugs a shoulder* Though I suppose it comes to the same thing flattery wise.

 **Nick:** ahhh, I see. *nodding and licks his lips in amusement before grinning* yes, still enormously flattering. *slips on his shoes and just passes a hand through his hair before deciding that's all that's necessary and then looks over to her* ready to go?

 **Lynn:** *after first sliding her former-dress/jacket and his shirt into her purse and slinging it on her shoulder, slipping her heels back on and then deciding she required a hair band and picking that up/putting her hair up into a messy bun anyways, she blinks seeing his swipe and purses her lips in amusement, moving over and reaching up to fix his hair herself, lips twitching* ...Yeah, all set. 

 **Nick:** *chuckles as she fixes his hair* what I don't pull off the disheveled look that I like so much? *teases and then grabs her hand* alright, let's go.

 

-&-

 

Wolf-whistles were the least of her worries right at that moment.

 

Nadia just tried to keep on walking and ignoring the whistles and cat calls and comments that were headed her way as she took the walk of shame into her common room and her dorm. She could already feel her cheeks reddening with every step she took, her hands constantly at her sides to keep her dress down at a suitable length. One would think that the Hufflepuff trait of being nice and loyal and hard-working could keep them from making comments that would make her blush as red as a Quaffle. But, alas, Hufflepuff boys were still just boys and teenage boys were…special.

 

For lack of a better term.

 

It didn’t help matters that Devin had once again broken her strap as he seemed to like to do to her dresses, and so she looked more disheveled that she would have, even though she had tried to tease her hair into behaving before she left the tent.

 

She gawked at one particular comment and then had to stop and turn around to see the person who had spoken it out and then glared slightly at Artie before she crossed her hands in front of her chest and shook her head in disapproval. “As if I would _ever_.”

 

Artie didn’t comment further, just wiggled his eyebrows and smirked before turning around and walking away, leaving to go eat breakfast.

 

Or was it lunch? Nadia wasn’t sure.

 

Nadia just exhaled and shook her head again, taking off her heels before she began walking again, heading directly to the girls’ dormitories. She could feel some of the glances from some of her disapproving housemates -so much for the non-judgmental quality of Hufflepuffs- but paid them no mind as she opened the door to the room she shared with the rest of the girls in her year and frowned when she didn’t see Irene sleeping in her bed.

 

“Alisha,” Nadia spoke out, knowing that just someone saying her name was enough to wake up her friend. Sure enough, Alisha stirred and lifted her head from her pillow. She groaned a bit, rubbing her eyes and then sniffing as she watched Nadia slip out of her dress and put it back in her trunk before taking out a pair of jeans and a tank top.

 

“Wassup?” Alisha asked groggily, yawning once.

 

“Did Irene get back to the dorm?” Nadia asked quietly as she slipped on the pair of jeans and then quickly pulled the tank top over her head.

 

That thought immediately caused Alisha to sit up, not forgetting the last time the pair of them were worrying about Irene’s whereabouts. Alisha frowned, looking at Nadia in disapproval before she spoke out again. “I thought you said you were going to keep an eye on her.”

 

Nadia winced, knowing that she had done a mistake in letting Irene out of her sight and felt a bit guilty but instead of saying any of that she just sighed, “And I did. We all got back to the castle, but I just…can’t…remember, how or when…we all separated.”

 

“We all?” Alisha asked, confused, before she continued. “I thought there were only five of you and why can’t you remember?”

 

“No it’s…a long story but we ended up running into more students at the club and…I’m not sure. I didn’t think I drank that much but maybe there was something in the drinks-“

 

“Something in the drinks?!” Alisha asked concerned, standing up from her bed with a frown, crossing her arms in front of her chest and shifting all her weight to one foot; it was Alisha’s attitude/mommy pose, and Nadia was immediately regretting asking Alisha about Irene at all. “Are you okay? What kind of place was this? What-“

 

“I’m obviously okay, Alisha, and Irene is too she’s just…not here.”

 

“Right.” Alisha raised an eyebrow and asked, “Any idea where she might be?”

 

“With a Gryffindor.”

 

“Care to narrow that down?”

 

“Care to help me find her instead of just stand there and judge me?” Nadia snapped slightly, wiping a hand over her face.

 

Alisha bit down on her bottom lip and glared slightly before just sighing out and nodding her head reluctantly. “Fine, let me get ready and go wake up Trent in the meantime.”

 

Nadia nodded as she took off her heels and left them by her bed before just slipping on her flats and walking towards the door once more. Hesitantly, Nadia came to a stop and turned around to watch Alisha walk over to her trunk as well and begin to pull out an outfit to change into and purse her lips before she spoke out again. “Alisha?”

 

“You’re forgiven if you forgive me,” she spoke out, sincerity lacing her every word. Nadia smiled softly and then nodded before she walked out of the door and headed to the boys dormitory, ready to put her hands in front of her eyes when necessary.

-&-

 

 **Devin:** *rubbing his forehead, ignoring the looks he's getting from some people around the common room and comes to a halt when he realizes Eliza is asleep on the couch still in her gown and blinks, sitting down on the coffee table* ..Eliza?

 **Eliza:** *comes to with a start and blinks at him a few times* ...Oh! Devin. ...what are you doing in my bedroom? *pause* How did you get in, my--

 **Devin:** *with an eyebrow arching as she trails off and starts looking around*

 **Eliza:** ...oh.

 **Devin:** *lips flick* Yeah. It's cool, I woke up in a tent, so.

 **Eliza:** A tent?

 **Devin:** *nods once* With Nadia. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch in a soft smile* Oh. Aw, that's cute. You guys went camping again?

 **Devin:** Evidently. *smile flicks* How much of last night do you remember? 

 **Eliza:** *pauses and then frowns* Oh. 

 **Devin:** *face falls* You too? How much did you have to drink?

 **Eliza:** *pauses and furrows her brow* Well actually... *tilts head* I didn't have that much. Nor did Rory....but we came back before the rest of you did. 

 **Devin:** You did?

 **Eliza:** You don't remember? 

 **Devin:** *lips press together and he hangs his hands for a moment* 

 **Eliza:** Oh. You had those pills again, didn't you? 

 **Devin:** *protests* One, and it wasn't my fault, evidently there was a wrestling match involved with Nadia and I was stopping her, from taking it and so really I was being chivalrous!

 **Eliza:** By swallowing it yourself instead?

 **Devin:** *beat* ...Look, have you seen Al?

 **Eliza:** *smiles* Not since he was snogging the hell out of Hols. The second time I mean. 

 **Devin:** *beat* the..uh. Second time? 

 **Eliza:** Yeah, first time being at the bar, second time being in the booth.

 **Devin:** Booth.

 **Eliza:** *brow flicks* Rory and I were dancing, we saw them when he spun me. 

 **Devin:** And you guys came back first?

 **Eliza:** You don't remember us checking with you and Nadia, do you? 

 **Devin:** ...mmkay let's just assume for the sake of this that I don't remember anything.

 **Eliza:** Do you remember anything? 

 **Devin:** So you checked with me and Nadia? 

 **Eliza:** Bit hard to do actually, you guys were quite as involved as Alcott and Hols were...

 **Devin:** *waves this off* What did we say?

 **Eliza:** That it was fine and there were still plenty of us there to watch out for each other. 

 **Devin:** ...ah.

 **Eliza:** Clearly I shouldn't have listened to you.

 **Devin:** So you haven't seen Alcott at all then?

 **Eliza:** Considering I clearly had the least of all three of us, how much noise he'd have made coming in would have woken me up. So...no.

 **Devin:** Do you have any ideas where he might be? Or...anyone of us for that matter? 

 **Eliza:** *brow furrows* ...well I'm sure Lynn's with Nick.

 **Devin:** Eliza.

 **Eliza:** Devin.

 **Devin:** I figured she was. 

 **Eliza:** *grin flicks* So why the warning tone?

 **Devin:** ...just because I presume they're together doesn't mean they're...

 **Eliza:** Safe? *tilts head* 

 **Devin:** *exhale* Lynn can take care of herself. And you don't need to make it all veiled, no, I'm not sure how much I trust Nick. But do I think he'd let something happen? No. And do I think they're okay? Yes, I do. 

 **Eliza:** *exhales* Brothers. 

 **Devin:** But you haven't seen them.

 **Eliza:** No. As to the others...well I know Irene was with Dillon...

 **Devin:** Dillon?

 **Eliza:** *shoulder shrug* Rory's friend. Don't know him well....at all, actually. But they were dancing. 

 **Devin:** Okay. That's a start I suppose. *getting up* I'll go double check our room and then find Nadia again...

 **Eliza:** Hold on, hold on, I'm coming with... *gets up with him too.*

 **Dillon:** *sitting at the counter with his head bent over a hangover cure, even though his head is pounding he's smiling* ...I can't believe you did that, Irene. *is incredibly amused, and still chuckling under his breath* That honestly might be one for the record books. 

 **Irene:** *laughs out loud once softly but winces immediately because the noise is still too loud for her ears and then rests her chin on her hands* That? Amateur work, really. *shrugs but still smiling* I'm surprised you could keep up, Dillon. Didn't know you were such a deviant. *takes a sip of her coffee* 

 **Dillon:** *brow wiggles for a moment as he grins at her and folds his arms over the counter* If that was amateur work, you simply *must* let me come with you to see you on top form. *lips twitch* As you say, I promise I can keep up. And last night was...*chuckles warmly under his breath grinning at her* ...hmm. Enjoyable, inspiring, *waves her hand* ....truly so good it must be a sin? 

 **Irene:** *chuckles* I think I could arrange for that. *bites her bottom lip and smirks slightly as he describes last night and then laughs once* A sin? Now I know you're just teasing me. *grinning and keeps looking at him as she takes another sip of her coffee* 

 **Dillon:** Teasing? No. Never. *laughs once* But flattery I have been known to overuse. 

 **Irene:** *eyebrow rising playfully for a moment before putting her cup down* Aah, I see. You should probably learn to control it then, overuse leads us girls to think you don't believe a word of it, plus things are more valuable when they're rare. *shrugs and then grins* Just a little Irene wisdom of the day. 

 **Dillon:** *laughs once* Oh, there are certain words I reserve only for the...hm. Most meaningful of occasions. *lips twitch* But point taken. How's the headache? 

 **Irene:** *eyebrow wiggles and then inclines her head forward* I approve. *grins and then lips twitch, shrugging* I've had worse, as horrible as it sounds. It's not a concussion so that's already a bonus from last time *lifts her cup* Cheers. *takes another sip* 

 **Dillon:** *eyebrows arch* I heard about that actually...you took on, multiple guys? *lips twitch* Beat them off? *shoulder shrug* Not that the concussion was good of course but...well. Still pretty damn impressive. *pause* Even so, I prefer the fact you were safe. *lips twitch with a grin* But then this time I was there, so...

 **Irene:** Well I don't like to brag but *flips her hair over her shoulder and then grins* Thank you, impressive is what I aim for. *eyebrows rise* Oh so because I was with you, no harm came to me, is that it? *tease* 

 **Dillon:** *laughs, eyes following the hair flip and nodding with a tease* Exactly. I know how you can thank me too. *grin flicks* One date. Except just the two of us this time...and phrase this whole set of sentences as a question, with a please on the end of it. 

 **Irene:** *purses her lips briefly and tilts her head in curiosity as he says she can thank him, and then she chuckles once in slight disbelief, opening her mouth slightly before chuckling again and biting down on her lip* You know...I'd really like that. *grins* 

 **Dillon:** *waits patiently with a small soft smile  & then his grin flicks and he brightens* Yeah? Great! Say uh...next Friday? Pick you up at 8? 

 **Irene:** *her grin widens as she sees his enthusiasm and then nods* Yeah, that sounds great. 

 **Nadia:** *walking into the kitchens with a line behind her* There you are! Do you realize how worried sick I was?! 

 **Irene:** Calm down mum. *lips twitch and turns to Dillon for a moment* Dillon here kept me safe.

 **Nick:** *more amused than annoyed really, holding Lynn's hand* So everyone's all right? 

 **Irene:** Mmh-hmm.

 **Nadia:** Alisha's gonna kill you. 

 **Devin:** *just behind Nadia, arms folding on his chest in amusement/pride as she launches  & just tilts his head*

 **Dillon:** *chuckles once as Irene looks back around grinning* That I did. 

 **Lynn:** *from Nick's side just tilting her head looking at the grins Irene-Dillon shoot each other  & smirks* I'd say a little more than all right...

 **Eliza:** *waves* Hey Dillon. *beat* Have either of you seen Al? 

 **Lynn:** *immediately* Or Hols? 

 **Eliza:** Right--and/or Hols?

 **Lynn:** *lips press together but she nods* 

 **Irene:** *just grins at Lynn's comment*

 **Nadia:** *eyes narrow in curiosity and non-verbally communicates that they're gonna talk about this--Irene nods* 

 **Irene:** *blinks* Um, no, not since last night. They seemed pretty heavily involved *grins slightly*--

 **Nick:** We're informed of that Irene. *stops her from further comments for Lynn's sake* 

 **Irene:** Huh...you can't find them anywhere? 

 **Lynn:** *though she doesn't comment; she squeezes Nick's hand in gratitude  & her lips twitch a moment*

 **Dillon:** *tilting head curiously after offering a half wave back to Eliza, shakes his head in agreement he hasn't seen them*

 **Eliza:** ...not in the castle thus far but..well Al...

 **Dev:** ...knows a lot of hiding spots.

 **Lynn:** *Snorts* One way of putting it.

 **Dev:** *rolls his eyes* 

 **Eliza:** *tilts her head* ...why? Do you have an idea, Rene? 

 **Nadia:** And with Hols, merlin knows which species she could be residing with at the moment.

 **Nick:** *laughs once at Lynn's comment and then clears his throat repeatedly, passing it off*

 **Irene:** Hmm...oh! Yeah--he showed me this room it looks like a small great hall with lots of comfy arm chairs, the orgy room! 

 **Nadia:** The *what*?!

 **Irene:** Well, I dubbed it that cause it looks like a room in which...you'd have an orgy *shrugs* and the sun on the ceiling--it's very symbolic.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch in amusement at Nadia's remark, looking at her for a second with a smirk, non-verbally admitting like well sure, she might have slept as a lioness*

 **Eliza:** *looking bewildered and flummoxed*

 **Dev:** *hearing Nick he pauses, an amused grin flitting across his lips* 

 **Lynn:** *casts her smirk to Nick for a second, just shaking her head in amusement and slight pride*

 **Devin:** *laughs in spite of himself at Nadia's exclamation even as his brow is furrowed* The...orgy room? *echoes her*

 **Dillon:** ...sounds like quite the room. *amused*

 **Eliza:** It...is...he showed you that room? *startled* The one his...*pauses for a moment then realizes she really shouldn'tttt talk about Alcott's parents and just shakes her head* Yeah, I didn't even think to check there. 

 **Lynn:** ...where is this exactly?

 **Eliza:** ...you know, I can just go...run and check. 

 **Lynn:** *blinks* But-

 **Dev:** *simply* Do we really all want to walk in on them? Surely one person interrupting them--

 **Lynn:** *sweetly* Point already made, brother of mine. 

 **Dev:** *lips press together in amusement* Of course.

 **Nadia:** *narrows her eyes curiously at Lynn, not particularly liking the fact that she seems not to understand what was so amusing but just shrugs it off*

 **Nick:** *raises his eyebrows with an amused grin at Lynn as they look at each other briefly*

 **Irene:** oh it is...*grins and then winces* oh...maybe I shouldn't have blabbed off about it. *purses her lips* he did.

 **Nadia:** true enough. *turns to Eliza* so we'll meet you by the courtyard if you find them?

 **Irene:** is this search party mandatory? cuz, not that I don't love all of you and what not, but I had another destination in mind.

 **Nadia:** i'm afraid to ask.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch surprised but softly* Right. 

 **Devin:** *looks at her curiously for a moment and then just nods; he's still amused by the fact that really Hols kind of was "sleeping" with a diff species even if it was with Alcott.*

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks and she shrugs a shoulder* Courtyard sounds good. Definitely.

 **Dillon:** *at the last remark, his lips twitch and he sits up straighter* Oh but I'm not. *smirking, arching his eyebrow at Irene* Was this destination to be solo bound or would you mind accompaniment? 

 **Nick:** then we'll wait in the courtyard while Eliza goes to check. *tilts head towards the door* head out now?

 **Irene:** *lips twitch* well I was on my way to a bath-

 **Nadia:** therefore you're solo bound.

 **Irene:** bu-

 **Nadia:** *raises eyebrow*

 **Irene:** *pouts* but what if I drown?

 **Nadia:** scourgify yourself.

 **Irene:** not the same.

 **Nadia:** don't really care.

 **Nick:** ladies *amused* 

 **Eliza:** *laughs once under her breath* ...and on that note. *claps her hands together as she moves backwards* See you guys soon. *waves again and exits*

 **Lynn:** ...a shower. That sounds like a really good idea actually. 

 **Dev:** *offers Lynn a little finger wave as if to remind her he's standing right there, which she offers right back with a smirk* 

 **Dillon:** *with his eyebrows arching, chuckling under his breath and he shakes his head* Now whose teasing, Rene?

 **Dev:** All right. *shakes his head amused as well* Let's just--go, yes?

 **Lynn:** Mmm, go where?

 **Dev:** Courtyard.

 **Lynn:** *sighs dramatically squeezing Nick's hand and just nods at Dev* Oh right.

 **Dillon:** *nods* I suppose I'll see you later then, Irene? *is getting off the counter and grinning at her*

 **Lynn:** *while he does this, Lynn goes on her toes to murmur under her breath/in Nick's ear* Courtyard first anyways. 

 **Irene:** *to Lynn* doesn't it?! *turns to Nadia and then points to Irene* see? why can *she* take a shower-

 **Nadia:** Irene, there is a time and place to talk about showers. solo or non-solo as they are, and this is not one of them.

 **Irene:** *grins at Dillon* i get that a lot, unfortunately. which, i *assure* i *always* follow through-

 **Nadia:** unbelievable. *just really gives up and walks backwards to grab Dev's hand*

 **Irene:** *smiling and then nods* see ya later, Dillon.

 **Nick:** *immediately smirks at her whisper and has to purse his lips to keep a comment or a noise at bay and then just nods to her*

 **Dillon:** *with his eyebrows popping and his lips pressing together in a barely-concealed smirk* Quite the assurance.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles*

 **Dillon:** *nods* Hopefully sooner rather than later... *winks*

 **Devin:** *is looking rather determinedly at Nadia and neither Nick nor Lynn now and just takes her hand as she walks backwards, just grinning at her and taking her hand, spinning them so they can leave, saying idly* Well, it was a valiant effort anyways... *is still beaming*

 **Lynn:** *still on her toes, waiting until Navin/Irene &Dillon have exited and turns to kiss Nick's cheek before decidedly lowering herself and following them out as well* 

 **Irene:** definitely sooner *grinning as she walks out of the kitchen*

 **Nadia:** *smiles again as Devin spins them* if I were rewarded for effort *chuckles and then looks up at him, noticing him beaming*...what's that smile for? *eyebrow raise*

 **Nick:** *grins as Lynn kisses his cheek and follows her and the rest of the group out of the kitchen*

 

_The Previous Night..._

 

 **Alcott:** *carrying in one hand a glass bottle with about half left and with his arm around Hols waist, chuckling under his breath, pulling up short and narrowing his eyes for a moment at the portrait they're passing and he blinks and then turns to her* ...tempting, as a library corner or broom closet might be, I have another...idea. *tilts his head, hand toying at her waist as his grin flicks* That is of course, if you're up to it, as I would have to swear you to utter and complete secrecy--*pauses* -- ...for the..are we on the third, time? 

 **Hols:** *about to stumble a bit as he stops suddenly, glad to have his arm around her waist for balance, and then looks at him in confusion, lips twitching at the mention of a broom closet because that was the same location she had dreamed about that night* an idea, on your part? sounds dangerouuuuus. *eyebrows raising in amusement* I don't remember but *does her oath of secrecy pinky twist thing* lips are sealed.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles as he tightens his grip, partially to steady her, partially to steady him, and partially just because he wants to and his brow arches to wiggle at her as she elongates dangerous and just chuckles with a dark smirk* Oh trust me. *pause* Actually don't. As really.....all of this, *his eyebrow popping and he spins them, pushing them up against the portrait instead, saying simply in an under his breath sudden low murmur*, is dangerous. 

 **Portrait:** *muffled sounds in annoyance*

 **Alcott:** *pauses and then looks over her shoulder* ...Not today.

 **Portrait:** *scoffs* That's my line. And if you think--

 **Alcott:** *chuckles once* Ah right. That is your line.

 **Portrait:** \--that I'm really going to let you in now--

 **Alcott:** All right. Don't. *looks away from the doddery oil painting of a man and kisses Hols instantly, hands bracing them up against the portrait and wall, claiming her mouth, breath heavy with the alcohol and taste tart and sweet at once*

 **Portrait:** *clearing his throat*

 **Alcott:** *continues to kiss her fervently, heatedly, the bottle wedged against the wall so that it and his fingers can sink into the fabric at her hip, his other hand coming up to her neck and sliding his fingers into her hair to grip, kissing her with abandon*

 **Portrait:** ...all right, all right, go in, go in! *starts to swing open, which forces Alcott to have to break off and catch them both, leaning against the portrait hole frame for support so they don't tumble forward*

 **Hols:** *smirks immediately as he says to trust him, ready to object when he stops himself instead and then gasps out silently as he spins them and pushes her up against the portrait, gaze on his lips as he murmurs, wriggling a bit in delight* ...oh you're very good at this *whispers heatedly and then pauses as well as she hears someone behind her and then grins slowly in amusement at the fact that he's arguing with a portrait but doesn't get a chance to comment before Al's lips crash against her own, her hands grasping the fabric of his shirt and crumpling with her hands to pull him closer, moving her lips against his passionately and relentlessly, teeth immediately nipping and pulling on his bottom lip and then eyes open in surprise as the support gives way behind her and puts a hand on theframe as well before chuckling and raising her eyebrows* is this how you always get into this room?

 **Alcott:** *brow pops immediately and he says easily with a muted murmur and easy, delighted smirk* I know. *leaning against her as they fall to the frame and he chuckles once, his breath falling on her lips, his eyes still narrowed and dark before he shakes his head* No. In fact, never. There's a password--well really, more of an odd argument he's accustomed to having *head shake* that is really ridiculous -- *kisses her once* -- and pointless-- *kisses her again* --and I can't remember it at the moment anyways. *turning them so they can actually crawl through the portrait hole, hand sliding back down to grasp her waist again and tug her in with him, letting it close behind them and for a moment flood the passage with black, before he realizes it's simply that the sun on the end of the room has set instead and is hovering around a non-existent hill, leaving the room to the night sky and floating candles instead; his lips flick and he turns once more to her, not saying a word, but with his brow arched as though he's seeking her approval*

 **Hols:** *paying half attention to his explanation until he interrupts himself to kiss her and then chuckles in amusement after he does, shaking her head slightly and then following him into the room, briefly wishing she had night vision like a cat to be able to see, and realizes she could as a lioness, and then thinks about the image of a drunk lioness and giggles under her breath once before clearing her throat* sorry, i...thought of something funny. *lips twitch and walks in further into the room, immediately looking up and eyes widen as she sees the night sky and the candles before grinning* ...wicked room. *lips twitch* a definite step up from a broom cupboard or a library corner.

 **Alcott:** *as she giggles his brows flick in surprised delight at the sound, realizing he hasn't really heard her laugh often, and certainly not in a manner such as that--without agenda or wry bemusement behind it-- and his grin flicks as he looks at her, and just shakes his head for a moment as she clears her throat, his arm still around her waist, hand starting to move in it's grip, fingers stretching the thin, black fabric betwixt his fingers; still looking at her* I'm fond of it. It was a secret of Hogwarts passed down from my parents actually...hence, swearing you to secrecy as well. *beat, bemused* I only ever showed Eliza...well and Rene was kind of upset the other day, so I thought *shoulder shrug, decidedly extremely bored with talking, tossing the bottle onto the couch* eh, doesn't matter. *tilts his head and then with the now free hand he slides his hand down her forearm to wrap around her wrist, lace through her fingers and then lift her hand up, pink out, running his index finger and thumb across it, brow popping, and bringing her pinky to trace the edges of his lips, eyes narrowing with dark intent and idle curiosity as he murmurs* What was that gesture of secrecy again? *drags her finger across his lips, kissing the pad and then bringing his finger into her mouth, tongue flicking the pad and teeth closing down for a moment, eyes locked on hers* 

 **Hols:** *realizes that the room is actually pretty significant and doesn't know how to feel about it but doesn't have to think about it for long before he's moving and she directs her gaze to their joined hands and following it upwards as he brings her pinky to trace against his lips and then she bites down on her bottom lip momentarily as he takes her finger into his mouth and then takes her finger out of his mouth, dragging it on his teeth before just pressing her lips against his immediately, no patience to be coy or playful, her mouth closing over his and moving against his lips forcefully as she pulls herself against him*

 **Alcott:** *instantly kissing her in a frenzy, his lips tear against hers as she presses closer, his hand dropping hers to cup her neck instead, tilting her head with his and meeting his lips to hers again and again, each kiss more intense and deeper, disappearing into the kisses instead of thinking, his other hand gripping her waist as his fingers start to rake up the fabric of her dress, hiking the black lace up around her thigh so that his fingers dig instead into her skin*

 **Hols:** *bringing her hand up to grasp the nape of his neck as she kisses him passionately, and she moans softly as he digs his fingers into the skin of her thighs and then swipes her tongue against his lips and is pops open his shirt, not bothering to undo the buttons and pulling it open and then drags her nails across his chest as the skin is exposed*

 **Alcott:** *with an internal hiss at the feel of her nails muffled by their furious kiss, he slides one arm around her lower waist to hold on, ripping his arm out of one sleeve, then the other, letting his shirt fall to the ground without care and with one hand hard against her back, his other hand comes back to her chest, finger tracing up the side of her breast before cupping and squeezing, his grip on her lower back sliding even lower and doing the same, lips still torrid against her own*

 **Hols:** *her eyes open at the sudden pleasure of his hands gripping and squeezing, and a small moan leaves her lips, drowned out by his own lips, before her eyes flutter shut again as she traces the contours of his chest and back, fingers digging into his skin as she continues to kiss him furiously, lips restless against his, tongue exploring his mouth greedily afterwards bringing her knee up slowly and rubs him teasingly the moment she pulls on his bottom lip*

 **Alcott:** *groaning throatily against her lips, mouth open and kissing her, searching with his tongue against hers, muttering a curse in a breathless exhale as she rubs, his hand gripping suddenly, bunching the folds of her dress up higher and to aid moving her against him involuntarily, hips grinding into hers as a cursed gasp leaves his lips with her bite and his other hand slides down her stomach, wrapping around and finding the edge of the scant dress so he can lift it up--certainly tearing it on the way--before pulling back a fraction of an inch and pulling it over her head in one swift yank before bringing her back in*

 **Hols:** *smirks briefly against his lips as he curses under his breath before she moans once more as he moves his hips against hers, her own hips following immediately, relishing in the friction as she passes her tongue to soothe his bottom lip. She raises her arms as he pulls off her dress, backing away for that slight moment only before moves back to him, pressing their chests together as she continues to kiss him desperately and breathlessly, her hands moving downwards to work on getting rid of his jeans*

 **Alcott:** *breathing hard and furious for the moment their lips are apart, he tosses her dress somewhere, aiding her for a second to pop his own button off and shove his jeans down, kicking them off and away from him, focusing still on kissing her again almost angrily, wanton hands starting at her shoulders and arms, raking down her back, starting to sweat with passion, hands sliding down to reach her legs and the back of her thighs, prying them apart so he can lift her and all but toss her in the air, hands moving to guide her legs around his thighs, spinning them to find the top of a nearby tall end table, accidentally knocking the lamp off of it, which smashes to the floor, which he completely ignores and pressing up against her again, hand tightening on her thigh*

 **Hols:** *moans louder as he kisses her again with renewed vigor, his hands feeling red hot against her skin, moving back against his hands as they get so close but remain too far away, and exhales as he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his thighs and her arms around his neck, ignoring the lamp breaking and is panting breathlessly against his lips, the kiss getting more desperate and erratic as she slides a hand from his neck to down his chest, and past the waistband of his boxers to wrap around him, stroking him*

 **Alcott:** *moving his lips from hers to drag across her cheek and down her neck, his tongue works below her ear as he hisses again at her stroking, shuddering and panting, biting and toying with her ear lobe as she works, the hand on her thigh gripping harder to pull her closer, his other hand sliding back to her chest, fingers teasing her nipple and tracing around her cleavage with an almost impossibly light touch in contrast as his tongue soothes his bite near the back of her neck*

 **Hols:** *panting breathlessly, tilting her head to allow him greater access to her neck, biting down on her own lip as he toys with her ear, hissing as he grips her tighter, and whimpering at his feather light touch on her chest and her eyes flutter close before she exhales in a pant* tease. *squeezing around his base once to accentuate the word before she slows down to a teasing pace in retaliation*

 **Alcott:** *his heart racing as he sucks on her neck, moving her hair out of the way. smirking at her heated whisper, as she slows as well he lets out a guttural groan and mutters* Fuck--Hols--*his hand around her chest squeezes again, his lips start moving down her neck towards her chest, his hand moving up her thigh slides between her legs and he cups her, moving his palm against her through the scant fabric*

 **Hols:** *smirks as he curses and says her name before she moans at his squeezing hand and his traveling lips, her hand continuing to stroke him, at the slow pace before he cups her and rubs her, causing her to moan louder, fingers digging into his shoulder, her hips grinding down on his hand almost desperately as she speeds up, moving her hand up and down his length*

 **Alcott:** *well, aware of the rush building with ever stroke she makes, an embarrassing noise of need betraying him from the back of his throat before his lips reach her chest, teasing her nipples now with his tongue and teeth, biting for a moment before soothing the sensitive pink skin with his tongue, licking slowly and expertly, darting his tongue between and then moves to her other, his arousal butting against her hand invariably, his hands now slipping forward to slide the black lace down and leaving it suspended down her thighs so he doesn't have to move away from her, fingers slipping between and searching her before flicking a finger to her clit and pressing* 

 **Hols:** *moans louder as his mouth teases her chest, a shiver running down her spine and squeezes him a bit tighter and then suddenly let head falls back in undeniable pleasure as he touches her directly, moaning louder, and moves against his hand in an almost desperate manner and then exhales in a small whine* Alcott...*digs her nails into his arm, dragging them downwards*

 **Alcott:** *relishing in the sounds of her moans and whines, his lips flicking against her in undeniable satisfaction and as she leans back, he kisses further down and casts his eyes up to watch her bounce, grinning again, still moving his hand faster as he keeps his eyes on hers, his own look one of dark and lustful appreciation and pleasure himself, hips moving against her hand again*

 **Hols:** *pants breathlessly, opening her eyes in a flutter and looks at him through heavy lids and then bites down on her bottom lip hard and strokes him faster as he increases the speed of his moving hand as well as she keeps moaning, the moans getting higher in pitch and more frequent*

 **Alcott:** *breathing hard in uncontrolled gasps as she moves, trailing kisses up her side and arm, holding her upper back just off the top of the table and leaning to give them both better leverage; moving his finger to touch her center and press in, flicking her clit with his thumb again, even as he shudders at her demanding touch*

 **Hols:** *snakes her hand into his hair and grips it, turning his head up to kiss his lips once more and moans even louder against his mouth as he presses in and and grinds against his thumb further, breathlessly and as she runs her hand up his length she swipes the pad of her thumb across the sensitive head*

 **Alcott:** *kissing her bottom lip with both of his, he struggles for breath against her mouth, chest pressing to hers, sticky and heated, his kiss desperate and deep, finger flicking her again in rhythm, pressing; at her motion he stills for a heartbeat and then explodes into her palm*

 **Hols:** *closes her eyes as her back arches, toes curling in her heels and moaning out loud as she climaxes, her body relaxing against his as they both reached their release, re catching her breath as she takes her hand from under his shorts and pulls her head backwards to look at him before she brings it to her mouth, taking a taste*

 **Alcott:** *eyes fluttering open as he too struggles to catch his breath, still with his lips pressed against her bottom lip, kissing her once softer after she cries out, and leans back, watching her with his jaw falling open for a moment in amusement/enjoyment and he settles them both upright against the table again, brow popped as he asks amused* And how do I taste?

 **Hols:** *limbs feeling very utterly weak but in a haze of pleasure and then licks her lips and chuckles* mmh, not bad. *exhales still trying to catch her breath*

 **Alcott:** *chuckling against her lips and then he leans back to swiftly gather her up in his arms and falls back onto the couch still holding onto her and chuckles* My sentiments exactly...

 **Hols:** *oomphs slightly as he drops them on the couch and just let's her legs drape over the side of the couch and leans her head back* I have to admit though...I'm almost impressed.

 **Alcott:** *tilts his own head back against the couch and chuckles once, one hand stroking her shoulder and her hair, taking a moment still to breathe and then looks back down at her, muttering* Oh, that was nothing. Not even a prequel really...*grins*

 **Hols:** *lips twitch, a small smile coming on her lips and then chuckles* well no, I'm talking about how long you lasted. *eyebrow wiggles and exhales, breath returning back to normal*

 **Alcott:** Lasted? *brow arches, lips twitching amused* Ah. Well that, will only improve as well ...*is also breathing easier, still running his hand down her side* 

 **Hols:** hmm, one can only hope. *grins lazily and humming a bit as he runs his hand down her side* this is....this is alright.

 **Alcott:** Oh no. That's a promise. *chuckling again and settles them more comfortably in the couch, the back of his hand now caressing the side of her breast, moving up to her neck and cheek leaning down to kiss her once again, pulling back a moment later and hmming* Bit more than all right really...


	8. Sound the Drums of War

**Eliza:** *aggravated sigh* You're being ridiculous.

 **Alcott:** You think everything I do is ridiculous.

 **Eliza:** One, that is not true, and two, this is especially ridiculous.

 **Alcott:** It is completely true. I bet you can't get through a day without calling me an idiot in some regard.

 **Eliza:** I'll take that bet if you think you can get through a day without being an idiot in some regard.

 **Alcott:** Only thing you can control is your reaction, not my behavior.

 **Devin:** *decidedly standing there with his arms folded on his chest, lips twitching in amusement as he watches; points* That's true. 

 **Eliza:** *sighs* Fair point.

 **Devin:** Plus he can't help being an idiot. 

 **Alcott:** Thanks mate.

 **Devin:** What I'm here for. 

 **Eliza:** *laughs once and then nods* 24 hours? Starting now. What are we betting? 

 **Alcott:** Starting now.

Dev: *checks his watch for the time*

 **Alcott:** *brow furrows* If I win....*pauses and then his lips flick in a grin* You have to kiss a girl.

 **Devin:** *suddenly laughs at that* ...Al--

 **Eliza:** *had chuckled* Which girl? 

 **Alcott:** *shoulder shrug, thinks for a moment* ...I don't know, pick one. 

 **Eliza:** And I just...kiss them. Without them knowing why. 

 **Alcott:** If you're scared of that you can just say it. 

 **Eliza:** *head shakes* Kissing a girl it is. *lips twitch* But if I win, you have to kiss a guy.

 **Alcott:** *blinks* ...right. No problem. 

Dev: *immediately looks at Alcott with* Don't even think about it. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Oh but Dev-- 

 **Alcott:** *immediately* No.

 **Eliza:** I bet Nadia would be okay with it.

Dev: That wasn't my objection.

 **Alcott:** *at the same time* Not the point.

 **Eliza:** *head shakes* Oh, so you guys want me to kiss my girlfriends, but even the tiniest mention- 

 **Devin & Alcott**: *immediately at the same exact time* There's a difference.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch amused* When you guys are in sync it's adorable. 

 **Alcott:** Do we have a bet?

 **Devin:** *nods* Shake on it.

 **Eliza:** *shakes hand with Alcott* 

 **Devin:** *clears his throat and pointedly turns to Alcott* You know you are being ridiculous though right?

 **Alcott:** *protests* How is it ridiculous? My recent track record with relationships isn't exactly stellar, and you're both ignoring the fact that I do not want, to date her. 

 **Devin:** *under his breath* Maybe because every action you make lately screams the exact opposite... 

 **Alcott:** Oh don't go psychoanalyzing me.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* He can't help it. 

 **Alcott:** There is not some secret double meaning behind my actions; read my lips: I do not want to date Hols Graft.

 **Devin:** *eyebrows arch* Just spend time with her. 

 **Alcott:** I have to ask her something. 

 **Devin:** In private. 

 **Alcott:** Am I not allowed my privacy?

 **Devin:** And you want to shag her.

 **Eliza:** *eyes roll* A little decorum, Dev? 

 **Alcott:** That's unrelated.

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* Well if I'm not allowed to psychoanalyze, I'm good with just being blunt too. 

 **Eliza:** *as Devin's talking she looks at Alcott incredulously* Unrelated?!

 **Alcott:** Like you've never found someone hot even though you don't want to date them.

 **Eliza:** Sure I have. 

 **Alcott:** Thank you. Point made.

 **Eliza:** Difference being I didn't take them back to the sun room and snog them to a climax--

 **Devin:** *looking at Eliza amused/stunned* Thought you were all for decorum?

 **Eliza:** *exhales* Well if we're all being blunt! 

 **Devin:** Just one little detail -- *points at Al* You don't actually remember how far you went.

 **Eliza:** *eyes roll at that* Well, naturally. 

 **Devin:** But you do remember you want more. 

 **Alcott:** *glaring at them both* What the hell is your point right now? 

 **Eliza:** That you're bei-- *pauses, cutting herself off just in time* 

 **Devin:** *at the same time* You want to date Hols. *looks at Eliza with an eyebrow arching amused* Careful.

 **Eliza:** I didn't say it. 

 **Devin:** The intent was pretty clear--

 **Eliza:** I didn't say it!

 **Alcott:** I don't want to date Hols. *obstinately* 

 **Devin:** You just want to spend time with her, in private, snog and shag her. 

 **Alcott:** *walks a little in front of them both down the hallway* Exactly. 

 **Devin:** *snorts exchanges a look with Eliza*

 **Eliza:** *looking at Dev, head shaking incredulously and she blinks before following him* ...okay...what?

 **Alcott:** *brow furrowing distracted slightly as they come around the corner* ..what's going on over there?

 **Eliza:** *without looking* Can you explain to me why--

 **Devin:** *after furrowing his own brow he stops and says under his breath* Eliza.

 **Eliza:** What?! I just want to know why that...is an acceptable course of action. 

 **Alcott:** Because--

 **Devin:** Guys. *snaps it this time and gestures with his head towards the people snickering* They just said Hols name. 

 **Alcott:** *cuts himself off and groans* Of course. This school hasn't let it go.

 **Eliza:** It hasn't even been a week yet *shrugging a shoulder* since you two were snogging in the middle of public and went awol for at least twelve hours and came back with battle scars of nail marks and--

 **Devin:** *only listening with half of his attention, but he cuts her off at this and says softly* This isn't about that. *he just saw a flutter of a piece of paper; the group is a bunch of younger Slytherins and one younger Ravenclaw* 

 **Eliza:** *pauses* It's not?

 **Devin:** *is getting a rather nasty look, even as he still says softly* No. 

 **Eliza:** ...then what?

 **Devin:** *inhales with a hiss* Oh, they didn't. 

 **Alcott:** *tilts his head, getting a bit frustrated that Dev's not elaborating and he starts heading over to the group* Oh for merlins sake-

 **Devin:** *following him instantly, saying under his breath* Alcott hold on--

 **Eliza:** *follows them both, torn between fear and aggravation, eyes wide* Does someone want to fill me in here?

 **Alcott:** *has snatched one of the photos out of one of the groups hands, not bothering to ask for it and gone perfectly silent, his jaw setting as he looks at it; ignoring the protest* 

 **Devin:** *takes one look at it and groans, his own face setting into a determined frown, though his eyes flicker next to Alcott's expression in curiosity*

 **Eliza:** *behind them, annoyed and looks first at the person he snatched it from* He apologizes for that.

 **Alcott:** *in a rather low voice* No, I don't Eliza.

 **Eliza:** Alco--*cuts herself off as she sees* Oh, oh my--*hand clamps over her lips and she stares for three seconds before purposefully putting her eyes elsewhere, back on the kid, a blush instantly rising, but she snaps at the kid* What's wrong with you?!

Him: *defensively* I'm not the only one with the pictures!

 **Eliza:** *with a shaky snap, voice rising in pitch* What kind of defense is that? What gives you the right to have that? *pause* Where did you get it?

Him: They're just going around! *gestures* 

 **Eliza:** *looks behind her for a moment realizing how many copies there are and falls silent for a second, then looks back to respond but finds herself talked over by Alcott* 

 **Alcott:** *has leaned over to snatch over the rest of the photos that group has, snapping as he does so* So that gives you the personal right to gawk? *in a half growl, as they're still protesting as he's snatching them* You're disgusting. *has all the photos and he promptly takes his wand out and lights them on fire, watching them get extinguished and saying in a louder, still gravelly growl* Get out of here. Now. 

 **Kid:** You don't have the right to tell u--

 **Alcott:** *glares at him* 

 **Kid:** *eyes narrow* I'm not scared of you.

 **Alcott:** Well, then that's very stupid of you--

 **Eliza:** *seeing Alcott's rising color, she says quickly* --I'll tell Hols it was you that set the pictures out.

 **Alcott:** *growl* Nah, that's not necessary--I can take care of this mysel--

 **Devin:** *also growling* Oh you don't have to be alone, I'm right here--

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* 

 **Eliza:** *still hurriedly* And if Hols thinks it's you then you'll be dealing with not only them *points to the pair of them*, but Hols herself too. *beat* And Lynn. *pauses again and then starts trailing off* And Nadia, and probably Lynn's boyfriend, and probably--

 **Kid:** *shuts up, quickly scampering* 

 **Alcott:** *still in a low growl looking at Eliza aggravated* We wouldn't need back up. 

 **Eliza:** *as they scamper, she's still pink and flustered, looking at Alcott in slight surprise* I know you wouldn't. 

 **Alcott:** Then why did you just--!?--

 **Devin:** *is frowning, cuts over them* I'm going to find Lynn and Hols-

 **Alcott:** I'm coming with you.

 **Devin:** *hesitates for a moment* That's probably not the best idea. 

 **Alcott:** *snaps* Devin. 

 **Eliza:** *steps in front of Alcott* No, he's right. Think! If you had just had this happen to you, would you want people smothering you and surrounding you with--

 **Alcott:** *groans* No, but--

 **Eliza:** And especially considering what's going on, would you want to see Hols right now?!

 **Alcott:** *falls silent for a moment, looking at the ground* 

 **Eliza:** *blinking in surprise and tilting her head saying softer in a barely-heard mumble* ...you would, wouldn't you?

 **Alcott:** *snaps instantly looking back up, hearing via wolf-hearing* No. 

 **Devin:** *over top of both of them, feeling distinctly bothered* I'm going. 

 **Eliza:** *upset voice as she looks back at Dev with a nod* 

 **Alcott:** *exhales for a heartbeat, struggling for a second and then says simply* Just make sure she's as okay as anyone could possibly be. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch slightly* 

 **Devin:** *with a softer moment to smile of acknowledgment, he nods and leaves* 

 **Alcott:** *turns to Eliza immediately* Come on.

 **Eliza:** *slightly startled* What?

 **Alcott:** *gestures down the hall* We're getting rid of the photos.

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip, flustered* But--Al--*regrettably* There's no way of getting them all---

 **Alcott:** *snaps and just starts walking off* Then I'm getting as many as I can. 

 **Eliza:** *flustered* Wait!

&.

 **Hols:** Pft. Unimpressive.

 **Nick:** *eyebrow raises* Oh really?

 **Hols:** Yes, really. Okay, I'm not going to deny that an encounter with an acromantula is impressive.

 **Nick:** Some would say legendary.

 **Hols:** But *I* had a pet dragon. *grins*

 **Nick:** ...all right, touche?

 **Hols:** *smug, takes a deliberate bite of her toast*

 **Nick:** But you haven't seen a banshee.

 **Hols:** ...you've seen a banshee? 

 **Nick:** Almost killed me she did. *laughs*

 **Hols:** I'm so jealous! 

 **Rory:** A pet dragon *under his breath*

 **Lynn:** Named Carrado. *nod-nod, grinning* Hols' baby...

 **Rory:** ...sure. Cause that's normal.

 **Lynn:** Carrado was epic. *is grinning but at the news of the banshee, she's startled and turns to Nick with her eyebrows raised* When did you see a banshee?!

 **Rory:** Shouldn't you be more concerned with the whole nearly dyin--

 **Lynn:** *Waves this off * Comes par with the course of seeing a banshee--when!?

 **Rory:** ...par *for* the course.

 **Lynn:** ...whatever. 

 **Hols:** He's thriving in Romania last time I checked up on him. *beams* despite him being so far from home. *frowns* I'm not bitter. *takes a sip* 

 **Nick:** Last year, I visited Britain and Ireland before actually moving here and it was...some random middle of nowhere village in Ireland and there it was. 

 **Hols:** *leaning forward to keep listening* Well, go on! 

 **Nick:** And she stared at me, tilted her head, started grinning? The most eerie sight I've ever seen. 

 **Hols:** I can imagine. *beams* So. Wicked. 

 **Nick:** She started screaming, you know, their super sonic boom voice? Yeah *winces* My ears were bleeding before I had the good sense to disapparated. 

 **Hols:** Rory! Isn't this so cool?! 

 **Lynn:** *snorts under her breath* I'm sure if you called Winnie--She'd take you to visit to him.

 **Rory:** *amused* Of course not, you don't sound bitter at all. 

 **Lynn:** *looking at him incredibly amused and in slight awe, grinning* You visited Ireland too? Wicked, I've literally been dying to go. *pops a piece of bacon in her mouth* 

 **Rory:** *lips twitch* You've been dying to go anywhere.

 **Lynn:** True: *gestures with another piece of bacon* I do just want to get out of here. 

 **Rory:** *slightly startled as Hols addresses him and nods* Pretty...okay, well actually it sounds dangerous but quite...memorable.

 **Lynn:** *with a smirk, looking back at Nick* ...well sure, danger goes with the territory too of course...

 **Hols:** I love Aunt Winnie *beams* I probably will come summer--if I get out of grounding. *takes a bite of an apple* Nope. Not bitter. *another bite* 

 **Nick:** *grins* Yep, I did. We should go visit next Hogsmeade weekend, then. 

 **Hols:** Maybe you'll see a banshee! *beams*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Once in a lifetime experience for me I think. 

 **Hols:** Boo. *nods at Rory* Definitely memorable. 

 **Nick:** *smirks* Danger? Ha! I laugh in the face of danger. Ha ha ha ha! 

 **Hols:** Lion King! 

 **Nick:** *laughs once* Yep. 

 **Hols:** Hell yeah, high five. *high five each other* 

 **Lynn:** *firmly, her lips twitching* You *have* to get out of grounding. Cause you also have to come to Hawaii. Which I'm getting my Mum to set dates for the next time I owl. Seriously, you've come every summer! That can't change now.

 **Rory:** *is blinking rather rapidly, but he chuckles under his breath muttering* ...merlin.

 **Lynn:** *looks back up with a bright smile* Oh god yes. Take me. 

 **Rory:** *pointed* Lynn.

 **Lynn:** I knew how it sounded, Ror.

 **Rory:** Long as you're aware. *amused*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, brow popping*

 **Rory:** *chuckles at the quote* ...oh man. I...had't thought about that movie in...ages. 

 **Lynn:** *sipping her pumpkin juice with the same delighted/smug smirk* Such words to live by though... 

 **Hols:** *groans* I know!! But she's still mad slash disappointed. I'm thinking I have to do something big like save a life--a human one. *lips twitch cause she knows she did*

 **Nick:** *smirks and raises his eyebrow delightedly* Oh, with pleasure. 

 **Hols:** It's always a huge foreplay with you two, I'll have you know. *shakes head*

 **Lynn:** *tilts head curiously* Well sure I bet that would work...

 **Rory:** ...exactly how likely is that?

 **Lynn:** *swirling her pumpkin juice idly, brow furrowing looking at Hols curiously knowing she's missing something* ...what did you have in mind? 

 **Rory:** *gestures at Hols' exasperatedly* Seriously.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch amused, teasing lightly, shrugging a shoulder* Or you both just have incredible dirty minds.

 **Rory:** ...sure. *eye roll* That's it. 

 **Lynn:** ...we can't help it?

 **Rory:** ....that, I'll buy. 

 **Hols:** Oh, not very likely. *still personally amused, not really very likely* 

 **Nick:** *grinning, goes to answer her question but ends up laughing at Hols' and Rory's comments* We're not that bad.

 **Hols:** I do have a dirty mind. Doesn't mean you two don't eye fuck each other like crazy.

 **Nick:** *just smirks* 

 **Lynn:** *laughs under her breath smirking idly as well as she comments* Hols...I'd ask how you know what that look, looks like on my face but...then I remember exactly how so. *shrugs a shoulder and sips her juice again* 

 **Rory:** ...okay, that sounds like a fun story.

 **Lynn:** It does, doesn't it? *lips twitch*

 **Rory:** *head shake* Oh, naturally.

 **Lynn:** *had been eying Nick again, but she looks over his shoulder, brow furrowing a bit* ...hey. Does it look like there's something going on over there? *points at the Ravenclaw table with her glass* They just...pointed over here.... 

 **Hols:** *smirks and then winks at Lynn before biting down on her apple once more*

 **Nick:** *sighs and then shakes his head* Teases.

 **Hols:** Thank you. *beams*

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then turns around when Lynn points to his table* Looks like it...*looks around* Most of them are looking this way, actually. Are they holding pictures?

 **Hols:** *stiffens immediately and then looks up* ....pictures? *nervous* 

 **Lynn:** *winks back and pointedly doesn't respond, just folding her arms across the table and leans forward a bit*

 **Rory:** *head shaking with his echo of* The images alone...

 **Lynn:** *lips flick* 

 **Rory:** *pauses, following their gaze  & then nods in agreement with Nick* ...they've definitely got something like that...yeah.

 **Lynn:** *immediately after casting a glance at Hols of panic; her jaw sets  & she frowns instantly, putting her juice down as she snaps* No. No, they...can't be pictures.

 **Rory:** *startled by the vehemence and decidedly quiets/doesn't respond verbally, just nodding* 

 **Lynn:** *repeats yet firmer* No. No, because if they're those pictures, I'm going to hurt every one of them and it... no. *looks back worriedly at Hols, her hand falling to a fist, stretched halfway across the table towards the guys, balled up* 

 **Rory:** *mutters to Nick* ...I'm not the only one confused here, right? 

 **Nick:** No, I'm just as confused here...*looking between Hols and Lynn and then starts looking around them again, noticing more and more people whispering and pointing, others smirking and leering and then frowns* What's...going on?

 **Hols:** *puts her face in her hands for a moment* No, no, nonono. This can't be happening. It...*exhales erratically* I...this can't...I need to check.

 **Nick:** Check what? *blinking* 

 **Lynn:** *noticing the leering, her frown deepens to a look bordering on utter disgust and she swallows, hard, snapping under her breath* Asses.

 **Rory:** *shakes head at Nick in confusion* ...someone want to clue--

 **Lynn:** *ignoring Rory now and turns to focus on Hols, breathing as evenly as possible as she says evenly as well* You don't have to. I'll check for you if you want, you can just get out of here if that's...what you want. ...Seriously, whatever you need.

 **Rory:** *not enjoying being ignored* ...is there anything we can *do*? *gestures between himself and Nick*

 **Lynn:** *with an aggravated yet reluctant/sad exhale* Someone a few weeks ago stole the negatives of pictures Hols took a year ago. *looking flustered* And basically so help me merlin if someone's intending on using them like this. *is standing up to go check* 

 **Hols:** *pursing her lips to keep her bottom one from trembling and nods silently at Lynn as she says she can go check instead, but she shakes her head when she suggests Hols get out of there* No, I have to know. I can't give them the satisfaction...

 **Nick:** *eyebrow arching, even more confused* Yeah, really, whats up?

 **Hols:** *bites her bottom lip as Lynn gives the watered down version of an explanation and watches her stand up, gaze turning to Nick*

 **Nick:** *as she looks at him oddly, he gets a dawning comprehension* ....is it...*those* kinds of pictures?

 **Hols:** *pursing her lips and exhales, nodding* They're...supposed to be artistic but...*exhales, nervously shaking her hands before passing them through her hair* 

 **Lynn:** *nods reluctantly; having figured Hols wouldn't just leave but almost hoping she would if to spare her the embarrassment/certain knowledge* In that case I'll be right back. *gaze shoots for a half second back to Nick, but she's still looking mostly at Hols*

 **Rory:** *eyes widening as he gets it with Nick's question  & he swallows delicately, mouth half open* ...oh. *beat* ...oh.

 **Lynn:** *adds quieter; still looking worriedly at Hols* And they were artistic. *turns around and heads over to a Ravvie she doesn't know nearly as well, leaning against the table with arms folded on chest* Hi.

 **Ravvie:** *appeared startled to be approached  & sits up a bit straighter* Hi Lynn. Was there...something I could...

 **Lynn:** Help me with? Do for me? *is frowning* Matter of fact I had something in mind. What the hell--*points down the table* are they--

 **Ravvie:** *getting a slight color with his discomfort at her obvious aggravation* You haven't seen them, then?

 **Lynn:** *head shake, but says rather dangerously sweetly* Could you get them for me?

 **Rav:** *head starting to shake no; gets a look at Lynn's face* ...right, be right back. 

 **Hols:** Yeah. Oh. *shaking her head and running a hand over her face, trying to keep calm*

 **Nick:** *reaches out to pass the back of his fingers against Hols' hand for a moment*

 **Hols:** *nodding as Lynn says she'll be right back, biting down on her lip and then exhales as she watches Lynn walk down to the ravenclaw table* I'm an idiot.

 **Nick:** *immediately* You're not an idiot. You know who's an idiot? Whoever had the audacity to do this. Because they're gonna have a lot of people to answer to.

 **Hols:** *watches Lynn talk to(/intimidate) the ravenclaw and smiles briefly* Merlin, I love her. *sighs and waits nerve-stricken and scared for the confirmation* 

 **Rory:** *echoes, also leaning closer to them both* A lot of people. Including you so they're just...morons. *is frowning and watching Lynn as well; a bit amused as she intimidates, but not really commenting considering the circumstances* 

 **Lynn:** *as he returns and she looks at them, she inhales with a slight hiss, her face falling as she looks and she promptly snatches it from him*

 **Ravvie:** flinches letting her have them and pull back* It...yeah, they're yours...go for it--*giggling once to himself; falls silent again at her look*

 **Lynn:** *with an eyebrow arched, her whole face in a glare* Do you think this is funny?

 **Rav:** *immediately shakes head* No. 

 **Lynn:** *with the tiniest eye roll as she shreds the pages she has* How quick you answer that.

 **Rav:** The truth.

 **Lynn:** All right, then, tell me, who gave them to you?

 **Rav:** *shrugs* Them. *points at two Ravvies down the table* Have copies and everything...

 **Nick:** *nodding to show he agrees with Rory* And pretty soon they're going to be severely injured and maimed morons. 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and she nods with a sigh, acknowledging their attempts to make her feel better and keeps looking at Lynn, stiffening when the other Ravenclaw comes back and exhales in a whimper as Lynn's face falls, telling her everything she needs to know* Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Just--*inhales in a small gasp, left without breath as she puts her hand over her mouth to hide her quivering lip and her scared impression, eyes filling with tears immediately but she closes them quickly, hiding her whole face in her hands*

 **Nick:** *had watched Lynn's expression too, and turned to watch Hols, frowning and tries to lean closer to put a hand on her shoulder* Hols-

 **Hols:** *immediately pulls away from him, shaking her head from side to side* 

 **Rory:** *as she pulls away from Nick he furrows his brow  & just sits, mouth opening once but closing again as he comes to the conclusion there's really nothing he can say to make it better.

 **Lynn:** *is now simply glaring* Great, you've been so helpful.

 **Rav:** *eyebrow arch* 

 **Lynn:** *sees the look of incredulity* ...This isn't, your business. It wasn't to start with, and really? You don't want *with her hand in a fist at her side*...to be responsible right now.

 **Rav:** *nods, with a hand up*

 **Lynn:** *backs away from the table, ignoring looks with her own eye roll  & goes back to the Gryffies, each step feeling very heavy; stops, exchanging a soft small look at Nick, and sits down next to Hols knowing there's nothing she can say and that her expressions would've given it away; without attempting to touch her she says firmly/immediately* ...there's peanut butter and ice cream in our room. 

 **Nick:** *looks up as Lynn comes back, exchanging the soft look before looking back at Hols, remaining silent* 

 **Hols:** *with her head still in her hands, she nods at Lynn's comment, but only to show that she heard, not that she was gonna go upstairs, and just looking down at the table, fighting herself to keep from crying and trying to figure out what to do next. exhales shakily, and swallows dryly* I'll be fine.

 **Nick:** *immediately protesting* Hols--

 **Hols:** I said I'll be fine. *sniffs once and sits up straighter, taking another sip of her drink, immediately wishing it was stronger* I won't give whoever did this the satisfaction. *voice breaking a bit at the end of the sentence, forcing herself to put her hand over her mouth again to steady herself* 

 **Lynn:** *nods yet again, hating feeling helpless and with a flash of her anger crossing her expression, she leans back as Hols brushes Nick off, mouthing a single 'thanks' at him; trying to just give Hols the room to react/Rory nodding a turning for the same reason* ....they won't get away with this. *in such a voice it's obviously a promise* 

 **Hols:** *nodding twice, quickly, at Lynn at her comment and then exhales and despite feeling nauseated and disgusting she goes to pick up her drink, but her hand ends up knocking the goblet, sending pumpkin juice across the table* Shit, shit, I'm sorry--*picking up her napkin to wipe it off*

 **Nick:** *immediately reaching for his wand* No, it's okay, don't worry--

 **Hols:** *snaps* No, it's *not* okay! What part of this is okay?! *throws her napkin on the table before supporting her head on her hands, looking down again, fresh tears in her eyes as he chest shakes, sobbing without a sound*

&.

 **Alcott:** *pausing (as he burns a photo), sees Hols and straightens, taking a moment to decide and then heading over to her with a* Hols--hey.

 **Hols:** *had been on her way outside, ignoring mostly everybody so she just exhales in annoyance as she catches someone saying her name, not recognizing who it was and starts saying* Whatever you have to say, don't even fucking bothe--*looks up and blinks as she sees Al and pauses* Oh. ...hey. Sorry. Thought you were someone else...

 **Alcott:** *eyebrow arches in surprise as she half-takes it back and pulls up short, his brow furrowing a moment later and his lips twitch* Wait, let me get this straight. Now that you recognize me, you're...not, going to yell at me? 

 **Hols:** Yeah....guess so...*looks at him oddly before looking away, slightly embarrassed and awkward, swallowing silently* Is there something you wanted? I'm...not really in the mood for idle chat. 

 **Alcott:** *looks at her oddly for a moment; sadness fluttering across his expression and he nods once saying simply* I wasn't looking for idle chit chat. *beat* Hols...don't let them do...this...to you. And I don't mean the pictures. If you're not yelling at me for some other reason, well hey that'd be a nice change but...otherwise? They had no right and don't let them...do that to you. 

 **Hols:** *bites down on her bottom lip and looks up at him curiously and tries to find the right words to say* I...I've been yelling and snapping all day. *exhales* And I'm really tired of it. I'm not gonna hide but...*bottom lip trembling a bit and then exhales* ...I threw up. Funny, right? Alcohol poisoning and drugs didn't manage it but this...*crosses her arms in front of her chest* 

 **Alcott:** *exhales looking at her troubled and after several moments he just shakes his head* Hols. You want to know what I thought, when I saw those photos? *without waiting for an answer, assuming she'd decline* I thought, here is this beautiful woman who had no shame in taking this photo. Who was...striking and bold, daring in...every way. And then I thought how dare anyone try and ruin that. How dare anyone try and take that from her. I don't blame you for being tired of snapping. *head shake* But just...how dare they. 

 **Hols:** Not particu--*quietly, pursing her lips, already forming an answer to that in her mind but her train of thought and words come to an abrupt halt as he keeps talking and she looks up at him, surprised, her disposition softening at his words listening and biting her bottom lip* .... Al. *softly, briefly overcome with emotion and gratitude, then nods her head once* Thank you. 

 **Alcott:** *pausing as she is overcome with emotion and wets his suddenly dry lips and smiles softly at her for a moment  & jerks his head in a half nod saying simply* Just the truth of what I thought. *swallows as he looks at her* And if I had any other thought...it was just honestly a memory of how...beautiful, you are. 

 **Hols:** *bites her bottom lip again and manages a small smile momentarily* Well. *clears her throat, wetting her lip* I guess one good reaction out of hundreds of bad ones is...*sighs* better than none. *pauses and exhales, holding back a shudder as she thinks about all the people who saw and crosses her arms in front of her chest* ...but really...thank you. *nods again, smiling once* You know...a few weeks ago if someone would have told me that you'd be the one to make me feel a bit better during this...I would have told them they were taking some very good narcotics. *lips twitch* 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch amused* Well, a few weeks ago you didn't actually know me very well. I'd wager you still don't if I wasn't already involved in another bet it's starting to look like I'm about to lose...*shrugs shoulder amused* But if I made you feel better, I'm glad. 

 **Hols:** Mmh, no, you're right I still don't. *amused too and then nods* You did. *licks her lips and then lets her hands fall from in front of her chest* I was on my way out to the grounds...getting away, you know. 

 **Alcott:** *amused, giggling slightly once* ...you still don't? Well. *lips twitch* Do you need more evidence? Cause in that case, I'm quite happy to oblige... 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch, smiling a bit at the effort before chuckling* I'm sure you have better things to do today. *shrugs* Besides, I was on my way to visit the centaurs. A couple of hours away from humans sounds pretty good right about now. 

 **Alcott:** *brightens and grins at her very softly* The centaurs? I don't suppose I could somehow bribe you to let me come? I've still been unable to meet them. I mean...so long as they don't...know what I am because in that cause I'd probably be...well it would probably be a bad idea. 

 **Hols:** *chuckles* It's because you have to know how to track them...*bites her bottom lip briefly and then tilts her head to the side to vaguely indicate outside* Come along then. You're going to find them for us. 

 **Alcott:** Oh I am, am I? *chuckles, following her with a smirk* All right. You know I actually probably can track them pretty well now. *points at his nose, then tilts head curiously, asking low so they're not overheard* ....hey. Do you keep some of the traits as a human? 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch as she puts her hands in the pockets of her hood and chuckles* I suppose that'd come in handy. *shrugs* I find hoof tracks, stray hairs, broken arrows, the like. But I know their usual spots already. *chuckles and shakes her head* No, not particularly, only small quirks. Like if I'm not carefully I end up snarling. *smiles* One time I woke up and stretched out like a cat. 

 **Alcott:** *nodding* Right...yeah, I've tried looking. *pauses  & looks at her amused, saying wryly* But then I guess they probably scattered with my noisy thrashing right? *with a brow arch, lips twitch & he grins at her, and then nods curiously, laughing once* ...that had to be something to see. *lips twitch* 

 **Hols:** Probably. *lips twitch* You're not exactly known for your stealth. *nods with a chuckle as well* Yeah, Lynn and Keagan laughed for ages and tease me about it relentlessly so I'm sure it was quite the sight. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* Mm, well I have no need for stealth. *brow wiggles* Everyone *should* know when I enter a room. Bowing's optional though, I do accept deep nods. *lips twitch again  & nods, amused* Well, that's what friends are for.

 **Hols:** *amused, shaking her head, lips twitching* What about the one finger salute? That acceptable? *chuckles* Yeah, I suppose so. *opens the doors that lead outside, ignoring all the looks and whispers* Besides the usual threaten, intimidate, and beat up of course. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs in surprise, looking delighted* Now that depends on the finger--*follows outside, also ignoring the whispers around them* --doesn't it? *lets door swing shut and his lips twitch as he puts his hands in his pockets to walk with her* Of course. Blunt honesty, it's truly a service right? We should charge for it. 

 **Hols:** Middle one of course, it's my favorite. Always has been actually *lips twitching* I dislike telling baby stories though. We should, especially since it's a rarity these days. 

 **Alcott:** *laughs, out loud again* You used the middle finger as a baby? *lips twitch* You used the middle finger as a baby? *lips twitch* Intentionally, I'm sure. *shakes his head and his brows flick* True. Which is a shame, because a lot of people could use it. I don't get why people just won't say what they think. 

 **Hols:** *smiles easier as he laughs and then she chuckles, shaking her head* No, that's just how I waved. And held my toys. Middle finger sticking out. *head shake* Because most are two-faced. *shrugs* With me, what you see is what you get. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckling still, but teases* Oh that's adorable. *lips twitch* Exactly. And sometimes whatever you're holding or a fist is what you get too. 

 **Hols:** Oh shush. *nose wrinkles* I dislike that adjective. *lips twitch into a grin and then nods* Yeah, but that went without saying. *shrugs and relaxes more as they leave students behind, getting closer to the edge of the forest and puts her hair into a ponytail* They're usually about a mile and a half in. *checks her watch* And they shouldn't be out hunting, they get grumpy if I interrupt that. *rolls eyes* Even half-males are the same about food. 

 **Alcott:** *amused* I would ask what the adjective ever did to you but I'm *teases* the same way with the adjective "garrulous"--it's a ridiculous word, and very uncooperative too. And mean. *head shakes and then falls silent as she explains, following her with his usual smirk  & arches his brow, lips twitching* ...don't let them hear you calling them half-males... 

 **Hols:** *eyebrow rises in amusement and then chuckles* And the fact that you use the word is proof enough that you are. *shakes her head and then pauses* Right. I meant...part males. *waves her hand* This is why Cairon dislikes me. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Oh shush, I dislike that adjective. *amused* I think...you actually mean part human male...I mean unless Cairon's neutered? Cause yeah if you're pointing it out to him, no wonder he doesn't like you. 

 **Hols:** *laughs as he repeats what she said and shakes her head* Yeah, you know what I mean. *rolls eyes and sighs, pursing her lips in amusement* I wouldn't know, but if it interests you so much you're welcome to try and ask him yourself. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles and shakes his head feigning an "oh!" moment with his jaw prat-falling and brow wiggling* Ah, you know I don't think it would be that smart of me to do that? 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* Whatever gave you that impression? *amused and then stops walking and looks around* Okay. *turns to Al and then raises her eyebrows in a challenge* Which direction now? *lips twitch again* 

 **Alcott:** *shoulder shrugs over exaggerated* Not a clue Hols, you've finally stumped me. *somehow manages to say this smugly and smirking, and then pauses when she does and his lips twitch up before he breathes, incredibly deeply, eyebrows widening in his surprise and his eyes track the ground for a minute before he nods resolutely and points up/left slightly* That way. *starts walking again, asking casually* How long have you been coming to visit them anyways? 

 **Hols:** Not exactly the great triumphant moment it sounds like it would be. *lips twitch and waits for him to make his decision and then nods, walking again* Since third year, first day of Care of Magical Creatures. Long story short, I sneaked into the forest and ran into them. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles idly  & then blinks at her in surprise/awe-he-won't-show* ..and? They had to be..well. Furious right? 

 **Hols:** Not really...well, some were, at first. See *chuckles once* A troll was trying to have one of the herd's foal's for lunch and I managed to give the troll a conjectivitus curse and got the foal out of the way in time for the herd to restrain the troll. Some of them thought I was trying to hurt Xenan but as she set them straight, though Cairon disapproved and never liked me. So they offered their gratitude and asked me what I would like and I asked to be able to visit them without being turned away. I grew on them. *beams* But Cairon still thinks I'm an insufferably meddling human. *shrugs* He's right, but. *lips twitch* 

 **Alcott:** *lips pursed in amusement/ awe showing now as he chuckles under his breath, mouthing without saying 'well then', and he grins at her* A Conjectivus curse at age 13? *brow arching* Almost impressive. *laughs and nods* Well, at least you know it. *shoulder shrug* Cause I was gonna say...

 **Hols:** *smirks slightly and shrugs* I'm particularly apt at curses, jinxes, and hexes. And by particularly apt I mean obviously, I'm amazing. *lips twitch* Well, better insufferably meddling than passively apathetic. 

 **Alcott:** *grinning quite naturally* Oh of course. *head shake* I'd ask for a demonstration but I'm not up for being a target dummy at the moment. *pause, and stops walking, nodding in agreement with her last statement, and looks at her with a smirk* Unless you'd like to duel? 

 **Hols:** *eyebrow rises and then grins, licks her bottom lip* You sure you want to do that? I do have two years on you *tilts her head in question*. 

 **Alcott:** *smirk flick* Two years of schooling legally, but I started dueling long before that. *shrugs a shoulder, odd look crossing his face, shakes his head a moment later and draws out his wand, grin having returned* Thus, *brow flicks* irrelevant. 

 **Hols:** Ah, but I'm genetically coded to excel in duels *lips twitch and then chuckles, eyebrows rising with amusement as he takes out his wand* Put that away before you poke someone's eye out. *amused and shakes her head* I won't chance one of the spells missing and hitting anything in here. *shrugs* Rain check? 

 **Alcott:** *tilts head curiously/slightly guarded* Genetically programmed? Your parents, you mean? *laughs and then slides it away nodding* Yeah, okay. We'll have to set the date. *pauses, hearing something incredibly far off and stilling with a sudden grin and points off* They're...coming this way. 

 **Hols:** Where else would I get my genes? *lips twitch and shrugs before nodding once* Right. Pencil it in as "Hols kicking my ass" *smirks and then pauses as he quiets and then grins at the direction he mentions* Great. At a walk, trot, or a sprint? 

 **Alcott:** *opens mouth, closes it a moment later, lips twitch again and he looks over with her too fidgeting with his jacket for a moment* Half are trotting. Some are walking. *straining to hear* I think they heard us. 

 **Hols:** Oh good, they're in an agreeable mood then. *nods* Probably did yeah, it's best we just wait for them here. *looks over at him* You still have a chance to turn back if you're nervous. *smirk* 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch amused and he folds his arms on his chest  & shakes his head* Nervous? Another adjective I dislike. *arching his eyebrow* But thanks for the consideration. 

 **Hols:** *grins slightly, shrugging* It was just a suggestion. *lips twitch and turns her head as she's able to hear the centaurs as well, turns back to Al momentarily* Just let me do the talking for now. *turns her head again and watches them get closer*

Cairon: Holly Rae. *walking up*

 **Hols:** Cairon *nods her head in greeting and turns to the rest of the herd to do the same*

Xenan: Holly! *walking over from her mother with more excitement* Look at my bow, I've been practicing with it during our hunts.

 **Hols:** *beaming* I'm sure you'll be the finest archer yet.

Druerae: Perhaps, were she not so disinclined to listen.

 **Hols:** She's driven that's all--

Cairon: Why have you brought forth a stranger into our lands?

 **Hols:** *turns to look at Cairon, who is looking at Al with scrutiny* He means no harm.

Cairon: What name do you go by, human? 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles under his breath* Right, I was thrown off by the lack of it sounding like an order. *stands stock still in the woods as they approach, he nods at Hols when she speaks, falling silent but is unable to help himself from his beam as they approach, hands shifting in his pocket as he's looked at with such careful scrutiny  & face flickering with momentary discomfort but speaks without a trace of the sudden fear; trembling instead with excitement* Alcott. Unless you'd prefer to call me Brackner. Hols did for a while. 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch in slight amusement but shakes her head in mild disapproval* 

Cairon: *eyes Al for a few more seconds before turning to Hols* Why have you brought him here?

 **Hols:** He wanted to meet you.

Cairon: As do others, but they are not privy to our land either.

 **Yzain** : Cairon, Holly Rae would not bring about danger into our realm. *turns to Hols* Do you find him trustworthy?

 **Hols:** *nods once almost immediately* I do.

 **Yzain** : Then it is settled, let us not worry any longer about trifling matters. 

Xenan: *looking at Al too before turning towards Hols* Is he your mate? 

Druerae: Xenan, such questions are none of your concern. 

 **Alcott:** *with all sincerity  & a hesitant smile, he looks at Yzian instead of Carion* Nice to meet you. *with her immediate declaration of trust, his lips twitch a little, realizing it's true for him as well and she wouldn't have risked bringing him otherwise and he smiles at her for a half moment with a look of utterly tender gratitude before he realizes what he's doing & he turns away instantly clearing his throat & looking up at the sky--then back at Xenan with her staring at him and he smirks a bit easier now* Hi. *pauses as he hears the question and he instantly smirks and bites his bottom lip, gaze flying back to Hols & he shrugs a shoulder* No, no it's all right. Not like I'm ashamed. *arching an eyebrow at Hols, sincerely amused* And as a matter of fact, you might be able to say that, in just the one way, anyways...*just nods, still smirking* 

 **Yzian:** *nods his head forward in greeting but says no more* 

 **Cairon:** *disapproving of everything--he walks back to the center of the heard, talking to those who are similarly disapproving* 

 **Hols:** *smiles as well, nodding once and remaining silent before turning to Xenan with her question, lips quirking in slight amusement before meeting Al's gaze briefly and rolling her eyes playfully at his smirk* 

 **Xenan:** ...in what way?

 **Hols:** *interjecting before Al can answer* That sounds like a conversation for another time.

 **Druerae:** Indeed.

 **Yzain:** Human relationships are both complex and vastly underdeveloped. 

 **Hols:** I wish. *mumbles* 

 **Alcott:** *opens his mouth, amidst a smirk flicking wide* Well, see--*gets cut off by Hols and he chuckles under his breath a few times folding his arms on his chest and he just nods instead* Ah, sure. *lips twitch again and he looks curiously at Yzain, tilting his head with obvious delight at being able to be here to ask; his eyes are half lowered, cast in respect, even as he flicks his ear, having heard Hols mumble, evidenced by his lips twitching in amusement* Under developed? What do you mean? 

 **Yzain:** Humans are blinded by their inability to see past short term events and short term consequences. They allow small, insignificant matters to control and shape their lives, it is constant change--their taciturn nature disallows for deep, unwavering bonds. 

 **Hols:** I respectfully disagree.

 **Druerae:** An unsurprising response.

 **Xenan:** *giggles in amusement*

 **Yzain:** There is limited understanding for you worry of trifling matters instead of important ones: ones written in the stars* You're a chaotic species, unable of perceiving the tranquility of knowledge. 

 **Hols:** *bites her bottom lip to refrain from speaking* Yet you also said we're incredibly complex....

 **Yzain** : *nods* For the exact same reason. 

 **Alcott:** *had also chuckled in much the similar manner with Xenan--but he quietly listens otherwise, curious and with his brows furrowed* I suppose I...must agree with Hols; I believe the transitory nature of our short lives leads us to make perhaps fewer meaningful bonds due to time constraints, but nonetheless they are made deeper and more meaningful for it. Sometimes coming out of nowhere, too...*not realizing he's looking at Hols, trails off  & then looks back at Yzian tilting his head* That's only my opinion of course. 

 **Hols:** *purses her lips and playfully glares at Al's chuckle* Yes, well, I suppose I can't help it. *listens to Al's opinion and nods, agreeing and bites on her bottom lip slightly, looking at the ground for a brief moment before watching Yzain*

 **Yzain:** *inclines his head* Yet if you possessed the ability to see what we see, you'd understand that it is futile to worry about such daily consequences. Therefore you are underdeveloped. 

 **Xenan:** *suddenly scared* Shorter life? *looks at Hols with worry* Will you be departing us soon? 

 **Hols:** *smiles and shakes her head* No, I might want the earth to swallow me whole by the end of today but rest assured, I shall be back.

 **Druerae:** I'm sure Cairon will be pleased. 

 **Hols:** Isn't he always? 

 **Alcott:** *brows flick higher and he is about to press when he hears Xenan's question  & looks back to Hols with her answer & he shakes his head once, saying simply with a teasing smile* But see. It's only a ... daily consequence. Trifling matter, really. *gestures to Yzain as he quotes* And...you will be back. *Shrugs as though it was nothing, but there's a sudden intensity in his eyes* 

 **Hols:** *bites her lip to keep back a laugh and just elbows his side softly with a disapproving yet otherwise amused glare*

 **Yzain** : *aware he was poking fun at him, merely decides to pass it off with a simple nod* Correct.

 **Xenan** : *happy once more* Great, I do enjoy your company. It'd be unfortunate to do without it.

 **Druerae:** The stars favor you child. Despair not, for you shall thrive on. After all, our meeting was foretold and so is your fate. 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and she turns to Al* Yet I can never get a hint from them.

 **Yzain:** It's not our place. 

 **Alcott:** *makes a small noise at the elbow and his lips twitch, otherwise he doesn't acknowledge it with his eyebrow arching as he listens again and then tilts his head back at Hols as she looks at him and chuckles* Isn't it better as a surprise anyways? *adds and looks back at Xenan* And I much enjoy her company as well. *pauses and mutters under his breath* Most times. 

 **Hols:** Well, I surely think so.

Yzain: Most humans do, perhaps that is why the knowledge is kept from you.

 **Hols:** Mmh, perhaps. *quite bored of that, she seems to have already had this discussion*

 **Xenan:** Why only most? ...is that appropriate to say of your mate? 

 **Hols:** Don't worry Xenan, I enjoy his company a little less. *looks at all, slightly teasing* And we're not exactly...mates.

 **Xenan:** ...kin then?

 **Hols:** No.

 **Xenan:** *frowning* I am very confused. 

 **Hols:** Aren't we all?

 **Cairon** : *approaches* I'm afraid we cannot stay any longer.

 **Druerae:** *nods* Yes, he speaks the truth. 

 **Xenan** : I didn't get to show Holly how I shoot from my bow.

 **Yzain:** Another time. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitching* Only a little less? *looks back at Xenan at Hols right back* And that's one of the highest compliments she's ever given me, so. *shoulder shrug* Don't worry about it. *pauses and looks at Yzain, echoing again, this time quite seriously* It's...complex. *swivels as he hears Cairon approach and immediately shuts up  & stills, nodding at them a fair well, adding* Thank you for permitting me to spend time with you in your realm. I really do appreciate it. 

 **Hols:** *grins at his tease but doesn't say anything else*

Cairon: *begrudgingly nods a farewell as well but remains silent, walking back to get to the rest of the heard ready*

 **Druerae:** *inclines her head* You are most welcome.

 **Yzain:** Though I do advise that you don't do so on your own after this. Our promise keeps Holly Rae safe and as her companion, you as well on this occasion. Yet some of us are more....hostile.

 **Druerae:** Just a precaution. 

 **Xenan:** Don't worry though, I have my bow and arrow now, no harm shall come to you whilst I'm around.

 **Hols:** *smiles and nods* Farewell then. 

 **Alcott:** *nodded, having expected that but his lips twitch at Xenan's remarks and he grins at her nodding again* Thanks. *stills as they leave, waiting a good amount of time before he turns back to Hols, unable to hear them anymore even with his werewolf hearing--and he's back to smirking/looking absolutely delighted* So you find me trustworthy, do you? 

 **Hols:** *rolls eyes and groans, pushing him away* I knew you weren't going to let that go. *lips twitch into a small grin nonetheless* Would you have preferred I say the alternative and cast you off? Mmh, didn't think so. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles as she pushes him back, hardly moving much but his brows wiggle and he tilts his head, mming* Ah but see if that was the only reason you said it, you wouldn't have brought me in the first place... 

 **Hols:** *grins and shrugs her shoulders, exaggeratedly turning around to walk back* You ask questions you already know the answer to. A personal pet peeve of mine, I'll have you know. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitching, eyes rather predictably darting down for a moment as she turns  & he chuckles under his breath, following her* And you tell me what I'm thinking. Not correctly, I might add...but it's definitely aggravating. 

 **Hols:** Right of course, there would have to be thoughts there for me to get wrong in the first place *laughs quietly and then adds* It's a habit, really. Ages of being around people easy to read. 

 **Alcott:** *snorts and bites his bottom lip, then tilts his head at her comment, looking at her again even as they walk* Right. Well. I guess I just like being...well, right. And in control. *his eyebrow arches* 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* Both characteristics make you impossible to deal with, I'll add. Not to mention I have a strong feeling it was because of the second that I had bruises on my thigh for days. 

 **Alcott:** *grin flicks wider* Yet you still bother trying. *shrugs a shoulder and then at her second comment he suddenly smirks and looks sideways at her; his expression much darker now* Makes you feel better, I didn't exactly return from..*teases, bringing his hands up* "mating", *hands drop* unscathed either. *lips twitch* And speaking of that-- *he cuts himself off by placing one hand in hers to swivel her around, other hand coming up to her neck, cupping it and his fingers caress her cheek much softer, even as he crashes his lips to hers* 

 **Hols:** A source of amusement, really. *lips twitch and then she laughs once as he refers to it as 'mating'* Oh Merlin, don't call it that. I don't think I'll be able to keep a straight face. *is turned around by him and she kisses him back as their lips meet, her free hand resting on his shoulder* 

 **Alcott:** *as she kisses back, his hand lifts hers, lacing fingers together one at a time, running his thumb over her wrist and palm  & he presses a little closer, moving his lips deliberately against hers* 

 **Hols:** *even as she kissing him, she's stunned by the soft gesture of him lacing their fingers and the contrast of the less-softer kiss. She kisses him back, moving her lips against his, fingers bunching up his shirt slightly. 

 **Alcott:** *using their entwined hands to pull them closer, he slips his free hand from her neck even as he kisses her deeper, hungry with a different sort of need, sliding his hand down her back and into her jeans back pocket* 

 **Hols:** *getting pulled in closer and kisses him back, but then stiffens as his hand trails down her back and into her pocket and then pulls away, backing up a couple of steps* ...I'm sorry. I just..*puts her arms in front of her chest* I still feel...gross. 

 **Alcott:** *without moving, just looking at her  & dropping his hand and nodding at her once, hands moving back into his pocket* Don't apologize. I'm the one who should be apologizing...*swallows, still just looking at her, and then says very quietly* I hate that you feel that way. I hate that this...happened. 

 **Hols:** *licks her bottom lip and then shrugs* Yeah, but it did. *frowning slightly and then sighs, turning her gaze away* Come on, let's head back. 

 **Alcott:** *as he turns around, a soft frown flickers across his face for a moment, he steps forward, a bit awkward but does it all the same, he puts one arm around her shoulder -- incredibly gently--just holding her for a moment or two, and then pulls back and without saying a word, nods in agreement with her  & starts to walk back as well* 

 **Hols:** *bites her lip and then relaxes momentarily as he holds her and then puts her hands in the pockets of her jacket and walks back with him.*

&.

 **Lynn:** *eyes narrow* Oh look. 

 **Dev:** ...hm? *follows her gaze  & then stiffens himself* 

 **Lynn:** He's bloody got bodyguards now doesn't he? So I can't go punch that smirk off his face--

 **Dev:** Lynn--

 **Lynn:** *scowls* He told Eliza he was going to make a move  & now he's gone and used Daddy's money to hire bodyguards. What more proof do you need? 

 **Dev:** *swallows* 

 **Lynn:** *shakes her head once* But those are just hired guns. *head shake* We, have heart.

 **Dev:** ...what exactly are you...

 **Lynn:** If he wants a war, he's got one. *glare at Sam becoming a smirk; Dev's lips twitch, Lynn nods, turning back* 

 **Dev:** ...I know that look.

 **Lynn:** *brow arching, saying sweetly* Don't tell me you're going to stop me. 

 **Dev:** *after a pause, shakes his head once* Not at all. If you have a plan, I'm in.

 **Lynn:** Well, he's gathering his army. We need to gather ours. *grabs his shoulder/moves down the hall* 

 **Nadia:** *had been previously writing a sentence for the essay before she puts the quill down and exhales* This is stupid. 

 **Nick:** *not looking up for his own essay* Nadia--

 **Nadia:** No, not the correlation between goblin rebellions and the giant attacks of the North--though that is quite stupid to think about as well--

 **Nick:** *sighs and looks up* What are you talking about then?

 **Nadia:** Hols. *saddens* I'm worried. And furious! Positively barbaric. I'd commit murder. 

 **Nick:** She's...intent on dealing with this alone.

 **Nadia:** *Sighs* I know. I just want to....break things. Preferably over someone's head. 

 **Nick:** I thought you didn't condone violence *grins*. 

 **Nadia:** Exceptions must be made. *lips twitch* Besides, my mum, my dad's aren't exactly pacifists. 

 **Nick:** ...dads? As in plural?

 **Nadia:** Long story. Point being...it's stupid to be here and write an essay when there's more important things to be doing. 

 **Nick:** Like kicking ass and taking names? *grins*

 **Nadia:** It's a suggestion. 

 **Lynn:** *coming up behind them with a sudden grin crossing her lips, echoing as she hears the suggestion* Exactly my thoughts actually. *leans over to kiss Nick's cheek and then without bothering to sit down, gestures at Dev over her shoulder* We were just saying the same thing. 

 **Devin:** *as Lynn speaks he's slid into the chair next to Nadia, immediately wrapping an arm around her and kissing her once in greeting too; lips twitch  & his eyebrow arches* Actually Lynn, *you* were--

 **Lynn:** *brow arch* Coward.

 **Dev:** *eyes roll once* I said I was in.

 **Lynn:** *exhales still standing rather tense besides Nick* Okay, true. 

 **Nadia:** *looks up as she hears Lynn speak and grins* I'd be surprised if you weren't. *making herself comfortable against Dev, kissing him back* 

 **Nick:** Great minds think alike *grins and takes Lynn's hands, patting the seat next to him* So what's the plan?

 **Nadia:** And the back up plan? And the back up plan? And the back up plan for that one? *lips twitch* 

 **Lynn:** *casts her gaze down almost in surprise as she takes her hands, her lips twitching into a smile and she slides down into the seat next to him, speaking to Nadia as she does* Oh good, we really *are* on the same page. 

 **Devin:** I'm fairly sure that wasn't meant serious--

 **Lynn:** *purses her lips*

 **Dev:** *under his breath* Or okay, maybe it was. 

 **Lynn:** *squeezes Nick's hands once* Sam...has made it clear he's not going to stop. And he's basically moving in a pack of bodyguards right now it looks like--

 **Dev:** I *think* those were his friends Lynn--

 **Lynn:** *shrugs* Well, those need to go first, seeing as how they make basic frontal assault impossible. *pause* Though that's less satisfying anyways. *looks at Dev* And you, told me that Sam supplied you illegally. 

 **Dev:** *after his gaze flits at Nadia once, he swallows  & nods* 

 **Lynn:** *arches her eyebrow* Well, to start, Sam's resources come from his Dad sure but if his friends were to get the wrong dosage of something, how fast do you think they'd stick around? 

 **Nick:** *grins* We have to be. 

 **Nadia:** Well...however I meant it, it's serious now. *rolls up her essay, happy to be distracted*

 **Nick:** *lips twitching in amusement at her use of the words "basic frontal assault"* 

 **Nadia:** *bites her bottom lip, wondering about the illegal supplies, frowning briefly before she looks up at Lynn* 

 **Nick:** Pretty quickly, I wager.

 **Nadia:** Wrong dosage?! *quietly* What if they get hurt? 

 **Lynn:** Hurt...is kind of the point, but it wouldn't be permanent. *looks at Dev; who had a similar moment of disquiet, asking quietly with an eyebrow arch* How well do you know the levels?

 **Devin:** *brow furrows* Lynn--

 **Lynn:** It's just one thought. *putting her head in her forehead* He's the one doing illegal dealing. 

 **Nadia:** *brow furrows* I don't like this idea. They're not responsible for this. 

 **Nick:** The bathroom.

 **Nadia:** ...pardon?

 **Nick:** Well. *lips twitch* He won't exactly take showers with his bodyguards. 

 **Devin:** *nodding in agreement with Nadia, lips pursed slightly--but he blinks and then grins at Nick*

 **Lynn:** *sits up straighter  & tilts her head to look at Nick with a slow smirk and she nods* True. *looks back at Dev with her eyebrow arched* 

 **Dev:** *immediately nodding as well* I can get there no problem. Am I delivering a sort of message?

 **Lynn:** *chuckles under her breath* ...Dev. 

 **Nick:** *bit smug and shrugs his shoulder* It's an idea.

 **Nadia:** An idea that doesn't get innocent people hurt. I like it. 

 **Nick:** I wouldn't exactly say innocent though--

 **Nadia:** Well, innocent of this.

 **Nick:** *at Devin's question his lips twitch* ...there's too many opportunities for jokes there, I think I'll just remain quiet. 

 **Lynn:** *quietly looks at Nadia for a moment and then tilts her head* ...what if we just steal the drugs anyways? And throw them away? Then actually we'd even be helping these so called 'innocents'...

 **Devin:** *chuckles once* ...and what part are you leaving out?

 **Lynn:** *narrows her eyes playfully at Dev* Well, if they really are buying from him then they probably won't be too happy not to get it after they paid. Which could split up the friendship too with*out* anyone hurt. ...well except Sam. 

 **Devin:** *nodding* ...well I do know where he keeps some of them.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles under her breath  & murmurs softly to Nick* ...they definitely say themselves. 

 **Nadia:** *bites on her bottom lip* Sam isn't a fool--

 **Nick:** Looks like one though. Think he might be part troll?

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch momentarily before continuing* What if he's got...spells or curses protecting the place he keeps it?

 **Nick:** Then the spells would have to be taken off. 

 **Nadia:** What if it's dark magic though?

 **Nick:** Potentially problematic. What would you suggest though?

 **Nadia:** *frowns* I don't know, I just don't want anyone besides those responsible getting hurt. 

 **Nick:** And your previous declaration of wanting to declare murder?

 **Nadia:** ...might have been excessive.

 **Nick:** Might. *amused* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch amusedly as well at Nick's comment* 

 **Devin:** *bites his bottom lip* True. It's also likely he's moved locations since I..stopped.

 **Lynn:** *furrows her brow  & shrugs* So we spy. That's easy enough with an invisibility cloak. 

 **Dev:** *arching his brow* ...when did you get--

 **Lynn:** Spring break. *lips twitch at him* But this means I could find out anything we need to know, figure out the spells on the drugs--if there are any..steal them if possible. 

 **Dev:** *bites his bottom lip, then looks back at Nadia  & says quietly* I know. 

 **Lynn:** *frustrated exhale* 

 **Dev:** ...but...*gaze flickers between them all* He...humiliated Hols and. *rubs his forehead for one moment* He won't, stop there. *swallows painfully, looking quite upset for a second as he admits quietly* I spent enough time with him to know. 

 **Lynn:** *her grip on Nick's hand tightens subconsciously, frowns as well* Well. He just doesn't know who he's messing with. 

 **Nick:** *grins* Invisibility cloak? ...fun. *lips twitch momentarily, keeping a comment to himself*

 **Nadia:** *frowns* I just want him to pay. He can't get away with this, he can't. 

 **Nick:** And he won't. 

 **Nadia:** *bites her lips* Do what you have to. Just don't get in trouble. Or hurt *gaze flickering between all of them* 

 **Lynn:** *purses her lips amused, just nodding at Nick, her brow arching slightly* ...mhm. Quite fun.

 **Devin:** *ignoring this; looks at Nadia firmly, holding her closer for a moment  & just says quietly* It'll be fine. We'll both be, *looks at Lynn* fine. 

 **Lynn:** *nodding, her gaze flicking between them* If we can break up that friendship, and you have a -- I'll say conversation, in the bathroom...

 **Devin:** *nods at her* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, but she sighs, her brows flicking* It's not enough. But it's a start. 

 **Nadia:** *nodding at Dev's assurance and then sighs* Okay well, a start's a start. I don't think he worked alone though.

 **Nick:** *head tilts* Why? 

 **Nadia:** A hunch. A...feeling. *frowns and then looks up at them* Aren't the locker rooms spelled like the dorms? In which boys can't enter the girls' rooms? Cause if they are, then that would mean he'd had to have a girl helping him. 

 **Nick:** Either that or we just uncovered some disturbing information about the guy. 

 **Lynn:** *had been listening intently; laughs out loud far too loud for the library at that  & then slams her free hand over her lips shaking her head* ...oh geez. *brow wiggles* Okay well, hey Dev you can check that in the bathroom too--

 **Dev:** *jaw falls* Ew, do you honestly think we look?

 **Lynn:** *idle shrug, but then her eyes move over to the corner, her smirk turning cold again and she exhales rather slowly; Dev turns around  & then blinks once, grip tightening around Nadia & he looks back at Lynn; the siblings sharing one look, before Lynn breathes out* ...well it would certainly fit. 

 **Dev:** *Swallows and shakes his head* ...yes, it would. *bites his bottom lip* Why the hell can't she leave us alone?

 **Lynn:** Bitches who also happen to be possessive control freaks don't. *pauses, realizing Nick might know who they looked at and with her free hand points* That is Victoria Stenrosa. 

 **Nick:** *just grins and wiggles his eyebrows as Lynn laughs but remains quiet nonetheless*

 **Nadia:** Well. Thanks for that image Lynn. *grossed out*

 **Nick:** *notices the siblings looking at someone and turns to look as well*

 **Nadia:** *quietly* Not suspicious at all guys. *can't help but look as well and then rolls her eyes and scoffs* Cow.

 **Nick:** *makes acknowledging facial expression as he hears the name, turns to Nadia* The one you punched in the face? 

 **Nadia:** The very same. *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** Now that's what's up. *grins and high fives her*

 **Nadia:** *high fives but then blinks* ....pardon?

 **Nick:** Err...that's wicked?

 **Nadia:** Oh. In that case, yeah it's really what's up.

 **Nick:** No, what's up isn't a...never mind. 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles under her breath* Eh, I glare at her all the time, doubt she'll notice a difference. 

 **Dev:** ...well I tend to ignore her, but whatever. *shoulder shrug* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch as she watches the high five, similarly confused by the jargon but beaming nonetheless* It was pretty inspiring.

 **Devin:** *lips twitching and he looks at Nadia* Yeah, I still don't think it's quite fair I didn't get to see you know...*amused* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles* One for the record books really. Your mom had to be so proud. 

 **Nadia:** *undoubtably pleased at the mention of Dev ignoring her, scoots closer to him subconsciously* 

 **Nick:** Who would have thought a little midget like you had it in you? *grins*

 **Nadia:** ...I'm not a midget. *pouts* I'm...vertically challenged.

 **Nick:** Fun-sized? *notices the look of confusion* Like when chocolate bars and candy are sold in smaller packaging? Usually for goody bags and Halloween? The bag usually says "fun-sized" ...I swear, I'm funnier in the US. 

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and then looks at Dev with a grin before shaking her head* You might have another chance if she is indeed helping Sam. *small scowl before beaming up at Lynn* She was! She sent me a huge box of fizzing whisbees when she found out. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch as he holds her closer/more comfortably* 

 **Lynn:** ...fun, sized? *listening with a smirk, brow arching* ...oh. *tilts her head thinking to herself* ...yeah the explanation of it being candy doesn't really make it less dirty but--

 **Devin:** *blinks/snorts* Lynn!

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* What? Come on, like you didn't think the same thing.

 **Devin:** I...am so not answering that--*turns instead to Nick* ... well there is, quite a difference in British humour definitely.

 **Lynn:** *pauses* You've seen Monty Python though, right?

 **Dev:** ...this is getting a little off topic--

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* You, just want to orchestrate seeing Nadia punch her again. 

 **Dev:** *with his lips purse in amusement* How do we figure out for sure she's responsible? 

 **Lynn:** *under her breath grumble* Who says we need to know for sure? 

 **Devin:** Lynn.

 **Lynn:** *Exhales* Fine. 

 **Devin:** *leans closer to Nadia to whisper under his breath as Lynn thinks* And I happen to think you're perfect-sized. ..and quite fun. 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch and shrugs* Ah, no, probably not.

 **Nadia:** And cue red *rubs at her cheeks to dispel the small blush*

 **Nick:** *grins* Sorry Nadia. *mention of Monty Python* Oh, it's a classic--*pauses as Dev mentions getting off topic and acknowledges that and quickly lets the topic drop*

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* Well, she walked off with an oh-so-terrifying "next time" promise, so. *shrugs* I say bring it. *huffs* The skank.

 **Nick:** *blinks* I feel like..you've just transformed in front of my eyes *laughs quietly*

 **Nadia:** *as Devin leans in to whisper, she grins and then turns to him with a beam and winks at him*

 **Devin:** *chuckles once under his breath as she blushes and he kisses her cheek again, saying nothing* 

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles  & then laughs under her breath* Seriously. Nadia, I might have to get you another box of fizzing whizbees... 

 **Devin:** *chuckling* And you call me horrible.

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles, her other hand dropping back into Nick's again and she shakes her head* Well, you are. 

 **Dev:** Thanks sis. I have *nothing* on you.

 **Lynn:** *laugh, straightening* Thanks bro. 

 **Nadia:** *smiles as he kisses her cheek and then grins at Lynn* Yes, please. Sugar quills too if you're feeling particularly nice.

 **Nick:** Both of which sound really good right now. I'm hungry.

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and then turns to Dev* You are quite horrible though. Not to mention devious, but *lips twitch*

 **Nick:** So how do we find out if Victoria is involved? 

 **Nadia:** More importantly, how do we make her pay? *scowls* I have a couple of suggestions. Ranging from bubotuber pus to inferi. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs and takes one hand back, twisting for a moment to rummage in her purse  & then comes back with a chocolate frog, offering it to him* ...wasn't planning on eating it anyways. *lips twitch* Though I would like the card.

 **Devin:** *brows furrow for a moment as he thinks, then purses his lips together amused*...so we're back to excessive murder esque schemes? 

 **Lynn:** *amused* Mmm...Victoria? Should get a taste of her own public humiliation. You know, in addition to Kickass Nadia round two. *arching her brow* She's bound to have secrets of her own...all we have to do is find them. As for finding out if she's guilty...*looks at Dev* 

 **Dev:** *Arches eyebrow* What?

 **Lynn:** There's someone she'd tell.

 **Dev:** I'm not asking.

 **Lynn:** ...I didn't mean you. I meant Eliza. Or rather Sienna, who would find out *for* Eliza if she were to ask. 

 **Dev:** ...why would Eliza ask?

 **Lynn:** *arching her eyebrow* Besides you asking her too? Because I already know Eliza asked if Sienna herself was involved. Sienna was affronted, but I bet she'd be eager to prove to Eliza she wasn't beyond a doubt *and* last I checked-

 **Devin:** Spied, you mean--

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Sienna and Victoria are still friends. And if *that* isn't enough to get Victoria to fess up to Sienna...well *shoulder shrug* Sienna could just act like it was what she wanted, grateful, blahblah, she'd easily take it from there, she's manipulative that way. *brushes her hair back* 

 **Nick:** *kisses her cheek* You're a life saver. *takes the chocolate frog and opens it, biting the head off*

 **Nadia:** Not murder. *shrugs* But something short of murder with her, that I don't mind.

 **Nick:** *eyebrow arching at Lynn's plan/reasoning and then laughs once, impressed* Well, damn. That's genius.

 **Nadia:** And evil. Insane.

 **Nick:** Funny how often those correlate, huh? *chuckles*

 **Nadia:** I think it might run in the family *teasing as she looks at the siblings*. 

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks softer as he kisses her* Mm..lifesaver? I like the sound of that.

 **Devin:** *is shaking his head, amused in spite of himself, looking at Nadia sideways* Hence murder-esque. *tilts head back at Lynn* Do I want to know how you know Eliza suspected Sienna or not? 

 **Lynn:** I happened to overhear them when I happened to be passing by the classroom they were in.

 **Dev:** Pure coincidence then.

 **Lynn:** Why do you think I didn't suggest Sienna myself before? *arching her eyebrow* 

 **Dev:** Ahh, naturally.

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks wider and she looks back at Nick, teasing lightly* I know. *kisses him once* But thanks.

 **Dev:** *to Nadia; amused* Hey, hold on, hold on...I'm not *that* bad. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch as she looks back* ..oh. Well. I *definitely* am. *shrugs her shoulder, eyeing Nick again* 

 **Dev:** *decidedly looks back at Nadia* Not that I particularly mind being devious of course. 

 **Nick:** *finishes the rest of the chocolate frog and simply winks at Lynn, purposefully putting the trading card in his back pocket*

 **Nadia:** Technicalities *waves her hand and then listens to Lynn* Well, Sienna did seem like the most likely one to blame what with Hols and Alcott's.... *at a loss for to call it*

 **Nick:** Thing?

 **Nadia:** Whatever it is. 

 **Nick:** *grins as Lynn kisses him* You're welcome. 

 **Nadia:** *chuckles* Yes, you are. 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch as Lynn looks back at him and smirks, but decidedly stays silent* 

 **Nadia:** I'm sure you don't. *amused* 

 **Lynn:** *eyes following where he puts the card for a moment  & she looks back up with a playful smirk, pursing her lips and shaking her head once, whispering* Naughty. 

 **Dev:** *clears his throat (unnecessarily; Lynn had already looked around at Hols name) and then his lips twitch* Yeah. Thing. They're ... together right now actually. *lips purse, as Lynn exhaled, and then says quietly* But I'm sure...he'll be equally glad to know Sienna's in the clear.

 **Lynn:** *now clearing her throat* But Victoria's not. So you'll, ask Eliza to ask Sienna? 

 **Dev:** To coerce Victoria into implicating herself? *nods* 

 **Lynn:** And I'm going to find out exactly where those drugs are now... *lips twitching as she nods* 

 **Devin:** *laughs under his breath at Nadia's words  & arches his eyebrow at her as well, silently quite amused* 

 **Nick:** *raises his eyebrows as he pushes his cheek out with his tongue* 

 **Nadia:** *blinks, surprised* They are? I thought she said she wanted to be left alone...*straightens up* And I am-

 **Nick:** Going to finish this essay. 

 **Nadia:** *instantly deflates* Going to finish this essay. *mumbles* ...Dev, I don't suppose I could sneak a peek--

 **Nick:** Nadia. *amused* You were doing just fine on your own.

 **Nadia:** No, I wasn't. *sighs* I want to do fun stuff too. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch with her half-a-centimeter head shake of feigned disapproval/grin*

 **Devin:** ...yeah. Well, we saw them leaving anyways...looked like they were going for a walk or something. *shrugs a shoulder* 

 **Lynn:** *adds quieter, in awe/reluctantly* ....they were smiling.

 **Dev:** *lips twitch* Yeah, they were.

 **Lynn:** *shakes her self once, listening to them discuss the essay and her eyebrow goes up as she examines her nails  & hmms* ...well you know, writing an essay can be fun sometimes.

 **Devin:** *decidedly just doesn't ask, just chuckles* I'll be glad to read yours once it's *done* though, if you want. 

 **Lynn:** *squeezing Nick's hand again* Should we leave you alone then? 

 **Nadia:** She said she was going to visit the centaurs... *smiles herself at Lynn's comment* Yeah? *beams* Good. 

 **Nick:** *laughs once, biting down on his lip to keep from laughing further, but grins at Lynn* 

 **Nadia:** So you can laugh at my lack of skill? *lips twitch* Because Nick wasn't bad enough.

 **Nick:** I never laugh.

 **Nadia:** You laugh with your eyes. It's infuriating. *sighs and pouts*

 **Nick:** *amused* Is that so?

 **Nadia:** See? He's doing it right now! 

 **Nick:** *chuckles and turns to Lynn* If we're going to get this essay finished by tonight then that'd probably be best.

 **Devin:** *snorts, even as he still looks at Nadia, feigning his own outrage* Laugh at you? I would never.

 **Lynn:** With the laughter in your tone, that’s not exactly convincing.

 **Devin:** *wryly* Thanks for pointing it out.

 **Lynn:** *brightly* Any time! *as she’s getting up, hand still decidedly within Nicks’ and she grins again* …we have an essay too?

 **Nadia:** Un,huh. *blows a hair out of her face and looks down, unrolling her essay with distaste* Of course you wouldn’t.

 **Nick:** *lips twitch as he stands up with Lynn* I have to proofread your essay, yes.

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow raises at them but then shakes her head* See you both later then.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, speaking now without looking at Nadia and Devin* …right. See you guys later then. *as they’re walking out down the quite deserted aisles of the library, she turns them quite suddenly near the back of one to slip her hand in his pocket and pluck her card out, grinning against his lips as she leaves her hand exactly where it is* …hi. *lips brush against his*

 **Devin:** *after waving them off, he laughs once and looks down at her, decidedly holding her closer* …that essay’s not due tomorrow though, right?

 **Nick:** *walking besides Lynn when she suddenly turns him to her and smirks as her hand slips into his back pocket to take her card* Hello there. *lips twitch as he brings a hand up and moves her hair out of the way* Miss me? *mutters against her lips*

 **Nadia:** *bites her bottom lip as he holds her closer, then giggles once at the tone of his words before looking at him* And if it is? *teasingly*

 **Lynn:** *moving the card into her own pocket with her other hand  & bringing it up to curl around his shirt, sliding her palm down his chest slowly, nodding once still smirking* Mhm. Shall I show you how much?

 **Devin:** *as he brushes hair away from her face gently and off her shoulder, his lips twitch and he leans forward to kiss her once, softly* …then. *says quite pointedly* I suppose you would just…*kisses, a little higher up* have to mysteriously get sick and—*kiss* take to bed for a day…

 **Nick:** *smirking as she puts her hands on him* Oh. *licks his lips effectively licking hers as well* Please do.

 **Nadia:** *tilting her head, a delighted smile coming on her face as he starts kissing her and then hmms* Sick huh? Would you take care of me, then?

 **Lynn:** *lips open against his in her smirk, closing around first his bottom lip as she takes it into her mouth  & kisses him, hard for a moment, pulling them back into one of the shelves by tugging on his shirt just over his stomach; continuing to move her lips against his*

 **Devin:** *smirking, he wraps his other arm around her now too, shifting so he can hold her more comfortably, nodding once  & kisses her on her lips sweetly, pulling back only a inch so he can whisper in a heated undertone* In any way you’d like…

&.

**_SCENE:_ ** _Eliza is sitting on her bed, doing her nails overtop a paper-towel with ragged edges, her hair uncharacteristically pulled into a pony-tail, wearing sweat pants and a camisole when Sienna enters. Sienna, dressed in a dark emerald dress and wearing her customary heels looks at her for a moment, biting her lips and then comes to sit next to Eliza on the bed. Eliza looks up for a heartbeat, then shakes her head and looks back down, continuing to do her nails._

**Sienna:** I'm sorry.

*beat*

 **Eliza:** *lowers the cap, not realizing a drop of paint fall onto the paper towel and she presses her lips together looking at Sienna, before she exhales and shakes her head* No...no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have attacked you. 

 **Sienna:** *lips twitch* I shouldn't have yelled at you.

 **Eliza:** Yeah but... you're my friend, Si. I shouldn't have suspected you.

 **Sienna:** *chuckles once and shakes her head looking away from her for a moment, her brow furrowed* It's...not like I didn't give you reason.

 **Eliza:** *presses her lips together and then she says simply* You and Al were together for almost an eternity by Hogwarts standards. It's...completely natural of you to be a little gratified by this. 

 **Sienna:** *brows flick* You mean that?

 **Eliza:** *nods* That doesn't mean I would have been okay if you'd done it, but...yes. You're...entitled to be envious.

 **Sienna:** I'm not envious. *far too quickly* There's no way this relationship is serious.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch sympathetically* Si.

 **Sienna:** *brows furrow and her bottom lip trembles for a moment* Don't.

 **Eliza:** *exhales and leans back* I shouldn't have accused you have stealing those photographs.

 **Sienna:** *bites her lip* I wouldn't have released them that way.

 **Eliza:** I know.

 **Sienna:** *quiet* ...but that doesn't mean I wouldn't have stolen them. So in a way you were right to doubt me.

 **Eliza:** *lets her eyes close and she counts to ten before opening them and just looks at Sienna* Why? 

 **Sienna:** *breathing a little quickly* It's...he moved...so fast, Liza! We haven't even been broken up three weeks. How fast was he...how fast was he snogging her? How far have they--

 **Eliza:** Hey. *reaches out with her dry hand and grabs Sienna's wrist* You're going to make yourself crazy if you do that.

 **Sienna:** *breaks off and puts her hand over her lips and then nods* 

 **Eliza:** *quietly, but firmly* I'm sorry. You know I am. It's just you...*trails off honestly trying to think how to put it* 

 **Sienna:** What? *half snaps*

 **Eliza:** ...you...were you honestly happy with Al?

 **Sienna:** *looks startled* Yes! Of course I was!

 **Eliza:** Really? *is screwing the nail polish cap, tossing it on the paper towel* You ended things with him.

 **Sienna:** Yeah, because he was lying to me. *brows furrow* 

 **Eliza:** *arching her own eyebrow* Exactly though. And there was more...you guys had been disagreeing and bickering for weeks. 

 **Sienna:** *lip tightens* That doesn't mean anything--people have fights all the time--

 **Eliza:** Not about issues like that. *head shakes* Not about honesty. Not about trust. Not about keeping tabs on each others whereabouts at two in the morning.

 **Sienna:** I was wor--

 **Eliza:** I know! *shaking her head* But Sienna. You have to recognize he wasn't exactly treating you well. I was *furious* with him over it. 

 **Sienna:** *swallows* This afternoon. I yelled at you because I thought...it felt like...

 **Eliza:** You think I'm taking Hols side. 

 **Sienna:** Yes.

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head, saying softly* I don't believe there are sides. *looks down and blows on her nails* 

 **Sienna:** There are sides to everything, Liza. 

 **Eliza:** *arching her eyebrow, saying with a frustrated exhale* Well fine, then my side is that I want my friends to be happy. I think you were miserable your last few weeks with Al. And I think so was he; torn up by guilt and both of you were just arguing all the time. And think you've smiled more since you broke up, even if you miss him, which is perfectly to be expected. And I think he's been happier too, and I think part of that is Hols, and I think part of it is because Devin and Nadia fixed things and I think part of it is just him being better off now. So yeah, I think you both are better off now. And I think you're still trying to get things back to how they were in January. Things have changed, a hell of a lot, *groans* and neither you nor Alcott were happy with each other, and you ended it. 

 **Sienna:** *biting her bottom lip and looking away annoyed* I...look. I know you really do want what’s best. For us both even. But I don’t just ‘miss’ him, Eliza. I miss...I miss everyone. I can’t just hang out with you guys anymore. And that...

 **Eliza:** *quietly* I know. I miss you too.

 **Sienna:** *just looks at her for a second and then she laughs* Hell, I’ve spent more time with Dev on his own lately than...

 **Eliza:** *chuckles once* Yeah, that, is actually a little odd.

 **Sienna:** *shrugs her shoulders for a second* It... is a bit, yeah. But...

 **Eliza:** *grin*

 **Sienna:** *just pauses and then says quietly* I don't see what this has to do with why you'd accuse me.

 **Eliza:** *pauses* I just...I don't want to see you beating yourself up over this. I thought you guys made the right decision.

 **Sienna:** *softly* Not if he'd just tell me the truth about whatever it is.

 **Eliza:** *swallows* But he won't. And doesn't that tell you everything you need to know? 

 **Sienna:** So he'll tell Hols Graft you think?!

 **Eliza:** I don't know.*shrugs a shoulder* They're also not dating. And it's besides the point because--I...look. You have the right to be envious, and upset. And I hate that you feel that way. That doesn't mean you have the right to humiliate her.

 **Sienna:** *groan* We're going in circles. I wouldn't have humiliated her.

 **Eliza:** But you'd have stolen the photos in the first place? For what, blackmail?!

 **Sienna:** Like you're as innocent as you act?

 **Eliza:** *snorts* No, I'm not. And you know that. But I will tell you: Alcott was furious.

 **Sienna:** *eyebrow arches slowly* What do you mean? *breathing a little quicker*

 **Eliza:** *looks at her for a second, biting her bottom lip, and then swallows saying slowly* Well...I just wish I knew who it was...because...

 **Sienna:** You think Al'll blame me too?

 **Eliza:** *blinks twice and then she just sighs* I don't know who he'll blame; I just know he ripped the photos out of the kids hand, no way this kid was responsible, and I had to intercede before he and Dev pummeled him. 

 **Sienna:** *blink* ...he was that mad? 

 **Eliza:** Well, you know him as well as I do. You really think he'd sanction this?!

 **Sienna:** *brows furrow* ...eight months ago? Yeah, sure. He'd have found it hilarious.

 **Eliza:** *matter of fact* A ton has happened in the last eight months. 

 **Sienna:** *quietly* Yeah. *rubs her forehead* He...would, be furious now.

 **Eliza:** Si, think if those photos were of you. How would you feel? How would you hope Alcott would react? How would you want *me* to act?

 **Sienna:** *groaning and putting her head in her hands* This was a lot simpler this morning.

 **Eliza:** *chuckles once* This morning I was being a bitch. I should have trusted you.

 **Sienna:** *lowers her hands and then shakes her head slowly* No, you shouldn't have.

 **Eliza:** *pause* ...I know.

 **Sienna:** *quietly* I would be devastated. If this had happened to me. Humiliated beyond...

 **Eliza:** I know that too.

 **Sienna:** ...you really think Al's gonna blame me?

 **Eliza:** *brows flick* I think...I think he'll want to defend you. That he won't want to believe it. 

 **Sienna:** *quietly* Thanks for saying that. 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Just because you two don't...work, as a couple, doesn't mean he hates you Si. 

 **Sienna:** He's not exactly that considerate of me either.

 **Eliza:** *growl* Yeah, hence my saying you don't work as a couple.

 **Sienna:** *rubs her forehead thinking for several moments, not even listening to that and then says carefully* Do you know who did, do it?

 **Eliza:** *slowly, looking over Sienna's shoulder for a second, and then looking back* Dev...and I...have another guess. But I...have no way of knowing for sure because, she won't tell me.

 **Sienna:** *immediately lowers her hand* Who?

 **Eliza:** *after a beat* Well, I think Sam did it, Si. 

 **Sienna:** *quiet* Oh, Liza.

 **Eliza:** *looking troubled* But he had to have had help. And I think that help was Vicky. *looking at Sienna meaningfully* But yeah, she won't tell me so--

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip and then says slowly* She'd tell me. 

 **Eliza:** *quiet* ...yeah, probably. 

 **Sienna:** *reaches over and holds her hand for a moment, squeezing it* I'll find out.

 **Eliza:** *lips flick in a half smile and she tests the nail polish and then nods to herself, squeezing her hand back* You can't tell her I'm asking.

 **Sienna:** *getting up and going over to her own bed with a little laugh* ...yeah, I know. 

 **Eliza:** *chuckles warmer* You've had some practice with this, right? 

 **Sienna:** *wiggling her eyebrow back at Eliza with a much more customary smirk* Yeah, a bit. Don't worry, I've got it. 

 **Eliza:** *grins* Thanks. Mind if I tell Dev?

 **Sienna:** ...why?

 **Eliza:** *shrugs in a rather convincing nonchalant manner* Well, he wants to know too. Though you know for the record, he never suspected you for a second.

 **Sienna:** *snort* Well, I guess that's nice to know. 

 **Eliza:** *grins* Yeah.

&.

 **Lynn:** *is sitting comfortably with him, brow furrowed; one hand on his shoulder, the other running through her hair as she exhales, smiling sideways at him; she appears to be finishing one discussion topic and about to start another* ...Sorry. I was rambling, wasn't I? *lips twitch* I just couldn't believe they wrote back. Let alone offering me this chance. I'd completely forgotten I even sent them in, considering...well it was almost two months ago and what with...everything that happened and is going on...*isn't able to stop smiling in spite of this* 

 **Nick:** *grins at her question and then winces playfully and brings up his hand to pinch his thumb and forefinger together* maybe just a bit? *laughs quietly and then shakes his head* it's fine, this is great news! It's definitely worthy of a ramble, at the very least. *grins and then nods* yeah it's definitely been a rough several months, I understand. All the more reason to celebrate, even if it's just a little toast. I'm sure Irene would be honored to donate a bottle for the cause. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *laughs once, teasing* See, and you said you wouldn't get sick of my accent. *nodding* I knew it. *lips twitch and her smile softens again, chuckling under her breath* ...well knowing Irene she probably has a bottle sitting waiting. I'm just...surprised, they must get hundreds of submissions...and I had *so* many problems with the snout. *rubs her forehead with her free hand* I practically had nightmares about it.

 **Nick:** *grins* hey, I admitted to you rambling, I didn't say anything about wanting to stop listening to you *lips twitch* or getting sick of the accent. Which I still maintain is never going to happen. *lips twitch* good point *chuckles and looks at her, listening to her talk* well obviously, problem was solved. *grins* i'm sure by the end, the *best* thing about those sketches were the snouts. *slightly teasing* nightmares? oh dear, you poor thing. *lips twitch again*

 **Lynn:** *shakes her head amused* ....well, those are technicalities, but thanks. *biting her bottom lip for a moment her brows popping* Yes, they were. I...actually. I have it with me. *sits up a bit, reaching for her purse with her free hand, shuffling through it and drawing out her sketchbook before settling back against him and opening it to a few pages back--past the rather amusing doodles of sam having a piano fall on his head in rapid succession; the piano having springs so it happens quite repeatedly--and stopping on the lioness drawing, lips twitching again* ...well considering it turned into Hols tat, I couldn't very well have the snout wrong permanently. *lips twitch and she chuckles at the tease, saying pointedly* Heyy, those were very scary dreams I'll have you know! *chuckles* They involved lionesses after all. And unhappy-with-me ones at that, considering they were pretty much mutants, but unfortunately for me, I never had a problem drawing their teeth. 

 **Nick:** just facts *grins and then sits up a bit as well as she says she has the sketches with her but just ends up sinking back in to the couch as she leans against him once more, laughing at the drawing of Sam being hit with a piano and the grin is still on his face as she stops at the sketches of the lionesses and then nods* no you couldn't, I don't think she would have forgiven you really, something less than perfect sullying her? oh no. *teasing and looks at the sketches, impressed at the sheer detail of them, chuckling at her supposed nightmare* sure, well in that case i apologize. i'm sure the nightmares must have been gruesome, terrifying. heaven forbid i ever get chased in my dream by a mutant lioness with perfect fangs. *chuckles once more and then looks up from the sketches to look at her with a sincere smile on his face* these are great,.

 **Lynn:** *sincerely amused as he laughs at the drawings of sam, but nods* Exactly. I mean the tattoo one is actually--*she points* that, one, because it's simpler, so there was less of a chance of a mistake, but. *looks up again as he describes the nightmare, chuckling again and pursing her lips in amusement* Yeah, damn right, heaven forbid. *lips twitch and then smile softens again as he looks back at her and she nods once, twice* Thanks. I...honestly, it's always just been a hobby. But now I...well I mean I panicked, my professor last year because I honestly didn't have a career in mind at all, and still don't I suppose, and you know McGonagall. *headshake* She's been on my case about it all year. Unfortunately, professional troublemaker is not a career. ...Or at least, not a very lucrative one. *pause* Actually I suppose that might be very lucrative but with the threat of jail...not a very practical one...

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* you know, the fact that Hols' tattoo is by far the meanest and scariest looking sketch of them all doesn't really surprise me *chuckles and shakes his head, grinning once more as she goes along with his tease and then nods once as she thanks him* yeah i can imagine. but you're great at this, so a hobby turned possible career or job sounds pretty good to me. *exhales in a 'suffering' sigh* i do. Her hatred for me knows no bounds. you think lioness nightmares are bad? you havent had a mcgonagall nightmare. *purses her lips and scrunches up his face, mimicking her* detention, *mis*ter callaway! ten points from ravenclaw for your unwarranted display of tomfoolery! *just laughs once again, shaking his head and then grins* oh i don't know, with the way you were coming up with plans and analyzing the enemy the other day? i'm thinking more along the lines of P.I.

 **Lynn:** *laughs* ...yeah, it just fit. *listens with her lips just twitching into a beam and then she starts chuckling again at the impression and she tilts her head, having to fix her hair again and swallowing back another chuckle* See and you said you couldn't act. *giggles* I think that was a *perfect* impression of McGonagall really. *shaking her head and then tilting her head again listening as she puts the sketchbook on the table, and then leans back against him once more, her brows flicking* That I've actually thought about. Then I wonder if I'd get bored catching cheating husbands and wives all the time. I'd think Cursebreaking, except me, money? Ha. Even you admitted you couldn't make fractions and me work and youuu *lips twitch* work miracles. *pauses* Though speaking of all that. How...do, you feel about all of it?

 **Nick:** *laughs* naah, that wasn't acting. that was mimicking- difference? yes. *lips twitch* besides, im too much of a ham for it really, you should know this by now. *grins and puts his arm around her after she leans back in after dropping her sketchbook on the table in front of them* yeah you probably would really; it sounds monotonous even now. *chuckles and then nods* right, good with numbers for that has to be a given really...*looks back at her at her question* what do you mean? what do i think about the people who are messing with all of you or the way you're dealing with it? because they happen to be polar opposing answers.

 **Lynn:** *chuckling* You, a ham? *says lightly, teasing* I hadn't noticed. *brows flick and she turns slightly as he puts his arm around her, lips twitching and then blinks, nodding and shrugging a shoulder* Well. Both I suppose. *brows flick again* I just realized it was kind of one thing, for me to always say I...I don't know, can be kind of...wicked, and another for you to actually see me scheming with thieving and spying and *waves her hand and shrugs, pursing her lips* So yeah. Both. 

 **Nick:** it's an unfortunate characteristic that I try my best to supress *grins* but alas, you just see right through me. *grins and then nods at her explanation but just ends up shrugging for an answer* well to be honest I hadn't really thought about it. *chuckles* it was impressive after the mild surprise, though i do think you might have scarred nadia for quite some time *deviating slightly to tease before going back to his answer* but it wasn't shocking. *laughs* oh god, not at all. *lips twitch* if anything, it just made me even more attracted to you which i have to say...i thought that would have been impossible. *smirks briefly before continuing* as for sam and the others, i happen to think they're lower than the scum building up by the lake and that the 'scheming with thieving and spying' is....well besides very MI2, is pretty raw.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, eyes darting down for a moment as she says quite suggestively* ...that I do. *lips twitch amused as she looks back up, wiggling her brow and then bites her bottom lip and she laughs--a bit in relief, but mostly because of the Nadia comment--and she lifts a hand in fake surrender* Okay that, that was not my fault. *shakes her head* She was confusing the hell out of me! One minute she's okay with murder, which totally isn't what I was suggesting, but then I make it a little more specific and...*headshake* Then like five minutes later we're back to murder. Or wait, it was....murder-esque. *hmphs* I didn't mean to upset her. I was just being consistent. And brainstorming. *pauses and just shakes her head* I wasn't even serious. I wouldn't drug them. *pause* Well, I might drug Sam, but that's different. *maintains this is true. somehow.* I .. *trails off realizing his answer and she blinks a few times, brows furrowed in slight confusion* ...Raw? *smile flicks into a smirk and her eyes narrow slightly as she looks at him with...i'mmasay, dark, delight* Oh did it? *the hand on his shoulder squeezes slightly* ...okay well in that case...that was nothing. 

 **Nick:** *smirking and his eyebrows rising momentarily at her suggestive comment and then laughs, pursing her lips* she's like a chihuahua. small, yappy little things, and almost incapable of causing anyone harm. *chuckles and then pauses* but at the same time, no one ever messes with a chihuahua. *chuckles* well you said it, you made it too real, too specific. and you weren't talking about sam anymore so that too...*shakes head once and then nods* i figured you wouldn't, but Sam...you go right ahead if necessary. *laughs as she repeats his very american adjective* yes, raw. I'm sure I've explained this countless of times by now *teasing* it's brilliant. 'wicked' though i end up using wicked to define almost every adjective i use *lips twitch and then at her own smirk, his lips twitch upwards into one as well* nothing you say? well, this certainly makes me hopeful for 'something'...

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Mmm...I am so telling her you called her that. *brow wiggling and she just shakes her head with a grin still in place* And well...Sam would deserve it, but I actually feel like that's too easy. *brows flick* I mean. What he's put Hols through...what he put Dev through for years, honestly, from what I've started to hear from Dev about how he treats Eliza...*scowls* I mean, I might not know her that well, but whatever, no one deserves to be treated like that. And so it seems like a single trip to the hospital wing where he gets fixed right back up...while satisfying, isn't...actually enough. *brow arch, exhaling* Merlin I hate that I share genes with that guy. *purses her lips* Not, that he's actually the worst relative I probably have but...*pauses and then closes her eyes and counts to five and then looks back up as he's laughing about the adjective and she smiles again, smaller but genuine and she shakes her head amused* Right. Well, you have a lot of adjectives for apparently the same thing over here. *lips twitch* And yes. But I wouldn't spoil the surprise so...*headshakes*

 **Nick:** ...please don't *laughs* I will deny everything. *his grins slowly gives way for a more serious expression as he starts listening to Lynn talk about Sam* well, as long as he pays somehow. *shrugs and notices the way she quiets and stiffens up as she mentions worse relatives but doesn't bring it up* well, we're just more...*takes a pause to wiggle his eyebrows* orally, imaginative. *grins* hmm, and i do so love surprises....*sighs* I guess i'll have to wait.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles and shakes her head, still breathing steadily to try and clear her thoughts, noticing that he stiffens and she bites her bottom lip for a second and just looks at him for a moment and shakes her head* I...later. I don't want to talk about that. I'm too happy. *lips twitch and then starts chuckling much brighter* Oh...mm, that we certainly are. *beaming, and taking her free hand and placing it on his chest instead* At least...I *think* so...if I could remember...*brow wiggling*

 **Nick:** *nods to show he understands but doesn't make a vocal response, choosing instead to focus on the immediate comment afterwards, grinning as she chuckles before tilting his head to the side* you don't remember? this is quite a sad moment. I think I might have to...refresh your memory. *smirks*

 **Lynn:** *chuckles again and leans forward with her eyebrow arching, playing with the top button on his shirt* Mm. I think you might have to. *smirking as well now* 

 **Nick:** *grins at her before leaning forward to close the gap between their lips, kissing her deeply while he cups her face, thumb moving to place a strand of hair behind her ear*

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks and kisses him back, fingers flicking to undo the first few buttons of his shirt, slipping beneath, hand on his shoulder starting to trace down his side as she moves her lips against his*

&.

 **Nadia:** *had begged and pleaded and pretty-pleased-with-cherries-on-top to Nick to let her skip the studying for tonight and he agreed after a bit, Nadia immediately running out of the library to go find Dev- given the fact that he wasn't already in the library she thought about where he could be and besides the slytherin common she had an idea of where he might be so she headed down to an empty classroom on the first floor and opens the door, sticking her head through to see if he was there and beams as she sees him there studying and opens the door further, walking through the threshold before closing the door behind her* Hi Dev! *walks over to him grinning and leans down to kiss him once* I missed you. *smiles* working hard?

 **Devin:** *with his head buried in one book, with possibly twelve different books open around him with post it notes (because he won't highlight/write in his texts); a quill propped up in one hand, his forehead in the other, his eyes are running over the pages so fast that his eye sight appears blurred to any watching, he has a butter beer beside a stack of notes and he doesn't startle as the door opens, looking up after a moment and brightening considerably, the hand on his forehead whipping his hair back as he straightens to kiss her back and then pats the seat next to him* Yeah....I want to know how I lost track of the exam schedule. *brows flick* This shouldn't be a shock by now. 

 **Nadia:** *grins* because I was right there with you, taking ten classes of my own. *winces and then shakes her head and makes a motion of hanging herself with a noose* all this studying is driving me insane. loca, estoy harta! *blows a strand of hair out of her face* If I don't get an O out of this I'm pretty sure I'll end up in tears *lips twitch* I can focus on anything at all...*looks at what he's studying*....maybe not that. which...blows because I have to study it eventually but...I just don't WANT to study. Not right now, I all but got on my knees and begged for the night off.

 **Devin:** *laughs and nods* Ah, right, forgot about that for a second. What were we thinking again? *sits up a bit straighter, leaning against the back of the chair and lifting his butterbeer to his lips, which twitch against the rim as she swaps to Spanish for a bit and nods, lowering the bottle and offering it to her a moment later as she looks at his notes* Well, I think I can afford one, night off...*pauses his brows furrowing and head tilting with a sudden playfully hard edge to his tone* ...on your knees? *brow arching* Do I need to kick his ass? ...Not that I've been looking for an excuse or anything? 

 **Nadia:** we were thinking...we could do it? *laughs* and *I* was thinking that I could copy off of you for the classes I didn't really care about and that way i could focus on divination and Arithmancy and ancient runes *grins and then beams as he says he could afford a night without studying and then gasps* Devin Stuart, i am *appalled* that you would think that way. *grins and then laughs* No, you're not allowed to. *lips twitch* simmer down on those...overprotective feelings. no matter how hot they might be.

 **Devin:** *biting his bottom lip in amusement and shakes his head/putting his arm around the back of her chair so he can lean a bit closer, gripping the top of it* And how exactly am I supposed to react when you tell me you were on your knees for another guy anyway? *arching an eyebrow* Be appalled all you want, I can't help the protectiveness. *pause* Or should I have been jealous instead? *teasing* See I thought it would have to be unwilling but...

 **Nadia:** *Scooting closer to him as well as she laughs* I said I all _but_ got on my knees. *grins* you shouldn't be jealous at all. Especially not when all I can think about is how I much rather be with you. *leans up to kiss him once and then grins* So simmer down, please, i can practically feel the testosterone emitting from your body *eyebrow wiggle* and please know that...its taking my whole concentration and will power to be able to say that.

 **Devin:** Ah. *lips twitch* So maybe I jumped hearing that phrase. *bemused* Like you didn't want me too, phrasing it like that...*chuckles in a low murmur under his breath, just smiling as he looks at her, gaze falling to her lips and back up at her eyes, locked and he kisses her again softly, shaking his head once more and his own eyebrow wiggles* And...why exactly are you fighting it? *is now speaking a heated whisper* After all we do have all night...

 **Nadia:** *purses her lips in amusement and raises her eyebrows before blinking and looking up at him innocently* I have...no idea what you mean *beams and then grins and shakes her head* because lately it seems I can't keep my hands off you *biting down on her lip for a moment before grinning* And believe it or not, there was a time that we thought snogging was the most repulsing thing we've ever heard of *grins*

 **Devin:** *lips twitching as he remarks in surprise* Mmm, true but have I indicated I minded? *amused* Thought I was showing quite the opposite. *chuckles at the memory and says immediately* Blasphemy really. Of the many, many adjectives I could conjure for snogging you...that wouldn't make the top one hundred. Thousand.

 **Nadia:** no you haven't *bites her lip again and then grins* oh there's no doubting you don't mind. *lips twitch and then laughs as he says its blasphemy and grins* um, it better not even be on the list. Actually...i don't even want you to remember what that word means when it comes to snogging me *eyebrow rises and tilts her head* but you know, any other adjectives resembling but not limited to exquisite, ravishing, amazing- those I like.

 **Devin:** *lips twitching and he nods, leaning in to kiss her again, murmuring as he does so* Brilliant. *kisses her without pulling back more than a centimeter, so that he speaks against her lips as he continues* Bodacious. Radiant. And...*chuckles warmly* well I could keep looking for overtly fancy words but I'm looking for just 'hot' right now...*is still speaking in a whisper, kissing her once more, lingering, and then pulls back again* On the other hand, we haven't just stayed up talking for ages either, so if that's what you want to do... 

 **Nadia:** *smiles against his lips as he kisses her and starts listing adjectives and then chuckles before kissing him again and sighing, pouting slightly as he pulls away* No we haven't. Oh I haven't told you! Chace and I patched things up. *beams* 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch at the pout and he puts an arm around her so they can sit more comfortably and then he brightens* You did? That's great! ...when? I've...been meaning to ask about that. 

 **Nadia:** Last weekend. Kass tricked us into meeting up at Puddifoot's...horrible location, I know, I hate that shop with a passion and so does Chace but *waves her hand dismissively* She just made us basically...stop being stubborn and listen. It took more effort on Chace's part but...*beams* You have no idea how..*exhales*...relieved I was. I hated fighting with him. Our fights never lasted more than 12 hours.

 **Devin:** *brow arches at the location but he smiles as he listens  & then nods simply* I'm glad, I...know how much that was bothering you. *brow furrows* I'm...sorry, about the part I played in that too. 

 **Nadia:** No don't--*turns around a bit to be able to look at him better and then cups his cheek, rubbing her thumb in a circle* Don't apologize. It was Chace and I's opinions and choices. It's okay. *lets her hand drop slowly* And in any case, it's in the past now. Sure, everything still isn't fixed, not really. *shrugs* But it's not at a standstill anymore. 

 **Devin:** *blinks in surprise, his lips twitching in a soft smile as she kisses him and he holds her a little closer, shaking his head in wonder* Has anyone told you how truly wonderful you are? *brow arches a bit higher* And that's...true, but we...have each other again so it doesn't seem quite so big a deal anymore. *tilts his head* We...can, talk about it all you know. I'm all for leaving it in the past but considering *frowns slightly* Circumstances, *brow flicks* if there's anything at all you want to know...or ask... 

 **Nadia:** *smiles genuinely* No they haven't. But would you *want* anyone else telling me I'm truly wonderful? *small tease and then nods* I know what you mean. *sighs* The days are passing by so quickly now, I mean exams are less than a month away and yet that month...*quiets* it was eternity. *nods reluctantly* Yeah I know what you mean--I wanted to ask you...*bites her lip hesitantly as she looks up at him* Lynn said that...Sam supplied you. *bites her lip again* How..bad was it? 

 **Devin:** *chuckles* I have no problem with others complimenting you in such a manner--all they're doing is telling the truth. *beat* ...if they have ulterior motives on the other hand...mm, you're right. *lips twitch, but he quiets with her  & lifts his free hand to rub his forehead, saying softly* ...it was an eternity. There's poets that could put it better but what I can remember, anyway, was just...misery, pretty plain and simple. *swallows and then waits patiently; having expected that question and nods, tilting his head as he starts to think how to answer* ...well. I started just getting potion ingredients actually...he got me the Erumpment horn liquid. *brows flick* Which my experiment worked perfectly, by the way. But it...quickly became obvious they just wanted an excuse to be in the woods after hours; it was less magic every time and a lot more drinking and partying. *frowns* So I tried some of that too. *exhale* And the first week of nothing after was...pretty bad, so it was almost lucky I had detention; it was monotonous and dull but I didn't have to deal with people, since I was in a rather...mood. I looked up the research and everything...basically, I was artificially creating feelings of happiness through hormones. So when I stopped taking them, I had killed the natural hormones able of doing that for a bit...even if I had wanted to feel happy. Luckily it...I stopped as soon as I started really, maybe two weeks, so that by the time I was out of detention I was pretty much clean, definitely sober. I...had decided to stop before I hit Sam; I woke up a few times and realized I didn't know how I got there and I...hated that. So...*looks at her for a moment* Pretty bad, yeah. *exhale* But it was more experimental than an addiction. 

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and nods a bit before exhaling as he begins, licking her lips as her mouth all of a sudden goes dry and then smiles softly for a moment as he talks about his experiment* Of course it did. *nods again and then her face falls as he starts talking about it and swallows dryly, trying her best not to picture Devin as he describes himself otherwise she'd get teary again and nods again when he says he was clean by the time he was out of detention and clears her throat* So what was it like those...pills at the club? 

 **Devin:** *just waits, looking very simply at her, patiently and pretty...accepting, and then tilts his head* Not as...extreme. Those pills apparently...one is all it takes to black out so. *brows flick* Unless we really were drugged. *exhales* It was my mistake. I think...I was...I don't know, I think it was self-punishing really. 

 **Nadia:** *nods* Yeah, I understand. I didn't really like waking up and not remembering either...it was kind of scary. I'm just glad you were there, I felt safer. ...*bottom lip trembling again a bit and nods* Yeah I...obviously wish you hadn't but...it's over *scooches closer to him* I still feel...a bit guilty about it you know. *bites her lip* I know I shouldn't, you tell me I shouldn't, everyone does...but I can't help it. 

 **Devin:** *holds her a little closer  & nodding as she says she felt safer, kissing her forehead & listens for a moment and sighs, nodding again* I...know. I wish you didn't, because I honestly, don't blame you at all. I...never did honestly. 

 **Nadia:** *closes her eyes and smiles softly as he kisses her forehead and then sighs, nodding slightly as he kisses her forehead and then sighs, nodding slightly as he says she never blamed her* I know, I just...hated. hated myself for making you feel like...like I didn't believe in us. Like I didn't believe in you--that's not true. I always have...I never stopped...I don't think I ever will. I guess that's why I was so ready to forgive you. It wasn't a case of..."let me wrap my mind around the idea of letting you back into my life again" it was more.."finally, you're make...and you're not allowed to leave me again." *smiles, a bit teary even still and then chuckles* Does that make sense? 

 **Devin:** *listens quietly, a soft smile on his face  & he nods softly several times, listening and then says simply* Nadia. You can't make me feel anything. I felt that way because I...allowed myself to feel that way, because I focused on things to self-justify...pain that wasn't caused by you. I was treated awfully...still am--but not, and never, by you. Or Lynn, or Hols. By Sam. By Vic. *head shake* I don't blame you. But I do forgive you. Like I forgave Al. *lips twitch* That's how it felt for me too. Like...I'm back. Everything felt clearer, literally, and right. *exhales* I hated that I'd...treated our relationship so..casually. Like it wasn't important. *brows flick* Still hate that I did that. Because the truth was quite the opposite. You *are* the most important to me. *holding her closer again, now with both arms and lets his eyes flutter shut as he murmurs* And I'm not letting you go either. 

 **Nadia:** *looks up at him when he just says her name and nods as he explains on why she shouldn't feel guilty and exhales* And I'll hate them for eternity for doing that to you....and now to Hols...*glares off for a bit, wishing she could direct it at Sam and Victoria personally before she starts smiling again as he says the he felt the same way, exhaling as he holds her to him with both his arms and runs the back of her hand down his arm and leans head back on his chest* Good, I wouldn't let you. *quietly* You mean too much to me. 

 **Devin:** *frown flicks* I can't...believe they went after Hols. *swallows* Or I can actually but it's just so despicable. If they want a fight, they have one, but why they couldn't just go after me...I'm the one they wanted. Want. *shakes his head, and his gaze falls to her hand, lips twitching softly watching her and nods, murmuring* Good. 

 **Nadia:** *glares once more* They'll pay for it. I've never seen her so...quiet. So...clothed. *bites her lip* But the latter is supposed to be expected....*bites her lip and calms down again as she keeps running the back of her hand against his arm* ...oh I'm going to hate myself for ruining the moment. *mumbles* But I have to ask...*exhales* About Victoria. 

 **Devin:** *shakes his head* She's not...acting like the Hols I know. *swallows* But yes, I supposed that is to be suspected. *brow flicks, quiets himself and then bites his bottom lip, nods and swallows, turning slightly and holding her closer* What do you want to know? *breathless* Honestly, I think you already know the worst. 

 **Nadia:** I just hope she gets better. *sighs and then exhales, nodding at the reminder* Yeah, it's just...I'm pretty sure I loathe her guts in a way I never thought myself capable but...I...well I hate the fact that the majority of that is based on jealousy alone. *frowns a bit* Well, not as much anymore obviously but...I mean you thought she was all right once...I. *frowns* I don't know where I was going with this anymore, to be honest. *sighs* I guess I just. Hate the fact that every time someone says her name, all I can think about is her snogging you. *quietly* It's really not the most pleasant of images to put it lightly. Especially with her stupid horse teeth but...*frowns again* 

 **Devin:** Hols is resilient. To imagine her taken down by these...excuses for human beings...impossible. *shakes head, and then his brows flick and he swallows, frowning at the thought himself* I did, yeah. But...*he swallows* She didn't...behave like this to start that she let me see, but I was pretty blinded. Lynn can't get past the things Al used to say either, and I *guess* I've just spent more time with him now  &...know certain things, but I also never blamed him the same way because he...they...*groans* I was indebted to them both. And I hate that. I completely--somehow--missed that Vic was even interested. And when I found out what had happened--through Sienna by the way, I was out of my mind that night, it's what scared me the most--I thought that I'd misled her. That it was me. But when I found her...I realized she'd been that way all along. She always knew and she always had been manipulating me It...all suddenly made a lot more sense. 

 **Nadia:** *face is pretty much set in a frown at this talk even though she knows she's the one that brought it up as he admits to being duped by her and that she was a manipulative skank and then exhales* Yes, you can be a little daft for being the smarted person I know. *lips twitch as she tries to lighten the mood slightly* I'm not gonna say I told you so because...the circumstances of being proven right weren't so great. *exhales and shifts to lay her head more comfortable on him* Can you just say it was repulsive and unpleasant and her putrid stench made you want to gag? 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch at her paraphrase and just nods a few times, amused and honestly a bit flattered  & then he laughs under his breath as he looks back at her* I can do you one better actually. According to Al, and granted he was laughing when he told me, I quite literally vomited right after. *idly* Think that summed up my feelings pretty accurately.... 

 **Nadia:** *immediately grins and then laughs quite heartedly* Oh...that's priceless. *smirks a bit, appeased and nods once* I feel better. *hmphs* Oh I just want her to even try to say something now, the cow. *huffs out, effectively blowing a strand of hair away from her face* 

 **Devin:** *laughs warmly as she does, much brighter  & then shrugs a shoulder* Well, I suppose I personally would prefer she would just...go away, but. *lips twitch* I'm not joking when I say I want to see you hit her really...

 **Nadia:** *frowns* Yeah, I'd prefer she go away too. Preferably to Antarctica. Somewhere like that. *exhales and then laughs once again as he brings up her hitting Victoria* Hmm, maybe. If she sticks her fat nose where it doesn't belong again, definitely. But seeing as how she's annoyingly feigning ignorance at the moment.... 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Well, not for long. Eliza told me--hit me actually ,she claims I made her manipulate her friend, which is ridiculous cause when she told me the story, Sienna came up with the idea herself--Sienna's asking her. 

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* Devious Devin strikes again. *teasing and then nods* Good...and if Lynn's right then she'll tell Sienna and Sienna will tell Eliza...she'll tell you, you'll tell Lynn...*blinking at the complexity* Well, I don't know what she'll do, but *I* am going to redecorate her face. 

 **Devin:** *chuckling* Oh--*kisses her cheek* I do love that name. *lips twitch again and then tilts his head* I have no doubt Lynn's right. *exhale* Think it's where I get it from really. *pause* Or my mum actually. *chuckles* I don't really know what Lynn'll do but...I have no doubt Victoria's screwed. *lips twitch* Oh are you? 

 **Nadia:** *beams as he kisses her cheek and then nods* Well, in that case I better go practice my fist *clenches and unclenches it, halfway teasing, halfway serious* You bet I am. You said you wanted to watch right? *grins* Voyeur. And if she really did that to Hols then she deserves no less. The bitch. 

 **Devin:** *chuckles, running his hand up and down her arm, holding her fist as she holds it up and brings his lips to kiss her wrist, lips twitching* Yeah. Well, if she really went after Hols she's also just a fool really..*shoulder shrug* Taking her and my sister on his practically suicide, not to mention us and not to mention Al ether. *pauses* Has she said anything about him anyways? 

 **Nadia:** *bites down her lips briefly, smiling afterwards when he takes her hand and kisses her wrist* A complete and total fool. *mumbles* Among other things. *brightens as he asks about Hols and then nods!* Yeah! She did...although I was sworn to secrecy...

 **Devin:** *chuckles too* Hm. Well, I wasn't--least not verbally--so if you don't tell Hols or Lynn...or well anyone really..I can say what he's said. *pause* Since February. *grinning* I'm not going to ask you to betray Hols' confidence. *kissing her wrist again softer with an idle smirk* ...but I wouldn't tell anyone else you know. 

 **Nadia:** *beams and then sticks out her pinky finger* I promise not to tell a single soul about what you're going to tell me *grins and then deliberates* As long as it doesn't leave this room? *grins* 

 **Devin:** *smirking with his delight and nods at her, lifting his own finger to twist in a pinky swear with hers and nods* Me too. *grins* Well, all right. I expected it on his end for a while,..or at least I *sus*pected...as he was convinced for months she was stalking him...*shakes his head amused* Could not have been more obvious he just wanted an excuse to ask me about her. 

 **Nadia:** *giggles* Oh my god, she thought he was stalking herr..*giggles again and then exhales in mild annoyance* Not that I knew that then, cause I just cornered her and forced her to tell me everything a couple of days ago but *waves hand dismissively* Tell me more! 

 **Devin:** *laughs* Oh that's priceless. *head shake* They couldn't be more alike at times, really...*amused and then tilts his head* Well. He always, said she was hot--that never changed--and mentioned much more recently that..well after two weeks of snapping at Liza and I that he didn't care, it became, it's not a big deal that he cares. *amused* 

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* It's only recently that she admitted he was hot. And only after twisting her thumb, accompanied with the logic that she wouldn't snog someone she thought unattractive. *shakes head and then beams* He cares? And he's admitting it? *tiny squeal!* What was with the *brings her hands up to air quote* "sudden" change of mind then? 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Oh, well of course with that logic she would have to admit to it. *starts running the back of his hand up her arm and down, settling more comfortably* Yes, he did. *chuckles* I think it's cause she took him to the centaurs. He's been looking for them for ages. *eye rolls* Caused a lot of trouble really. Well, that and the whole...Kendells and everything. 

 **Nadia:** *nods, approving* She...hasn't taken anyone else to see the centaurs that I know of...*beaming and then exhales acknowledging the Kendells thing* She took him to the forest because he made her feel better after this whole fiasco. She was surprised--shocked even, when she told me about it. *beams* And she was smiling. *grinning* This is excellent progress. 

 **Devin:** *grinning* He made her feel better? Well, that's good. He...oh merlin, he was furious when he saw those photos. I...was about to lose it, and he actually overshadowed me and Liza both. And tried to come with me to see her right after...I think he managed to shock Eliza. 

 **Nadia:** *nodding in approval as she hears him say that Al was furious* And I saw him destroying a couple of those photos..*grins* Though I'm not going to lie, when I first heard about them kissing I was wary. But maybe that's because it came out of nowhere to me. Hols doesn't really like to share details about her personal life. Details about her stance on poaching however...*shakes head* But now..*grins* I'm rooting for them. Hell, anyone that can get Hols to smile like that when talking about them...especially when weeks previous the same person made her bash her head in? *laughs* Oh...I love it. *beams* 

 **Devin:** *shrugs, amused, and grinning* Oh, there's no offense *chuckles*. Even when I started suspecting it on his end, I didn't ever think it'd be reciprocated from her. Or at least, didn't hold *much* hope. *grinning* But I'm certainly rooting for it too. *shoulder shrug* They seem to be...I don't know, good for each other..or at least she's been a good influence on him. *beat* He's a good guy. Even if he can be an ass.

 **Nadia:** Hols being a good influence on anyone is almost a laughable subject. *chuckles and then nods as Dev talks about Al* He is, I haven't seen it personally cause I don't know him that well but he did help Rene after she and Justin fought and he cheered up Hols enough to trust him with the centaurs. And he's your male-lover so if you trust him that's more than enough for me..*teasing, slightly smirky* 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch, amused* Mhm. ...yeah I heard about that with Justine and Rene...*pauses and then snorts* Yeahhh yeah, all right. *head shakes* You just need to spend more time with him really. He's...well he's had a few things happen..*exhales* ...explained a few things. *brows flick* You're not gonna tell anyone, yeah? Cause he...well, doesn't talk about this. *presses his lips together* I found out over spring break...proud as he is of his parents and how he's always boasting of them? *brow furrows* Well, his father actually died when he was...six. Maybe it was seven. *brow flicks* Oh, no it was six--seven is when his uncle moved in to help his mom out. *Shrugs a shoulder* And ... he saw it happen. 

 **Nadia:** *nodding* Yeah...sigh, kinda ruins their whole road trip idea for the summer unless they work things out...though I'm not sure if they can. *shrugs and sighs* He didn't treat her very well. *frowns and then tilts her head to look up at him as the conversation about Al turns serious and she shakes his head* I won't. *promises and then quiets, her mouth opening in surprise and sadness before she puts her hand over her mouth as she hears the last part, let's it fall after a few moments* That is so sad....merlin. *exhales* I can't imagine being that young and going through that *bites her bottom lip* 

 **Devin:** Right...*brows flick* Didn't she have a date with Dillon scheduled too? *falls silent as well, head inclining as his brows pop in a 'mm' and nods* Yeah, it ... yeah. *exhales* He didn't give many details, so I don't know much...I just know it happened during an Auror fight with Death Eaters...who had come to kidnap his father, force him to work for them...he says it was an Auror who killed him. Believing he was a Death Eater too. *bites his bottom lip* I don't know...the confusion of it all..*just exhales* But I guess I get why he's so...disdainful of the Auror department anyways. And really...he's stopped making so many judgments on the entire Ministry in the last few months...well except for his anger on their regulations for intelligent, English-speaking creatures such as centaurs...vampires or..uh, werewolves...*brows flick w/ slight amusement* He's as outspoken as Hols is on that really. 

 **Nadia:** She did. *laughs* But I think Dillon got detention or something--they postponed it. Not that it makes her any less excited about it really *grins*. She's...well. You could say it's her first...official. Date. It's kind complicated. *laughs silently for a moment before nodding and then blinking at the details before sighing* He dislikes Aurors? Mmh...potential trouble there. *grins slightly and tilts her head at Dev* Yeah? They really do have quite a few things in common. *beaming, pleased* 

 **Devin:** *laughs* What is it with how many detentions we all seem to get anyways? *shakes his head amused* But I'm glad she's psyched. *tilts his head* ...she's never gone on a date? Huh. That's...actually pretty hard to believe, since she's...well, so great, but. *brows flick and he exhales and nods* Yeah...I've thought about that. But it's not like Al doesn't know her..slash-your parents are..slash-were Aurors, so maybe it won't be an issue. *beat, and then grin widens* Oh..more than a few I think. Honestly, I really do think both of them deserve the best  & well...they consider themselves that don't they? *eye roll* Loudly and boisterously..and repeatedly...*chuckling* Yup. Several things in common. And more than enough that they don't since otherwise they...seem to get bored. *shakes head in slight disbelief* 

 **Nadia:** I've never gotten detention *beaming, quite proud of this, I think more because of the fact she's never been caught rather than never misbehaved* Well, it's more like up until this year she's been a little less choosy, on who to hang with. All her ex-boyfriends were pricks. *huffs out and then chuckles* Wishful thinking, it's bound to come up sometime. Especially considering how much she loves mami and daddy-Shawn. But *shrugs* We'll have to see. *laughs and then nods, eyerolling as well* Tell me about it. *grins* I always told Hols one day she'd meet a guy who could keep up, even surpass her pace. *lips twitch* She never let me finish the word surpass. She told me not to be ridiculous. *laughs and then smiles sadly before it turns into a frown again* I can't believe they did this to her. 

 **Devin:** Just cause you've never been caught. *chuckles, smirking at her, still running his hand up her side, brows wiggling* And ah. Well that makes more sense...even if she deserves much better than all of them *brows furrow* I don't know Dillon at all but..*shrugs* Rory vouches and he's seemed like a nice enough guy. *pauses and then sighs, nodding reluctantly* ...yeah, true, true. *laughs once* And yeah. Al...would certainly say he surpasses. *amused but he blinks and nods quieter* ...I do too. It really is, just...god, I can't think of a bad enough adjective. 

 **Nadia:** *grins brightly* And I don't intend to. *nods in agreement* Way better. And I don't know him very well either but Chace vouched for him too. Me and Alisha will probably be up waiting for her to tell us everything that day. *chuckles before biting her lip and frowning once more* She refuses to talk about it. Last I heard, Al's the last person she made a comment about it to. She's been ignoring it rather well, and using the upcoming Quidditch game as a convenient excuse. 

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Didn't know Chace knew him though...well of course he would. *grinning* Oh of course. I assume they waited up after our first date for you? *brow wiggling* Am I allowed to ask what you said? *pauses and then sighs, nodding once and biting his lip* ...is there anything we can...do? Though..speaking of that match that...ought to be an exciting one. *slight amusement* Hols and Al playing against each other....

 **Nadia:** Hmm, same year, same house, shared bedroom. *chuckles* It's a given. *laughs** They did. *grins and then teases* I told them you didn't let me win at thumb wrestling and how it was very ungentleman-like of you. *eyebrow wiggles before grinning again* I basically went through the whole date, left out some of the details *lips twitch* and then ended with a simple "it was perfect" Because it was. *smiles and then shakes her head* I don't think so, she's gotta...find herself again I think. *bites her lip and then grins* Oh...I can't wait. And no offense, but given the fact thatI am, and probably always will be, still sore about that last shot, I really hope Slytherin gets pummeled. Squashed. Beaten raw. *eyebrow wiggles* 

 **Devin:** *nodding  & then he laughs* Oh, like you would have wanted me to let you win? *amused and shakes his head* Not that I would have, gentlemanly or not. *chuckles* Some things are just...principles. *lips twitch, then nods in softer agreement and leans down, brushing her hair off her shoulder now to kiss her neck softly, murmuring in her ear* It was. *pauses his actions as she talks about Hols & nods, saying nothing more & then he grins wickedly shaking his head* Mm...well that last shot I'll agree with you but it won't matter. *brow pops & wiggles, teasing* Gryffindor is still going down.

 **Nadia:** You know, maybe I would have *sticks her tongue out at him and then laughs* No, no, I wouldn't have. *grins a bit, trying not to giggle as he moves her hair out of the way and kisses her neck, humming slightly, delighted with the hot breath against her neck and then really does laugh when he says Gryffie's going down, looking up at him through her eyelashes, eyebrows raised and then shakes her head* Ah, no. Don't think so. You all haven't been able to beat them this year, what makes you think you're all of a sudden gonna start? *grins* My my Dev, I never pegged you as the type of guy to pray for a miracle when it came to this, but it looks like you're gonna have to *smirks* 

 **Devin:** *mhmming, amused* Yeah, that's what I thought. *lips twitching against her skin, continuing to kiss her and then he stops bemused* While that's true...the games have always been close. *brows flick* And I'm not praying. *chuckles* I'm having faith in my friends. *pauses* Though I suppose I really win either way... 

 **Nadia:** *pouts briefly as he stops kissing her neck and then her lips twitch in amusement* I guess that's a good mentality...*grins* So when Gryffindor wins tomorrow--*teasing and then laughs before finishing the sentence* 

 **Devin:** See even you can't get through the sentence without laughing. *promptly, grinning incredibly amused* And that says rather more than I could have said so. 

 **Nadia:** Oh I wasn't laughing about that *laughs once more and then shakes her head* I just never thought I'd be rooting for Gryffindor so avidly *lips twitch* And I was also laughing because I like teasing you, among a variety of other things but *grins* 

 **Devin:** *chuckles, feigning an 'aha' moment, bemused* Ahhh...is that what you meant? *lips twitch* Well, whomever wins tomorrow...will rather deserve it honestly, with all the amount of practicing both teams have been doing. *pauses as he leans back to take another sip of his butter beer, an arm falling to hold Nadia's waist as he does so* It's been rather insane. *pauses sipping then sets it down* Do you want to go get food with me? I'm starved. 

 **Nadia:** Hmm...Quite reluctant to agree...*grins* But again, that's still cause I'm sore about the last game. *mumbles* I never miss penalties. *sighs and then beams as he brings up food* Same, come on then. *stands up and helps him pack up his books before heading to the kitchen hand in hand*


	9. Monster.

**Hols:** *is walking out of the locker room after spending as little time as necessary in there—making sure to close and hex her bag so that anyone besides her that tried to touch it would grow antlers—broom and beater bat in one hand and dragging the chest with the bludgers in the other, her intent clearly being to practice for the match. As she steps outside though, she sees the very aesthetically pleasing image of Al working out and pauses for a moment, lips twitching in amusement before she puts the crate down, then put both hand on the top of her broom and laid her chin, watching with interest for a few seconds, lips twitching again* We do have a gym you know.

 **Alcott:** *had looked around for a moment the instant he heard the dragging-chest, his hearing having picked that up earlier so that he was already looking back down when she gets closer/stops; his lips twitch and brows wiggle, waiting a few moments himself before chuckling under his breath  & shrugging a shoulder at her* For amateurs, sure. Its’ weights aren’t heavy enough. *smiles back at her, stopping lifting for a second & looks at the chest* Practicing for the match?

 **Hols:** Mmh *lifting an eyebrow momentarily and shrugging* I’ll take no offense to the fact you called me an amateur *chuckles and then looks down at the chest as well* Yep. *turning back to look at him* And half anger management—get to pretend those bludgers are someone’s skull. *laughs once* What about you? Trying to give your biceps biceps? *eyebrows rising with obvious amusement*

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Well of course I didn’t mean you. It’s different anyways—you’re a girl. *chuckles as she looks at the chest, setting the weight down and lifting a towel to wipe his face, speaking idly as he pats* Which person in particular is unlucky enough to be on your bad side? *takes a breath at her comment  & shakes his head* …well actually I just…*looks up at the sky for a half second, all but glaring at the moon* …can’t seem to…well, relax. *starts lifting it again*

 **Hols:** *raises eyebrows* I really hope you mean that in a non-sexist, non-stereotypical, non-belittling way, otherwise I’m gonna have to forget the fact to that I like you and reintroduce you to my friend the Kraken *lifts her bat* Hmm, a couple of no named buffoons *shrugs and then pauses looking up as well at the nearly full moon and nods at his explanation* I see. *bites her bottom lip* Sounds like you need a punching bag, not weights.

 **Alcott:** *eyes her bat for a moment, lips twitching again, still lifting the weight, and then nods pointedly* …of course I didn’t mean it in a belittling, course I didn’t mean it in a belittling, sexist, stereotypical way. The Kraken? *chuckles once* …really? Mhmm. *arches eyebrow* A punching bag would be nice yeah… …whats this about liking me?

 **Hols:** *appeased, let’s the bat fall down to her side again* Good. Cause I have biceps of my own you know. *chuckles* Mhmm, yep, the Kraken. Cause it’s cracking bones *grins* it was a lot more clever when I was 13. *shrugs* I had one—my mom got it for me last year so I would stop hitting people. *blinks a bit momentarily confused before realizing* …oh. I did say that, didn’t I? *tilts her head briefly* Huh. *shrugs* Yeah, no big deal.

 **Alcott:** *promptly looks at her arms for a moment, bemused  & nods, before he chuckles* Oh. *teasing* No, that’s *very* clever…I would have more to say here but I don’t want my bones to be cracked or anything. *eyebrow arches, his smirk softening with her remark & then he nods amused, smiling* Definitely not a big deal. Cause…I like you too.

 **Hols:** *rolls her eyes* Haha, oh very funny, make jokes while you can. *hmphs and then pauses as he smiles and says he likes her too, her own smile rising on her face momentarily, a bit surprised at how happy that makes her and bites her lip, before nodding once and then chuckling* Who would have thought we’d see the day huh? *lips twitch*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles again  & nods, still bemused* Well, true. *grin flicks* I suppose that’s part of what I like though. *lips flick* Never a dull moment. Cliché as that sounds and completely is.

 **Hols:** *grins and then shrugs* An acceptable cliché in my opinion. *tilts her head briefly and then deliberates before asking curiously* Question, can you run faster now?

 **Alcott:** *tilts her head and thinks, curious himself* Well. I haven’t timed it or anything…but yeah I think so. At least marginally. The real changes to get used to are the senses though…everything’s intensified. *bites his bottom lip* I can’t exactly see in the dark but I certainly see a lot better now. *arching eyebrow* How come?

Hols: *nods* Hmmm, I gotcha. *deliberates again and then puts her beater bat and broom on top of the chest before putting her hair in a ponytail* Because we should race. *passes a hand over her head to make sure there’s no bumps in her hair before continuing* If you’re all pumped up and restless, the weights won’t help very much. My punching bag is too far away and flying won’t work half as well. *takes off her quidditch robes to just stay in the t-shirt and sweatpants cause she didn’t bother putting on the whole uniform* And nothing makes you run faster than being chased by a lunatic, or racing *folding the robes and putting it on top of the chest too before turning to Al* So you up for it?

 **Alcott:** *had continued lifting the weights while he listened, a slow smirk spreading again  & he nods as she looks back around, lowering the weights and wiping his face off with the towel again before tossing that into a gym bag* Absolutely. Just one quick question. *points at her* Are you the lunatic chasing me?

 **Hols:** *smirks and then shrugs* Only if I end up falling that far behind. In which case, you’re getting chased by a lioness. *joking. Mostly* One lap around the field? No foul play, no tripping, no pushing, no pulling off the ponytail? *raising eyebrows*

 **Alcott:** *laughs, in absolute delight though I’m not entirely sure why being chased by a lioness is delightful and smirks back at her nodding and extending his hand nodding and extending his hand towards her* Fair race. *reaches for his wand for a moment to wave, which conjures up a long stream of some that resembles a ribbon, twisting in the air, first as a “5”, he tosses his wand into his bag as it twists into a “4”, getting into the position/standing beside her on “3”..”2”..”1”…and dashes off the moment it fades into the night*

 **Hols:** *takes his hand and shakes it* And may the best person win. *smirks and then turns to get ready, bouncing a bit in place and stretching her arms and neck for a moment to get pumped up, stilling and waiting for the ribbon (bit impressed and amused with that piece of magic) before sprinting off immediately*

 **Alcott:** *grinning for a heartbeat as he catches her expression at his use of magic  & then his focus resets the moment he takes off, tucking his arms into his sides and pumping them, breathing as evenly as possible, a bit startled to realize he actually is moving faster than he used to, but notices Hols isn’t that far behind either & his lips twitch again as he ducks around the goal posts on the opposing end, shaving a little time off before joining the fould line again to begin to run back; breathing still even, even as he’s started to sweat again, muscles tightly wound as his feet pound the ground, his eyes focused in the distance on the chest & his gym bag when he realizes she’s started to pass him & his eyebrow arches, tucking his arms into his sides closer trying to speed up as well; running the last length neck & neck until she reaches their finish line mayyybe two seconds before him; runs a little passed to continue breathing-pace, walking back as he pulls up & shakes his head, brows furrowed* …where the hell did you learn to run like that?

Hols: *keeping her pace for the first half of the race, hands moving at her sides, feet stomping on the ground to push her forward, taking the curve at the goal posts smoothly and then increasing her speed at the final stretch, running as fast as she can and grins once as she starts passing him, throwing her hands up in the air in triumph as she crosses first, slowing to a stop and then putting her hands on top of her head, breathing in deeply to catch her breath and then chuckling* You started off as fast as you could, a semi-gradual is better. *grins slightly and then chuckles again* That and I assume you’ve never been chased by a dragon.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles, admitting to both without actually saying it naturally and then blinks* The lunatic you were referring too earlier was a dragon? *looks both startled and delighted* I haven’t been chased, no. Seen, yes. *blinks, going for his bottle of water* When were you chased by a dragon?

 **Hols:** *laughs* Not exactly, no. I was more referring to horror movies when the killer is after you with a knife or something. *shrugs and then sits down on the corner of the chest* Summer before my 5th year. I was in my mom’s house, she was working in her study and my siblings were busy with friends or boy toys and I used to love to take naps in the middle of the day—mom calls it my Spanish gene—so I locked the door, got out the portkey my ingenious friend made me and went to Romania. *is taking out her water bottle from her bag* Got there, saw my baby Carrado getting bullied by the other dragons and sort of…*winces* Got in the middle. One of the dragons swiped, scratched my arm—I still have a small scar there. Another one burned my entire right side. Then they all started going rampant, a few men got there, one of them put the fire out and I…started running, one of the dragons followed. And I had about another five minutes before the portkey was going to work so…*shrugs* but I eventually got back—I hurt like a motherfucker though. Mom apparated me to Mungo’s superwoman healer Tanya fixed me up and voila! Here I am. With only minimal scars to show.

 **Alcott:** *blinks in confusion* ..never seen them. *lips twitch, finger pointing as he too sits* I *have* seen a movie though, before you say anything. *listening with surprise/awe/his usual smirk but eyes widening with his impress  & then grins* …right, *nods at her arm* I was gonna ask about that. *blinking once* That’s…pretty damn impressive, not gonna lie.

 **Hols:** Figured, but *shrugs and then raises her eyebrows in surprise* Really? Well, well. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. *grins and shrugs* No big deal. If anything it was just a … pretty impulsive…kinda stupid move. Had me in mungo’s for a week. And regrowing skin was …unpleasant. *nose wrinkles*

 **Alcott:** *nodding, laughing* Hope for me? Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. *lips twitch and then grin widens* Impulsive. Reckless. Illogical. Probably pretty stupid. *grin flicks* And impressive. *leaning a bit closer to her, folding his arms across his legs* …no, *frowns* that I actually know. Wasn’t my fault though, Caroline was moronic enough to insult a hippogriff  & I stepped between them.

 **Hols:** Well, I did say maybe. *chuckles and bites down on her lip as he lists all the adjectives, grinning slightly when he ends on impressive* Well, I’m not argue with that. *takes a sip of her water and turns her head to look at him when he speaks about the hippogriff, scoffing as he says Caroling insulted one, and wincing when he says he stepped in the middle* She’s daft, everyone knows hippogriffs are extremely proud creatures. *Shakes head* How bad was it?

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* Well, I like impulsivity. *smiling and then shrugs, bemused* Well, not as bad as it could have been since Swift recognized me and likes, me. Swiftrunner was born shortly before I was, so…*shrugs* Just a…scratch really. *lifting his arm to indicate the length, which…is a lot longer than a scratch* I had a scar but pending recent developments that’s actually gone. And, well, when the skin’s pretty clean off…there’s not much to scar of course. *drops his arm and grins* Was proud of Swift though.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch at the word but doesn’t bother to correct him and then blinks* Wait, as in this is *your* hippogriff? Like you have them at home? *delighted, turns her whole body to face him better* I am *so* jealous right now, it’s ridiculous. Obviously not of the *her fingers hover above his arm, running down the length of where the “scratch” would be before dropping her fingers* Torn-off skin sounds right up there with burned skin. *tilts her head with a curious look as he says he was proud of Swift and then actually beams for a moment and bites her bottom lip for a moment* Yeah, that’s…I definitely understand. *slight awe* I’ve never…met someone else that did though. *looks at him curiously again*

 **Alcott:** *grinning* My family’s, but yeah. We have a whole herd. *shrugs a shoulder, gaze dropping to follow her hand, licking his bottom lip for a second and then casts eyes back up at her with bemusement and chuckles once* …right, well Swift didn’t do anything but what he should’ve. *grin flicks, tilting his head at her and leaning a bit closer still* You know most people tell me *I’m* the idiot for being proud, *arching his eyebrow* but I thought you might get it.

 **Hols:** That’s pretty awesome *grins, figuring that of course he must have had enough room to have a whole herd* Exactly, he was defending his honor as a hippogriff *chuckles* yeah almost everyone told me the same thing when Carrado first learned to breathe fire…*lips twitch* burned my ankle—that burn I hid, so it’s why I still have the scar but…*beams* I was proud. I was the first thing he saw after all, I’m his mom for all intents and purposes. So yeah I do, I definitely…get it *grins* I guess that makes us equally as idiotic in other people’s eyes. *shrugs and chuckles*

Alcott: *grin* Yeah…we have a lot of animals actually, though most we just let roam in the forest so I wouldn’t try to claim ownership or anything. *shoulder shrug* I do have a Crup though—well two actually, cause Satan was lonely. *lips twitch* Mum, named him technically because she kept saying he was like the devil so…*tilting his head in amusement, brow arched a bit* …Mm, his mom? I’m not *entirely* sure that’s how it works but…*shrugs a shoulder* Sounds good to me. *casts his gaze down to her ankle, furrowing his brow in amusement, brushing her pant leg up with the back of his hand with a grin as he sees it* …well damn. …hot.

 **Hols:** You are living my animal dream. *sighs and then laughs* Satan? *grins* Oh, that sounds like a name my mom would give any animal. *lips twitch* It works because I cared and nurtured and taught and fed and so on and so forth. *grinning a bit smug as he comments about her scar* Thanks, I know. *laughs and shrugs* I think getting scars runs in the family, really.

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Yeah, my mum’s not the biggest animal person. My dad’s the one who started the herd…well actually his grandfather did, but my dad’s the reason it’s large and survived. Least until I took over anyways. *lips twitch* Can’t wait to see them really, as Snowfire’s about to have a foal…and I’d better be there, *hand goes up* is all I’m saying. *smile twitches  & nods watching her* Oh, well then that definitely counts. *with slight smirk and then brushes his hand up her leg for a moment, finding her wrist and wrapping his fingers around it so he can bring it up to his lips to kiss, lingering, just once*

 **Hols:** *nodding, understanding and smiling and then beams* A foal? That is so great! *chuckles* I think that if I had a hippogriff I wouldn’t want to ever go inside…*quiets as his hand brushes her leg and then takes her wrist, bringing her gaze up to it, lips flickering into a smile as he kisses it and bites her lip momentarily* You’re unfair. *quietly*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* Well, the centaurs here have accepted you so…really I’m not sure why you ever come back to the castle. *grin flicks, still brushing his lips up her arm, kissing the inside of her elbow, brow arching and wiggling at her quiet words and after kissing up her shoulder he half-murmurs* I never claimed to be fair. *moves her hair out of the way so he can kiss her shoulder, then nearer her neck, his other hand coming up to grasp the nape of her neck* Impulsive on the other hand…*moving his lips now across her jaw to finally meet her own, kissing deeply*

 **Hols:** Not such a bad idea recently. *chuckles, speaking softly as she keeps following the trail of his lips with her eyes, lips twitching as he mumbles against her skin, grinning slightly because she’s a bit ticklish at her neck, tilting her face slightly to better meet him in the kiss, putting her arms around him to pull her closer to him*

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch/brows pop in sheepish agreement with her statement, just kisses her deeper, opening his mouth against hers and sliding his hands down her pack to pull her in closer too*

 **Hols:** *one of her hands slides to the front to grip his shirt, lifting her leg and draping it across his own legs, kissing him back deeply, moving her lips against his enthusiastically*

 **Alcott:** *kissing back passionately, hand sliding around her back to pass down her leg, gripping her thigh and pulling her onto his lap with one quick yank, kissing her top lip, then her bottom lip, tongue slipping into her mouth  & exploring greedily*

 **Hols:** *bites down on his lips with her teeth when he gripped her thigh, smirking momentarily when he yanks her hard on his lap and bunches up his workout tee, raising it a few inches as her tongue meets his in a deeper kiss*

 **Alcott:** *his hand on her thigh massages, digging fingers into her waist and inner thigh as he exhales once in a gasp at her bite, kissing back and gripping her closer so that she’s straddling him across the chest; standing up a moment later and holding on to her, wrapping her legs around his thighs and finding the side of the stands to press them up against after a haphazard walk as he’s much more focused on kissing her back hungrily, almost angrily*

 **Hols:** *moves her hands around his neck as he moves her to straddle him and wraps her legs around, kissing him ravenously, gasping once as he pressed them against the walls of the stands, digging her nails into the back of his neck, arching her back to meet his chest as she resumes kissing him vigorously*

 **Alcott:** *kissing her hard, with tongue and teeth, hands moving up her legs and one reaching her t-shirt side and gripping into a fist and tugging it up and pulling back, pushing her against with his hips alone so he can tug her shirt off, before meeting his lips to hers again feverishly*

 **Hols:** *shivers slightly as his hands moves up her leg, panting breathlessly as he leans away, moaning softly as he presses his hips against hers, lifting her arms as he tugs her shirt upwards returning them back to around his neck immediately, grinding her hips against his as their lips crash against each other once more*

 **Alcott:** *grinding his hips with hers, making a small moan with the resultant friction, claiming her mouth with his as his hand moves up her chest, teasing her through the fabric and playing with her bra strap*

 **Hols:** *kissing him passionately, lips moving hard against his, moaning once more as he teases her chest, taking his bottom lip into her mouth and sucking on it, dragging his shirt upwards from his back*

 **Alcott:** *groaning against her lips, cupping and squeezing for a moment before pulling back so she can rip his shirt off, throwing it on the ground with hers, moving to kiss her neck instead, one hand curling into a fist against the wall, the other sliding back to her him, massaging her inner thigh again.*

&.

 **Alcott:** *is at the moment pacing around and around a tree, having marked it for Hols to find with the same spell that'll bring him back to it; is pacing silently and breathing evenly, if a bit quickly and deeply, focusing on the ground and just wearing workout shorts/wife-beater, the hand he's not dragging around the tree gripping the flask tightly; a bag on the ground with his change of clothes, lifting the flask to his lips and downing a quick shot, stopping his relentless pace and letting his eyes fly shut, stopping, his relentless pace and letting his eyes fly shut, stopping, his ears turning as he hears Hols approach  & without opening his eyes or turning around, lips twitching in a grin against the flask, he lowers it and --gripping the tree the tiniest bit harder, digging his nails into the bark--gasping out with the whiskey shot, amused* You know staring isn't that polite. *turns around to arch his brow at her, relieved she found him, but only showing that with the softest flicker of his smile for a heartbeat* 

 **Hols:** *walking through the forest quietly, finding the spot with the spell he told her to use, wearing her designated forest jeans and tank top, wand in her right hand, nervous now that she's allowed herself to think about it. After a few minute she spots Al up ahead, walking closer and pocketing her wand before she leans against a tree, watching him take the shot with slight concern though its replaced by a chuckle at his words and then shrugs* I've never claimed to be polite. *smiles* How you holding up? 

 **Alcott:** *grin flicks at her, bemused and nods, leaning back against the tree* Ah, true. Thank merlin. Being polite is...so boring. *at her question he casts his glance up for a moment, brows flicking before he shrugs a shoulder passably convincing for nonchalant* Took the last potion. Wolfsbane tastes terrible in case you were wondering. Though the whiskey does make a good chaser. *salutes the air with the flask* Sedative's in the bag, hopefully I won't accidentally smash it this time. *checks watch* Just...under twelve hours till I'm human again. *shrugs again*And...approximately 4 til I'm a wolf instead. *beat, exhale* So, just fine. *pauses, lips twitching* How about you? Scared? 

 **Hols:** *nodding* Very boring indeed, and seeing as we both know I'm not a boring person. *watching him intently, waiting for his answer and then sighs as he shrugs at first, nodding as he continues with explanation, purses her lips briefly as he finishes and then shakes her head immediately at the question* Nope, you're talking to someone that stands up to bully-dragons...*lips twitch briefly before shrugging* I'm all right. *looks back up at him* You're gonna be all right too. *firmly for a moment before she pushes off the tree and looks around* Like I said, you should be able to retain your thinking and your free will. Impulses will be a tad difficult to control, especially the need to hunt but I'll be there to pull your tail if you get out of line. *stops looking around and turns to him* So we'll be fine. 

 **Alcott:** Anything but. *lips twitch a bit and he grins at her immediate refusal, nodding once, chuckling under his breath at her reason  & keeping his eyes tracking her as she looks around, folding his arms on his chest, which tilts the flask away from him at an odd angle and nods again as she looks back, running his index finger around the rim of the flask slightly nervously, and unaware nodding again* Good. And I know. *brows flick in a slight furrow* Devin swears it'll work. I just wish there was a way to...test it first. *exhale* Not that I don't have faith, it's just, a tricky potion...*brows furrow as he trails off* 

 **Hols:** *bites her lip and nods* Its understandable. *brow furrows* But it does you no good to worry about something you can't control. And besides, you said it, Devin says it'll work. I know a quite number of students in NEWTs potion class that wouldn't even be able to get close. *lips twitch* Me included. So really you should be feeling even a bit lucky cause short of slughorn, you have possibly the best potion maker here. *shrugs and then pauses* But don't tell him I said that. *chuckles and then adds* And if push comes to shove and the potion doesn't work then I'll take care of it. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* Dev would probably appreciate it, but I'll keep my silence. *grin flicks* And it's true. Though I really need to get him to teach me. *with a softer smile he says slowly* Hols...all of this is out of my control. There are certain factors I can try to tweak...who's here, where I am when the moon rises and everything...but at the end of the day, I still transform against my will. *bites his bottom lip for a moment* And no matter what I do, I could still end up hurting someone and not meaning it. *quietly* I already have. *tilts head* So how do I...not, worry about it? 

 **Hols:** *bites her lip as well at his explanation, looking down for a moment before exhaling and looking up as he mentions the time he hurt Sam* I guess it would be difficult not to worry. *sighs and shrugs* Distraction? Sudden case of clinical optimism? More whiskey? Cause it's not like you have a 48-kg-larger-than-you lioness bodyguard slash wrangler at your disposal or anything to ensure you don't hurt anyone or yourself. That'd be preposterous. *lips twitch, raises an eyebrow* 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch, out of a small smile into a slowly growing smirk and he nods once, taking a step towards her, casting his gaze over her shoulder, brows furrowing in confusion as he firsts takes another quick shot on her suggestion* ...that would be pretty helpful, yeah. *lips twitch, looking searchingly* Where's this 48-kg-larger-than-me lioness slash bodyguard slash wrangler? *eyebrow arches suggestively as he finally starts looking back at her* ...I like the sound of *at my disposal*, see. 

 **Hols:** *grins and then chuckles as he begins to look over her shoulder, shaking her head but looking back at him with amusement running a hand down his arm as he turns to look at her again, reaching his wrist and then grabbing the flask out of his hand and taking a small swig herself before handing it back to him* Hmm, of course you do. *shrugs* I never figured you were into bestiality though *smirks briefly* 

 **Alcott:** *as she grabs his flask, he exhales once in delighted surprise and nods a moment later, following her hand and then shaking his head* I think that question would be more for...you actually all things considered...and I'd ask but. *lips twitch looking at her with a smirk* I don't exactly want to try my luck. 

 **Hols:** *laughs and then tilts her head slightly* Oh please, all things considered, you'd make reason to. *lips twitch* So what would you try your luck with then? *eyebrow rise* 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch into a grin as he watches her and shakes his head after a moment, reaching to snatch his flask back after he exhaled and murmured her name, taking another sip* ...if it were any other night? *running the back of his hand across his lips, just arching his eyebrow suggestively to let the '...' suffice as an answer for her to wonder at before lowering his flask again and looking at the sky again, biting his lip* ...but as it is, I don't think it's going to be long before I...start. *brows flick* In fact. *caps the flask/tossing it onto his bag, crosses his arms over his chest and removes his wifebeater* 

 **Hols:** *lets him take back the flask without resisting, lips twitching as he mutters her name, before a small smirk appears on her face as his answer trails off and then chuckles. quiets soon afterwards, looking to the sky as well, biting her lip after a moment and looking back down at him as he takes off his wife beater, eyebrows rising and wiggling for a minute before she forces herself to gain perspective and stop staring* Hmm, bet this is around the time you wish Animagi had to take off their clothes to change too. *brief teasing before she purses her lips, asking seriously* When do you take the sedative then? 

 **Alcott:** *with a smirk as she checks him out, smug and amused, he tosses his shirt into his bag  & chuckles at her remark, nodding once and saying plainly* If you want to get undressed anyways, I mean, I'm not gonna say no. *lips twitch, but he looks back up at the question & says slowly as he sits down near his bag* Well, as close to the actual transformation as possible as that way it lasts as long as possible. It won't actually knock me out but it'll be harder to hunt, which I would like to avoid this time. *quiet* I honestly felt sick when I woke up last time and...saw. *rubbing his forehead* 

 **Hols:** *pretends to deliberate, hands going to the waistband of her jeans and toying with it for a second before she shrugs and lets her hands fall* Hmmm, I think I'll pass today. *listens and then nods, biting her lip as she remembers the carnage as well* Yeah, definitely a thing to avoid. *pulls her hair back into a ponytail and looks up at the sky again for a moment* I'm going to be locked in a padded cell if someone ever found out I voluntarily offered to be here *lips twitch slightly.* 

 **Alcott:** *with his eyebrow wiggling as she deliberates he groans a moment later--mostly for show--and just shakes his head at her, amused and then looks back at his bag for a moment and fishes out the sedative vial and hands it out to her* Honestly? Maybe...you should give me this. Once my limbs start...once I start...it'll be hard. *pauses at her remark and his lips twitch* True. Maybe you should be. Why *are* you risking this? I mean...not that I'm complaining, but...*trails off slightly in wonder*

 **Hols:** *reaches out to take the vial and then nods, looking down at it for a moment and frowning slightly as she starts picturing the image, stopping herself immediately because it's idiotic, she'll find out soon enough and bites her lip for a moment at his question looking up at him* Because I couldn't just sit around and do nothing knowing I could help. If you would have flat out refused I would have followed you in here anyways. *shrugs* I don't want anyone else to get hurt, animal or human alike...that includes you too. *bites her lip for a moment before continuing* So you see, it really is my huge heart's fault *pats his chest.* 

 **Alcott:** *noting her frown he bites his bottom lip  & looks away into the forest, taking a breath & then looks back at her brow arching slowly with a smile* Fair enough. *exhales just looking at her for a long soft moment, and then says simply in a light tease* ...but they still might put you in a padded cell. 

 **Hols:** *laughs silently and then nods* Yeah, they probably would. *shrugs* Just a risk I'm willing to take. I've faced worse odds before some of which you know. *chuckles* I should become a superhero. Get my own comic book. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* You could certainly pull off the tights anyways. And much more enjoyable to read than Mad Marvin I bet. *leaning back against a tree, grimacing for a second realizes it's starting but just bites his bottom lip for a moment and then exhales, saying nothing* 

 **Hols:** Yep, and I have a catsuit already so really I need to do is start fighting crime. Against nature as well. *looks up at him in concern as he steadies himself on the tree, looking up at the sky and bites her lip looking back down at him, walking closer to him* Sedative? 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles under his breath, smirking for a moment* Mmm...forgot about that cat suit. *stiffening again, his hands curling into fists and bracing himself against the tree as he plants his feet harder into the dirt, and then looks up at her, still with the soft smirk and nods once, exhaling* ...Yeah.

 **Hols:** *purses her lips as he watches him with growing concern, exhaling as he does and then nodding, uncapping the vial and then taking a few final steps to stand next to him, putting the vial up to his lips and tilting it back* i really hope this one doesn't taste horrible as well *quietly, putting the cap on the vial and putting it back in his bag, closing it and then takes out her wand to levitate it up to the tree to hide it just in case*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles for a moment, shaking his head once* No chance of that but. *exhales, glaring at the vial and then opens his lips obediently to swallow, downing it as quickly as possible like a shot he doesn't want to taste, just wants to get drunk off of, and immediately grimaces again, realizing he's started to shake and he groans, gasping out and dragging his feet across the forest floor and bracing his arms around his knees; after several seconds of this he breathes again, eyes opening and realizing she's taken his bag he nods and just shakes his head at her once, saying quietly, so quietly it's as though he can't decide if he wants her to hear it or not* Thanks.

 **Hols:** *bites down on her bottom lip as he shakes and groans, annoyed with her inability to do anything so she at least puts up the bag before pocketing her wand and nodding to his soft thanks, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing in small circles* it's going to be okay *softly*

 **Alcott:** *as he continues to shake, her hand on his shoulder feeling like ice to his feverish skin and he shuts his eyes again, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough that he swears he tastes blood, lips twisting at the taste and he nods insistently to her words, three or four or five hundred times--he doesn't know and he really doesn't care, focusing instead on the fact that with her that close he can hear her heart, his ears pricking up; through shut eyes that he's clamped tight to keep tears at bay, he cries out instead with his exhale, trying to focus on breathing and the sound of her heart, sounding like rapid gunfire in his ear*

 **Hols:** *bites down on her lip as well as she watches him, her hand continuing to rub small circles as the other wipes his forehead once to clear away the sweat, brows furrowing at how hot he feels and winces as he cries out again but she doesn't stiffen or move away from him, rather she cups the side of his face gently with one hand and presses her forehead against his, closing her eyes for a moment* it'll be over soon *speaking as quietly, softly and steadily as she can* im here, you're gonna be okay.

 **Alcott:** *quieting for several moments, his body a tense statue as she moves closer to him, his breathing tightly controlled and sounding drawn as she holds him, dropping his fists to the ground and cupping fistfuls of dirt, grass, and stones, every muscle taut, eyes fluttering open as she speaks and looks at her with nothing less than astonishment detectable behind eyes narrowed in agony and his breathing quiets as well, leaning his forehead against hers, craving both her cool touch and the understated affection; he stays like that as long as he's able, breathing as quietly as he can and nods once against her forehead, before his legs kick out against his will, limbs starting to shake again and his back arching away from the tree, his fists ripping up part of the forest floor as he lifts them, dirt sticking to his palm as small stones litter the ground and he yells again, this time primal, this time offered to the sky and unrestrained, this time not giving a fuck that tears accompany his yell*

 **Hols:** *brings her other hand to his face once she sees he's not protesting, using her thumbs to rub his cheeks gently* it's almost over, stay strong *eyes locked on his, trying to communicate all that she was saying with her eyes as well, trying to be as calming as possible for as long as he stays still and grimaces once he starts shaking again and leans away from her, face contorted in worry and sadness for him as he yells out once more, putting a hand over her mouth for a moment to regain herself but she remains close to him, knowing that she shouldn't touch him anymore, ready to turn herself the moment hes finished*

 **Alcott:** *breathing heavy and ragged, he lifts a hand to his forehead, fingers curled together into a fist and knuckles indenting and leaving dirty marks in his sweat, gasping out harshly as his legs crack and break away from him, his hand falls away from his face, turning and collapsing into the dirt, back arching again as it rips open and shifts; his face contorting and eyes clamping shut again, salty tears getting stuck in the sweat on his cheeks as his limbs start to snap into unnatural angles making his form look something like a jigsaw puzzle; more Picasso than human, he thinks with an unamused chuckle escaping clenched teeth, followed by a low-pitched whine, like that of a kettle on the stove, even as he smirks realizing thus far he can still think, even as prickly, black fur erupts in spurts along his broken spine, even when his eyes snap open and reveal an amber shade instead of his natural brown, his yell turns to a moan, breath escaping lungs that feel oddly compressed, his moan turns to a gasp, and all along he's still smiling because he can still think, the forest looking hazy and oddly bright, lit by the full moon over head, limbs shaky as they curl below him, feeling oddly heavy and as he breathes, he hears low growls and snarls; his neck snaps each way as he tries to locate the source of the sound, snapping his jaw shut and sniffing once--hearing the snarl again he realizes it's him and he blinks the--his large, orange eyes, the scents of the forest flooding his nostrils, furry ears flicking as he tastes blood in the back of his throat and his chest heaves; the smallest movement taking more effort than he energy he has, and he collapses back onto four limbs, tail flicking uselessly and casting up dirt before his jaw snaps open and wide in a lazy yawn of a smile, recognizing Hols in front of him this time*

 **Hols:** *watching as he starts turning in front of her with awe, shock, and mild horror, biting down on her lip to keep from whimpering on his behalf as the bones crack and bend, looking at him in even more shock as she actually hears a chuckle, eyes trailing across his whole body as fur starts to grow, covering his once light and sweaty skin, inhaling a breath as his eyes change colors, frozen at the spot she's crouched at, completely forgetting to shift into a lioness once he's done as she was so enthralled and then tilts her head as Al turns to her in wolf form and then smiles before turning into a lioness, the transformation being parodoxically simple, and then growls softly, almost conversationally* can you understand me?

Wolf! **Alcott:** *head tilts to the side for a second, breath in a pant and his pink tongue lolling out of his body as he appears to consider her, the forest around her still unnaturally bright to him, paws kneading into the dirt as he hears her growl, ears swiveling towards the sound and his tail slaps into the dirt before he offers a bark back, once, twice, apparently in an affirmative, a wolfish toothy smirk crossing his snout*

Lioness! **Hols:** *nods her head, pleased and then walks in a circle around him, inspecting and comes full circle, looking at his face again and then opens her mouth to show her teeth, the intention being a grin, but its probably more frightening than anything else* potion worked.

Wolf! **Alcott:** *just blinky lazily as she circles him, limbs feeling weighted down by something--he vaguely remembers they're supposed to, but can't bring himself to care much--taking in the scents with a very deep inhale, panting again a moment later with his tongue out; as she looks back at him, his tails thumps faster in excitement and he growls with delight, even if it sounds more like a snarl that way* Seems that way. 

Lioness! **Hols:** *tilts her head to look at his tail, noting in amusement how he resembles a dog in his excited manner, right up until he snarls. she turns to look at him again* how does it feel?

Wolf! **Alcott:** *sitting up on his haunches, he pushes the dust in front of him, scattering stones and twigs as he still gets used to the odd limbs, head tilting again at her* ...heavy. *struggles to stand though, stretching each leg out before balancing and getting that wicked wolf's grin again* ...happy. 

Lioness! **Hols:** *lies on her stomach, back legs curling up as she crosses her front paws and watches him get used to the new body, snarling softly once at remark of it being heavy, remembering the first time she shifted, in understanding* good. *lies her head down on her front paws* hard part over.

Wolf! **Alcott:** *stretching and then jumping once, testing his limbs with boyish enthusiasm, and makes a low rumbling sound that he means as a chuckle but comes out probably much more sinister than that, his ears flicking in amusement as he hears the way he sounds and then bats his nose with his paw, rubbing for a second and blinking slowly* Thank god. 

Lioness! **Hols:** *amused as she watches him jump, then huffs out through her snout, moving her head slightly up and down to indicate she agreed* you're not very scary. *yaawns widely, her mouth opening and showing all her teeth and fangs, tongue coming out briefly and looks like she's licking the air before closing her mouth*

Wolf! **Alcott:** *growls instantly at the implication, eyes narrowing as he turns around again, panting in short huffs before rearing back on his haunches as she yawns, lunging at her, paws outstretched so that he'll land with a muffled thump, growling as the collide, even though it still sounds like there's a boyish excitement in his voice*

Lioness! **Hols:** *her head's knocked back the moment her yawn's over by a lunging Al, her mouth instantly opening to respond with a snarl at his growl, body turning to kick him away with her back legs, making sure not to do it too hard before she rolls the body again to stand up and look at him, her head lowered and circling him again, this time in a playfully predatory manner before she growls as well*

Wolf! **Alcott:** *tumbling over with her; ducking his head as she throws him to roll into the dirt and pop back up on his hind legs first, falling back on his front paws and growling as well, beginning to stalk around with her same circle as her, his shoulders hunched forward before he launches out with a playful snap of his jaws*

Lioness! **Hols:** *snarls as he snaps his jaws, swiping a paw at him but making sure to keep her claws from coming out, returning back to the slow and calculated circling for a few moments before she coils backwards and springs forward, jumping through the air with a roar*

Wolf! **Alcott:** *head turning with her bat, he ducks when she jumps and leaps forward himself so that she jumps over him, turning quickly, tail whipping out behind him and he lunges back himself instantly, dirt and stones falling in the air as his claws ripped up the forest floor again* 

Lioness! **Hols:** *lands on the ground smoothly, her legs absorbing the shock of the impact and turns around just as quickly but he's already mid air by then and she lunges again, the pair of them colliding in the air, the opposing forces canceling out as they fall back to the ground. She lands on her feet and growls again, circling quickly and lunging to snap her jaw at his tail*

Wolf! **Alcott:** *landing on his side, legs sticking out so that he doesn't break anything, he jumps back to his feet, letting out a howl as she nabs his tail, quickly swiveling it as hard as he could and crouching down low, jabbing his hind legs back again and leaning on his forward paws to kick, her front legs so that she'll let go, darting forward and off into the night to let her follow, offering a quick yip-yip-hooooowlll up to the moon as his feet pound the ground*

Lioness! **Hols:** *let's go of his tail to dodge the kick from his back legs, takes a few steps back in retreat and snarls at the action and then roaring loudly before sprinting forwards after him*

\-- & \-- 

Wolf! **Alcott:** *is at the moment rolling over, and over in the dirt with Hols so that he winds up on top of her, both of them thrashing and panting, as the moon's light sets and leaves the forest in the dark haze of dawn with sunlight on the horizon, starting to pant in a much more human fashion, letting out a howl again under his breath that turns into a moan and then just exhales in harsh breath as he shifts back, sweaty, dirty and with a few new scratches bleeding on his shoulder, otherwise okay albeit perfectly devoid of clothes; due to exhaustion he doesn't move at first, remains holding on to the lioness that is now much stronger than him, not at all afraid as his eyes--back to chocolate brown--focus on hers with a soft smile crossing his lips slowly* 

Lioness! **Hols:** *rolling on the ground, snarling quietly as he manages to pin her down but not moving to toss him off because she's getting tired and makes sure she doesn't move as he starts to shift back, happy that it doesnt seem as painful as the sundown change and then tilts her head as he smiles at her and then turns back into a human, and then smiles back before she starts laughing* this doesn't mean you won by the way.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles under his breath as she shifts as well, settling back on his elbows and grunting once, lifting one hand to caress the side of her cheek with the back of his hand and he leans heavily to one side, still breathing heavily and grins at her* Call it a draw? *lips twitch* By the way, it's...really not sporting that you keep your clothes as you shift* 

 **Hols:** *panting, trying to catch her breath, smiling again as he caresses her cheek* a draw...hmm *sighs "sufferingly", lips twitching afterwards* I guess I can live with that. *eyebrow arches at his comment, only just now realizing/remembering he's naked and then chuckles, her gaze leaving his face for a moment and going downwards as far as she could while lying down, eyes returning back up to his face with a grin* no, not very....*lips twitch* I'll keep that in mind next time.

 **Alcott:** *brow arching with amusement and delight as her gaze drops down, licking his bottom lip and then wincing, realizing there's blood and he rolls off of her fully now, now rubbing his own forehead to wipe the sweat off with the back of his hand and just shakes his head watching her and nods once* You know, others might feel you're taking advantage here. *leaning a little bit closer to her even as he's up on one elbow, lifting his hand again to cup her neck and kisses her once, impossibly soft for once and pulls back a moment later* You're pretty lucky I'm not one of them. *arching his eyebrow*

 **Hols:** *exhales as he rolls off, unmoving for a bit as she just stares up at the sky before she lean back on her elbows to at least semi-sit up, noticing she's a bit sore and turns her head to look at Al at his remark of her taking advantage, exhaling in an amused chuckle before closing her eyes as he leans over to kiss her, eyes fluttering open in pleasant surprise at the soft nature of the kiss as he pulls away, smiling again* of course you're not. you *like* it. *smirks slightly and then chuckles, sitting up fully, wincing a bit at the effort* merlin, you play rough. *rolling her shoulder*

 **Alcott:** *grins and shrugs a shoulder, nodding* Mm, well...that's true. *chuckles under his breath as she sits up, groaning a bit at his effort as well and keeps his head propped up on his hand, amused and nods once, his usual smug smirk still in place, albeit he looks pretty tired while doing it* And you, like that. *drops his hand and leans back, laying his neck in the dirt, figuring he can't get any dirtier than he already is and just shakes his head at her once, his vision hazy as he looks at her and casts his gaze up at the tree* ...don't suppose you could toss me my pants though. 

 **Hols:** *drops her arm slowly, lips twitching for a brief moment before she inclines her head* well, its certainly a welcome change. *rolls her other arm and then looks up at the tree as he mentions his pants* hmm...no, i want to see you go get them. *jokingly and then chuckles, arm going to take her wand out of her back pocket and then aims it at the tree, nonverbally accioing alcott's bag, catching in her arms as it zooms towards her and then puts the bag on the ground in the middle of them* there you go.

 **Alcott:** *sitting up as the bag approaches, his breath still far heavier, though a bit more even now and slowy--wary of limbs that feel like weights to move and slowly throws his clothes on, blinking at the odd way his shirt sticks to his sweaty skin and rubbing his chest to try and ease his breathing, hiding the new scars and few bruises, knowing they'll be gone within two days anyways, and just looks back up at her, saying slowly* ...it worked. I could...definitely still remember who I was. *stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder, smiling at her even as he winces with the weight of the bag* All I really want now is a shower though. *pauses, lips twitching and brow arching* Join me?

 **Hols:** *bends her legs a couple of times and rolls her neck momentarily before standing up, continuing to stretch as he puts on his clothes and then looks over at him when he starts speaking again, a smile on her face and nods once happily* it did. make sure you give Dev a big hug *slight tease, lips twitching before she groans out softly at the mention of a shower* yes, a hot one, this is a good idea. *taking her hair out of her ponytail and running her fingers through the wavy locks to get all the twigs and leafs out, laughing once at his request, biting her lip briefly before admitting* tempting. but what if someone sees us walk out of the forest slash into the castle, together? *eyebrows rise*

 **Alcott:** *fixing his strap, as it's weighing down much heavier than he would have preferred and he snorts at the first request, just shaking his head bemused* ....oh yeah, I'll definitely be sure to do that. *tiniest eye roll and thinks that what he *will* do is buy Dev a drink , before he leans forward to gently tease out the last leaf in her hair with his hand, every motion still feeling incredibly soft and subdued strictly by comparison and his lips twitch, brow wiggling at her* ...who cares if they see? *brow arches a little higher* But I do have to meet up with Liza and Dev first. In another direction. *gestures to his broom* Near Jenny's. So if you go one way and I go that way, there's always the showers at the field instead. If you're so worried we could leave at separate times. *arches his brow a bit higher smirking* You could get there first. Scout out an exit strategy for me.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* well, you should. I mean I could give him a hug for you but he's never liked my hugs *nose wrinkles* he says i suffocate him. *face softens as her lips flicker into a small smile for the briefest of moments as he takes the leaf out of her hair and then chuckles as he says who cares, nodding a bit as he says he has to meet up with eliza and devin, eyebrows rising and pursing her lips in approval at the mention of the showers at the field, rolling her eyes as he says she's worried* not worried. *shakes her head as she looks at him smirking at her, tilting her head as he continues* you do know this whole 'at your disposal' bit ended come sunrise don't you? *slight teasing*

 **Alcott:** *chuckling under his breath as well, lips twitching in the smirk and just shakes his head, brows flicking* Mmh, didn't actually. Real shame. *tilts his head* But see I suppose I'm actually in your debt now so...*brow wiggles* You can feel free to collect at any time. *reaching for his broom and tilting his head at her, saying softer and taking a shaky breath* In all seriousness though. Thanks. 

Hol: *smirks the moment he says the word debt and raises her eyebrows, pursing her lips in amusement and nodding distantly, clearly thinking about it further before responding after a few seconds* hmm, no, see im thinking i much like this you being in my debt....im not cashing that out quite so soon. *laughs once and then relaxes her features, smiling softly as he thanks her, nodding once* no problem. Im glad to help.

 **Alcott:** *just chuckles once and shakes his head in amusement, brows flicking* Mm, should have thought that. *lips twitch* Don't get carried away here. *exhales and attempts to relax himself, though his muscles are still tense and weak and he looks at her for a second, gripping the broom tighter and just nods* Well, I appreciate it. Means a lot. *pauses, then clears his throat and shrugs a shoulder bemused* And if you ever tell anyone I said that, don't think I'll hesitate to hurt you. 

 **Hols:** *simply smirks at his first comments then shrugs, not commenting further on that subject and returns to smiling as he thanks her, the smile widening a tad as he continues and says it means a lot, chuckling and shaking her head as he adds in the last bit, looking up at him again with raised eyebrows* well. you'd *try* anyhow. *lips twitch* stop stalling and say goodbye already. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch and decidedly, instead of answering he just slips one arm around her waist and yanks her into him, bringing a hand up to cup her neck and kiss her again, moving his lips against hers, his grip still remarkably tight considering his evening, kissing firmly and for several moments before slipping free and murmurs* Goodbye. *brows flick* 

 **Hols:** *grinning slightly as he slips an arm around her waist, getting yanked into him, her hands going to steady herself on his shoulders, lightly remembering his scratches, as she kisses him back just as firmly, eyes opening as he pulls away, and looks at him as he says goodbye, chuckling once quietly before she brings up a hand again and finger waves goodbye before turning around herself and heading in the opposite direction of jenny's cabin*

&

_1 PM: Arithmancy Class._

**Sienna:** *hisses* Devin. 

 **Devin:** *looks up from his book, still leaning over it as though he's working* ...what Sienna?

 **Sienna:** ...is Al okay?

 **Devin:** *arches his eyebrow at her* Oh no.

 **Sienna:** *whisper goes high-pitched* He's no--

 **Devin:** Shh. *puts his hand over her mouth and looks up at the teacher* Oh no, I meant, don't ask me. 

 **Eliza:** *looking up across the table from them with her eyebrow arching and lips twitching at Dev's hand on her mouth and whispers* Guys.

 **Devin:** *takes his hand back, rolls his eyes and goes back to his work* 

 **Sienna:** *whispers under her breath to Eliza* Do you know?

 **Eliza:** *tilts her head whispering back* Do I know what?

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip* Look. It's Arithmancy. 

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow at Sienna* Very good, you know what class we're in.

 **Sienna:** *frustrated exhale* It's Alcott's favorite subject.

 **Eliza:** *with a warning edge in her tone* Sienna.

 **Sienna:** *presses anyways* He wouldn't miss this class unless something was really, really wrong!

 **Eliza:** *puts her finger on her lips* Shh. *gestures with her head towards the teacher* 

_\--they sit in silence until the bell rings, and Sienna immediately scoots across the floor to continue talking to Eliza--_

**Sienna:** *snapping under her breath* I don't care--I care if--

 **Eliza:** He's fine. *brushes her hair back* I'm sure he is. 

 **Sienna:** *narrows her eyes* When was the last time you saw him?

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow* Okay, I'm with Devin on this one.

 **Sienna:** *aggravated* Meaning what?

 **Eliza:** You haven't even talked to him since you broke up. 

 **Sienna:** That doesn't mean I don't care!

 **Eliza:** But that's not why you're asking. You're asking because you're still trying to figure out--

 **Sienna:** What he lied to me about. 

 **Eliza:** *exhales* Yes.

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip* I still care.

 **Eliza:** I know you do. *frustrated exhale* But you just want to know because you think if you figure it out, then you'll get back together.

 **Sienna:** ...well he wouldn't need to lie anymore!

 **Eliza:** *pained whisper* Sie--

 **Sienna:** *snaps* Don't say her name. 

 **Eliza:** *carefully* I wasn't going to. If you want to know what's going on, talk to him. Not me. 

 **Sienna:** *snaps again* Fine. I will. *literally throws her school books into her purse and sweeps out of the room* 

 **Eliza:** *watches her leave and then lets out a slow under-her-breath all but growl* ...how does she manage to look stunning even when she's leaving in a huff? 

 **Devin:** *standing next to Eliza, lips twitch and he looks back at Eliza* One of life's mysteries. 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip and waits a moment* ..do you think she'll actually...

 **Devin:** Talk to him? Yes. *exhale* But he's still not going to tell her.

 **Eliza:** *runs a hand through her hair* I know. I wish he would.

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder slowly* 

 **Eliza:** ...you don't think he should? *arches her eyebrow*

 **Devin:** *equally careful* I...think that Sienna has issues dealing with a Crup. This is...a lot...worse than that. 

 **Eliza:** Well yes but she's determined to find out and when Sienna--

 **Devin:** *immediately* And I think that it's Alcott's decision. 

 **Eliza:** *cuts off* Yeah. *exhales, and then repeats quieter, but firmer as well* Yeah. 

_The two of them walk down the hall to their next class._

-&-

 **Sienna:** *walking down one of the external halls towards the common room, her robes all but billowing around the emerald dress she's wearing, stalking in heels and she slows when she sees Alcott entering an otherwise empty courtyard, her brows furrow and she turns that way instead. Alcott doesn't notice her, just tosses his bag onto the ground, running a hand back through hair that's still dripping and winces, putting a hand on his back. When he'd stretched, the shirt had come up, revealing the scratch on his side, clearly fresh and she gasps out once unable to help herself* 

 **Alcott:** *turns around instantly, recognizing the gasp on top of his instant panic and he swallows once* Sienna. *beat* What...

 **Sienna:** *exhaling and walks a little closer, her voice breathy* You weren't...in Arithmancy.

 **Alcott:** *hard edge in his tone* You're still checking up on me?

 **Sienna:** *snaps* I care. Okay? I care. Whatever's going on, whatever you're going through, just because we're not dating doesn't mean I'm not going to notice, and it doesn't mean I don't care. 

 **Alcott:** *exhale* You haven't spoken to me.

 **Sienna:** *snaps* You haven't spoken to me either.

 **Alcott:** *arches his eyebrow, then relents and nods* Fine. *gestures to himself* As you can see, I'm fine.

 **Sienna:** Actually, as I can see, you're wounded. Again.

 **Alcott:** It's barely a scratch.

 **Sienna:** Crup or bowtruckle this time?

 **Alcott:** I don't have to explain myself to you, Sienna. 

 **Sienna:** *snaps* No, you've made that clear. You've made it clear you don't want anything to do with me, whatever our previous friendship whatever what we meant to each other...

 **Alcott:** I haven't known what to say, okay? What do you want me, to say? 

 **Sienna:** *exhales* Well a heads up would have been nice. 

 **Alcott:** A heads up?

 **Sienna:** *snaps* How long were we broken up before you started shagging Graft? 

 **Alcott:** *heated snap* Leave Hols out of it. 

 **Sienna:** Oh, I'm sorry, _Hols_. 

 **Alcott:** *snaps* She has absolutely nothing to do with this. 

 **Sienna:** She has to do with you. Yes?

 **Alcott:** *beat* Yes.

 **Sienna:** Well, then, yes she does. You won't tell me _anything_ anymore. 

 **Alcott:** We broke u--

 **Sienna:** That doesn't mean I never wanted to speak to you again! 

 **Alcott:** So you could yell at me about Hols? So you could insult her and *tilts his head* I bet you rejoiced, didn't you, when you saw those damn photographs--

 **Sienna:** *snap* Right, because you know everything Alcott. Oh, obviously, she gets humiliated and I'm just gonna sit back and smirk and well hey, I suppose I should just be grateful you didn't insinuate I had anything to do with releasing them! 

 **Alcott:** Oh, don't think the thought didn't cross my mind!

 **Sienna:** *snaps* It was Victoria!

*beat*

 **Sienna:** Okay?

 **Alcott:** *pause, falling back for a second* You know that for sure?

 **Sienna:** Yes. I do. 

 **Alcott:** She told you?

 **Sienna:** More like I got it out of her. *shrugs a shoulder* Sure, usually she'd boast and what not, but Sam asked her to keep it quiet so I acted--and _please_ notice I say acted--like I was thrilled and, yeah she told me. 

 **Alcott:** *nods once* Well, that helps. 

 **Sienna:** *pauses* ...what's going on?

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head*

 **Sienna:** Oh, right. Just more that you're not going to tell me. 

 **Alcott:** It doesn't concern you, Sienna. *breath* Just because others aren't going to respect her privacy, doesn't mean I won't. 

 **Sienna:** *bites her bottom lip and says stiffly* Of course.

 **Alcott:** *quiet* What do you want from me? 

 **Sienna:** The same thing I wanted the first time. *takes a few steps closer* I want the truth. I want you to trust me. *steps closer* I wish you needed _me_. I want you to still act like you once gave a damn about me!

 **Alcott:** *quieter* I did--I do. 

 **Sienna:** You're not acting like it. You skipped off two seconds after we broke up and started seeing someon--

 **Alcott:** That just _happened_. Look. Sienna. It's complicated. And Hols has been helping me. 

 **Sienna:** *bottom lip trembles slightly* _I_ want to help you.

 **Alcott:** You think you do. 

 **Sienna:** I...*quiet, lifts her hand to his shoulder; he stiffens and doesn't move as she carefully runs the back of her hand across the scratch and lowers her hand* just want you to tell me these things. 

 **Alcott:** *strained* I'm sorry. But it's...harder now. 

 **Sienna:** *runs her hand through her own hair now* So we can't even be friends?

 **Alcott:** Are you going to keep checking up on me?

 **Sienna:** Well I'm sorry I can't just turn it off like you can. I can't act like I don't care anymore in an instant--

 **Alcott:** *snaps* Sienna, stop it--*winces again as she hit his shoulder*

 **Sienna:** No! Where do you keep getting these injuries?! You were gone all last night, missed the whole day of classes again--

 **Alcott:** Yes Mum, I'll make sure to make the work up--

 **Sienna:** *looking at him strangely* ...last...night.

 **Alcott:** *beat* Sienna--

 **Sienna:** *puts her hand up* We just started that potion because it had to...start after a .. last night was the full moon. 

 **Alcott:** *immediately taking a step forward* Sienna, stop--

 **Sienna:** *takes a step away from him* Sam's animal attack. You were gone that whole night too, slept through the day, those scratches, that was a full moon too, Madame Pomfrey said--

 **Alcott:** *insistent* Sienna, stop it, I'm--

 **Sienna:** *with a tiny shrill voice looking back at him* You're not. 

 **Alcott:** *falls silent; unable to in good conscience deny but neither affirm* 

 **Sienna:** ....I knew it wasn't a Crup bite.

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips firmly together*

 **Sienna:** How much you were drinking afterwards, how fast it healed...oh...homy...merlin, oh my MERLIN!

 **Alcott:** *taking another step forward* Sienn-

 **Sienna:** *shrieks and bats his hand away* Don't touch me! 

Al: *stops and tilts his head at her wryly and saying pointed* I told you didn't want to know.

 **Sienna:** *swallows. hard.* You're a were...wolf...*breath and rubs her forehead* Oh god. ...Don't. 

 **Alcott:** *brow arch* Don't what? 

 **Sienna:** Don't act like I'm wrong somehow here!!

 **Alcott:** I wasn'--

 **Sienna:** You snapped. *eyes narrow* And I'm sorry, I'm entitled to my freak out! 

 **Alcott:** *snorts* I'm entitled to my privacy! I told you to leave it alone! 

 **Sienna:** *breathing heavily* But-- But I know now. 

 **Alcott:** Which means you know exactly why you don't, want to know.

 **Sienna:** *glaring* You trust me that little?

 **Alcott:** *brow arching with the challenge* Sienna. I turn into a wolf.

 **Sienna:** *whimper* Stop-

 **Alcott:** Once a month.

 **Sienna:** Stop!!--

 **Alcott:** *gestures to himself* With the fur and the fangs and everything. I attacked Sam, I nearly killed him-

 **Sienna:** *half moans as he's stepping closer* Alcott, stop it. 

 **Alcott:** *stops moving* And I could have done the same thing to you if you'd been in the forest that night. I still could. *exhales*

 **Sienna:** *after a long pause with tears in her eyes* I can't...I need to..go. 

 **Alcott:** Wait--

 **Sienna:** *moving backwards* No!

 **Alcott:** You knowing this is dangerous, Sie!

 **Sienna:** Don't call me that. *snaps* I...but...I _need_ to go.

 **Alcott:** *stops moving and looks at her for a moment with a rueful smile, and head jerk of a nod* Right. 

 **Sienna:** *looks at him for several moments troubled, panicked, tears still threatening to fall and then she shakes her head and just flees* 

 **Alcott:** *watches her leave breathing heavily and then drops his hand, rocking on his toes for a minute and snaps under his breath* ...fuck.

&.

It hadn't been a long encounter. They must have said hello five minutes ago, and now they'd already parted. Rubbing the pad of her thumb across her lips with a secret smile, Eliza turned around again in time to see Rory disappear around the corner. Her lips flicked. For all her initial misgivings, she had to admit that this wasn't near as complicated as they made it seem. Admittedly they met in secret. Eliza's heartbeat seemed to skip at the thought, afraid of what might happen if they were to announce their relationship to the world. It wasn't what the rest of the school might say. It was what Al might think. It was the judgment sure to come from Sienna, whose friendship was already strained enough. 

Even as she thought them, Eliza knew these weren't the reasons she feared telling the school she was seeing a Gyffindor. The lie sounded good. The lie put her heart to rest. If she told herself the lie enough, she could convince herself. She could forget her fear of what Sam might do. She could forget Sam altogether. 

He made it hard. He made _everything_ hard. Not a day went by that she didn't find him in front of her for at least a minute or two. He grabbed her after classes and on her way to breakfast. He seemed to pop up just to remind her he could, a pop-up book from hell. 

"Ow!" She exclaimed, hand rising to her lip once more. 

She'd bit it. 

"Oh, that's just perfect." Rolling her eyes to herself, as Eliza's hand came down she became aware of a flurry behind her--beside her--in front of her. Blinking through water, her eyebrows furrowed. 

"Sie--?"

"You knew." Sienna didn't let her friend finish. Her hand snapped out as a javelin flew and wrapped around Eliza's forearm tugging her into an alcove. Going on her toes with the grace of a practiced ballerina, Sienna's hand leaped to her friend's shoulder, leaning over and checking every which way. Wincing at the pressure, Eliza leaned against the stone and shook her head in confusion. Sienna looked upset.

No. Upset was an understatement. Sienna's dark eyes were wide with panic, round as tea-cups and spread so far across her cheeks that Eliza feared disfigurement in the frown lines and wrinkles sure to spring. Mascara was chased down her cheeks, rubbed out of the way of scarlet lips and magically evaporating even as Eliza watched. 

"Knew what?" Eliza's hand dropped from her lip, not entirely sure she wanted the answer. 

"About Al." 

Sienna dropped off her toes with a thump. Her heels rocked back even as she released her friend and seemed to back up farther than the alcove would physically allow. Shrinking into the side of the wall, Eliza's breath grew shallow and hitched. It was answer enough for Sienna, who folded her arms on her chest. Tears in her eyes had given way to a different frown in a heartbeat.

Eliza asked hesitantly, "He told you?" 

The surprise in her voice wasn't missed. Sienna's eyes narrowed further as her skirt swayed overtop her knees with the effort to repress her need to tap her foot. Fingers pressing white circles with the force into her bare forearms, Sienna snapped.

"No. He didn't. I guessed. But of course he told you. Why wouldn't he tell _you_?" 

"No, he didn't!" Eliza's voice was a shrill whisper, eyes darting over Sienna's shoulder as well to insure their continued privacy and snapping back a moment later. "He didn't tell Devin or me either, Sienna. We...just...we found out."

All Sienna seemed to register of that was the name 'Devin' for her eyes fluttered shut instantly. Her breath was ragged even as she focused on it. Eliza wet her own bottom lip. Her friend was panicking. It wasn't easy to see, even if she had wanted Al to tell her all along, even as she realized he'd been right after all. Quietly, she continued, for Sienna seemed robbed of breath and words. 

"The day he was bitten. Do you remember where we--"

"Yes." Sienna's eyes snapped back open. "The forest. I wanted to leave. He and _Devin_ wouldn't budge. So I came back with Sam and Caroline--actually Caroline and I grabbed Vicky off Devin and decided to get her home with us. You said you'd stay to make sure they were okay." 

Hearing the details had brought a pained expression to Eliza's lips, the back of her hand to her forehead and a whimper from her lips. Sienna cut herself off, still breathing too quickly to be rational. 

"Right." Eliza said quietly. "Except I was ambushed by Sam trying to give me a goodnight kiss and I turned around and Alcott had wandered off." 

There was a pause. Eliza's voice and Sienna's face had both broken with the memory of Sam. 

"Wandered off?" Quietly asked, Eliza still shook trying to answer it. 

"Yes. I guess he wanted to find the--"

"--centaurs." Sienna finished the sentence breathlessly. Her lips twisted into a cruel kind of smile as she understood. "And Dev was too stoned to stop him." 

"He couldn't have stopped him." Eliza said indignantly. "It wasn't on us that he went off. I wanted to kill them both." 

"You always want to kill them both." 

"This was different." Eliza rubbed her forehead harder, tucking hair back behind her ears again, startled to realize she'd broken out in a light sweat as powder and paint clung to her palm. Furrowing her brows with discomfort, her lips snapped shut. Both of them stopped breathing for a moment. Heels were echoing down the chamber; someone was walking this way. 

Two heads poked around the corner at the same moment, nearly bashing into each other as they jutted back in mutual impressions of a turtle. Locking eyes quietly as an unknown older Ravenclaw walked by, they struggled to keep their breath quiet. Focusing hardly on melting into the wall and becoming invisible, Eliza cursed under her breath realizing she still didn't know how to proceed. Sienna was asking for details that Alcott clearly hadn't given her. On the other hand, Eliza doubted she'd given him much of a chance. 

Dropping her voice even lower, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned closer to Sienna. Sienna stiffened. 

"We went after him and we found him as he fought the wolf--"

Sienna whimpered.

"--off. It's one of the ones living in the forest, he'd gone pretty deep in and it was a full moon. Trust me Sie, he's been beating himself up over it for months now. Devin and I did our best at healing him, Devin had read a book on it or...or something like that and he insisted on walking himself back and collapsed. I _told_ him to tell you. In fact I _kept_ telling him to tell you." 

"You still lied to me." Sienna had a hard look, like she was forcing herself to listen to a sermon she hated, feared, and needed to hear. Her dark eyes glinted and the cruel smile twisted a bit at it's edges. Eliza shut her eyes. 

"Yes." The reluctant admittance didn't shake Sienna, even as Eliza's eyes fluttered open again. "He's stubborn. You know that. He asked me and Devin not to--actually he ordered us really, not to tell _anyone_. He's convinced it _has_ to remain a secret." 

"Of course it has to remain a secret!" Sienna's voice jumped up an octave as Eliza's eyebrow mirrored the leap. "No-one can know about this!" 

There was a breathless pause, Eliza looking at her friend in surprise and tilting her head so quickly she hit the stone. She paid this no mind. 

"What?" 

Sienna looked equally surprised the Eliza didn't seem to get this. With her eyes narrowing further and pencilled brows joining in the middle, Sienna's voice was barely a soft hiss. 

"Eliza." There was a desperateness in the tone now. "Max will cut him _off._ And he'll never be trusted to own permits or set up a shop in Diagon." 

"It's not illegal." Eliza protested just as quietly. "He's taking the Wolfsbane potion--" 

"Like that has any bearing or meaning compared to his public reputation? He'd be ruined in an instant and you know it." 

There was a cold and undeniable truth in her words that Eliza couldn't ignore and she looked to the floor, tears held at bay of Alcott's situation as she focused on the buckle stretched across Sienna's toes. Even wearing the heels she was, Eliza realized quietly she still towered over her. 

Licking her dry lips, Sienna continued yet quieter. 

"There are people that this can be okay for." It was simple. "That the condition would be...manageable for, publically. It's not us. You _know_ how much his reputation means to him. Who would hire him? Who would _marry_ him?" 

Looking back up slowly at her friend, this time it was Eliza whose eyebrows were meeting in the middle as they furrowed. There was a glimmer behind Sienna's words now that Eliza didn't want to recognize. Turning her head and crossing her arms on her chest, Eliza spoke hesitantly. 

"I do know how much it means to him." She blinked. "But Sienna, this _condition_ is going to _have_ to be managed. It _is_ being managed. There's no _cure_." 

Sienna bit her bottom lip and just nodded at her friend. After a few moments of silence, Eliza continued like a bottle cap had just popped off. 

"Why _shouldn't_ they hire him? Why shouldn't someone marry him?" 

Sienna didn't answer at first. For the first time since the conversation had started, she couldn't meet Eliza's eyes. Her jaw trembled, her foot tapped twice against the stone, the heel echoing a rhythm with her beating heart. Eliza stiffened. Her lips pressed together. Sienna was having difficulty with the image, while she immediately seemed to understand Alcott's need to keep it to himself. Sienna's hair shook free of her ears while she trembled.

And as she opened her lips, Eliza already knew what she was going to say. 

"He's a monster." 

The funny thing about that statement for Eliza was that her heart broke twice. The first crack was for Alcott. He would get a sick and twisted vindication in knowing he'd been right to keep it from Sienna; in knowing that this was how those previously close to him would react. A stupid drunken night had cost him his life as he knew it, forever changing both his priorities and how anyone would look at him as they knew the truth. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this. She almost could hear his snapped 'well life isn't fair' in her ear as she snapped her jaw shut and nodded.

The second crack was for Sienna. In a sick and twisted way, she was vindicated too. Ashamed of Al, she'd let him go. She'd let him live his life free of her now Eliza imagined. She'd be unable to handle monthly potions that Eliza already likened to the birth control, nor the threat of losing her own reputation. In another fashion, Eliza could see in her eyes that her understanding of Alcott's need to keep it secret wasn't shame or fear. It was the way she cared: she wanted to help Al hang onto a life he couldn't have anymore. That shiny beacon of pureblood perfection with guaranteed credentials and wealth giving him the means to do whatever he wanted for a career--provided it was respectable. She knew how much Alcott's family meant to him--both women knew how much it would hurt him to hear those words from his mother or uncle's lips. 

And mostly her heart broke because Sienna was so right, and so wrong at once. Yes, Alcott's life had changed. He was dangerous and if the secret came out, he would lose opportunities so neatly gift-wrapped to him. And on the other hand, 

"He's still Al."

It was a quiet assertion. Eliza pulled away from Sienna whose eyebrow arched at her friend. 

"I'm glad you'll keep the secret." Her words were still quiet. "And you should tell him that, if you haven't. But no wonder he didn't tell you, Sienna. He's still himself. What would happen to him if this came out, he doesn't deserve. And I think you know how much it would hurt him if he heard you say that." 

"He doesn't give a damn what I think--" Sienna started, but Eliza snapped louder now. 

"Oh, bullshit." The curse cut Sienna off. "If he didn't care he'd have told you the moment it happened. But he knew you. He didn't want to lose your respect. He didn't want to _disappoint_ you. He didn't want to admit he might need your help to take care of him, because he thought he was supposed to take care of _you_. But mostly? He didn't want to see you looking at him like you're looking at me right now." 

Sienna looked slapped and she pulled back against the alcove away from Eliza too. As enclosed at they both were, they didn't feel as though they could reach out and touch each other. They felt as though there were a Quidditch field between them. Sienna shook again and mumbled, "Oh." 

Eliza pressed her lips together for a moment as she took a step out of the enclosure and turned back for a second saying simply, 

"I'm glad you know. I did want him to tell you. I hated lying to you even for a minute, Sie." 

Sienna nodded, running a hand through her hair. They locked eyes on each other, mutually in disbelief of the other. Shaking her head another moment, Eliza added quietly, "I know you don't get it." Sienna nodded once. "I wish you did." 

"I wish he could have trusted me." Sienna said it quietly, looking much more at ease now. They shared another breathless look. 

"I wish he could have too." 

Eliza turned on her heel and walked away from her.


	10. Gryffindor v. Slytherin

**Hols:** *walks into the common room after classes all but dragging her feet up the stairs to the dorms, the pepper-up potion having worn off by now and opens the door to see Lynn switching into her Quidditch robes and then waves* Hi Lynn. *drops down on her bed and cuddles up next to Oreo and yawns very much resembling her lioness form* 

 **Lynn:** *looks up from her book amused, quill poised still in her hand on the last paragraph of a very boring looking essay  & she chuckles once, her eyebrow arching in amusement & she tilts her head saying with a mmm* Long night, Hols? *brow wiggle* 

 **Hols:** *bringing her knees to her stomach as close as she can while laying down and then hmms distractedly at Lynn's question, nodding, her eyes fluttering shut but still intent on maintaining conversations* You could say that yeah. *yawns again* Hmm, how about you? Had fun studying with Nick? *opens an eye to look at her* And by studying I mean not studying cause that essay didn't get done. *chuckles* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, watching her overtop the quill  & scratches her chin with it to deliberate, before using it to point* Hmmm...well...*an* essay got done. *lips twitch and chuckles* It's not my fault; between finals, quidditch, spying on Sam, and him tutoring Nadia every week night, *I* hardly get to see him. *lips twitch* Have to make the most of our time, obviously. *arches her eyebrow higher and asks in a would be casual voice* What about you? Have fun with Alcott? 

 **Hols:** Hmm, is that what kids are calling it these days? *chuckles again and closes her eye, wiggling to get more comfortable and then grins* True enough, but every time you two are together you're inseparable so. *her eyebrows rise and eyes open as Lynn mentions Alcott* I wasn't with him *hating herself a bit for the outright lie before closing her eyes again* Why would you think I was? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Hey, it was our technical one month anniversary. No regrets. *brows flick, grin softens and she nods once* ...yeah, I guess we are. *smile flicks* I'm a little surprised how fast he's become...well, a go-to, I guess. *shrugs a shoulder* I tell you everything, Dev most things, but that's about it as far as confidantes go...least it was. *lowers the quill now  & tilts her head in surprise at the response, noting the hesitance* ...well, because you didn't...tell me you were going, so uhm. *bites her bottom lip & adds hurriedly* Not that I think you're obligated or anything, I just...figured. *exhale* You really don't have to hide it if you like him. I know I...am not his biggest fan or anything, but if you like him...that's good enough for me. 

 **Hols:** One month already? A milestone for any teenager. *grins and beams as Lynn admits he's become a go to* That's great you know, that you trust him or you're starting to. *bites her lip and turns towards Lynn holding her head up with her hand* Well I didn't see you....and I didn't think I was gonna be out the whole night *licks her lips and then clears her throat* Well, I do. Like him, that is...its no big deal *shrugs* But I wasn't with him yesterday.

 **Lynn:** *nods happily* Yeah. Though really I can't believe it's already been a month...it seems like yesterday we were going to Cali...is time moving faster as we end the year or is it just me? *brow flicks a bit in surprise and furrows* ...oh. So where were you? You look...beat. *lips twitch* Or actually, like *you* did the beating naturally...

 **Hols:** It's moving faster because we don't want to get to exams so naturally, something scientific proves this *shrugs, yawning again, lips twitch a little at the "beating" part* I was in the forest. As my second self. Ran across a herd of blood sucking bugbears, they tried to attack me and I had to run them off. *shrugs* And I wasn't tired then so I just kept going deeper into the forest. Didn't find the acromantulas though sadly. *sigh* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles once* Right, something like that. *brows flick* And I actually don't want to...leave school for once. At least here I can *see* Nick every day...*rubs her forehead with the back of her hand and then her lips twitch at Hols story, blinking in surprise* ...well damn, quite a night. *grins* You'll find them eventually, I'm sure. *deliberates for a moment and sets the quill down* You really do like Alcott then? 

 **Hols:** Not me, can't wait to get out of here. *yawns* He's of age though, he can apparate and come see you all the time. I'm sure Aunt Jay is gonna love him. Your daddy though, with his only daughter bringing home a boy? *fake gasp before laughing* Yep, tiring night. Might try again soon. *lips twitch; quieter* Yeah...I do. And believe me you don't have to tell me how crazy that sounds, I'm a bit aware but...*nods after biting her lip briefly* Yeah. *shrugs again* 

 **Lynn:** *laughs* Oh, I know. *headshakes* I can only imagine what Dad'll say. He was quite content with my remaining celibate really. *exhales* At least Dev seems to have come around. ....ish. A bit. *nods about the forest and then bites her bottom lip thinking  & tilts her head brows still flicking in confusion, looks at Hols with a slight frown, then she exhales after a long moment* ...okay. *beat&then her lips twitch into a smile* So his reputation for being a sex god--real or made up?

 **Hols:** As any father would be *lips twitch* Yeah, he has. No more threats, or rather, they don't return back to me so. *shrugs and watches her deliberate, actually growing nervous as she doesn't speak and then beams at her question, laughing once and then rolling off her bed to jump on Lynn's and hugs her* Have I told you how amazing you are? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* You'd think since my fam is so atypical it wouldn't apply but...*head shake amused* Guess some things don't change. *shakes her head amused  & then blinks in surprise as Hols hug-attacks her, capping the ink pot quickly and chuckles, brightening and smirking, hugging back* Yeah, yeah I know. *laughs once, still holding her with one arm but lifts one hand to point* Don't think I won't kick his ass if he hurts you though. *nodnod* I'm watching him. 

 **Hols:** Nah, some things are too heavily engrained in genetics. *grins and keeps grinning as Lynn laughs and then nods as she days she wouldn't hesitate to hurt Al if he hurts her* I wouldn't expect anything else. *kisses her cheek loudly and then grins, getting off her bed and back into her own* But don't blow it too much out of proportion. Were not dating or anything. *puts her hands under her head and closes her eyes again* 

 **Lynn:** *grins* Unfortunately *lips twitch* Oh, no you're just snogging, sneaking off, talking about him fondly and with him every chance you get. 

 **Hols:** ...right. *shrugs* No big deal. *fluffs up her pillow and then lays on her side again, opening her eyes to look at Lynn* I don't talk about him. *fondly* --well okay, maybe a bit after the whole....picture fiasco cause he helped but...*shrugs* I don't know, he just...wasn't the person I thought he was. That's all. 

 **Lynn:** Maybe a bit *giggle* Well I'm glad he helped and guess he might not be quite as bad as I thought I mean if you and Dev and Nadia all say so anyway. But for the record he hasn't really acted all that differently with me anyways. 

 **Hols:** *hmphs as Lynn giggles at her and then nods lazily from her pillow, agreeing and then she bites her lip before asking casually and innocently* Well. Have you acted differently with him? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch guilty, bemused* Well, maybe not all that differently, but it's different! *protests* I, don't want to date him and you didn't act differently at first so...how did he change? 

 **Hols:** *shrugs* I don't know! I can't exactly pin-point the day I stopped wishing he would get eaten by the giant squid or have a giant swarm of wasps attack him. It just happened. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Well...I meant how is he...acting different now? I mean besides the grabbing and snogging you all the time obviously. *softer smile* Just...what's he really like then? 

 **Hols:** Oh...right. *lays on her back again to look at the ceiling as she thinks about it, laughing once at the mention of snogging* Yeah that's a part of it. But he's also...surprisingly charming. Funny in that witty, sarcastic way. Really playful. He's still infuriating and cocky but. *lips twitch and shrugs* Not at anyone's expense. Smart mouthed. Actually, pretty smart in general, not the dumb jock type you'd think...he knows how to listen. And he was proud of a hippogriff who hurt him because the hippogriff was doing exactly as he was supposed to. *soft smile for a moment* ...*beat* And yeah, he's an excellent snogger with a penchant for grabbing me out of nowhere so works. 

 **Lynn:** *listens, eyes widening  & she blinks a few times in surprise, nodding expectedly at the smart mouthed & then chuckles under her breath as she recounts the hippogriff story, looking bemused* Oh Hols. You...would be impressed by that. *head shakes* ...are you sure you're talking about the same Alcott Brackner I know? Kind of tall, built, brown hair, always has a smug smirk on his face? *gesturing to herself and demonstrating, teasing and then holds her hand up and shakes her head relenting* ...cause damn, *this* guy sounds...*pauses* ...exactly like the perfect guy you described a few months ago actually. *lips twitch* 

 **Hols:** *grins* Well, what can I say? It was...surprising. Rare. I would have felt the same way. Everyone else calls me crazy, but he...gets it. All on his own. *chuckles and nods* Hmm, the very same. *bites her lip* Yeah...he kinda does actually. *looks up at the ceiling again and then shakes her head* You're funny. *speaking to whatever higher power there might be* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, teasing* So you're both crazy then. Good to know. *shakes her head, picking the quill up again and then blinks a few times laughing in amusement* ...yeah, HeSheIt is a...real riot. *lips twitch* I'm just glad you're not in denial anymore really...*brow arches teasing, pointed* Cause that was...getting old. 

 **Hols:** Yeah, guess so. *chuckles and turns on her side again to cuddle with Oreo again* Denial? I have no idea what you're talking about. Don't know the meaning of the word. *shrugging with her eyes still closed and yawns again* I've never been to Egypt. 

 **Lynn:** Ohhhh...of course not. *giggling  & smirking a bit* Should I leave you to sleep babe? No blood-sucking bugbears here. *scribbling out the last few sentences of her paragraph* And I could go find Nick for an hour before practicing and his tutoring. *lips twitch for a moment* ...we should *go* to Egypt. 

 **Hols:** *nodding* Please. Bed time for the lioness. *yawns* Whatever you want babe. To the ends of the world for you--let me sleep first thought. Love youuu. 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles softer, getting up and leaving her essay on the bed, books holding the edges of the parchment down, leaning over to pat Hols arm for a moment, murmuring* Love you too. *lifts a throw blanket over her  & Oreo, and slips her feet into her Quidditch shoes/sliding out the door quietly*

&.

 **Lynn:** *walking into the Great Hall, hearing over her shoulder a Slytherin she didn't know saying something about the match that made her roll her eyes--flick them off--and then brightens when she sees Nick, walking down the table, keeping her voice low so as not to break his concentration as she kisses his cheek and says* Hey baby. *waves at Will and Jacob, sitting down across from them/next to Nick* 

 **Nick:** *elbows on top of the table, holding his chin up with his hands, biting his thumb thinking for a bit* Queen to B3. 

 **Will:** *winces at the move and then taps his chin and leans over to Jacob* 

 **Jacob:** *whispering back, apparently arguing* 

 **Nick:** *looks sideways and grins as he sees Lynn* Hey there. *putting an arm around her waist* Don't worry, this won't take long. 

 **Jacob:** *waves at Lynn* I bet that's something you've heard before Lynn *smirks at Nick* 

 **Will:** *laughs and then turns to the chessboard once they start complaining about being neglected* Knight to F2. Check. 

 **Nick:** *grins* Queen to A1. *lips twitch* Checkmate. 

 **Jacob:** Not again. *exhales* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, shaking her head at both of them, settling a little closer so he doesn't have to strain his arm at an odd angle  & flicks her brows bemused* Never, actually. *folds her arms across the table watching, chuckling again & arching her eyebrow having seen the move same as Nick and she turns, arching her brow again looking at him* You're right, that wasn't even exciting. *lips twitch* But then you had the game won a half a dozen ways at that point anyways. 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Exactly. *turns to look at Lynn with a grin* I didn't know you knew how to play. 

 **Jacob:** He didn't know we knew either. 

 **Nick:** You *don't* know how to play *laughs* 

 **Will:** Fine, be like that after you've won twice.

 **Nick:** Thrice. 

 **Jacob:** That one doesn't count, I was eating and distracted. 

 **Nick:** Hmmm, yet it's the one where you played the best.

 **Will:** All right, I'm not taking this shit anymore *laughs and then stands up doing one of those slap-handshake things* See you man. 

 **Nick:** *slap-handshakes Will and then JAcob as he stands up too* See you guys. 

 **Jacob:** Bye Lynn! 

 **Will:** Don't keep this one past his bedtime *grins*. 

 **Nick:** *shakes his head and turns to Lynn again, grinning* Easy as pie. *leans in to kiss her once properly* How are you? 

 **Lynn:** *just shakes her head amused, laughing once and finger-wiggling a wave at them* See you. *lips flick* And no promises. *turns back to Nick as well, leaning into the kiss for a moment  & grins as she pulls back* Great. I actually might manage an E on McGonagall's essay. Maybe. *lips twitch* And yeah, *gestures at the board* My brother and I play all the time. *grin flicks* We could play. I mean, if you don't mind losing. 

 **Nick:** Great. *grins* See, I told you the essay could way. No harm, no foul. *eyebrow wiggles, turning to face the chessboard too* So who's the champion at your house? *grins and then laughs* That confident huh? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch and she nods* You didn't exactly *say* it could wait but...*just wiggles her brow* Yes, you were absolutely correct. *giggles* ...well, my dad is really. He taught my mum, Dev and I and we still haven't beat him more than once or twice each. But Dev and I are pretty equal. *smirk flicks* Always. 

 **Nick:** Well, *lips twitch* sometimes words are unnecessary. *smirks* Of course I was. *chuckles* Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to lower that ego of yours. *picks up his wand and reparos the chess pieces* Just this once. *grins* 

 **Lynn:** *mhms, giggling in agreement* Hm. True. *smirk flicks as she gets up and scoots over the table because apparently it'd take too long to walk around the table. lynn. you're in a skirt * I like how you called *me* egotistical, following a statement that affirmed how large your own ego is. *lips twitch amused* Clever, really. *sits down and starts setting up her pieces* 

 **Nick:** *watches her shimmy across the table with raised eyebrows, looking around to see if anyone's watching and then looks back at her, laughing at her logic* Yes well, I do have my clever moments. *sets his pieces up too, then gestures to her* White goes first. 

 **Lynn:** *brow wiggles as she catches him looking around and she just gets a small smirk, nodding and then laughs* ...yes, I know. *surveys the board for a moment and then moves, asking idly* How was your day? Besides beating Will and Jacob at chess repeatedly? 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Sorry, habit. *looking down at the board contemplating a move* It was non-eventful. Went to class, did my work, got yelled at by McGonogall again, *moves* ate dinner, played chess, voila. Here I am. *looks up and grins* You? 

 **Lynn:** *is silent for a moment, contemplating, idly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and with her hand hovering over a piece, lips twitching for a moment* That woman really doesn't like you. *giggles once, moving her piece* Transfigure any more students? *hand falls and she folds her arms on the table, looking back up at him smiling* Decent. I am now certain it was Victoria that released the photos. Verified. So. *waves a hand, small smirk back in place* ...there's that. *with a glint in her eye* 

 **Nick:** No, she really doesn't. *chuckles and then shrugs* No idea what I did today, maybe I got in her line of sight or something for all I know. *eyebrows rise as he hears the news* Yeah? *whistles* Oh...I hope she enjoyed her last meal. *chuckles and looks back down at the board, making the move* So what are you gonna do next? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Well, if you're going to sit in her line of sight, clearly you're just asking for it. *moves again as well, her smirk flicking with delight at his remark* Eh. Enjoying it was optional really. She could hate her last meal. I'd be okay with that. *twirls a strand of hair around her index finger with her brow furrowed and says quieter* At the moment, I'm a little more...focused on Hols. She's better, but...*exhales* She hasn't gotten furious yet. *brows flick in slight worry* It's not her. 

 **Nick:** You think I would have learned my lesson by now. *chuckles* It's a saying, Lynn. *lips twitch and then thinks about the move for a few seconds, looking up at the mention of Hols* Yeah she does seem better, less...feisty but...*moves the piece* just tell her the name, I'm sure she won't wait around for any plan of yours and just go beat the shit out of her instead. 

 **Lynn:** *amused smile as she considers him* Yeah...thought you said you learned quickly too? *lips twitch* But then McGonagall's being unreasonable. I'm surprised the Callaway genes aren't working this time. *teasing lightly, chuckles as she continues contemplating the board and she quiets, before biting her bottom lip, seeing a move and then tilts her head, flicks her ear, nods to herself and moves her knight, taking a pawn of his, setting it to the side; looks back up with an all-too-innocent smile* That might work. And she'd totally deserve it. But, *shrugs a shoulder* There's something Victorrria doesn't want getting out too. *brow arches* A week of observation didn't prove as completely fruitless as it first seemed. 

 **Nick:** *chuckles* All rules have exceptions. *grins* I had to tone down the charm of my genes, don't want anyone getting the wrong impression after all. *watches her take his pawn, rethinking his moves and looks up at her briefly when she says she's got something on Victoria* Well, you better make sure Hols doesn't find out about her. Nadia too for that matter. *lips twitch and moves* But what do you plan to do with the info? 

 **Lynn:** *grins, mming* Hmm, true. I appreciate that actually. *flicks her hair over her shoulder and screws up her brow thinking as she looks at the board again when he moves, propping her chin on her hand and hmming* Hols and Nadia can know *shrugs*. They wouldn't interfere if they just kick her ask. *brows flick as she moves* I want her expelled. *pauses* And boyfriend-less but that's just a stepping stone. 

 **Nick:** Hmm, yes well that was the point. *lips twitch* Any chance you'll tone down yours? *eyebrow arches for a moment before chuckling* We'll just have to wait and see then. *goes to move a piece but hesitates and moves another instead, taking one of her pawns* Just a stepping stone. *chuckles* Hell hath no fury. 

 **Lynn:** *laughs with her grin flicking wider* Oh. ...but it's hot when you get protective. *arches her eyebrow as she immediately moves to take a pawn of his as well, brows flicking as her smirk turns wicked again, hmming* Well first, Sam's friends aren't his only customers, Victoria's clearly using as well. Sam also paid a younger Slytherin to do an essay for him but *flicks her hand, exhaling* I'm sure his father could bribe the school to get him out of that one. *tilts her head amused at his words and adds in a heated exhale* Damn straight. 

 **Nick:** *laughs* And while normally I wouldn't pass up the chance to increase how hot you think I am *wiggles eyebrows and looks at her move, pondering* Mmh, scandalous. Drugs. Plagiarizing *moves a piece* So really what you want is mass public humiliation.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles and her lips twitch as she moves another piece, she shakes her head* Sorry. *releases a piece* Can't just turn it off. *brow wiggles* Though if it helps, it does seem like a lot of the guys in this school are much more interested in insulting me in weak attempts to demoralize me with the game coming up. *Shakes her head* Pretty pitiful really. *leans on folded arms across the table, nodding* Mhm. Well the plagiarism isn't enough of a scandal really but it was interesting to note. Victoria using on the other hand...also means when I interrupt said drug traffic, she'll go through withdrawal. 

 **Nick:** *scoffs at the mention of not being able to turn it off* Yeah, that's believable. *eyebrows rising and then shaking his head* No, those assholes just happen to be the loudest. And only an eighth of the school. Quick Lynn, calculate it to a percent *teasing and moves a piece*. Think that's gonna happen in time for school? Cause going cold turkey during finals...yikes. 

 **Lynn:** *giggles* What? It's true, I'm simply naturally delightful. *brows flick and she chuckles again, furrowing her brow thinking for a moment and then gives up* ...i can't. Fraction. *leans over to poke his shoulder, before lowering her hand back to the board and moving another piece* Mhmm. Exactly. *lips twitch* All just stepping stones really. I ... *do* want to get her expelled. Or actually, both of them. *beat* We're kind of in public though, *casts her glance around* ...so I'm going to stop. *lips twitch* Any special plans for the summer? 

 **Nick:** *lip twitch* Facade. You, my dear, are a manipulative little thing. It's rather sexy, really. *grins and then chuckles as she pokes him, remembering her problems with fractions* One divided by eight times 100. *moves a piece and grabs a bishop* 12.5% *lips twitch* Or you could have done it as half of 1/4 is 25% so half of 25%..*looks up and the realizes he's rambling and grins, shaking his head* You get the idea. *looks around as well as she mentions being in public and nods, agreeing* Traveling back and forth from here to Cali mostly. I don't expect to get much sleep. *chuckles and shrugs* Hopefully be able to include you on some of those trips? *tilting his head, looking at her with a grin* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch as she grins at him looking delighted, saying lightly* I don't know what you're talking about. *moves a piece, chuckling under her breath and then blinks up at him, head spinning* ...sure. *lips twitch* So 12.5% of the school hates me. And the other 72.5% thinks I'm delightful. Or I should say more like 70% as you and Devin and Nadia seem to have this strange idea that I'm manipulative but...*shrugs a shoulder grinning; smile softens for a moment* Yeah, definitely. I...really want to travel as much as I can this summer. I mean, there's the requisite trip to our house in Hawaii...you could join us there sometimes too maybe? Us being...my fam, Hols, Nadia, Chace, our Aunt Ama, sometimes Uncle Shawn or Uncle Brad, possibly Belle too at times? 

 **Nick:** Of course you don't. *playfully sarcastic, then grins* You mean the other 87.5% *lips twitch* And not necessarily because it's 12.5% of guys purely on the fact that they're Slytherin and cause of the upcoming match. Including the girls from Slytherin that would be 25%. Nobody but Slytherin wants Slytherin to win so yeah, you have a solid 75% approval right now just for being on the team. *moves a piece, grin widening as she agrees and then nods* Traveling is always fun. Any places in mind? *eyebrows raise in question before he grins again at the mention of Hawaii* Oh I'd definitely love to visit. Must be a big house if it can accommodate so many people. 

 **Lynn:** *pauses, pressing her lips together sheepishly  & shakes her head* Oh. Yes. That. I did tell you I was terrible with fractions. *contemplates the board for a few moments, lips twitching & then she chuckles nodding* And well then that 75% is going to be very happy when we crush them Saturday. *moves her piece, and then looks up, still smiling* Anywhere. I'd really love to see Scandanavia though. There's this travel package that you can go from Norway, to Denmark, and wind up in Sweden, taking a cruise and a train respectively to move around. *lips twitch* And yeah. It's huge. With a private beach, pool, and hot tub and then this local market nearby so we're not completely devoid of the local color but have privacy. 

 **Nick:** *laughs and then nods* Exactly. And I have my body paint all ready to go, smirks, cocking his eyebrows as he does so, looking at the board for a moment, moving a piece to take another pawn* That sounds, apart from awfully cold. *chuckles* Pretty damn amazing. *looks back up at her as she describes the house in Hawaii, picturing it, immediately liking the private beach concept* Sounds like paradise really. 

 **Lynn:** Oh good. *smile* That's quite the motivator you know. *grinning slyly, she immediately moves a piece to capture a bishop of his and then settles her hand back under her chin, grinning still* It would be cold. *lips twitch* Though I'm sure we could warm it up. *nods once more* And it...really is. There's this cove or rather, series of coves called the Baths? Gigantic rock formation with these completely concealed pools inside naturally made and with entire ecosystems, that are out of the way of well, everything, and if you climb up the walls where the deeper pools are, then the rocks act as natural watersides too. *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** It better be *chuckles* Lets just hope it doesn't rain that day. *lips twitch as he looks back down at the board again as she takes his bishop, pensive, but smirks immediately at her comment of heating it up themselves, chuckling before moving to take another of her pawns, looking up afterwards* Natural watersides? *grins* Oh I'm definitely in now, not that I wasn't before but *lips twitch.* 

 **Lynn:** That would take the fun out of it. *nods in agreement, looking over his shoulder for the moment he considers the board, smiling and then looks back when he looks back when he looks up, lips pursed in amusement* Great! We usually go for about two weeks--cause it's as tricky to get Dad to give up the Ministry as it is to get the Ministry to give up Dad--but we also can just...go whenever, seeing as how you can apparate. *smile flicks* Oh hey. This means you're meeting my parents. Is that okay? 

 **Nick:** Hmm, but at the same time I do love seeing you wet. Silver lining. *chuckles and then nods* Exactly and privacy at this paradise house in Hawaii sounds great. *grins and then chuckles, before he nods* Yeah, that's definitely okay--I won't be killed though right? *teases* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, shaking her head at him in amused disbelief* Hmm...I'll be sure to wear a white shirt under my uniform just in case then. *lips twitch and she looks down at the board, both to contemplate her next move  & because she cast her eyes down all demure, mhmmminh rather suggestively in agreement before she chuckles again* ...well I don't *think* so. My Dad was the chief of the Wizengamot before he was minister and...tends to frown upon murder. *lips twitch* Might make an exception though. 

 **Nick:** *smirks* I like that idea, you never know right? *wiggles eyebrows and laughs as she deliberates whether or not he'll killed* So really, it depends on how polite and charming I can be. *grins* Might have to put the Callaway genes to work again at that time then. I'm not quite ready to die yet. 

 **Lynn:** *grins* Can't hurt to be prepared. And if it doesn't rain, I already have another dress all picked out so. *wiggles her eyebrow at him in response  & then laughs* That sounds like a good idea. I'm sure my Mum'll like you anyways. *shrugs a shoulder amused, moving another chess piece* Though really of the two of them...people tend to be more afraid of her than my dad. 

 **Nick:** A celebration dress? *smirks* I can't wait. *grins and then chuckles, nodding his head* You know, if you take after your mom a lot, can definitely understand why she's the scariest. *Eyebrows rise in amusement as he looks back the board, making a move* 

 **Lynn:** *deliberates, teasingly* Hm. Saying it's a 'dress' might be...a tad bit o an overstatement. *lips twitch as she considers the board again, pensive before moving and then she chuckles, beaming* Oh. Well, I hope I take after her as much as possible. *lips twitch* I...know most people our age hate their parents but...*shrugs a shoulder* My mum is...very brave. A real...survivor really. *smiles* And yeah. Pretty scary. 

 **Nick:** Oh *smirks* I like the sound of that even better. *looking back down at the board as he listens to her talk about her mother, a smile creeping up on his face for a moment and nods, looking back up* No pressure to impress her or anything *makes the move* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Thought you might. *grin flicks and she laughs once with the slightest blush, realizing  & she shakes her head* No, no pressure at all. *smiles* I do think she'll like you anyways. 

 **Nick:** Well, I can't deny that I'm pretty likable. *grins* And my family wants to meet you too. Apparently Jesse told Kristen that you came to babysit Henry with me when she was supposed to and she raved about how unfair it was that she didn't get to meet you and it all got back to my Mom. *lips twitch* So they want to meet you. You'll have to meet my dad separately though, he and my mother can't stay in the same room still. 

 **Lynn:** ...raving? *smiles* Really? *lips twitch open wide slowly in a grin as she laughs under her breath and then she starts nodding* I'd love to meet them! And see Henry again. *lips twitch* I think he stole my heart after one meeting. Pretty unfair really. *nods again a bit slower* Right. What's your mum's last name then? Oh. *having an ADD moment* Right. My mum's still Rivers too. And prefers 'ms.' to Mrs. ...don't, call her Stuart, *bites her bottom lip, adding in a mutter* ...bad memories. 

 **Nick:** Yeah, really. *chuckles* We're all pretty close. Kristen particularly loves when Jesse and I bring a girl home. She's always wanted an older sister *chuckles* Granted I rarely bring girls home but Jesse...well *laughs* yeah, every other Callaway pales in comparison to Henry really...should I be worried? *wiggles his eyebrows* It's Saunders. *nods* Yeah I was guessing she was Rivers because you're Rivers. 

 **Lynn:** *eyebrow arching  & then she chuckles* I was gonna ask how often it happened. *lips twitch and she props her hand under her chin again, smiling, pretending to deliberate again amused* ...hmm. I don't know. Henry was really very handsome and like you said, he's taking over the world. *lips twitch* I would love being Queen. *nods, memorizing the last name* 

 **Nick:** *chuckles* Well, I'm not exactly a seasoned veteran when it comes to dating. Don't think anyone at 17 is...well *eyebrows lift for a moment* Not exactly but. *chuckles* Well, now I definitely don't have a chance. Can't exactly duel Henry. Not yet anyways. *grins and looks back down at the board* Something tells me we won't quite be finished by the time I need to go meet up with Nadia. *laughs* You weren't kidding when you said you were good. 

 **Lynn:** True. *lips twitch* But you are a bit more experienced than I am, so. *chuckles and revises, smiling with a soft 'aww' and then shakes her head* Nah, you don't have to worry. *teasing* I like older men. *looks back at the board and then laughs again* Nor were you when you said you'd lower my ego...damn. 

 **Nick:** Oh, well then. *exhales and puts his hand over his chest* What a relief. *smirks and then winks before looking back down at the board* Well, I try my best. *grins again* Well, in 11 moves we could be at a stalemate, do you see it? 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles and just shakes her head* You should be relieved. *wiggles her eyebrow  & winks back, before surveying the board and then nods* That's only if I don't check you in...seven, but even then...*lips twitch in a frown* You could check me in same, so. *nods* Guess it's a draw. 

 **Nick:** *grins as she mentions the check and nods* I saw that too. A draw it is *lips twitch and extends out his arm* Until such a time we play again of course. *grins* 

 **Lynn:** *smirking and takes his hand, shaking firmly and doesn't let go, nodding* Maybe in Hawaii. Or...sorry, paradise. *lips twitch* ...are you late for Nadia? Or do we still have a few minutes? 

 **Nick:** *laughs* Yeah, mock me because you can't beat me. *smirks and with their hands still holding on he leans over the table, pulling on her hand to pull her closer as well, kissing her for several moments, leaning away* One more minute. 

 **Lynn:** *protests jokingly* You can't beat me eithe--*is cut off by his lips and she smirks for a heartbeat, leaning forward and lifting her other hand to grasphis cheek, fingers curling slightly as she kisses back breathlessly, smiling and nodding* Just one? *spoken in a whisper before she leans in to kiss him again* 

 **Nick:** *grinning at her question, nodding to answer before kissing her back, moving their clasped hands to intertwine their fingers, the other cupping her neck as he continues to kiss her, reluctant to stop but pulls away anyway, sighing* So, I've come to a conclusion. Not tutoring next year. 

 **Lynn:** *moves her lips against his as she kisses him back* I like this conclusion. *giggles* Though really, you are helping one of my best friends. Very noble really. 

 **Nick:** Ah, and yet it's not supposed to be one of my strong suits. *lips twitch* I think I deserve a reward really. *grins and then leans in to kiss her once more, letting go of her hand and collecting the chess game with a wave of his wand, and picks it up* See you. 

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks* Mmm. Maybe you do deserve a reward. *smiles and kisses him back, lingering and pulls back, lips flicking* Meet up with after tutoring to collect. *winks at him and waves as he leaves* 

 

&.

 **Alcott:** *having been walking towards the Quidditch pitch, well aware that both of the teams at that moment have been fighting over who gets to use it  & was prepared to just steal a Quaffle; half thinking that it also means Hols might be there; when he sees her, he heads to her & immediately puts a hand on her wrist to pull her closer/around the side of the stands* Hey--I need to talk to you. 

 **Hols:** *muttering something under her breath about 'barbaric nuisances' hogging the Quidditch field and then looks up as someone takes her wrist, blinking for a moment in confusion before realizing it's Alcott* Hey, what's up? *eyebrows rising in curiosity* 

 **Alcott:** *exhales as he lets her wrist go, never the less looking around to double check she's the only one who can hear him, the far off sounds of his teammates playing assuring him and he looks back at her* ...Sienna knows. About me. *biting his bottom lip* She...guessed.

 **Hols:** *crossing her arms in front of her chest when he releases her wrist and then arches her eyebrows even higher as she listens* ...oh boy. *exhales* What did she...how did she react? 

 **Alcott:** *bites his bottom lip hard for a moment just looking at her, swallows and then shakes his head* Exactly how I thought she would. Not well. She freaked out. Yelled. And then ran. *brows flick* 

 **Hols:** *purses her lips, eyebrows furrowing for a bit and then bites her lip briefly before asking* And are you...okay? 

 **Alcott:** *immediately opens his mouth to snap 'Yes' but stops a moment later,  & just shakes his head a moment later, unsure how to answer and thus saying nothing* 

 **Hols:** *exhales again, nodding and decides not to press on before speaking again* Do you think she'll tell anybody?

 **Alcott:** *brows flick for a second* ...no, I don't. *bites his bottom lip again* If only because she would then have to admit to dating a werewolf. *with a rueful twisting smirk* 

 **Hols:** *tilts her head and sighs, letting her arms fall from her chest to her sides, stepping closer, shaking her head* Don't. *silently* You're gonna torture yourself. 

 **Alcott:** *doesn't move away from her as she moves closer  & he exhales, just shaking his head* Well, it's true. *lips twitch* And it does mean she won't tell. *brows flicking/jaw setting* I just...thought you should know she's been...looking into that night in case..*exhales again, trailing off with a strange look on his face watching her with some kind of yearning in his eyes he won't admit to* 

 **Hols:** *pursing her lips and nods softly* Thanks...*bites her lip briefly* You do know she's being an idiot right? It's not the dark ages, being a werewolf doesn't have to mean immediate shunning. Legislations have been passed, Wolfsbane potion invented, but all the ignorance surrounding it is ever-present I suppose so she's an idiot for associating you with whatever horror stories she heard when she was little and forgetting that you're still you. *nods once* You're just a little sturdier, with a hairy problem once a month. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch in slight amusement  & his eyebrow arches, feeling quite a bit warmer and just smiles for a second* ...a hairy problem? *brow twitches* I guess that's true. But I...*did* attack someone, Hols. 

 **Hols:** Yes, you know in case you ever need to mention it where you might be overheard. People will just think you have unnatural hair growth in places they can't see. *smiles* Yes, you did, and kill a clearing full of small forest animals--you didn't know that, you didn't *choose* to do that, that wasn't you. You didn't have Wolfsbane, but now you do and you saw that it worked. Could you possibly hurt someone else in the future? Who knows, maybe. Does that justify you being treated differently from before? No, sure as hell not. There's worse, far worse, people out there *choosing* to commit their own atrocities but you didn't choose this. *quieter by the end before she clears her throat and adds* Besides who *hasn't* wanted to attack Sam? That pathetic excuse for a human deserved *some* punishment, I only wish he'd been able to remember it. *mutters* 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles, brows furrowing and he tilts his head* ...hm. Can we think of another cover story? *laughs once* That's not the most...flattering. *folds his arms, listening quietly and then nods a few times, breath hitching for a moment at the wondering whether he'll hurt someone else  & bites his bottom lip* I know I don't have ... a choice. But that's almost worse. I'm...without the Wolfsbane, I was out of control. I had to wake up...and see all of that. And with it...

 **Hols:** *waves a hand around* Fine, you can have a...rodent problem or something. *sighs and then nods* It is worse, much worse. Al I was there...and I saw what you went through and what you're going to have to go through every month of your life...*bites her lip* And if seeing it was bad, I can't even imagine what it must be like for you. And yet you're still here walking around like you own the place, practicing for Quidditch, doing homework, inviting me for a shower *lips twitch when you wanted to do nothing more than just collapse. *licks her lips* I just think it's unfair...and aggravating, infuriating, really that anyone, especially someone you obviously care about a lot, would see you and think you less than before. *licks her lips again* But as for your first full moon...what happened, happened. You just have to try not to let it happen again. And as for Sienna...well I have always liked the saying "those who care, don't matter, and those who matter, don't care." 

 **Alcott:** *brows furrow slightly as she describes, his gaze casting over her shoulder for a second, irritable and then looks back and holds her gaze with the slightest surprise, nodding once or twice unconsciously, still just looking at her and then his lips twitch* ...hey, that's an open invitation really. *quiets for a second and then just shakes his head* ...I knew she'd react this way. It's why I didn't tell her. I just...I don't *feel* different. As you said I still...I act the same. *pauses  & then quiets, saying honestly* Except I don't, do I? I was keeping secrets from her, I've...started hanging out with people I never used to talk to...*arches his eyebrow at her and shakes his head* I guess I have, changed. I just..I wasn't telling her because she.... I would rather she hated me, Hols, than felt sorry for me. 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and then nods her head to acknowledge that he's got a point* Not that the change is bad...well I guess it depends on who you are and how you look at it. *purses her lips and then tilts her head* Personally, I wouldn't like either of those options. *bites her bottom lip and nods* But I understand. *shrugs* But you can't control how people feel. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch slightly and then just shakes his head again, looking at her softly* No. I don't think it's a bad change. *bites his bottom lip and then nods again* Well, no. I suppose I can't. And it's pointless to try. 

 **Hols:** *smiles softly, momentarily, at his assuring comment about it not being a bad change before sighing at his next words and nodding* Yes, a bit pointless...*lips twitch* Just as it's pointless for you and your team to even practice for tomorrow's game because you're getting your asses kicked so hard you won't be able to walk for weeks. *cocks her eyebrow and then smirks* 

 **Alcott:** *nods once and then starts smirking slowly, laughing and rolling his eyes once to the sky  & shakes his head* Oh, you're dreaming. *chuckles* You have no chance, but I wouldn't fret about it too much. No shame in losing to the better team. 

 **Hols:** *scoffs and pfffts* Better? Better at what? Losing? *eyebrow rises* In which case yeah, you definitely are the better team. *smirks* Really, you should have an IQ test at try outs, I'm sure half of you are at least part troll. *eyebrow wiggles* 

 **Alcott:** *arching his own eyebrow amused* You're right that's a definite disadvantage. Brute force. Cause short nerds who have their head stuck in a book all the time are *definitely* known for their athletic feats. 

 **Hols:** Oh, on top of being dumb as shit you're gonna add hallucinating to your resume? *eyebrows raise* Because you've clearly forgotten who you're facing. Gryffindors, baby. We're pure muscle, we're beasts. *moves a strand of hair behind her ear* but people have been known to suppress traumatic events, and the beating we gave you last time was definitely traumatic for all of you. 

 **Alcott:** You seem to be confusing Slytherins with mountain trolls, so *shrug* As opposed to simply being fast-thinking and willing to win in creative ways. *snorts* But I should write this down. If ever I have need of a 'revisionist history' paper I'm sure *this* story would get an A. *lips twitch amused* 

 **Hols:** *eyebrow arching* Creative here having the meaning of cheating? Anyway, we won't need to exert ourselves to beat you either way. *shrugs and gasps in fake shock* You've learned how to write? *claps* 

 **Alcott:** *laughs once* Yes, you know, I have. You should offer me a reward really for that. 

 **Hols:** A reward? *deliberates* Hmm, I'll have to think about this *very* thoroughly, of course. I don't do anything half assed, after all. 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch, arching his eyebrow* Ah. Exactly how long are you going to think? *smirks* As opposed to just acting? 

 **Hols:** Oh I could act for a very long time. *lips twitch* In the interest of not being so cruel however...*leans in and kisses him once, deeply, before leaning back* Good luck tomorrow. *eyebrow arching before smirking and adding teasingly* You're gonna need it. 

 **Alcott:** *chuckles, before immediately wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her into him and kissing her back firmly, smirking as she pulls back and exhales* I *suppose* I should say good luck as well... 

 **Hols:** *chuckles and then kisses him again, focusing solely on his bottom lip before leaning away again* No need. We don't need luck. We have skill. *smirks* 

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* A little. Perhaps. *kisses her again, holding his arms around her tighter  & licking her top lip as she takes his bottom lip, and slides his hand slowly up her back, the other palming her* 

 **Hols:** Only a little? *muttering in amusement before returning to kiss him, hands grabbing his neck, pulling herself against him. She let's out a small gasp in both surprise and pleasure, biting down on his bottom lip in retaliation* Tosser. *whispers breathlessly against his lips* 

 **Alcott:** *smirks for a moment, effectively against her lips as he whispers heatedly back* Don't forget it. *kisses her again, starting to move his palm against her* 

 **Hols:** *grins softly the moment before their lips join once more, a hand slipping down his neck to wrap her fingers around his arm, digging her fingers in to the skin as she kisses him back deeper and more passionately, bringing her thigh up between his legs and rubbing him through his pants* 

 **Alcott:** *kissing her fervently and passionately, he stills for a moment, fingers curling against her  & groaning throatily against her lips as she rubs him, his hand around her shoulder grasping at the nape of her neck as he starts moving his other hand faster, kissing her wantonly* 

 **Hols:** *smirks momentarily as he first pauses in his movements and then continues to kiss him furiously, lips moving against his and her tongue pushing past his lips as she continues to tease him with her leg, a moan of her own leaving her lips at his actions* 

 **Alcott:** *groaning again, his mouth open and searching against hers, he twists them around until they've slipped beneath the stands themselves and he pushes her up against the wall, starting to kiss down her neck instead* 

 **Hols:** *pants breathlessly as he pushes her up against the wall, pulling him against her even more, lips moving frantically against his in a breathless kiss as she slides her hand down his chest and starts to undo the button of his pants* 

 **Alcott:** *gasping once, the sound muffled by the fury of their kiss, he slips his free hand down her arm to help her undo his button, lifting it back to her neck as he kisses her again more forcefully, pressing his body against hers and moving his hand faster.*

&.

 **SCENE:** The Trio are exiting into the Great Hall; Alcott's already in uniform, Devin and Eliza are both decked out in Slytherin colors. Alcott's in the middle of talking to Devin, while Eliza (as ever) rolls her eyes. The whole Entrance hall is filled with milling crowds of family members greeting children, come to watch the Quidditch Cup finals, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, making the crowd look like a summer version of a Christmas card. 

 **Devin:** Yeah, yeah. *laughs* 

 **Alcott:** But you.

 **Eliza:** Me?

 **Alcott:** Yes. I can't believe you, Eliza.

 **Eliza:** What did I do?! 

 **Alcott:** This bet of yours. Wearing Gryffindor colors for a week?

 **Eliza:** So don't lose. Then Rory wears green and silver for a week. 

 **Alcott:** To even bet wearing it though--

 **Eliza:** I have faith in you. How did I become the bad guy here?

 **Devin:** He lives to contradict.

 **Eliza:** *points to her outfit* See? I have *pulls down* green mini-skirt, *pulls on her shirt* silver shirt--

 **Devin:** Almost a shirt.

 **Alcott:** You're complaining?

 **Devin:** Not at all. Just saying, it lost sleeves. And a midriff. Most of it's fabric seems to be gone actually.

 **Alcott:** I repeat, are you complaining?

 **Eliza:** \--silver shoes, green headband, for Merlin's sakes will you both stop it? 

 **Devin:** Don't forget the stockings. *eyes her legs gesturing*

 **Alcott:** What color underwear?

 **Devin:** Bra? 

 **Eliza:** *groans* You are both impossible. 

 **Alcott:** And you are -- Mum?

 **Eliza:** *pointing at him shrill* Just because I make sure you're both eating breakfast does _not_ mean I'm your mot-*pauses and drops her finger* You get the point, don't call me t--

 **Devin:** Eliza. 

 **Eliza:** I'm aware of what I did Dev. 

 **Devin:** No--Eliza. *points over her shoulder*

 **Alcott:** *blinks* 

 **Eliza:** *spins around and brightens* Oh! You're Mum's here.

 **Alcott:** Yes.

 **Eliza:** *grinning and waves at her* Over here Mrs. Brackner!

 **Devin:** *bites his bottom lip, turning to leave* Maybe I should--

 **Alcott:** *hisses* Don't you dare. 

 **Devin:** I'm not sure I'm your Mum's favorite per--

 **Eliza:** *elbows his side* 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *smiling brightly as she walks over, wearing a simple emerald gown that looks more at place in a ballroom than a Quidditch match, and pearls* Oh there you are.

 **Alcott:** *nods, bewildered half smile* Mum, what are you doing here? 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *She gets a small smile looking at her son, deciding she won't embarrass him and ask for a hug, even though she's relieved.* I thought I'd come watch the match. *waving her hand, smile flicks*

 **Alcott:** *with obvious disbelief in his tone* ...really?

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *As if she hadn't been to every single match...well, he didn't know that. So she says instead,* You hadn't told me you'd made the championships! 

 **Alcott:** *quietly* You hadn't asked. 

 **Eliza:** *speaking quickly* Yes, it really was him too, the semi finals went to a tie-breaker shoot out and he scored the winning point. *lips twitch*

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *brightly, as if she hadn't heard Alcott though her smile flicked with what looked like regret as he spoke* Oh that must have been quite the exciting last few minutes. *clutches her purse tightly* I wish Max could have come today. *She pauses, her face pained and then looks back to Alcott, saying quieter.* He was very busy with this case he's not allowed to talk about but he says good luck. 

 **Alcott:** Great. *shakes his head, ignoring a dirty look from Eliza*

 **Eliza:** It promises to be a good match. *smiling without effort a moment later* Do you want to sit with us *gestures between herself and Devin, ignoring a dirty look from Dev*? We're going to be right in front. 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *looking only at Eliza, thus missing the dirty looks* Oh no that's all right, honey. I'll be in the box. *turns to Eliza* Do you know where Sienna is? I'll be sitting with her mother.

 **Alcott:** *bites his bottom lip* That was nice of her.

 **Eliza:** *overtop of him at the same time* Sienna's around, Mrs. Brackner, we could go find her if you want.

 **Mrs. Brackner:** Oh no, that's all right. I'll be sitting with her mother anyways. I think your box might be...too much excitement for me. *pats Eliza's arm* 

 **Eliza:** *nods, with a passable chuckle of amusement* It does get pretty loud.

 **Devin:** *also with a passable chuckle* You mean you, get pretty loud.

 **Eliza:** Sonorous doesn't count. 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** Oh, Devin! *turns to him as if just noticing him, her smile flicking tighter* I didn't see you there, dear.

 **Devin:** *own smile tightens and he chuckles once* I hadn't spoken. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Brackner. 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *nods, still with the tight smile* Nice to see you too. *points over his shoulder, saying false-brightly* That...is your mother, yes? 

 **Devin:** *arching his eyebrow, not missing the tone but turning around and then he snorts at her outfit, bright red slacks with a gold t-shirt and red shirt over top with a scarf, and a roaring lion pin and shakes his head* Yeah, that's her. 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** ...with the Gryffindor--

 **Alcott:** *cuts his mother off* His sister's on the team.

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *mouth forms an 'oh' of surprise, and she just nods, fooling absolutely none of them as she tilts her head still smiling* Aren't you going to go say hello?

 **Alcott:** *under his breath* Mum.

 **Mrs. Brackner:** *ignores this, still smiling hard enough Devin was starting to wonder if her face was going to ache* 

 **Devin:** *tilts his head back at her for a second, his own slow smile spreading and he nods once* Of course. *lips twitch and he shakes his head, turning to Al and hitting his shoulder* If I don't see you, good luck mate. 

 **Alcott:** *nodding, still looking incredulously at his mother* Yeah, all right. 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip as Devin departs, but she keeps her smile easier than Alcott does and she clears her throat* Do you want to get a drink, Mrs. Brackner? 

 **Mrs. Brackner:** Oh no dear, I'm fine. *smiles, holding her purse back to her chest* Well. How are classes going?

 **Alcott:** Fine. 

 **Eliza:** There's a lot of work with the end of semester obviously, *her voice tightened with her exasperation of Alcott* but once otherwise they're going very well. We're finally starting interesting transfigurations...

_...Alcott & Eliza talk with her for a few moments, as Devin melts away, decidedly looking away from them and heading towards his Mum to say hi...before he goes off, having spotted Nadia. _

&.

 **Devin:** *after waving a goodbye to his Mum in the Entrance Hall where the parents/etc are still milling around he brightens spotting Nadia with that totally-wide-beam he gets whenever he's spotting Nadia and heads to her, catches his arms around her, picking her up, kissing her cheek, completely ignoring her Gryffie colors, waving at those she's with and sets her down* Hi. 

 **Nadia:** *beaming brightly she sees Devin walking towards her, throwing her arms around him as he picks her up and giggles, moving her bangs out of the way as he puts her down while grinning from ear to ear* Hi. *laughs* My, don't you look especially green today. *grins* Thank Merlin it makes you look dashing and not otherwise. 

 **Devin:** *chuckles once* And you look very red. *lips twitch, adding slightly lower* Wish I could take the credit really. *smiling still* But dashing I can live with. *waves again* Hey Aunt Ama. Rene--I uh, *pauses looking over his shoulder* ...okay I don't know where he went, but Al said he had...something, for you. 

 **Nadia:** *bites her lip briefly before grinning* You keep that up and it will be your fault. *rubs her cheeks* Have I mentioned I hate you?

 **Ama:** *amused/quite beamy herself/pleased* Hi sweetie!

 **Irene:** *waves* Hey Dev! *pauses and then beams* He does? I'm gonna go find him then, wish him luck while I'm at it. 

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* Not too much luck.

 **Irene:** See you all later! *goes off*

 **Nadia:** *turns around to look at Ama pointedly*

 **Ama:** *even more amused, has to restrain laughter and then asks her all innocently* Is there something you wanted honey?

 **Nadia:** Mom.

 **Ama:** *laughs* Yes, I'm gonna go find Jay and Shawn. I'll see you both later. *kisses Nadia's cheek before hugging Dev* And I swear you're growing logistically oyu are. *waves at them both as she departs*

 **Nadia:** *smiling softly and then shakes her head* ...logistically? *blinks* 

 **Devin:** All my life actually. *pauses, teasing* Yet for someone who hates me as much as you do, you sure hang around me a lot...*lips twitching and nods at Irene, still with his arm hanging loosely around Nadia's waist, grinning* He'll just say he doesn't need luck anyways, cause Hols wished him it already. *lips twitch* He was with his Mum though. *nods as she leaves, then turns back to Amaris with a guilty, similarly amused smile  & bites his bottom lip nodding and lets Nadia go for a moment to hug Ama* I just saw Mum actually *he points* over there somewhere. *pauses; grinning brow furrowed slightly* ...yeah no idea what she meant by that. 

 **Nadia:** *purses his lips in fake admonishment and shaking her head before grinning* Only in the hope that you'll stop making me hate you. *pauses and grins a little at the Hols fact* I doubt Hols will want you spreading that around. *chuckles* Mami's an odd one. *goes on her tip toes and puts her arms around his neck* Now, you were saying? *grinning* 

 **Devin:** Ahhhh....*with a chuckle in his tone, lips twitching* Well, I can work on *that*...*brow wiggles and then laughs once* Mm, you're right, probably not. *idle shrug* Then she might have to admit it. *grins sliding his arms around her waist  & tilting his head to look at her* I think I was saying...*leans forward to kiss her one properly, grinning* Hi. 

 **Nadia:** *laughs* Oh Devious Devin, slow your rooolll...*grins and then laughs again, grinning right before their lips meet in a kiss, returning to her wide beam as he leans away* Hi. *licking her lips and then laughing once more* You know, red isn't that great a color on you *brings her thumb to his lips to rub the red lipstick away* 

 **Devin:** *chuckles* Now I just don't know what you're talking about. *grin flicks and he laughs as she rubs the lipstick off, trying to remain still and just shakes his head* I didn't think it was. This wouldn't be a conspiracy now would it? Try and get me to wear red and gold? *lips press together in amusement* 

 **Nadia:** Mmh, sure you don't. *grins and then shakes her head, returning her hand around his neck as she finishes rubbing away her lips tick* If that were the case I wouldn't have told you about the lipstick stain. *grins* I mean you'll probably have red and gold glitter all over you now but hardly a conspiracy. 

 **Devin:** *laughs and looks down at his emerald shirt, his brow flicking to the gold glitter and he lifts his hand to bat it away, shaking his head* It's all right. *lips twitch* I'll just blame you. *wiggles his brow* I assume you're sitting with Rene and all them? 

 **Nadia:** *grins and looks down as well, laughing again* I'll gladly take the blame for it. *nods* Yes, rooting and cheering loudly all the while. *smiles* And you'll be cheering for the other team. We're gonna be enemies for a couple of hours. *hmms, tilting her head* 

 **Devin:** *chuckles once and then mmms in agreement, lips twitching in amusement* Enemies, hm? *tightens his grip around her waist and simply hisses in amusement* That's hot. *brushes his lips against her jaw* 

 **Nadia:** *inhales in a small gasp as he tightens his grip and then laughs silently, whacking his shoulder* You know, you could pretend to have a little bit of self control. *teases*

 **Nadia:** oh I see, misbehaving on *purpose* then, because that's much better *grins and chuckles* Well if we win I really don't feel like a partying mood. If you guys win, are you gonna go to the party? Cuz if you're not we could do something else, maybe go down to the lake, it's a gorgeous saturday after all *beams*

 **Devin:** *nods, grinning* Yup, exactly. *lips twitch* And...well, if you guys win...*tilts his head* See, Eliza has a bet going with Rory, that would mean she'd be at the victory party for that wearing red. *brow pops and wiggles* Which kind of means Al would be alone, save for I'm sure a bottle. So I'd probably just pop in, make sure he's okay...then yeah, we can definitely go to the lake. And if *we* win...*grins* I'm perfectly fine skipping the party. 

 **Nadia:** *giggles* oh, that's a nice bet. *grins and then nods* yeah, I understand, make sure your man is okay and what not *lips twitch* but if you wanna drink away the day, I wouldn't mind. *teasing and then laughs* right. *if* you win.

 **Devin:** *laughs, smirking a bit and shakes his head* Yeah, right, exactly. I'm going to ignore your insinuation there. *grins* I actually don't think I'll be having a drink tonight. *brows flick* Whichever way it goes. There are better ways *leans a little closer to her grinning* to intoxicate oneself, I think...

 **Nadia:** *eyebrow wiggles* I wasn't insinuating anything. *grinning brightly* oh? Are we going to be the only odd teenagers in this castle not to drink tonight? *bites on her bottom lip* oh I'm sure we can come up with something *sly grin* you're horrible by the way. And I hate you. *teasing*

 **Devin:** *laughs once* And you say *I'm* devious. *shakes his head* Well, I'm sure we won't be the only ones. *grins* But then I suppose there's nothing wrong with standing out is there? *lips twitch, nodding and says it with herr* And I hate you. 

 **Nadia:** *beaming brightly at his words and then grins momentarily, leaning up to kiss him once, lingering for a few seconds before leaning away only slightly, looking up at him* good.

 **Devin:** *kissing back and lingers for a moment as well, smile softening* Yeah.

&.

 **Jana:** *chuckles, hugging Lynn* ...while I should say something about the language...today I can't help but agree.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, hugs back and releases her* And that is why I love you, Mum. *lips twitch* Besides, it's called for. 

 **Jana:** *tilts head amused* I love you too. *points* But don't think I'm going to be distracted.

 **Lynn:** *tiny little exhale* Yes, yes, I know--he's around here somewhere. *turns around, going on her toes as she tries to mimic the height she usually has in heels in her trainers and then brightens* Over there. *waving at Nick*

 **Jana:** *presses lips together amused, saying under her breath to Lynn* Oh, he's cute.

 **Lynn:** *staunchly, despite a sudden blush* Yes, I know. 

 **Jana:** Well, I was just--

 **Lynn:** Mum. *head shakes, as he approaches*

 **Nick:** *is, as promised, sporting red and gold (edible) body paint and hanging out with Will and Jacob, laughing at some joke, shaking his head and spots Lynn waving when he does, grinning back, turning to his friends for a moment* I'll see you guys later. *walking up to Lynn and he's assuming her mom, thinking to himself that maybe this wasn't the best first impression* Hi *grinning, kisses Lynn's cheek and waits for her to introduce them*

 **Jana:** *lips pressing together in amusement at the ..'outfit', with her eyebrow arched, which Lynn ignores*

 **Lynn:** *grin widening as he kisses her* Hey. *turns to her mom* Mum, this is Nick...Nick, my mum. *gestures her head between them*

 **Jana:** *extending her hand to shake* It's nice to meet you. *smiling* ...and nice lion. *gestures, amused* 

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip* Long story. 

 **Nick:** *grins as he takes her hand and shakes it* A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rivers. *laughs and looks down at his gold creation* Thanks, I'm quite proud of it myself. It was a challenge, drawing this backwards. *chuckles*

 **Jana:** *nods, chuckling* I would imagine. It's very impressive.

 **Lynn:** *brow arches at him grinning, because she thought 'well, he had an excellent canvas to begin with' but for once in her life she's biting her tongue*

 **Jana:** Do you draw often too then? 

 **Nick:** *grinning and then shakes his head, chuckling* No, not really, I'm a bit artistic deficient. *grins* Doodles and stick figures mostly. I leave all the hardcore drawing to Lynn. *turning to look at her briefly, grinning as well*

 **Lynn:** *chuckles once under her breath looking at the drawing, and shrugs a shoulder* You did get the snout right though. Unfair. *turns back to Jana smiling* Just like I leave the ... math and history to Nick. 

 **Jana:** *she puts her hand in her pocket not understanding that, but letting it drop easily and nodding between them* Oh, right you're tutoring Nadia, aren't you?

 **Lynn:** *grins as she nods*

 **Jana:** ...I can't imagine that's easy. *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** ah, *lips twitch and tilts his head, admitting* well. I might have had a bit of magical help. Maybe. *nods* I do, yes. *grins* it's a...challenge, I'm not going to lie *chuckles* but she's doing immensely better now.

 **Lynn:** *jaw prat falls for a moment and she shakes her head amused* Oh I see how it is. *grin flicking, muttering under her breath* You could have just asked me to draw it for you. 

 **Jana:** *pretends she didn't hear Lynn, just grinning* Oh that's good. *nods once, straightening* Well, I'm going to go find your father--

 **Lynn:** *brightening instantly* I think he went to find the Headmistress.

 **Jana:** ...he's working? 

 **Lynn:** ...are you surprised?

 **Jana:** *shakes her head in disbelief, kisses Lynn's cheek* Good luck sweetie. *nods at Nick* It was very nice meeting you. *leaving to track Shane down, except she spots Ama/Shawn and goes there instead*

 **Lynn:** *turning to Nick, brightly* Considering you're not wearing a shirt, I think that went very well. *brow wiggles* 

 **Nick:** *lips twitch as he refrains from smirking at Lynn's quiet comment and nodding at Jana* it was very nice to meet you too, Ms. Rivers. *turns to Lynn afterwards, laughing once* Yeah, well, I was a bit cut off guard, didn't have a chance to turn on my Callaway charm. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *arching her eyebrow teasing with a grin* ...for my Mum? *shakes her head grinning as she puts one hand on the dragon with her brow starting to wiggle* ...it is impressive though. 

 **Nick:** well, I want to be charming and likable don't I? *grins* but I think I did alright. *smirks* thank you. Cherry flavored too.

 **Lynn:** *smiles* I think so too. *mms, brow wiggling and runs a hand down his chest for a moment laughing and looks back up at him, putting an around his neck* Cherry? *smile softens* ...you remembered.

 **Nick:** good, so one down...one to go. But if you don't mind I'd rather not meet your father while I'm shirtless. *grins, putting his arms around her waist* that I did. No need to be too surprised.

 **Lynn:** *laughs once* Yes, please don't do that. *lips twitch, puts her other arm around his neck too* I'm not surprised actually. *smiles* Just touched. *goes on her toes for a moment to kiss him for a moment, pulling back and shaking her head* ...God I hate not wearing heels. 

 **Nick:** hmm, now that adjective I prefer *grinning and leans down slightly to meet her in the kiss and then chuckles* you know, it's not totally bad. I can't say I hate this view. *smirks*

 **Lynn:** *chuckles as she exhales, shaking her head* Yeah, I bet you don't. *shakes her head* And I guess in this case the trainers are simply an unfortunate aside to kicking Slytherin's ass. *shrugs her shoulder* 

 **Nick:** *laughs and then nods* exactly, though I think if anyone would be able to kick slytherin's ass in heels it'd definitely be you. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks* I'll just put them on after we win. *shakes her head and goes on her toes to kiss him again, lingering for a moment and pulls back grinning* ...although granted it's gonna be kind of odd with Alcott now. 

 **Nick:** I like that idea *smirks and kisses her back, arms tightening slightly around her waist, pulling back with a small grin before laughing* nah, Hols is still gonna aim a bludger to his head as hard as she can so I wouldn't worry about it *laughs* hey, he might play fair now...*lips twitch* maybe.

 **Lynn:** Well, to be sure. *lips twitch, chuckling* But now that's like foreplay for them and...*brow flicks* And there's no way in hell he'll play fair. He hasn't changed that much.

 **Nick:** *laughs and tilts his head* yeah, probably. Best not to think about it like that. *laughs* yeah you're probably right. Either way, you guys are still going to win. *grins*

 **Lynn:** *laughs once* I know. Still true though. So when she's going after him, it's fun, but if *I* go after him, then I'm going after my best friend's potential boyfriend. *brows furrow* Makes this game pretty complicated. ...Though not complicated enough that we won't win. That part's a-given. *grins back*

 **Nick:** *laughs* if she hears you say the words potential boyfriend she'd aim the bludger at *your* head. *grins* of course it's a given. I'm not wearing edible body paint for no reason after all *grins and kisses her once more again, moving one hand to cup her cheek* good luck. *tilts his head* though you won't need it.

 **Lynn:** *laughs* Mm, probably. *teases* And what did I say about it being foreplay? *going on her toes again as he kisses her, her smirk flicking* No, I won't. But it's a sweet thought. *kiss, and then she pauses, spying Ama's wave at her and her brows flick, biting her bottom lip with a guilty grin and she tilts her head to look over her shoulder, waving with her fingers only before looking back at Nick* ...Nadia's mum says hi, I think. 

 **Nick:** *smirks and his eyebrow wiggles but doesn't say anything else before kissing her, and then again as she leans in once more and looks at her oddly as she looks at someone over his shoulder and then chuckles* oh wonderful, I'm just destined to impress everyone tonight apparently. Madam, see that boy in body paint? He's basically responsible for your daughter passing history this year. *lips twitch*

 **Lynn:** *chuckles* Oh, don't call her Madam. But *lips twitch* you know the body paint probably would impress her actually. It's Aunt Ama. *grins and looks at the lion again* And it is very impressive. *tilts her head* And the lion too.*lips twitch and she looks back up at him grinning slyly* And that...actually is very impressive...considering how Nadia hates history. *head shakes amused* 

 **Nick:** Ahh, so she's one of those fun type of aunts then? Okay, well then hey, maybe she can help me with your mom then. *grinning and then smirks as she inspects him again* thank you. I try. *lips twitch and grins* well, what can I say? I'm an impressing guy. *wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Yeah, she is. *lips twitch* And honestly, I'm sure my mum liked you. *eyebrow arching* Obviously, *gestures to the lion* it took a lot of strength to just walk over, so *brow wiggles* you must really like me. *grins* Which is all she'll actually care about. *nods and then laughs again* Mmm...yeah.

 **Nick:** Good, I'm glad. *lips twitch* A great deal of strength, I could hear Will and javob guffawing behind me *grins softens into a smile* well of course I do. If the cherry flavored body paint didn't reveal that *laughs and leans in to kiss her once again, softly*

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks* They're just jealous. They couldn't pull it off. *grinning softer and nods once, grasping at the nape of his neck as she meets his kiss just as softly* Yeah. I guess it did. *presses her lips together still smiling* I like you too.

 **Nick:** well, of course they're jealous, I mean look at me *grinning cheekily, before caressing her cheek with his thumb* and look at you. *kisses her* hmm, do you? I just thought you kept me around for convenience *teasing softly with a grin* 

 **Lynn:** *laughs, mmming* Oh I do. *smiles a bit softer as he continues, her eyes fluttering shut as he kisses her again, lingering for a moment and pulls back, grinning* And let them stare. *kisses him again, hardly pulling away even as she continues* Well, and there's that. *teases just as softly* 

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then makes a noise of reluctance* well, as long as they don't stare for too long. *kissing her back and then leaning his forehead against hers, laughing under his breath* see, I knew you were of an opportunistic nature. *grins* not that I mind, though.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, tightening her arms around him as he leans in and she chuckles under her breath for a moment* Oh no? *smiles* Not that you'd have to worry. *nod once, still against his forehead* Well. Maybe a little bit. *lips twitch* But doesn't that just mean I grab life when it happens anyway?

 **Nick:** no, I would hope not *grins* but it's still the principle of the thing. *chuckles and then nods after she does, grinning still* yes, that's one of the most appealing definitions. *laughing once* and it fits you perfectly. Catch the bull by the horns? *teasing slightly*

 **Lynn:** Oh, the principle of the thing? *grinning* I see. *nodding and slides one hand down to his shoulder and back to his neck, still smiling and she chuckles* Yeah, if I can't just pull the bull over to the side and ride it instead. *grin flicks* 

 **Nick:** *laughs and nods before hmming* Oh that sounds like a sight that I would have to see. *eyebrow wiggles while he smirks and notices something out of the corner of his eye* hmm, your captain is calling your team. *kisses her once* 

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Well, if you're very lucky. *smiles and then pauses, hearing the call as well and nods, kissing back and grins* Guess I have to go. Next time I see you, I'll be a Quidditch champion you know. *kisses him softly again* 

 **Nick:** *chuckles and grins, nodding before kissing her back again* hmm, yes you will. And I will be the very pleased boyfriend of a Quidditch champion with some body paint for you to clean. *grins and kisses her one final time, more deeply than before, leaning back after a few seconds and then flicking her nose* Kick ass.

 **Lynn:** *grinning* Cherry flavored I've been told. *lips twitch as he flicks her and she nods* Always. *winks at him and goes after her captain*

&.

 **Ama:** -and then! I was dismissed, can you believe that? I'm being dismissed now *chuckles and shakes her head* no "happy birthday mother dearest, thank you for taking time off to come watch our game" nope. I was interfering with couple time. *lips twitch* all but Hols, Belle is interrogating over something or another- although I *do* have an idea on what about. *turns her head to look at Jay coming up* Hi Jay! *hugs her* you're right on time, I was about to begin the gossip.

 **Shawn:** *is chuckling and has an eyebrow arched and he laughs as Jay joins them--she hugs Ama back---and shakes his head once* Oh, she didn't.

 **Jana:** Hey guys! *blinks* Gossip? I didn't miss anything did I? 

 **Shawn:** *shakes head amused* Nah.

 **Jana:** Great. *giggles* I have some too. ...so what's going on then? 

 **Ama:** well if you call the neglect I'm receiving from my children "nah" then nah. *joking and then laughs, bringing the tips of her fingers together as she grins* Okay, so, you know the boy that Hols kept talking about during spring break? You know, slash insulting slash cursing the fiber of his very existence? It turns out that they are actually on *pretty* good terms now.

 **Shawn:** *brows furrow* Wait a minute. You mean the...singing Neanderthal dog?

 **Jana:** *chuckles once* ...I think she means Alcott Brackner.

 **Shawn:** Well, that's what Hols was calling him-- *brows furrowing all of a sudden; going firmly still as he recognizes the name* --that's his name? *looking over her shoulder* Can you point him out for me?

 **Jana:** *shakes her head amused as she misses the more serious look across Shawn's face, turning back to Ama ignoring this* Good terms? *brow arching* ...really? 

 **Ama:** *grinning in amusement at the description* yes! The one and the same. *nodding and her lips twitch* It's rude to point, Shawn. *turns back to Jay and then nods* Yeah, really. Good enough terms for Hols to wish him good luck. *eyebrows rise* when have you ever known Hols to wish good luck to *anyone* she was up against? Let alone someone she previously thought of as *counts off with her fingers* "insufferable, impossible, infuriating, egocentric"...well, you get my drift.

 **Shawn:** ...never actually, so then I guess I'm gonna be rude.

 **Jana:** *head shakes, amused* How shocking.

 **Shawn:** *arches his eyebrow* So he's on the team then?

 **Jana:** *brows flick giggling* Shawn. 

 **Shawn:** *shakes his head* All right. 

 **Jana:** She wished him luck? *folds her arms on her chest* ...there can't be more than one Alcott Brackner right? 

 **Shawn:** *looks away from her, frowning a moment* 

 **Ama:** *bites down on her lip to keep from laughing and then nods* Yes, he's on the team. Devin told Irene, Nadia's friend, that he was with his mother so he'd be around. *lips purse briefly* mmh, no, I'm afraid I don't think so. *turns to Jay* Doesn't Lynn have a dislike of him also?

 **Jana:** *nods, startled* Yeah, and considering what she's told me...*brows furrowing* Well, maybe he's grown up a bit. *shrugs a shoulder* 

 **Shawn:** ..what?

 **Jana:** *shakes her head* It's nothing. Devin's been hanging out with him too though, so. 

 **Shawn:** That wasn't an answer.

 **Jana:** He's fifteen! *shrugs* It's fine, Shawn. 

 **Ama:** *nods* Hols is a smart girl she knows what she's doing...*inclines her head* for the majority of the time. *lips twitch and then puts a hand on Shawn's shoulder* calm down papa bear.

 **Shawn:** *shakes his head* Well yes, she is, but that doesn't mean--

 **Jana:** We got it. *shaking her head amused*

 **Shawn:** *flicks his eye brows for a moment* ...I'm, going to go find Hols then. I'm thinking this isn't gossip I want to hear.

 **Jana:** True enough. *lips twitching*

 **Shawn:** *laughs as he leaves*

 **Jana:** *turns back to Ama grinning* I really am...startled though. Guess Alcott's really changed.

 **Ama:** *nods, still thing to keep herself from laughing* she was taking a quick walk with Belle on the grounds. They should be getting back now though. *turns to Jay with a grin as he leaves, giggling once and then exhales* yeah, so am I. *pondering* ....I'm gonna have to interrogate Belle later. I mean she loathed him, despised him, I am a tad concerned...*lips twitch* not as much as Shawn is but.

 **Jana:** No one's going to be as concerned as Shawn is. *laughs once amused* But...then all that about despising him might have just been denial then. *arches her eyebrow biting her bottom lip and then her lips twitch slightly* Well, just be glad he didn't walk up to Shawn with a lion painted on his otherwise bare chest. *smiling* As Lynn's boyfriend just did. *shakes her head* I'm...actually kidding, he seemed nice, but seriously. *exhales* 

 **Ama:** *tilts her head in acknowledgement* true enough. *nods* denial is probable, I've been known to have a few...small denial cases so. *shrugs and then her eyebrows rise and then laughs* oh Merlin, really?! *grins from ear to ear* oh, I have to go find Lynn and congratulate her on her fine choice of boys *laughs, teasing and then shakes her head* Teenagers! They probably have a bet going on or something. *waves her hand and grins at Lynn* so was that the piece of gossip you had then?

 **Jana:** *laughs* Oh, only a few small cases really. *shakes her head amused* Mm...like mother like daughter I suppose. *also grinning from ear to ear, but she chuckles and rolls her eyes, running a hand through her hair* Mm...a totally clean bet, I wager, considering the body paint. *makes an odd noise like air got caught in her throat as she pretends to believe herself as she exhales long-sufferingly and chuckles* Yeah, it was. Well that, and did you see what Flitwick's wearing? *shakes her head* I think he actually has a lady with him. *lips twitch amused*

 **Ama:** what? *laughs* hey! They haven't been too...enormous. You know besides being in denial about being pregnant with Chace and Nadia but- shhh, not a word. *grins and then wiggles her eyebrows at Lynn* right, completely clean. *grins and then turns her head to spot Flitwick and puts a hand over her mouth to giggle* oh my Merlin. There's no way...*laughs* aww, Flitwick was my favorite. Granted, he was my head of house so.

 **Jana:** Oh, merlin don't remind me. That was hell on my end. I'm just glad you already weren't drinking. *shaking her head grinning, head flicking over to watch Lynn/Ama and she just turns back to Ama jaw dropping* Stop encouraging her! *poking Ama's shoulder and then nods amused* And yeah! She was very pretty actually..*looking around* They're around here somewhere.

 **Ama:** it was only for a few weeks! And it was over the moment you all but force fed the maternity test potion down my throat. *lips twitch and then laughs once, batting away her hand as Jay pokes her* what?! I'm just saying if the boy was ballsy enough to come up and introduce himself shirtless then obviously she's doing something right. And if she wants you to meet him then this might get serious, it's better to let her know that she can always come talk to you. I'm just ensuring you didn't scare the boy off is all *grins* I'm a good aunt. *looks around as well* is she taller? I'm assuming she is, Merlin knows there's no one shorter...

 **Jana:** *nodding, grinning* Yeah, that's right and I'd do it again. *brow wiggles* I was right wasn't I? ...but please don't make me do it again, merlin. *moving her hand away and shakes her head with a small groan* Yeah, yeah. I didn't scare him off! *pauses* Though you're right. She actually never has let us meet them before. *bites her bottom lip for a moment and then tilts her head amused* Yeah, she was. Blonde too. 

 **Ama:** *exhales and says in a very melancholic tone* yes, Jay, you were right, are right, always will be right. *rolls her eyes playfully before winking at her and then laughing once* um no, never again I promise. *grins* of course you didn't, I'm quite proud of you really, behaving as you did *teasing* and of course I'm right *buffs her nails against her shoulder* It's a scary moment, for both you and her. Ive never met any of my daughter's boys...*grins* then again, Devin I already knew. By the way did you see them? They are so adorable. *beaming* I'm glad everything worked out *sighs and then grins* blonde? Oh Flitwick, get it!

 **Jana:** *brows wiggle as she says it and she giggles under her breath once and she nods* Oh thank merlin. *exhales and then she nods* Yeah, exactly. *tilts her head* Personally, I think I did very well. *nodding to herself* I...still can't believe she actually is old enough to have a boyfriend though. How did that happen? *blinking and then she starts laughing* I did! *smiling and then nods* ....yeah, thank merlin. *just shakes her head sighing as well and beams a minute later* Hell yeah.

 **Ama:** *shrugs and sighs* I know right? Time just starts flying. I remember when all my babies were...well babies. With no boyfriends or girlfriends and they weren't of age, one of them with her own apartment and business- *inhales* I'm okay, I'm alright, we're good. *chuckles and nods* and oh Merlin, I swear, Devin is growing so fast! When did he get so tall?

 **Jana:** *blinks as she goes off and just shakes her head* Stop it...I still have a few months before Lynn's of age! *chuckles and nods* Yes, we are good. And I don't know!! He's almost taller than I am now. *shakes her head* Well, I mean his father's tall so. *shakes her head* It's just...ridiculous. 

 **Ama:** consider yourself lucky for these few more months *chuckles and then nods* Yes! He's almost growing logistically! *notices the look of confusion on Jay's face* ...like a logistic curve? Which starts as exponential growth before leveling off as it approaches a horizontal asymptote?....*pouts* used commonly for population growth because habitats tend to have a maximum carrying capacity?....I swear it's funny.

 **Jana:** *nodding, grinning* Oh god, trust me I am. *brow furrows a bit, even as she starts to explain and nods a moment later* I'm...going to pretend I know what...more than half of those words mean. *laughs teasingly* When did you start learning all of that?!

 **Ama:** *laughs and then hits her shoulder lightly* Hey! I've always known random and useless facts like that *laughs* my mother insured we were all tutored before Hogwarts and during the summer *pretends to gag* hmm, when does the game start again? *looks at her watch*

 **Jana:** *chuckling* That wasn't random. *brows wiggling* That was math. Incredibly detailed mathematics that I don't think I ever learned really. *grinning* And I know. *lips twitch* You've complained about that for as long as I've known you. *grinning and then pauses* I think noon right? So we have like...half an hour? Guess we should head out to the stands. 

 **Ama:** math clicks *taps the side of her head and then laughs, a bit abashed* Yes, I know I have. *shakes her head* Man, do I know how to hold a grudge huh? *grins and then nods* yes, sounds like a good idea. Let's find Shawn and Caleb, and make our way out. *waves her little gryffindor banner*

 **Jana:** *chuckles* The only thing that's ever stuck with me like that is politics so. *laughs* Who, you? Oh never. You're all about forgiveness. *nodding and presses her necklace, so that it starts flashing 'Go Gryffindor' and chuckles* Yeah, let's go.

 **Ama:** I am Mother Theresa, I don't have any idea what you're talking about *sniffs, lips twitching before grinning, taking Jay's arm with her own and leading them out*

&.

 **Commentator:** Ladies and Gentlemen, Students and Staff and Parents, Welcome one and all to the finals of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup! (*cheers from the crowd*) This promises to be an exciting game indeed! Our favorite school rivalry battles it out yet again in a game of strength, speed, agility, maneuvering and tactical ability! Gryffindor versus Slytherin! Who shall win?! (*more cheers, chants of "Gryffindor" and "Slytherin" can be heard) Here are your teams! In Gryffindor we have--

 **Chace:** *finishing slipping on his Chaser gloves while they're walking down to the center of the pitch, grinning and throwing his fists in the air as his name is said by the announcer, before clapping and bringing his fingers up to his mouth to whistle*

 **Hols:** *walking into the Quidditch Pitch in line heading to the center of the pitch, having already made all her teammates kiss Kraken, her bat, as her usual pre-game routine. Blowing kisses to the stands as her name gets announced before twirling her bat above her head*

 **Chace:** *grins, looking over his shoulder to look at Hols* just make sure thats the only flirty act out on the field today, okay? *eyebrows rise*

 **Hols:** oh pft, shut your hole. You know very well the Kraken and I have no mercy, pah!

 **Chace:** *smirks* just checking. *coming to a stop as the teams meet in the middle of the pitch-

 **Commentator:** \--captains shaking hands, or rather, trying to crush each other's hands--

 **Hols:** *her gaze finds Alcott after a bit, narrowing her eyes and smirking briefly before she drags her finger across her throat*

 **Commentator:** \--we all remember their last game, and the bloodshed that occurred when a simple, unintentional, (*cue Slytherin boos*) collision-

 **Chace:** *laughs once under his breath* unintentional? I think he might fancy you, Lynn.

 **Commentator:** \--was the start of a violent bloodshed. The question of everybody's mind is, will this happen again? Let's watch!

 **Alcott:** *had cast a quick glance to Hols, lips twitching with amusement as she blows kisses to the crowd*

 **Charlotte:** *hits his head*

 **Alcott:** I'm not even going to ask. *pauses seeing Hols look at him and he smirks at her motion with his eyebrow arching and looks away from her, rolling his eyes and promptly looking over at Lynn at the word 'unintentiona'l with his eyebrow arched, just shaking his head*

 **Charlotte:** *scoffs beside him* Oh please. *eyes him quite closely* 

 **Alcott:** ...quit looking at me like that.

 **Charlotte:** *under her breath, lilting* Just checking your head's in the game.

 **Alcott:** *snorts* If I steal her bat again, will you shut up?

 **Charlotte:** She'll whack you over the head with it. *pauses* ...so yes. That would make me happy. 

 **Alcott:** *just shakes his head* 

-&-

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch at Chace's remark, smirking at him and shrugging a shoulder* Mm, he better not let Nick know that apparently. *waves up to the Ravenclaw stands as her name is called and then can't help but look back at Alcott as he looks at her, eyes narrowing into a hard blazing stare for a moment, as though she was attempting to become Medusa, and then looks back at Hols, lips twitch* Knock em' dead. *winks at her and then mutters quickly to Chace* Porskoff right after getting the Quaffle? I'll hover underneath.

 **Chace:** *laughs again and shakes his head* it's always nice to have the announcer on your side. Great for morale.

 **Hols:** *watching Lynn with amusement and then smirks* you know that's right. *puts her bat over her shoulder* dead and buried.

 **Chace:** *nods quickly* oh you got it. *nods to the other chaser*

 **Commentator:** -Madam Hooch giving the signal for the players to mount their brooms-

Hooch: *kicks open the crate, letting the bludgers zoom out, followed by the Snitch, before picking up the Quaffle* Now I want a nice, clean, game. *looks around at all of them* For once. *waits a few moments and then-*

 **Commentator:** The Quaffle's released, and the game begins!

 **Rory:** ...you know I don't know why Madam Hooch bothers to say that. 

 **Dillon:** Wishful thinking.

 **Rory:** Delusional. 

 **Dillon:** That too.

 **COMMENTATOR:** And the quaffle is immediately grabbed by Tudor, who drops it to Rivers, who tosses it back up to Tudor--perfect Porskoff Ploy by the pair which incidentally was named after the Russian chaser Petrova Porskoff, if you were curious--

 **Rory:** *blinks* Why are Quidditch terms always named after the first person that does them?

 **Dillon:** ...vanity.

 **Rory:** Well I just mean, couldn't that play also just be called a...pass? *tilting his head*

 **Dillon:** Overthinking this, mate.

 **Rory:** Maybe a litt-- OH!

 **Commentator:** \--OOOH that was not pretty, an obvious attempt to unseat the Gryffindor chaser; it's sure to be a-- yes! Penalty to Gryffindor! *there's a pause* And Rivers puts it away, no trouble. Might want to be careful going after her, Turner, didn't you learn that after last match? I mean rea--yes, professor. And the score is 10-0, Gryffindor. Minre takes the Quaffle--

 **Rory:** *lips twitch* Like I said. The first points, are off a penalty. Why does Madame Hooch even bother?

 **Dillon:** *shakes his head*

 **Irene:** not to mention adults' never ending hope that we children learn to behave.

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch* it's more of a habit at this point, really. *cheers as Chace grabs the quaffle, hearing the button pinned to her shirt yell 'Go Chace!' and beaming, clapping enthusiastically before turning to look at Rory, amused* it's a *little* bit more complicated than a pass-

 **Irene:** oh lord, don't get her started *laughs and then immediately winces* WHAT WAS THAT?! *leaning over the edge of the stands for a moment to keep yelling* COME ON!!

 **Nadia:** *pats her shoulder* deep breaths honey *lips twitch* deep breaths. *claps as Lynn puts the goal away easily* Whoot!

 **Irene:** I like this announcer *grins*

 **Nadia:** *laughs* same...Helen tends to go for the obvious hits, she gets fouled incessantly.

 **Irene:** gorgeous though. And a bitch, but gorgeous. And insane, did you hear her dad-

 **Nadia:** Rene! *snaps her fingers* focus. Game, remember?

 **Commentator:** \--she passes it off to Mraz, who speeds immediately towards the goal posts, Carter and Rivers try to block her- OOH! A bludger from Faye forces them to fly out of the way. Mraz is approaching the goal posts, she's ready to try the goal and REJECTED! Tudor flies from below and steals the Quaffle back mid-throw! A quick one, that one is, but then again with a name like Chace its surely fitting right? Chace the Chaser Tudor speeding down the pitch--

Irene/ **Nadia:** *cheering!* 

 **Dillon:** *lips twitch and he turns to Rene as she says she's gorgeous, simply looking at her for a moment and saying with a grin* ...you're right, totally gorgeous.

 **Rory:** *shakes his head, lips twitching* Hey. *hits his shoulder* Head in the game.

 **Dillon:** ...it is. 

 **Rory:** The Quidditch game mate.

 **Dillon:** *starts cheering as Chace gets closer to the goal post, Rory shakes his head and starts cheering with them too* 

 **COMMENTATOR:** \--Bludger hit his way from Turner, DODGED! -- it's just him and the Keeper no--GRYFFINDOR SCORES! 20-0 to Gryffindor!

 **Rory:** Oh hell yeah! *high fives with Dillon* 

 **Dillon:** *turns to high five Irene as well* 

 **Rory:** *turns to high five Nadia* 

 **COMMENTATOR:** Brackner grabs the Quaffle and he's streaking up the field, he passes to Minre, who passes it back to Brackner, who pass--INTERCEPTED by Rivers!--she passes it back to Tudor, he passes it back to Rivers, she sen--INTERCEPTED by Brackner--

 **Rory:** *whistles under his breath groaning* I...can hardly see how fast that Quaffle is moving.

 **Dillon:** *nods in disbelief* Damn. 

 **Rory:** Reminds me actually of that Arrows game we saw--

 **Dillon:** \--*nods* Almost as good, yea--*bursts out groaning* Damn.

 **Commentator:** \--SLYTHERIN SCORES!

 **Irene:** *turns to look at Dillon for a moment at his comment, beaming brightly, pleased, as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear*

 **Nadia:** *bites down on her lip to keep from laughing* Rene?

 **Irene:** *snaps her head back to Nadia* yeah!

 **Nadia:** the game-

 **Irene:** THE GAMEEE!!! *cheering again and then clapping before whoot-whooing*

 **Nadia:** YES! *clapping as Chace scores before high fiving Rory*

 **Irene:** *grinning as she high fives Dillon, and then Nadia and then Rory* got everyone right?

 **Nadia:** *eyes following the Quaffle back and forth before groaning* oh this is going to be a long game.

 **Irene:** I dislike arrows *mutters under her breath*

 **Nadia:** *pats her shoulder and then groans again as Slytherin scores* unbelievable! *shakes her head* it's okay, it's okay we'll get it back! *clapping*

 **Irene:** *brings her two fingers together in a small, secretive, momentary clap for Al's score*

 **Nadia:** mini-traitor *lips twitch*

 **Irene:** shhhhhh!!!

 **Commentator:** The Quaffle is passed to Rivers, who is eager to get her revenge. The Gryffindor chaser is being closed in by Minre and Mraz, could they possibly be trying Parkin's Pincer- yes! There comes Bracker, flying directly towards Rivers. He's closing but oh! He has to swerve to avoid a bludger sent by Graft! Rivers is still trapped between Minre and Mraz--

 **Nadia:** COB.BING! COBBING! COME ON HOOCH!

 **Irene:** ARE YOU BLIND, OLD WOMAN? LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT!

 **Commentator:** \--Mraz using excessive elbow right there, that's most certainly a foul ladies and gents, but Madam Hooch- nope, never mind there's the whistle! Penalty goal for Gryffindor.

 **Nadia:** pft, finally! 

 **Dillon:** *grins at Irene again, beaming and turns back to the game as well as she does*

 **Rory:** *high fives Irene back too and grins* Yeah that was everyone. *lips twitch, eyes still back on the pitch*

 **Dillon:** *his brows furrow at Irene's quiet mutter--he doesn't hear it but he sees her expression, because he's *still* not really watching the game--and then groans as well hearing the rest of the stands around them, mixed with cheering from the Slytherin end all in unison--and then notes the mini-traitorous clap* Oh! *bites his bottom lip, shaking his head* Irene.

 **Rory:** *lips twitch* Well, I'm sure Liza's happy anyways.

 **Dillon:** *shakes his head* Speaking of trai--OH.

 **Rory:** COBBING! *says simultaneously with Nadia*

 **Dillon:** The fuck was tha--*as the penalty is called* thank you! 

 **Commentator:** And again, Rivers puts it away, I'm starting to sense a pattern here--

 **Rory:** Damn straight.

 **Commentator:** \-- and really considering the dirty tricks and obvious cheating it's totally deserv--- Yes, sorry Professor-- and Minre streaks up the field, flanked by Brackner and Mraz, forming a Hawkshed--OH, broken up by a nicely aimed bludger from Cisinerros, Minre drops the Quaffle, it's grabbed by Carter, Carter takes off in a zig zag, he's headed straight for the goal--BLOCKED, nice save by the Slytherin Keeper, well they're bound to get lucky some--*drowned out by a loud boooo from the Slytherin crowd* --...Oh, those are some creative suggestions uses for the broom coming from the crowd, they're really -- yes, professor.

 **Rory:** *snorts* Those aren't creative at all.

 **Dillon:** Well, what do you expect? You certainly don't expect them to actually be clever.

 **Irene:** *turns her head to look a Dillon as he says her name, looking as innocent as she can while grinning* what?! Oh I'm just being a good friiiendd.

 **Nadia:** shhhh, no words from you traitor! *laughs and looks at Rory* or should that be pluraal? *grinning right before she starts shouting at Madam Hooch to call the foul*

 **Irene:** *cheers as Lynn scores, clapping as loudly as possible and putting her fingers in her mouth to whistle*

 **Nadia:** Go Gui! *clapping and then cheering Rael on as he attempts a goal and groans along with the rest of the crowd as it doesn't go through the hoop*

 **Irene:** ...well, *lips twitch* that's a waste of a good broom.

 **Nadia:** *blinks at one particularly disturbing one* ...how is that...how would that be...is that physically possible?

 **Irene:** wanna try it later?! *grins and it falters as Nadia gives her a disapproving look* ...juuuust a suggestion.

&&

 **Commentator:** And it's neck at neck with the score 150 to 140 in Gryffindor's favor! And what a game it's been, ladies and gents! Cobbing, blatching, stooging, blurting, bumphing, and blagging-we've seen it all! Foul after foul, hit after hit and after nearly three hours these players are exhausted and irked, the crowd is irked, hell *I'm* irked, more specifically with the disgusting behavior of the Slytheri-- it's only the truth, Professor! Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle! Bracker passes to Minre- OH! A beautifully executed Dopplebeater Defence by Graft and Cisinerros, the bludger hitting her square in the back. If that didn't knock the wind out of Minre, I don't know what will! That's definitely gonna hurt in the morning- but the Quaffle gets caught by Rivers! Rivers speeds off, passes it to Carter! He's approaching the Keeper- but wait, he throws it backwards, Tudor's right there! He flips forward, batting the Quaffle with the tail of his broom, the Keeper lunges but he misses! Gryffindor scores!

 **Nadia:** *while clapping enthusiastically* I taught him how to do that you know. *beaming*

 **Irene:** *laughs* of course you did. *grins and then brings her hands up to cup around her mouth to yell* GO CHACE!

 **Commentator:** Could it be? YES IT IS! THE GRYFFINDOR SEEKER SEES THE SNITCH! He's diving towards it, the Slytherin seeker right beside him, they're neck at neck! The crowd is going wild!

 **Rory:** *has his hands cupped around his mouth as he yells at the top of his lungs* GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! 

 **Dillon:** *is gripping the side of the stands as he leans over it, shouting as well* YOU'VE GOT IT! GET IT! IT'S RIGHT--HIT HIS ELBOW OUT OF TH--YES!

 **Rory:** *simultaneously, fist pumping the air again* YES! 

Dillon/ **Rory:** -A deafening roar is heard, drowning out all sound around them, as they turn to each other and hit each other's backs in a quick bromance-hug and then turn to engulf Nadia  & Irene as well, jumping up and down as they do so, engulfed in a stand-wide hug it seems like--

 **Commentator:** *magically amplified above it all, with a hoarse cheer in their own voice* GRYFFINDOR WINS!!!!!!!! FINAL SCORE, 310-140, AND GRYFFINDOR TAKES THE CUP! Nothing more than they deserved after that game, considering the obvious cheating, but--*continuing on in this vein, McGonagall cheering too loudly herself to stop them*--

 **Rory:** *pumping his fist into the air in agreement again* Yes! Yes! Yes! **Dillon:** *has turned to Irene again and is grinning with an eyebrow wiggle, chuckling under his breath and with the roar around him he decides she can't actually hear him talk, so he just winks for a moment, grinning at her ridiculously wide and then leans forward and cups her cheeks to kiss her just once, half in the haze of victory and half because he just wants to*

Nadia/ **Irene:** *SQUEAL AND CHEER AS LOUD AS EVER AS THE SEEKER CATCHES THE SNITCH! they turn to each other and hug each other tightly while bouncing, still squealing before joining in the group hug with Rory and Dillon* GO GO GRYFFINDOR! GO GO GRYFFINDOR!

 **Commentator:** Gryffindor takes a much deserved victory lap around the pitch before they touch ground once again, ready for the Headmaster to present them with the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup!--

 **Irene:** *laughing in absolute glee, turning to Dillon with a huge beam on her face, tilting her head curiously at him as he winks and then grins again as he leans in and kisses her, laughing and beaming brighter as he leans away, biting down on her bottom lip before turning away to start chanting with the crowd again, while Nadia laughs next to her, still clapping enthusiastically!*

\--

 **Hols:** *landing on the ground ecstatic, jumping on her broom and then running over to Gui who picks her up and twirls her around, kissing her cheek before setting her down, afterwards they do their 'famous beater victory dance' before laughing and cheering, joining in to the group huddle, hugging Chace and then Lynn and then the rest of the team*

 **Chace:** *clapping as he lands, cheering and throwing his fists up in the air before chest bumping with Gui, high fiving everybody and hugging Hols before just crowding around the seeker and the captain as they're about to receive the cup*

&.

Since the start of the match, Lynn had been hard-pressed to suppress the urge to simply ram into Alcott again, if only to rid herself of the giant question mark he presented. He seemed to feel much the same; anytime they had flown near each other, he had an odd look. Half a glare and half a smirk, she got the feeling that he wanted to ram her just to make her go away as well. 

The result was that they had intercepted each other's passes so often that they might as well have been throwing to each other. Aggravated, Lynn narrowed her eyes and shot forward again. Looping around the pole, she cut in front of him quickly to block him from ramming into Chace--allowing Chace to score. Alcott shot after her like a javelin, both of them diving for the Quaffle despite the sudden roar in the crowd indicating that the Snitch had been spotted. As the Seekers pelted after the snitch, Alcott and herself continued chasing the red ball. Heart pounding in her ear, it's rapid beat could not drown out the deafening roar that told them Gryffindor had won. Alcott pulled out of the dive as he grabbed it, an ugly look on his face with his groan as she burst into a beam--accidentally darting past him and pulling into a spiral loop in her happiness, flying upside down for a moment and then barrel-rolling towards the cup, when she realized she was once again about to hit into Al. 

This time it actually _would_ have been an accident. Unless he'd planted himself in her path on purpose. Groaning, she screeched to a halt, so that they were both hovering near each other. 

Up close, she realized his glare was gone. He looked at her with a wry twisting smirk, shaking his head almost in amusement, very aware that they'd nearly collided once more. As his eyebrow arched and her lips twitched, he smiled at her. 

They stared at each other for a moment, the sounds of whistles and screams punctuating a moment that was oddly silent for them both. She was slightly bruised from a misbegotten bludger and more elbows thrown at her than she'd been able to actually score penalty's for. He was similarly bruised and sweaty: the match had not been perfectly clean on either side perusual (whatever the commentator--who she thought she might owe a hug--said). At one point during the match, they'd both nearly barreled into the stands, unwilling to let the other get in front of them. Flying a little closer to him, she watched him stiffen and rolled her eyes. 

Then she smiled back and stuck out her hand. 

He took it after a moment, shaking only once. They let go extremely quickly, even as they rolled their eyes in how 'silly' it was, before Lynn shot off to the other end to land with her cheering teammates. Alcott didn't look back as he flew towards his own teammates, albeit quite a bit slower than she did. 

-&-

 **Lynn:** *lands on the other side of Hols as though absolutely nothing happened, running a hand across her forehead before being engulfed in a hug. She jumps up and down with Hols for a few minutes, hugging her tight and cheering herself* YES! YES! 

*She kisses Chace's cheek, then Rael's, then Gui's, positively thrilled, winking at them all, hugging her other teammates. As she climbs the stands towards the Cup, she reaches into her robes and pulls out first her wand and then what appear to be doll shoes, which she quickly enlarges into her heels, swapping her shoes as she climbs, an arm still around Hols, partially to steady herself and because she's beaming. 

She holds the Cup up to the crowd for a moment when it's passed at her, feeling a bit in the spotlight as they have lights shining on them--they'd played into the evening--and then passes it on to Hols next, blowing the crowd a kiss and putting her hand over her heart, which is beating rapidly.

With another massive group hug, two of the crowd lift the Seeker onto their shoulders and Lynn chuckles, pulling her hair out of it's ponytail as she does so, letting the wind claim it and follows, eyes searching every which way for those she recognizes on the ground. When she spots Lila, she hugs her too--she chuckles as she notices Rory escaping from a corner, headed towards who she assumed was Eliza--and then pauses as she sees Devin. He's grinning as well, albeit sheepishly, and as they lock eyes across perhaps 150 heads in the sea of students on the ground, she just waves and he offers a congratulatory wave as well--before Lynn finds herself carried out with the sea of other students; not even letting her to the locker room.*

 

&.

 

 **Alcott:** *exiting the Slytherin locker room, running a hand through hair still wet as he just got out of the shower and didn't bother to dry it when he spots Hols and pauses, lips twitching for a moment and shakes his head to himself, calling out after her to see if she'll turn around* Hols! 

 **Hols:** *humming happily to herself upon exiting her locker room, broom in one hand and Kraken the bat in another with her quidditch bag thrown over shoulder, her wet hair up in a loose and messy bun, the ends of it dripping water down her neck. She was lost in thoughts of what she should wear for the victory party when she's snapped out of it by someone calling her name- she turns around and smiles seeing who it is before she adopts a small smirk and then wiggles her eyebrows* I used to go by that, yeah. From now on I'll only answer to the title "Quidditch Champion Hols" if you'd be so kind.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch in an amused smirk, wiggling his own eyebrow back and he shakes his head, mming* Yeah, you're lucky I didn't just call you Graft, so..I'm thinking I'm not that kind.

 **Hols:** *laughs with great amusement and then tilts her head* oh so thats how it is then? *straightens her head again before rising her eyebrows* not even a small, reluctant, muttered out like bile Congratulations?

 **Alcott:** *catching up to her and he stops walking, chuckling under his breath shaking his head* Mmm...well I'm certainly not saying it now. *cocks his eyebrow,bemused* Not if you have to ask for it. 

 **Hols:** *grins and puts her hands on her hips* I only ask for what I so righteously deserve. You know normally, I would just take what I think I deserve but you can't exactly take words. *shrugs, lips twitching* So if you're not going to offer congratulations, what aree you gonna say?

 **Alcott:** *lips twitching* So righteously? More like hard-fought. Did you pay off that announcer, by the way? Or are you just a ventriloquist...because those were your words, weren't they?

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and nods* alright, hard fought. *laughs* what? My words? *eyebrows rise and wiggles* My words would have been much more vulgar. And I would have praised myself a lot more than anyone else on the team *grins and shrugs* so neither. *pauses* ...you can't possibly think I'm _that_....abrasive? *eyebrows rise*

 **Alcott:** Abrasive? No. *amused* But once again they were in Gryffindor's pocket, so I was just wondering. *pauses and then considers, arching his eyebrow teasingly* Well you know, actually I suppose it depends on which definition of _'abrasive_ ' we're talking about..

 **Hols:** more like in Lynn's pocket *laughs* or rather, he wishes. Another victim of the redheaded fever *lips twitch* makes having red headed best friends quite trying sometimes. *chuckles and looks up at him with raised eyebrows, amused* the "harsh and rough in manner" definition. What else could it be? *smirks slightly and readjusts the bag on her shoulder* nevertheless it was a good game. Rough, brutal, and I think the swelling from where Turner "mistook my head as a bludger" is never going to do down but *lips twitch* good game all the same.

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head rolling his eyes once* Only sometimes? *bites his bottom lip* I would imagine she's actually difficult most times. *shrugs a shoulder* I don't get the red head thing anyway...*still smiling, his lips twitch* Hmm. *brow arches and then he nods in agreement* It was actually. For all the same reasons you just said. Could've been better, but. Good game.

 **Hols:** hmm, careful there. *eyebrows rises* That's getting a tad close to an insult. *shakes head, but can't help but be the slightest bit amused at the truth of his words and then her lips twitch into an actual smile at his next words, pleased* hmm, stereotypes *shrugs and then chuckles, nodding before stepping closer* aaaand? *urging him on with her hand for him to continue onto the "congratulations"*

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head, lips twitching* Ohhh no, it was not an insult, definitely not. *chuckles, shaking his head and then as she steps a little closer, he takes another step closer to her as well, arching his eyebrow higher and gestures with her* Aaaandd....*pauses in front of her, brows wiggling, and then he cups her cheek with his hand, kisses her once and tucks a wet strand of hair back behind her ear, pulling back to say simply* Congratulations.

 **Hols:** *grinning as he steps closer to her, chuckling under her breath as he wiggles his eyebrows and closes her eyes as he leans in to kiss her, eyes opening in a flutter, a small, slightly beamy, smile on her face as he pulls away* Thank you. **tilting her head after a second* so there's absolutely no chance on that Hogwarts Champion Hols title? 

 **Alcott:** *drops his hand to his side and tilts his head laughing under his breath* Not a chance in hell. *brow arches* But I suppose I should let you get to your victory party. *lips twitch, and he leans in to kiss her again, chaste and pulls back, putting both hands in his pocket* I'll see you, Hols. *smirks at her as he leaves*

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* had to try. *chuckles and then nods as he mentions the victory party and kisses her again* Bye. *waves with her fingers, watching him leave for a few seconds before biting down on her lip briefly and turning around, walking towards the castle thinking about what to wear again*

 

&.

 **Eliza:** I can't believe you talked me into this. *shakes her head/tucking a strand behind her ear*

 **Rory:** Oh, *grins* I think you look amazing.

 **Eliza:** Mmm, you better. *chuckles, blushes slightly, fixing her bright scarlet dress's one sleeve a bit self-consciously* Al's going to chew me out for weeks over this.

 **Rory:** *arches his eyebrow laughing* Oh, no he won't.

 **Eliza:** ...yes he will.

 **Rory:** ..well yeah he will, but a bet's a bet. *grins*

 **Eliza:** *Shakes her head* Tell him that. He still owes me a kiss with a guy.

 **Lynn:** *is walking down the stairs, wearing a skin-tight short one piece black dress, back mostly cut out with lace/the 

front is a corset-esque strapless, with multi-colored flowers on the short skirt; i have a picture but xD; she pauses walking/looking when she hears that* ..wait what was that? *grinning wide*

 **Eliza:** *Brightly* Hi Lynn! Congratulations, you know, even if I hate you a little. ...oh I love your dress.

 **Lynn:** Mmm, thanks, love yours too--Alcott has to kiss a guy?

 **Eliza:** Hm?

 **Rory:** Oh, well Eliza bet him tha-

 **Eliza:** *hits his shoulder*

 **Rory:** *rubs his shoulder* Oh.

 **Lynn:** ...and I thought this day couldn't get any better. *hugs Liza immediately, brightly smiling and then sees Nick over Liza's shoulder and beams* Ohhh, excuse me. *winks at them both*

 **Eliza:** *has her face in her palm*

 **Rory:** ...okay now he's gonna kill you.

 **Eliza:** You're the one that sta--!

 **Rory:** Hey mate. *grins at Dillon* Where's Irene?

 **Dillon:** *holds up the two drinks he has and chuckles* On my way back. Hey Liza. Nice dress.

 **Eliza:** *bites bottom lip  & says flustered* Thanks.

 **Dillon:** *turns back around to find Irene again; handing her the drink and smiling* Thereee you go. *lips twitch* You were saying?

 **Lynn:** *squeals, and jumps, into Nick's arms, leaning down to kiss him as she wraps both her legs and arms around him, eyebrow wiggling as she pulls back smiling from ear to ear* Hi.

 **Hols:** *wearing simple tight black jeans and a red tube top with gold jewelry, passing through the crowd of people, grinning as people offer their congratulations and turning down their offer of drinks by wiggling her own glass, spying Nick still wearing his body paint she laughs and hugs him* Hey!

 **Nick:** *grinning as he hugs Hols back* Hi, congrats on the win! How's your head?

 **Hols:** tender *laughs* wait till you see Lynn, you're gonna di- *pauses as he starts looking ahead and she turns around to spy Lynn walking down the stairs and then smirks before turning back to Nick and patting his shoulder* Rest in peace.

 **Nick:** *laughs and pushes her away* Bye Hols!

 **Hols:** *laughs and then spots Rene and heads to her* Rene!

 **Irene:** Sexy! *hugs her, making sure not to spill Hols' drink as she knows the importance* Congratulations! *gives her a quick and purposefully loud kiss in celebration*

 **Hols:** *laughs and then beams* thank you! You here with Nadia or-

 **Irene:** Dillon. He's gone to get us drinks *grins*

 **Hols:** gotcha *nodding with a huge smile* in that case I don't want to interrupt *winks*

 **Irene:** *grins and waves bye with her fingers before turning back to Dillon as he comes back, taking the drink* thank you. *takes a sip and hmms* Oh, yea, I believe I was reminding you of the time you made fun of my glasses in first year *grins* deny all you want but it happened!

 **Nick:** *watching Lynn coming his way, a wide grin on his face as he puts his arms around her as he catches her, kissing her back enthusiastically and leaning back with a similar grin on his face and a quiet laugh* Hi. Congratulations, babyy. *kisses her again* ...now can you get off so I can properly oggle at you? *smirks and wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Dillon:** *sitting against the back of a sofa, as their near a window and tilts his beer back, grinning and waving once at Hols as she leaves, and then swallows quickly, laughing and shakes his head* Noo, no you must have misunderstood me. *arching his eyebrow teasing* See, your eyes are so beautiful that having four just..doubled the attraction. *lips twitch, shaking his head* ...all right, fine. *exhales smiling* Would you accept my most heartfelt apology?

 **Lynn:** *chuckling with a low murmur of delight, she lifts one hand to pull her hair back behind her ear/large gold hoop earring and says simply, grinning* Long as you let me back on after, absolutely. *wiggles her eyebrow/unwrapping her legs first, planting her heels  & then lifts her arms in a 'ta da' pose, grinning at him* Well?

 **Irene:** *eyebrow rises in amusement as he tries to talk his way out of it* a mistake huh? *pursing her lips briefly before taking another sip of her drink, laughing at his reasoning, afterwards shaking her head* that's a horrible excuse. *grins* but apology accepted. *eyebrow wiggle* holding grudges is bad for the skin, premature wrinkles you know.

 **Nick:** oh, you're definitely getting back on after *smirks and then lets his hands fall from around her waist as she's standing up steadily and looks her up and down, the smirk widening and then taking her hand to turn her around to see the back* Well, a sexier outfit I have never seen before *pulls her back in after the spin is done* And I happen to think we're in the company of too many people. *grinning before leaning in to kiss her*

 **Dillon:** *laughs unashamed and holds up a hand, not trying to defend it but nods* Maybe, but I stand by the fact that your eyes are beautiful. Captivating, actually. *smile flicks and he grins at her remark* Ahh, I see. Well, that would be a tragedy.

 **Lynn:** *giggles under her breath as he spins her on her gold-stilettos, lifting a hand over her head  & laces her fingers through his as their hands drop and her smile flicks, leaning into the kiss and she cups his neck with her hand, kissing back & her lips twitch when she pulls back* Mm..when you're right, you're right. *brow arches* Unfortunately Hogwarts kicks you out, of my bedroom. *arches her brow a little higher* Perhaps the Room of Requirement?

 **Nick:** *nodding with a small hmm* I do have the tendency to be right often. *teasing and then his eyebrows rise in response to her and her suggestion before smirking once more* sounds good to me. *grins, squeezing their intertwined hands once* Lead the way?

 **Lynn:** *brows flick, lips pursing as she teases back* No wonder we have a tendency to agree. *turns to lead him out* 

 **Irene:** *grins and tilts her head forward* thank you. I guess now would be a bad time to say something like these eyes are fake, made of glass and spelled to help me see or something like that *lips twitch and then nods in all seriousness* A Greek tragedy. But thankfully I come from good genes *pauses* well, good-looking genes anyways. So no need to worry about wrinkles for a while. *pauses again* I swear to Merlin, I don't usually talk about wrinkles and glass eyeballs, just...shh, obliviate yourself *laughs once and takes a hearty sip of her drink*

 **Dillon:** *laughs and tilts his head* Well, better they be made of glass than wood really. They 'splinter awfully terrible'...*lips twitching and takes another sip of his drink; his eyebrows arching a bit higher hearing the 'well good looking genes anyways' and he tilts his head, brow furrowing but deciding not to ask, saying instead with a grin* The alcohol might do that for me, don't worry. *lips twitch*

 **Irene:** *laughs and nods, appreciating that he continues the joke even though she knows its a bit lame* ...painful. *laughs once again and shakes her head before taking another sip of her drink and then grinning* maybe. I doubt beer would be of much help though. Not to mention last time we drank together? Geesh, boy *laughs* you throw it down like a prooo *eyebrow wiggle*

 **Dillon:** *laughs and he nods in agreement* Well all right true. *grins* That's the Irish in me. My Mum's Irish and she can drink with...well, she outdrinks my dad actually. *shrugs a shoulder* But he, is Italian, so his attitude wins out in the end. *tilts back another sip pointedly and he arches an eyebrow grinning* 

 **Irene:** *laughs* Irish, of course. I should have guessed *teasing and then her eyebrowsrise in surprise and she laughs again* Irish and Italian, eh? wow, what a combination *grins and shakes her head before brightening* does that mean you've been to Italy before, perhaps? *taking a sip*

 **Dillon:** *laughs* Oh family gatherings are always quite fun yeah. *pauses* Well actually they're just loud. Argumentative. Way too many drinks. *shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder, taking a sip of his own beer and balancing it lazily on his thigh, and then he grins* Twice actually. I'd love to go more but...*pauses and bites his bottom lip for a moment, clears his throat and then shakes his head* A lot of my dad's family is still there though so I went to stay with them for a few weeks last summer. 

 **Irene:** *smiles sadly at the notion of family gatherings but nods along, actually laughing a bit at the argumentantive comment* Yeah, I wouldn't expect anything less really. *teasing before grinning as he reveals he's visited, blinking a bit as he trails off, deciding not to ask about it because he hasn't with hers* that sounds cool. I am *so* jealous, I've never traveled out of the UK *takes a sip and then laughs once* barely traveled *in* the UK really. 

 **Dillon:** *grinning and chuckles* Yeah. The tempers not famous for no reason I suppose. *tilts his head and then his brow arches* Italy's amazing. I actually want to learn Italian, so. I love traveling. Maybe we could go somewhere together this summer then? *arching his eyebrow* I have--or okay I have access to--a car, so. 

 **Irene:** *grins* I think you mean infamous. *brow wiggles and then chuckles* All I know about Italy is what I see on the travel channel and even then it sounds amazing! Like I said, I'm thoroughly jealous. *grins and then tilts her head in surprise before smiling genuinely* Yeah? I mean you wouldn't mind? Cause you don't have to--the gas prices and all-It'd also be a bit of a hassle picking me up cause I'm technically not allowed out of my house, not that I don't mind sneking out but...*bites her bottom lip* It's a bit of a long story--actually let's try that again. *exhales in a laugh and then does a rewind noise before bursting into a beam* I'd love that! As long as you wouldn't mind a prison break of sorts.

 **Dillon:** *brows furrowing in slight surprise as she rambles through it and he tilts his head  & he chuckles under his breath, nodding* Oh don't worry about the gas prices. My brother's and I have been reworking the engine; it technically runs magically now. As for the prison break...all the more exciting. *blinks, befuddled* ...why are you grounded? 

 **Irene:** *grins* Really? On magic? Oh that's so wicked! *grins* Oh it's...not so much of a grounding as...*lips twitch and then sighs before chuckling* Well it's actually a bit funny. Or no, maybe not so much. Funny in the fact that it's ironic, muggles can just be as prejudiced as some purebloods...*lips twitch and then takes a sip of her drink* I'm clinically insane, that's why I'm not allowed out. Only for events that my dad as a member of the House of Lords is required to attend. I go to a mental institution for most of the year but my father just loves me oh so much despite it so he brings me home during the summer. Only one of the cover stories in my house *chuckles* So that's why I need to be sprung out. 

 **Dillon:** *chuckles and then puts a finger on her lips exclaiming* Shh! Not so loud. *brow wiggles* It's also illegal. *grins and takes his hand back and he tilts his head, sipping his beer, almost choking on it when she explains  & says 'House of Lords' and blinks, lowering the bottle and gasping, looking at her for a moment* ...that's terrible. *brow arching* And I'm more than willing to help defy it too. *blinks again, tilting his head* If it helps, he probably wouldn't have liked me anyway. My fam is mostly magically and certainly not...well, all that rich and fancy as all that. 

 **Irene:** *giggles a bit as he puts a finger on her lips and her own brow wiggles before she snaps her teeth quickly and playfully before he takes his finger back. She then sighs and shrugs after telling her story* Yeah, well, you get used to it. *chuckles and smiles slightly as he says he'd help defy it* Thanks. *beams and then chuckles* Yeah well...he wouldn't like or trust anyone I considered a friend so. Kinda screwed from the beginning huh? *grins and shrugs* The money is why I always have alcohol on me though, I find it as fair retaliation to spend it on that. 

 **Dillon:** *chuckling once as she snaps her teeth  & holds his hand up in false surrender, eyebrow wiggling & then he blinks once* Well...I guess, but. *tilts his head and nods, lips twitching* Ahh, the mystery's solved. *brow wiggle* Now wait though. Just, a friend? 

 **Irene:** *lips twitch as she grins coyly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs (in I swear it was a deliberate manner) her gold dress riding up a bit, licking her lips* Well...I mean if you're up for changing that, I definitely wouldn't complain. *brow wiggles* 

 **Dillon:** *grins as she crosses her legs, eyes caught on where her gown rode up a bit for a moment and then looks back to her eyes  & slides a little closer to her, cupping her cheek and leaning into kiss her once, murmuring* I would like to change that, yeah. 

 **Irene:** *leans in closer to him as well, her eyes drifting to a close as he cups her cheek and kisses her, her eyes fluttering open in a manner similar to what she thinks the new found butterflies in her stomach are doing and she bites on her bottom lip for a moment as she looks at him, softly* Then what are you waiting for? 

 **Dillon:** *looking at her just as softly for a moment, fingers curling beneath her ear and gently brushing against her skin, as he takes a moment to breathe  & then says slowly* Nothing. I really like you, Rene. And I want to keep seeing you. However you want that to be. *arches his eyebrow slowly* Though I think we should go on a proper date. Out of castle. *lips twitch* If that's all right. 

 **Irene:** *smiling gently as he admits he wants to keep seeing her and then a beat passes as he mentions a date out of the castle before she chuckles in slight abashment and nods once* That would be...normal wouldn't it? *smiles again* I'm afraid you're gonna have to lead me through it though. I'm not exactly an expert with normal. 

 **Dillon:** *grin flicks slightly and he nods once, bemused* Well, I wouldn't say we have to be too normal. *brow arches* Just not too hasty. *his lips twitch as his eyebrow wiggles* I wouldn't want you to tire of me so quickly. *contrary to his words, he leans in to kiss her again* 

 **Irene:** *laughs once* Well nothing can be *too* normal when I'm involved anyways. *lips twitch at his words before she leans in to meet him in the kiss, her hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and pulling away after a few seconds* I don't think that's gonna happen. *grins softly and leans in to kiss him again* 

 **Dillon:** *brow cocking with the slightest smirk, he nods once and says cheekily, simply* Well good. *leans to meet her in the kiss again, sliding his hand into her hair, playing with the strands, his other hand settling on her waist holding her firmly, but gently as he kisses her deeply* 

 **Irene:** *she kisses him back with enthusiasm, stretching her arm backwards to put her drink on a table before taking the same arm and draping it around his neck, pulling herself in* 

 **Dillon:** *pulls her in, grinning and lowering his own bottle against the floor without focusing on it, moving his lips against hers and kissing her bottom lip, taking it into his mouth  & settling his hand on her waist* 

 **Irene:** *lips twitch briefly as he grins against her lips, sliding closer to him as he pulls her in, kissing him back deeply, and her tongue swipes over his lips as they close around her bottom one, the hand on his shoulder sliding down and around her back* 

 **Dillon:** *holding her firmer as she pulls herself closer, he adds his tongue and teeth into their breathless kiss, sucking against her lips, his other hand still playing with her curls, almost lazily* 

 **Irene:** *inhaling through her nose and kissing him breathlessly but passionately, parting her lips to allow his tongue entry, arm around his neck tightening as she arches her chest closer to his* 

&.

 **Lynn:** *turns as she pulls him through the crowd, pausing for a moment to nod a 'thank you' to someone who congratulated her--ignoring a whistle or two at her outfit--and climbs out the portrait hole, still holding his hand, slipping down the hall, speaking as she does so with a giggle* Well hey, for once McGonagall won't be up here. *arches her eyebrow back at him as they walk* She'll be too proud of us all to stop the party, so for once we're perfectly good. *heading down one half-flight of stairs to exit the tower and turning the corner again so that they're on the seventh-floor, she walks to the tapestry and then grins to herself as she reflects on 'what they need' and smiles as the door appears, tilting her head and bouncing on her toes, taking her free hand to open it, eyes widening in delight as she takes in the room--which appears to be the master bedroom of a cozy bed  & breakfast--esque room, with candles burning and she grins, cocking her eyebrow as she looks back at him* ...think it'll do? *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** No wonder *he repeats with amusement, walking after Lynn, maneuvering through the crowd of people eyebrows arched whoever made this wolf whistle and following her out of the portrait hole, enjoying the view in front of him and then laughing* Good. *looks around the room as they enter* little bit more than good really, it'll definitely do. *grins and leans in to kiss her once* hmm, hungry? *smirks, eyebrow wiggling*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, her hand flicking to close the door behind her, locking it--for effect alone as she knows the door will have disappeared on the other side, and wiggles her own cocked eyebrow back at him, she leans in to kiss him back, back still against the door, hand squeezing his and she hisses against his lips* Starved, actually. *kisses him again deeply*

 **Nick:** *smirks softly at her answer, his free hand leaning against the door at the side of her head before nodding and speaking quietly* good. *meets her in the deep kiss, lips moving against hers as he presses them closer, hand moving to cup the side of her neck*

 **Lynn:** *her eyes flutter shut as she kisses him back, her free hand trailing down his side, fingers tracing the design of the lion even as she moves her lips against his, her back pressing into the door as he leans into her, her head tilting as he grasps her neck; she focuses on his bottom lip, squeezing his hand back* 

 **Nick:** *grins briefly against her lips as she traces the outline of the lion on his chest, kissing her back avidly, bringing their intertwined hands up and against the door by her head, passing his tongue and teeth over her top lip as she focuses on his bottom*

 **Lynn:** *with a low murmur as she's pressed against the door with her arm lifting, she kisses back breathlessly, her hand sliding around to his lower back to pull him into her* 

 **Nick:** *presses closer against her at her urging, dropping his hand from her neck to around her waist, gripping the black, lacy fabric and inching it upwards a tad as he continues to kiss her breathlessly* 

 **Lynn:** *exhales quickly in a sharp gasp, her hand sliding up his back to twist into his hair, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she arches her back off the door frame so he can slide her dress up* 

 **Nick:** *revels in her small gasp, the intensity of her kiss increasing afterwards, his tongue meeting hers in a flurry as he brings her dress up, leaning away from her and letting her hand go so he could remove the dress entirely before capturing her mouth once more, hands sliding around her neck and down her back as he palms her and then squeezes* 

 **Lynn:** *breathing harshly through a hazy, delighted smirk, her eyes open again as she lifts her hands so he can pull the dress up without tearing it, her hair cascading out, arms falling back around his neck as she presses her now-perfectly-free chest to his away from the door entirely, turned slightly towards the bed and meets her lips to his, gasping against them at his hands  & murmuring unintelligably* 

 **Nick:** *trails his hands down further to her thigh, letting them slip inward for a moment before he grips them and hoists her up, guiding her legs around him as he moves them to the bed, dropping her on it before smirking playfully and moving over her, kissing her once again before moving down, kissing her neck and her shoulder before moving down to her chest and taking a nipple in his mouth, teasing the other one with his fingers*

 **Lynn:** *tightening her legs around him as he lifts her up, she smirks and bounces as he drops her, laying back in the comforter  & lifts her arms to rest over her head, kissing back once as he does, eyes fluttering shut as he moves down, moaning as his lips tease her, biting down on her lip and gasping once, bringing one arm back down to slide into his hair, her legs spreading wider beneath him* 

 **Nick:** *dragging his teeth against the sensitive pink flesh, nipping at it and passing his tongue over it to soothe it, her moans and the hand at his hair urging him onwards as he does the same to her other breast, letting the hand that was previously teasing her chest slide downwards, fingers pushing aside fabric as they brush against her clit* 

 **Lynn:** *whimpering and shuddering as his fingers brush against her, she kicks off her heels, her grip in his hair tightens  & she lifts both of her knees to plant her bare feet in the soft comforter, one knee pressing into his thigh and rubbing against his jeans, teasingly, playfully* 

 **Nick:** *he inhales through his nose as she presses a knee against him teasingly, groaning against her flushed skin before he starts kissing down her chest and stomach, hooking his fingers on her underwear and pulling them down as he kisses down her thigh as well, teasingly moving inwards, his tongue drawing circles against her skin* 

 **Lynn:** *her moans deep and her breath frantic as her eyes flutter with her trembling, she moves her hand through his hair, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, her other hand stretching behind her to grab a fistful of the comforter as the bed vibrates beneath them and she gasps again at the feel of his tongue, pressing her knee against him again, hard.* 

 **Nick:** *groans once more at the feel of her knee, leaning backwards momentarily to grasp both knees and spread her legs apart further before he leans in, putting his mouth where she wants it most, tongue swiping over the entire slit* 

 **Lynn:** *she shudders, breath hitching as he tongues her  & she gasps out in pleasure, grinning almost lazily, her hips moving unconsciously, arching up against his lips and then back into the comforter, starting to sweat, every seemingly meaningly less carress feeling like fire &her eyes tight*

 **Nick:** *his fingers on her thighs sink into her skin, his tongue circling her entrance before he licks up, flicking her clit repeatedly* 

 **Lynn:** *gasping, tightening her grip on the bedspread and pulling it up as her eyelids flutter, her moans building in rhythm  & volume as her toes start to curl into the comforter and she gasps out his name* 

 **Nick:** *the sounds of her moans and gasps is music to his ears, urging him on as he presses his tongue against her even more, feeling her being so close to the edge he slips a finger in her as his mouth closes around her clit and sucks on it* 

 **Lynn:** *Her entire body shaking, mind foggy in the haze of desire, she bites her bottom lip while moaning, eyes fluttering a bit to see him, before they shut tight again with his finger's entrance, and she cries out louder still, unintelligible curses and groans, along with his name, both arms rising above her head in symbolic concert with her climax before she drops her hand back to his neck, sliding her back down the bed to bring her closer to him/pulling him up to her so that she can kiss him again, softer and desperate through her lazy smile* 

 **Nick:** *eyes open and trail up to look at her in pleasure, the sight darkening his gaze even further before being led back up to her mouth, kissing her once again, an elbow holding him up a bit but he's pressed against her, free hand running up and down her thigh* 

&.

 **Lynn:** *sitting up in bed looking...exceedingly satisfied and happy, she's loosely rearranging a sheet on top of her with one hand, the other she flicks across her lips and then runs through her hair, and falls back on her chest, smiling at him  & tilting her head, mouthing* Wow. *wiggles her eyebrow* 

 **Nick:** *slightly panting, re catching his breath already, laying down on the bed, hands behind his head as he's looking at the ceiling with a thoroughly satisfied and a bit smug smile on his face. Turns his head to look at her, then turns fully so he can lay sideways, holding his head up on one hand, laughing once as she mouths, nodding his head in agreement* I couldn't have said better. *lips twitch as he runs the back of his hand up and down her bare arm* I think we should find reasons to celebrate every day *small smirk*. 

 **Lynn:** *grinning, she turns as well, eyes following his hand up and down her arm and she just murmurs in agreement, lips twitching* Or twice a day. * her glance casts up at him side-long, underneath heavy lids* It was a very good day though. We've deserved to win that Cup for years...Slytherin kept winning. *head shakes slightly* 

 **Nick:** *laughs heartily in sincere amusement* I would have absolutely no problem with that, of course. *eyes following the trail of his own fingers before meeting her eyes at her next comment, a small smile on his face* Well, I can't say anything for the other years but you definitely deserved today. *lips twitch* And if you say that to my housemates I will deny it all. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch and she murmurs under her breath* Had a feeling. *settling against the pillow, she chuckles at his next remark nodding once  & mhmig* Ohh I see how it is. *teasing, she giggles* Though really it's not like Ravenclaw was even in the running....so who would blame you for rooting for your girlfriend anyways? 

 **Nick:** *grinning softly and then chuckles, nodding once* Mmh, no they weren't. *tilts head* Then again, us bookworms aren't supposed to be athletic now are we? *lips twitch* No one did. And even if the match was against Ravenclaw I would have rooted for you. Might not have painted my chest with a lion but I would have rooted. *grin* 

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks and her eyebrow pops up* Oh I don't know. *looks down him for a moment and then back at his eyes with a tiny smirk* You seem quite athletic to me. Very...fit. *lips twitch and she giggles under her breath, giddy, and then she tilts her head into the pillow at his words and asks softer* Yeah? 

 **Nick:** *his grin turning into a smirk as she looks at him* Hmm, well I can read a book and jog on the treadmill at the same time. *winks at her lazily as his hand travels up her arm, up her neck and rests on her cheek, rubbing a small circle with his thumb* Yeah. *smiles* Would have been the loudest person cheering you on actually but see someone with access to a microphone was on your side too *lips twitch.* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* Well that takes talent. *stilling as his hand moves to her cheek, she leans in a little closer, suddenly breathless for a moment and then her face breaks into a wide smile and she giggles again, mhming* I heard. He was very complimentary actually, I should thank you. *lips twitch* 

 **Nick:** Maybe a little two complimentary, really. *eyebrow rises and then he grins* Oh, we must simply thank him together then. After all I have to meet this guy, find out his name, social security number you know, normal things.

 **Lynn:** *grinning and starts laughing quite sincerely as he lists, shaking her head slightly, though not enough to dislodge his thumb* You know, if you run a background check on every guy that looks on me...well then you might not have much time to do much else. *lips twitch* It's the hair. Or so says Hols. *wiggles her eyebrow* Though I suppose this guys did make a very public proclamation so... 

 **Nick:** Not *every* guy, of course not. That'd be preposterous and irresponsible. *lips twitch* Those who proclaim to be "entranced by your impressive moves* however. *eyebrow rises and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear* Mmh, you want to know a secret? 

 **Lynn:** *with another giggle, saying plantively* Well, my impressive moves are very entrancing. *licks her bottom lip subconsciously at his motion and after her heart skips a beat, she just nods softly in response* 

 **Nick:** *wiggles his eyebrow* Oh I didn't deny that in the slightest. *smiles at her and then let's his fingers play idly with her hair behind her ear, his thumb still moving* It's not the hair. *chuckles once softly* It's the way you always bring your chin up when you enter a room, or the fact that you manage to have a seemingly endless supply of cherry lollipops. The fact that you'd punch anyone in the fact if they messed with you, your family, or your friends. Or how when you finish reapplying make up you always raise your eyebrows and move your head sideways a bit before you deem it satisfactory. It's the way that you don't put a silencing spell on your heels like so many other girls do, because you like the way they clack against the stone floor. *chuckles again, murmuring* Your hair just adds to it. You'd be just as amazing with black, blonde, or even neon pink hair really. 

 **Lynn:** *with her eyes widening in soft surprise and her breath quickening for a moment with ehr heart, she has to take the moment...or twelve...to collect herself, just smiling at him and locked on his eyes before she murmurs* Oh. *rearranges herself so that she can rest her head against his shoulder  & brings her own hand up to his cheek, stroking his strong jaw with her thumb and forefinger, just wanting to be closer to him* I can't believe you noticed all that. *blinks* No one, has ever noticed all that. No one really pays that close attention at all. *brow flick* At least not past the hair and the attitude anyways. *breathless for a moment* Thank you. *soft* Though that sounds silly to say. *brows furrow* You're just as amazing, you know? 

 **Nick:** *chuckles softly as her single syllable answer, still looking at her with his gaze exploring her face for a further reaction, smiling softly as she brings her hand up to his face as well* Doesn't sound silly at all. *shakes head slightly and then grins lazily* I had a feeling I was pretty special. 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch and she nods once, still just smiling softly* Indeed. *exhales, tilting her head to consider him with nothing short of awe before saying simply* I'm still trying to figure out how I got so lucky. 

 **Nick:** *smiling softly as she speaks, letting his hand travel to her chin, tracing the edge of her lips* Same here. *beat passes and lips twitch slightly* Though I'm sure Hols would take credit if you asked her. *chuckles once* 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles with an exhale, nodding once and her brows flick* Oh she already told me 'I told you so.' *biting her bottom lip, considering teasingly* Bouuuut..a hundred times, really. The night we came back from Cali. 

 **Nick:** Hmm, of course you did. *chuckles again and then shakes his head slightly, not wanting to move her hands away from his face* Can I take that to mean you raved about me to her? *bright grin* 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, laughing once and sliding her fingers up his jaw and down again exhaling with a teasing, sly smile* I might have said one or two things. Perhaps. *eyebrow arches* All complimentary though, I assure you. Mostly I was just sort of wondering why I hadn't frightened you off for the...month, beforehand, really. 

 **Nick:** Well, as long as they were complimentary. *grinning and then chuckles again, smile turning much softer* Because I was more intrigued than intimidated. More allured than frightened. 

 **Lynn:** *chuckles softly, lips twitching as she finally gets her answer--as she's been wondering about that for a while--and she nods once, saying just as quietly, still running her thumb around his jaw* I knew your name. Before we went out that first night. I just...was amused I guess, by the banter with pretending I didn't. *pauses and then admits softer* And then maybe a little bit scared. 

 **Nick:** *grins slightly in amusement and surprise as she admits to knowing his name before* Really? Made me nervous and fuss over nothing then. *slight teasing and then tilts his head* Scared of what? 

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch, grinning* Well, that was sort of the point, so. *pauses  & then tilts her head, trying to think of how to answer that & just exhales* Of how I felt when I talked to you. And still feel, more so, even. *presses her lips together, furrowing her brow even as she tries to think, and she pauses her hand* Dependency scares me. I guess I don't even really know, why. 

 **Nick:** Nerve-wrecked, almost scarred for life. *joking softly before growing serious as she does, biting on his bottom lip for a moment as she tries to explain* Maybe because well, it is a scary thing. Letting someone new into your life. Knowing so little about them, unsure of how it's going to end. *stilling his hand on her face* Yet...you still did. Give me a chance, that is. Maybe you're not the one who should be asking how you got so lucky. *soft brief smile* I don't want you to feel scared.

 **Lynn:** *nodding once, smiling easily and brushing her hand down his cheek as she listens* Yeah. Exactly. *blinks in soft surprise at his next words  & she rests against him as she smiles* Well, *tilts her head* I can't deny that you're lucky. But I don't think it's random happenstance. *pauses and adds softer* And I'm not scared the way I was anymore. Now...it's just in an exhilarating kind of way. 

 **Nick:** *chuckles once under his breath and then nods slowly* Both equally as lucky then? *smiles in a pleased manner and then leans in to kiss her once, ever so softly, putting an arm around her* Good. *smiles* That effect I can deal with. 

 **Lynn:** *grin flicks and she nods murmuring* I like the sound of that. *leaning up for a moment as he does to kiss him back, and then turns, resting one hand against his chest, her head beneath his chin and she smiles, even as her eyelids flutter shut for a moment* 

 **Nick:** *exhales softly and then yawns as he holds her, thumb making a soft circle on her arm as his close as well* Goodnight, baby. *tilts his head downwards to kiss the top of her head* Sweet dreams. 

 **Lynn:** *her heart flutters for the moment and her lips flick in a soft, lazy smile as well  & with her eyes still closed she murmurs against his skin* Night, baby. *she says no more, just tucks herself closer to him as she's carried off to sleep*  


	11. The Summer of the Renaissance

Alcott walked out of the shower to discover all his clothes and towels gone. So promptly he walked straight to Lynn’s room, standing in the doorway and was all “…was this what you wanted?” And she squealed, shut the door in his face…and then turned around to find her bag all packed with nothing but ..bright pink lingerie. So she took a picture of it to send to Nick, saying “Right idea, but I don’t think it’s really my color, do you?” Meanwhile out in the hall, Dev had walked in, turned right back around and was all “Mate I don’t want to see that!” And threw something at him.

So then Alcott turned on his stereo only to have Celestina Warbeck blast out at him on repeat for the same five notes for a good hour before he could get it to turn off — really loudly. Lynn was downstairs and she was giggling like mad—with ear plugs in. Then she stuck a lollipop in her mouth only to discover what she thought was cherry was…blood-flavored ala hogsmeade.

So she spiked his flask with Castor oil.

So he put her in the classifieds as an escort in the local paper. When she saw that, she chased him all around the house, until Jana stopped them, and was like **“Okay enough.”**

— and Lynn went “…don’t ride your broom.” begrudgingly and stalked off.

**at the senzio farm house**

**Arianni:** you know, you’ve gotta be feeling so good about Irene dating you right now.

 **Dillon:** well, i’m certainly not feeling bad, no..?

 **Arianni:** no i mean, that she chose you. do you know how _many_ guys she could have chosen?

 **Dillon:** …mi caro-

 **Arianni:** out of the whooooole wide vast world of better options—

 **Dillon:** —i got it, ari.

**Dear Dillon,**

_Commence Operation Nightwing._  
  
 _…Oh shoot, that’s what we called it right? Yes? I can’t remember, sorry. But really, commence Operation-Get-Me-The-Hell-Out-Of-Here! I’m going mad I tell you, mad! I see purple grass and green skies and pink water, I am truly at the mercy of the psychiatric ward now, it’s such a horrible, ghastly, frightful place._  
  
 _I personally think it’s the lack of normal human contact. Which I so desperately need right now, so I think you should mentally prepare yourself for a couple of crimes so you can come rescue me as soon as possible._  
  
 _How many laws can we break in one day, I wonder? The prospect thrills me!_  
  
 _Anywho, I think I got your phone number down wrong…because every time I try to call, whenever I’m allowed my wonderful cellphone that is, I get this pizza place. And then I get hungry and start craving pizza, which just adds to my appetite. You can understand how frustrating it is for a girl not to be able to eat what she wants. And have her pizza too._  
   
 _So how’s your summer been? Dreadful without me, I suppose? Yes, it’s to be expected really. No, but really, I want to know! I must drown myself in the stories of other people to keep myself alive this summer._  
  
 _Miss you lots, sweetie. Tell your sis I said hi!_  
  
 _Yours Truly,_  
 _Irene._

**Dear Irene,**

in response to [this!](http://fynextgenbabies.tumblr.com/post/7192158297/dear-dillon)

*crackling noise of a radio* Commencing Operation-Get-Me-The-Hell-Out-Of-Here-slash-Nightwing.

I would find a way to do an actual radio noise, but that would probably mean I’d have to send you a Howler and that’s not exactly condusive to top-secret-necessary missions. Though then I could get Mission Impossible going…

I think I can get the car from Dom this Saturday; he’s been stealing it because apparently he’s found “the one” and she’s a hellion so he won’t dare bring her around la Madre. I keep telling him that’s silly, as it means she’d just fit right in with us crazy lot, but he’s being stubborn. Think he wants to keep her to himself really: he’s afraid she might fall for one of us better looking Senzios and realize she chose wrong but anyways in the meantime (and this is really very important):

Don’t drink the pink water. Probably someone trying to poison you. Love potion probably, given the color, and then you’d just leave me destitute. The purple grass on the other hand, now that is perfectly edible and really very good on toast. It’s kind of crunchy though.

On a more serious note, I’ll steal the car and be outside your window Saturday night. Your Dad won’t have the magical anti-burglar alarms right? So I can just spell the others silent? Though fair warning, if you come out on a balcony, I will not be able to help myself from reciting Romeo & Juliet. Which honestly isn’t even my favorite play, as I find the whole immediate sacrificing thing to be utterly wasteful and naive (Ari says I just don’t get it). Still, I’ll send a rose up, call you but love, and away into the night we can fly.

It has been a dreadful summer without you: how well you know me already! Stories though…hm. Ari and I are performing Midsummer’s Nights this month cause of the whole summer thing, we’ve got another week of it before we go on to Cymbeline. She spent ages in production trying to get our director, this bloke Dan, to let us perform her own interpretation following the play for while we both would never touch Shakespeares actual words (it’s the bard. you can’t do better.); she wanted to get one of her plays out there too. He kept saying no, so she enchanted him to find all these stanzas of her play written everywhere: the back of sets, the bathroom mirror, in his dreams, on trees he passed by when jogging…he was going mad. Speaking of breaking laws, right?

Anyway he finally caved only for her to decide it wasn’t finished enough yet for public consumption. That’s Ari for you.

Missing you lots too, hoping to see you Saturday (look for the rose!), and Ari says Buon giorno too!

Ti voglio bene,  
Dillon

 **Dillon:** *holding up two shirts to himself in front of a mirror, going back and forth between them* 

 **Ari:** …what are you doing?

 **Dillon:** *jumps and turns around* Bloody he— how did you even get in here?!

 **Ari:** *brow wiggles, hmming* Trying to look good for your date? *plops down on the bed looking at both shirts critically* 

 **Dillon:** *holds them up reluctantly and narrows his eyes behind them* No sarcastic comment?

 **Ari:** Oh, _caro mio_ , don’t you want my help? The plaid. Definitely. 

 **Dillon:** *tossing the other shirt off and starting to button that one up*

 **Ari:** How’d you trick her?

 **Dillon:** *as buttoning, mutters under his breath* See, that’s what I thought. 

 **Ari:** *wiggling her eyebrows* Well how else have you landed a date with _Irene Burns_? Con la tua ragazza più bella? In your year of course— we’re not talking mine. An actual _date_? 

 **Dillon:** Prithee, peace. I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none.

 **Ari:** Was the hope drunk, wherin you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale at what it did so freely? From this time, such I account thy love. Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire? Wouldst thou—

 **Dillon:** *repeats* Prithee, peace!

 **Ari:** *giggles and continues anyways, getting up and standing in front of him, undoing the top button and looking at him with an eyebrow arch* Wouldst thou esteem’st the ornament of life, and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ like the poor cat in the adage? 

 **Dillon:** That doesn’t even apply to this.

 **Ari:** So it was Shakespeare then? You stole the words of the poet to woo and for some reason she fell for it?

 **Dillon:** I did not steal at all. Shakespeare’s words are meant to be spoken, Lady Macbeth. I daresay they were even meant to be used to woo. 

 **Ari:** Well, for his own conquests I would agree with you. 

 **Dillon:** For your information, I have not once quoted to her. And bloody hell, certainly not _Macbeth._

 **Ari:** Hamlet to Ophelia then?

 **Dillon:** So she thinks I’m trying to drive her mad?

 **Ari:** You drive me mad every day. *gestures to the clock* Avete controllato il tempo?

 **Dillon:** That’s differen—*curses under his breath and jumps, grabbing his wallet and sliding it into his jeans*

 **Ari:** *giggles* Ti voglio bene.

 **Dillon:** Ti voglio bene. *says as he’s dashing out the door*

 _((Caro mio =_ Ari is referring to her brother as ‘my love’ in the sibling sense of the word. 

 _Con la tua ragazza più bella_? _=_ Ari asks “[a date] with your ‘prettiest girl’?”- as that must be how Dillon has referred to her. 

 _Avete controllato il tempo?_ = Ari asks if he’s considered the time. 

 _Ti voglio bene_ , means loosely “I love you” [technically it’s “i need/want you good”…so it doesn’t translate well], but when spoken between siblings, friends, or in some cases boyfriend/girlfriend though it is all in context what the meaning is. It also can just mean “lots of love!” which is what it does here.))

**Dear Alcott,**

_So funniest thing! I was talking with Alisha on the phone and you came up in conversation! And I wondered, gee, what’s my amazing friend Alcott up to this summer? Then, in dismay, I remembered that my lack of wizard communication could make this quite difficult. But have no fear, I have found a way! Now you don’t have to go without Irene time for a second longer! I know you were dying inside without me, it’s okay to admit it._   
  
_That’s girl code for, if you don’t include somewhere in your reply that you miss me I will die a thousand deaths._   
  
_Solitary confinement and house arrest are crushers of the soul, in case you wanted to know. Does a real word exist out there anymore? Please include pictures with your reply for proof!_   
  
_I’m exaggerating, I get to go out more frequently this summer actually! I think my brother finally grew some balls and stood up against my daddy on my behalf…or maybe my father has turned into a decent human being. Miracles happen at summertime don’t they? Just an ordinary miracle. The kind you find around you every single day. You know, a common kind of miracle that runs by or maybe it’s too gradual to catch your eyes so you miss it._   
  
_…I would like to take credit for that, but alas, I would not be able to fool you for long. It is indeed a product of the much-acclaimed Disney writers._   
  
_Maybe now would be a bad time to announce by impeding insanity. I can only pretend for so long before it ceases to stop being fake, or…some psychological mumbo jumbo like that._   
  
_What about your life? How insane is it this summer? I heard you went to Hawaii with Dev’s family. Did you have a good time? I need details, sir, and I need them now!_   
  
_Hope you’re having a great summer (as much of a great summer as you can have without me that is),_   
_Irene_   
  
_P.S. Sorry I’m using muggle paper but I don’t have enough parchment to both write letters and do homework with. Summer homework, what’s up with that?_

**Dear Irene,**

So you’ll have to forgive me if this isn’t a eloquent (certainly will be quoteless; who’s/ what’s Disney?) in reply to yours, but I never really got the hang of the whole letter-writing thing. You know what we should do? Sneak one of the Ministry people into your house, connect your fireplace to the Floo Network so we can chat properly. And there, that would solve the lack of Wizarding communication problem!

Anyways, yes, I have missed you: please don’t go dying a thousand deaths on my account. Though I don’t take issue with the assumption that I am of course that important—and see, I’m trying to just write out what I’d say, but when I write that it looks really pretty self-aggrandizing. But it’s all right, cause you’re that important too. So why should we be modest anyways?

I’m going to move on from this topic because I have the feeling Liza’s going to demand to read this letter and at about that point she’d smack me. I know it doesn’t look like she could hurt anyone but that’s like thinking you couldn’t: only those in a foolish state of denial would say that.

Glad to hear you’ve been able to get out of the house a little bit anyways; I’m kind of having the opposite experience. Max has declared some massive reconstruction on a wing of the house, as apparently it was infested. I knew that actually, but I never found doxies all that … _jealous_ when I found them. Anyways, he keeps wanting me out, which I’m fine with. Probably not the real reason anyways, probably he just wants more time to woo my mother while he pretends I don’t know, as if it hasn’t been going on for years. It’s not like my mum’s the most subtle person in the world. 

Whatever: it’s meant I keep getting to travel, which is exactly what I wanted to do this summer. I did go to Hawaii; It was pretty wicked, save for the stern “talking to” Dev’s mother gave me for “vanishing into the night with Hols,” (which isn’t what happened, I swear, really, would I lie about that?). Never seen waves that big in my life, which was brilliant. Of course Rivers was unbearable but by the end of it you know, I actually think she’s starting to like me. Not like I blame her. And I might be starting to like her too. A very little bit. In any case, it’s been a while since anyone held their own in a prank war against me as she did.

I spent a week with Eliza in France too. Met Rory “officially,” which is really for like the fourth time. He’s a decent guy really, but I haven’t stopped being wary around him: it’s my duty in absence of her having a brother. I’ve been spending a lot of my time at Charlotte’s flat…she’s moved out to go work at the Ministry and her parents are furious cause she blew off this engagement to a real stuck-up wanker to do it. We have to find a way to get you out so I can come see you too!

So this is where I close in some eloquent, witty, sentimental way, right?Alcott.

 **Devin:** Okay. …You’ve taken all the others, yes?  
 **Alcott:** *rolls eyes* Yes, Mum.  
 **Devin:** *looks both ways* Eliza’s here?  
 **Alcott:** *grin flicks and he raises the goblet and drinks it down with one single grimace* Oh yeah. Tastes just like pumpkin juice.  
 **Devin:** *laughs* If you put sugar in it, I will kill you.  
 **Alcott:** More like I’d kill you actually; sugar makes it useless right?   
**Devin:** *grins* Actually. I’m not the one who’s gonna be here tonight.  
 **Alcott:** …Hols will be long gone by the time I’ve transformed.  
 **Devin:** *pops an eyebrow* You really expect me to believe that?  
 **Alcott:** *groans* Do you really think I’d put her in danger?  
 **Devin:** Not intentionally. But mate, it’s a little strange she decided to come over the very *night* of…*trails off*  
 **Alcott:** Out with it Dev.  
 **Devin:** Well you asked…*her* over?  
 **Alcott:** *nod*   
**Devin:** *purses his lips a heartbeat* Mate, when are you two going to make this official?  
 **Alcott:** Make *wha-*  
 **Devin:** *over top of him* Make what official? It’s not serious. She doesn’t even really like me—I, don’t even really like her. It’s physical. She’s bossy and preachy and—  
 **Alcott:** All right, shut up.  
 **Devin:** So we can skip that part, yeah? You asked her over tonight because for whatever reason you two have honestly started something and you know it’ll calm you down on a night pretty…  
 **Alcott:** Dreadful?  
 **Devin:** Yes.  
 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* I don’t know mate. I wanted to see her, I asked her over. Simple.  
 **Devin:** Then why..don’t, you tell her?  
 **Alcott** : Tell her what?  
 **Devin:** …well to start have you even told her you *do* like her?  
 **Alcott:** Yeah, *shrug* I have.  
 **Devin:** *mock gasp* Without penalty of life or limb?  
 **Alcott:** *laughs amused* Dick.  
 **Devin:** *smiles* Seriously though mate.  
 **Alcott:** *pauses & then sighs* When I started seeing Sienna…it wasn’t like we had to make something official…but it changed everything. And from what I know of Hols…  
 **Devin:** You think she’ll say no?  
 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* Nah, she doesn’t back down. Dare me to leave first, sure.  
 **Devin:** Then what’s the problem?  
 **Alcott:** *long pause and then his brows furrow* Honestly, I don’t have one. It doesn’t seem..well…odd to you?  
 **Devin:** Oh I think it’s complete bollocks, but that’s how it always is, isn’t it? *lips twitch*  
 **Alcott:** …yeah all right mate.  
 **Devin:** *chuckles* Look. Seriously, I’ve known Hols…*pause* Well, all my life actually.   
**Alcott:** And?  
 **Devin:** And I’ve never seen her like this.  
 **Alcott:** *softer smile* Yeah?  
 **Devin** : *nods* I mean not that she tells me.  
 **Alcott:** You just pride yourself on observational skills.  
 **Devin** : Not like this was…hard to see, mate.  
 **Alcott:** *brows flick* It’s just…strange.  
 **Devin:** Well, yeah.  
 **Alcott:** But it’s a good kind of strange.  
 **Devin** : *grin widens* Yeah?  
 **Alcott:** *nods once, almost irritably* Hols has…really surprised me. *presses his lips together* It’s not arrogance. She’s confident. Sure. *swallows* But she’s trying as hard as anyone does. And she cares about…every living thing. Doesn’t matter who you are, what you are…*swallows/trailing off*   
**Devin** : *raises eyebrows a bit* You planning on telling her?  
 **Alcott:** Didn’t I already say I—  
 **Devin:** No—not, asking her out, I mean, telling her what you are.  
 **Alcott:** *beat, just looking at him*  
 **Devin** : *arches eyebrow a bit higher* …she knows, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s coming over tonight. She wants to make sure—  
 **Alcott:** *cutshimoff* —that I don’t hurt anyone.  
 **Devin** : *is smiling* When you said, she helped you a lot…  
 **Alcott:** *face flicks* You know sometimes I hate you mate.  
 **Devin:** How long has she known?  
 **Alcott:** …since the first transformation.  
 **Devin:** *blinks in surprise* She..*as Al doesn’t elaborate he sits up straighter* …she, saved Sam, didn’t she?  
 **Alcott:** *head jerk, irritable* She shouldn’t have either.  
 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* That’s why Sam is so convinced her saw Hols that night—he did.  
 **Alcott:** *groans* For about ‘two’ seconds.  
 **Devin** : —so she knows.  
 **Alcott:** Yeah, she knows.  
 **Devin:** …right, and, how much did she yell?  
 **Alcott** : How much do you think?  
 **Devin:** *grins* But she stayed.  
 **Alcott:** Oh, insisted.  
 **Devin:** *chuckles once and lays his head back* Hols…  
 **Alcott** : *aggravated under his breath* Like I needed the help. She just…it wasn’t worth arguing with her.  
 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Since when do you miss a chance to argue with her?  
 **Alcott:** Since she saved my life when Sam tried to kill me.  
 **Devin:** *pause* That’s what happened?  
 **Alcott:** *pauses as well, not having meant to say that and nods once, averting his eyes* Yeah. *shrugs* Well partly; wasn’t a big deal. I might’ve killed him too.  
 **Devin:** *whistles under his breath* Well, I knew Hols had no problems with dangerous animals but…to step into a werewolf attack…   
**Alcott:** *shrugging* Worked out fine in the end. **  
Devin:** You mean apart from the fact that Sam’s blaming me for it.  
 **Alcott:** *laughs* Well there’s that, yeah.  
 **Devin:** And Nadia. Wanna tell me how that one happened? If Nadia was in the forest that night too—  
 **Alcott** : *lips twitch* You’ll kill me?  
 **Devin:** Don’t think I won’t.  
 **Alcott:** How chivalrous of you. *brow pops* Nah—I have no idea how Nadia or Liza were blamed.   
**Devin:** *swallows* …well really…if I hadn’t..*silent*  
 **Alcott:** *quieter* Yeah. It’s not your fault mate—  
 **Devin:** *over him* This is off the point.  
 **Alcott** : What was the point?  
 **Devin** : Ask Hols out.  
 **Alcott** : I asked her over-  
 **Devin:** On a date. Without you wolfing out on her.   
**Alcott:** *slow smirk* Well you know really, I don’t think she minds too much—  
 **Devin:** *chuckles and grins* Doesn’t surprise me.  
 **Alcott** : *brows wiggle* Done trying to be my dating guru?  
 **Devin:** *laughs* I’m just sick of your denial.  
 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes* No, let me guess. You want to double date.  
 **Devin:** Well that wouldn’t be terrible.   
**Alcott:** *rolls his eyes again* Awkward when it’s sisters mate. *pause* Well, actually—  
 **Devin:** *arches his eyebrow* You have experience? *pause* Stupid question actually.  
 **Alcott:** *grinning* Sisters can be amazing actually.  
 **Devin:** *chuckles* I hate you, mate.  
 **Alcott:** *grinning* Ophelia and Larissa..  
 **Devin:** Oi. *chucks a pillow at him; hits his head* Hols.  
 **Alcott:** *grin only widens*   
**Devin:** If you say a *thing* about Nadia here—  
 **Alcott:** You know you probably *can’t* kill me right? Being ten times faster and stronger?  
 **Devin:** *grin flicks and points at the wolfsbane* Yeah you don’t depend on me for anything.  
 **Alcott:** Shut up.  
 **Devin:** *chuckles* Poor Hols.  
 **Alcott:** *chucks pillow back at him*  
 **Devin:** *shakes his head as he catches it* Oh you’ve got it *bad* don’t you?  
 **Alcott:** *narrows his eyes at him* Devin. I *will* hurt you.   
**Devin:** *grinning* Well hey it’s not like I blame you. She’s very attractive.  
 **Alcott:** A wholly insufficient adjective. *pauses* But seeing as how you’re dating her sister, suppose you can’t say anything else—  
 **Devin:** *looks down at pillow* Throwing this at you has lost all meaning.  
 **Alcott:** I’m special like that.  
 **Devin:** You’re something all right.  
 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* She’s not just attractive, man. She is…striking. Stunning. *biting his bottom lip and trails off* And when I’m with her I don’t have to pretend at all. *smiles* We, don’t. She gets it. *shrugs* That’s it, she gets it. *smile softens and he shakes his head and then clears his throat and looks up pointing at Dev* You say one word and-  
 **Devin:** And I’d be a complete hypocrite. *grins*  
 **Alcott:** I meant…tell her I said that.  
 **Devin:** *amused* Ah. Right.  
 **Alcott:** Or to Nadia.  
 **Devin:** Oh, I don’t know, I don’t have any secrets from Nadia…You know *grins* Just like you and Hols—*brow wiggle* No pretending.  
 **Alcott** : *snorts* Oh shut up.   
**Devin:** *chuckles and then nods* Yeah. And I’m glad mate. Sincerely.  
 **Alcott:** *pauses and nods once, a soft grin in place* …yeah.

**Dear Lynn,**

So, guess which sucker uncle forgot his phone wasn’t baby proof? Or rather, it wasn’t Henry/freak accident proof?  
  
It’s really quite the interesting story, and I’m sure you’ll only love the champ all the more for it, seeing as he can do no wrong. I’d really love to be able to tap into that kind of power again, think it would still be there after all these years?  
  
But right, the story. Well my siblings and I have this summer tradition of sorts: we rent out a couple of the worst movies ever made and spend the entire time criticizing and making fun of it, laughing our asses off, etc. If the movie is really bad we turn off the volume and add our own dialogue- it’s just something we’ve been doing since we were kids.  
  
While we were getting snacks ready in the kitchen (standard mix of all popcorn, chips, and candy in the same bowl) Henry started getting all fuzzy and crying so I put on his favorite song on my phone to calm him down -Mountain Man by The Crash Kings if you were curious- and set the phone on the end table near his play-pen.  
  
Fast forward just a mere three minutes in which we’re all coming back, and precious little Henry is standing up by holding on to the side of the play-pen, with my phone on his other hand that he was using as a makeshift drumstick that he was banging against the wall. I think he knew he was in trouble because as soon as he saw us he let out a startled little sound while he fell back on his butt and my phone went flying. Right out the window, into the neighbor’s backyard. Where a dog proceeded to chew it up. Now just imagine me chasing after this giant ass dog, telling him to give me back my phone. We got into a tug of war for it, and I won for a moment, but the flew out of my hands when I pulled back and it landed on the street where it proceeded to be ran over by a car.  
  
This story wouldn’t be believable if it weren’t true.  
  
Therefore, I am without my phone for at least a week because my parents keep arguing about who’s going to buy it, how much money, and so on. Really, I would much rather buy it myself but I gave most of my savings to Jesse when he needed help with the rent last month.  
  
So, old fashioned letter-writing for a bit it is, whenever I simply can’t apparate over to visit I mean. At least that one doesn’t require an owl, seeing as how my mom has a fear of big birds. I think if she had a gun in her hand last time she saw one she would have shot the poor thing. How would I have explained that to Hols?  
  
Apart from witnessing technological murder, I haven’t been doing much. Being an amazing brother and uncle, I suppose. I did meet up with a couple of my friends yesterday, went surfing. You’ll be happy to know, it’s just like riding a bicycle, you never forget so I didn’t wipe out…too badly. And it was only once but all my friends would exaggerate simply to embarrass me. I think it’s a favorite past time of theirs.  
  
See, I was going to ask if you wanted to meet them, but now I’m not so sure. I’m not masochistic enough for it, I think. My mom has been bothering me to find out when you’d be able to come visit for dinner though. She insists you get your parents’ permission…tell if I’m wrong, but parents don’t usually let their kids travel eight timezones away.  
  
What about you, babe? Anything exciting happen in the last week? I’m happily awaiting your response. Happily but impatiently, I feel odd without my phone in my back pocket.  
  
Ever yours,  
Nick 

&.

**Dear Nick,**

Baby, only you.

Actually though, I found the story very believable even if it weren’t true. Much more believable than a few of my own…that I shall not go into detail on here (I was set up. That’s all I’m saying. Hags lie; everyone knows that.) Henry has wicked taste in music though, so points for that. Think you meant fussy, by the way, unless he really did get fuzzy and crying…actually, babies are very fuzzy. And now I’m just rambling. Funny thing about letters: you notice when you’ve gone far off topic much faster than if you’re saying it outloud. Or maybe that’s just me…

I personally had just believed Jesse had roped you into some kind of soujourn for babysitting, or Kristen got you to help with some fundraiser, or you were abducted by aliens: so actually, I’ve already got permission to come and see you officially now. I finally wore Mum down. Granted, I’m also sure she knows you’ve been coming over too, because I don’t think she ever misses anything (it’s really very aggravating), and so I think she was just making me work for the permission she’d already given just because. Probably to teach me some kind of lesson. It’s obviously done it’s job.

But upside: I’m now officially able to come meet your Mum, so she can stop fretting about not being allowed. Downside: not nearly as fun as sneaking out.

I really do miss you, babe. It’s gotten to the point where I’m actually looking forward to school, which I’ve never done. It feels so incredibly strange to think I won’t be going back to Hogwarts after next year. More than half my life has been spent in it’s halls…and I can’t even really enjoy it, since certain assholes are going to need to be put down in at least the first few months of the year.

Hm, scratch that: that I’ll very much enjoy.

So what you were saying about replacing dialogue for awful movies? I used to do that with my Mum except it wasn’t movies, it was these god-awful soap operas she and I got semi-addicted too when I was sick once. Semi-addicted too because I don’t remember any of the character names; we supplied our own. There was one character we called the “telephone vampire” because all he did really was stalk this girl through creepy phone calls we were probably supposed to find sweet, so we put this whole blood lust spin on it. But then when that apparently became the new trend—I miss Anne Rice—we made it film noir instead. The only real problem with that is that film noi requires decent writing and we were usually laughing too hard to actually make up good lines, so we’d end up just quoting _Maltese Falcon,_ or _Double Indemnity_ or something. And when everything in the room becomes “the stuff that dreams are made of,” it would turn into everything being “my precious” and I’d grab Dev for a night of massive LotR watching. It was the only film for a while he was cool with watching.

That’s kind of changed though. I mean, he still mostly watches things with Nadia, but this summer things have been better. He’s exhausting himself working at the Ministry, and you know I swear he’s already studying for those damned O.W.Ls…but a few nights ago he just showed up out of the blue (knocked and everything!) in my room and we ended up watching _Braveheart_ together. I had been going to watch _Love Actually_ , but he drew the line at that one. Still, considering the fact that only six months ago he’d forsaken all muggle technology, I’m considering this progress. To be honest, I still feel anytime Mum mentions us doing something “too muggle” he gets this odd stiff look for a moment before relenting. It just…makes me sad to see: I never wanted him to have to deal with, well, any of this. And I know Mum didn’t either, it’s why she worked so hard to keep us away.

On happier notes, I got the magazine issue early yesterday, where they’re putting my drawing in? They called to ask what caption to put, so now it’s got both Hols and I in there, drawing by Lynn Rivers: The Lioness Hols, being the title. I’m still shocked they chose mine. I mean, not that I don’t totally deserve it (I do), but because that was hardly my best drawing and the pool was just so large. It’s…unexpected. And considering we’re graduating this year and I still don’t have a career plan, this is heartening. Maybe I can open up a PI-slash-artists-studio with an international branch so I can travel and a legal department-slash-bribery debt so I can get out of trouble that I’m certain to get in.

Hey, it sounds like a solid career plan to me.

In regards to your friends though, I would love to meet them, duly warned as to their exaggeration and armed with the knowledge that really, nothing they could possibly say would change my opinion. Though if there is anything you want to tell me, now would be the time ;) ? Have faith babe, if they’re going to torture you, they’re going to have me to deal with for that. I won’t let them.

Last week wasn’t all that exciting after all the Hawaii drama, it seems things have quieted down to an unbearable stifling point. Can we just…run off to Ireland for a weekend, or else back to Hawaii just the two of us? Then that private beach could really be private…so I wouldn’t even need to pack, would I?

Love,  
Lynn

 **Hols:** *whines* why do presents require shopping? I hate shopping.

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Hols, the point of you coming along was to help me, not make me want to shoot myself in head.

 **Hols:** Don’t be so overdramatic, Nickyyyy. *browsing through some items* I’m not that annoying.

 **Nick:** *makes a gun with his fingers and pulls the trigger* Right here. In the middle of this store, for all the word to see.

 **Hols:** Wasn’t aware the world comprised of *looks around* seven people.

 **Nick:** We should probably start reproducing then, don’t want the human race to die out. *grins*

 **Hols:** Oh, yes, Nick! *puts her hands on his shoulder* Let’s save the planet! Take me right now!

 **Nick:** *laughing, and then clears his throat as an elderly couple walks by and glares at them disapprovingly* She can’t resist me. *cheeky grin and then gets whacked by Hols over the head, rubs it* Oww.

 **Hols:** Oh don’t be such a pansy- *holds something up* she would like this.

 **Nick:** *tilts his head sideways* what….is it?

 **Hols:** *tilts her head too* You know, I’m not too sure? But, it would be fun to figure out!

 **Nick:** *chuckles* no, besides it’s…alright, to be honest I don’t know what I’m looking for.

 **Hols:** *puts it back* What a shocker *sarcastic, but grinning nonetheless* So you’re just….what? Expecting the right gift to jump out at you?

 **Nick:** It wouldn’t have to jump out, it could wave, do a little nod like- *nods his head in acknowledgement of an imaginary person as an example* that, so I know it’s there.

 **Hols:** so you’ll know the right gift when you see it?

 **Nick:** *grins* Exactly. What about you, what are you getting her?

 **Hols:** I can’t tell you! *beams*

 **Nick:** Jump out of a cake, then? Put a bow on yourself?

 **Hols:** Oh baby, that’s what  _you_ should do *laughs* I already did jump out of a cake for her at her 16th birthday.

 **Nick:** *laughs* That doesn’t surprise me. *lips twitch* And this year?

 **Hols:** *grins* I’ve been working on it for…quite some time actually. She’s my best friend, I love her. This is our last year at Hogwarts, after which I will be travelling around the world with limited time off for at least a year. And- well you know my plan.

 **Nick:** *nodnod* Right. So you wanted it to be special?

 **Hols:** Well. *More* special. She’s my baby, every day with her is special. *smiles and then gasps as she spots something and walks past Nick to get it*

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then turns around to look at her and then raises an eyebrow* …Hols. I am officially concerned now. What on…*Earth*. Would you possibly have to do with that?

 **Hols:** It matches my Halloween costume! *beams*

 **Nick:** …you know, I thought you would be more of the slutty costume kind of girl.

 **Hols:** …no, those are my weekends.

 **Nick:** *laughs* right, right…*pokes…whatever item she’s holding up* It’s not real, is it.

 **Hols:** I gathered if it was you wouldn’t have that finger anymore, babe. *grins and goes to pay for it* I love America, we don’t have stories like this over in the U.K. or Spain for that matter.

 **Nick:** home of the deprived, depraved, and psychologically disturbed.

 **Hols:** Well, no wonder I fit right in! *grins and then holds up a finger* ‘Cuse me for a second, Nicky. *turns all her attention to the cashier as she gets there, being a coy and sneaky little flirt, playing up her odd combination of Welsh and Spanish accents, complimenting him and teasing her way to a 75% discount, taking the bag from him* Muchisimas gracias guapo, you’re so sweet. I’ll see you around? *winks a goodbye before turning around to face Nick, who’s shaking his head in partial disbelief and grinning* Let’s go.

 **Nick:** *chuckles* All that, just for a discount?

 **Hols:** We’re not all made of money, Nick. Besides, I’m saving up all I can for next year.

 **Nick:** I’m not made of money, my parents are.

 **Hols:** only rich people say that. *lips twitch* Anyways, poor thing had just gotten out of a break up too, he needed some cheering up. *shrugs*

 **Nick:** …how in the hell could you tell?

 **Hols:** Nicky, I’m Holly Rae fucking Graft. No further explanations necessary.

 **Nick:** *laughs* Oh geesh, what a slogan. I feel so bad for Alcott.

 **Hols:** *rolls her eyes and kicks him* Oh, shut up.

 **Nick:** *teases* You’re smiling.

 **Hols:** *stops walking and turns to frown at him, hands on her hips*

 **Nick:** scary. *grins and bumps her shoulder lightly to get her to keep walking* It’s okay to be happy about it, you know. It’s completely obvious.

 **Hols:** Babe, don’t let this feminine face fool you because I really  _really_ dislike with a fiery burning  _passion_ to talk about feelings.

 **Nick:** *chuckles and nods* Fair enough.

-They walk around the mall for a few minutes in silence-

 **Hols:** …*gives in* okay, so it’s not exactly the most horrible thing in the world.

 **Nick:** *lips twitch into a brief smug smirk before he chuckles and nods* Not exactly? Love, you do realize that get this tiny little smile every time he’s mentioned? Or the number of times I’ve called to hang out and you’re either about to go meet up with him-

 **Hols:** *had been pursing her lips and then chimes in to interrupt him* That is clearly the fault of your very bad timing-

 **Nick:** -or! Or, you’re already there with him. Mid sex-

 **Hols:** Or for the love of Pluto, we were only snogging and it was once! One time! That happened one! time!

 **Nick:** Why did you even pick up the phone?

 **Hols:** It could have been something important. *shrugs*

 **Nick:** *scoffs and then chuckles, shaking his head* Right, well point is this is a bit bigger than ‘not the most horrible’ don’t you think? *bumps her shoulder again* He’s not here you know *laughs once* You don’t have to worry about his ego.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* Fine, so ‘not the most horrible’ is a bit of an understatement.

 **Nick:** *amused* A bit.

 **Hols:** It’s actually kinda nice…it’s the most natural and comfortable I’ve felt with a guy anyways.

 **Nick:** I’ll try not to be offended.

 **Hols:** *laughs* Aww, sweetie, no it’s not like that. It’s more like…how do I explain? Okay, well take Will and Jacob for example. Nice guys, great guys, really funny, a tad geeky maybe but they’re Ravenclaws, it comes with a disclaimer-

 **Nick:** I’m not geeky.

 **Hols:** …you want to be a museum curator. A  _history_ museum curator.

 **Nick:** *tilts his head* Yes well.

 **Hols:** Anyways *lips twitch* they’re awesome guys, they are. But we don’t really…click. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I…don’t actually have many friends. I’ve got Lynn, I’ve got you…the rest are either your friends, Lynn’s friends, my sister’s friends, Devin’s friends, or the quidditch team. *lips twitch* I know everybody, sure, and I have a lot of acquaintances and people I hang out with at certain times, but my number of friends is very small. I’m a bit…picky.

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then nods slowly, waiting for her to get to the point*

 **Hols:** So, before this, literally every guy I dated, or shagged, never kept my interest for too long. I get bored easily, I don’t make…lasting connections easily…*bites her lip* But I really think that he’s…dangerously close to getting there. *chuckles*

 **Nick:** *nods, a small encouraging smile on his face as they keep walking at a slower pace now* And that scares you?

 **Hols:** *scoffs immediately* No! I don’t get scared. I’m-

 **Nick:** Holly Rae fucking Graft, yes. *exhales and shakes his head amused* So then what word would be best to use?

 **Hols:** …nervous, is the right word. Maybe. I don’t know *shrugs* The point is…with him it doesn’t feel forced. It’s natural. It’s…okay, easy isn’t the right word, especially when he gets so damn infuriating but.

 **Nick:** I get your point *grins* so when do you go official?

 **Hols:** …I don’t like titles.

 **Nick:** …*grins slowly* Oh you really are scared.

 **Hols:** shut up!

 **Nick:** Yes you aree, you’re terrified! *laughs and ducks as she tries to hit him* It’s okay to be scared, Hols.

 **Hols:** No, it’s not. It’s weak. I don’t get scared. I get apprehensive. My daddy’s an auror, my mom used to be a trainee and while she kids and says the only thing she did was get shot multiple times…she got shot multiple times. They’ve both gone through hell, some of which they haven’t even told me…probably never will. *shrugs* My dad doesn’t get scared, my mom doesn’t get scared…I don’t get scared either.

 **Nick:** *shakes his head* Everyone gets scared Hols. It’s a human condition, born out of instinct to teach us self-preservation. *pauses for a bit* I can’t speak for your parents, but it sounds like they were in…very fear-inducing situations. Maybe it’s not that they weren’t afraid but rather that they overcame it. *quotes* Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the mastery of it.

 **Hols:** I…suppose *hesitant*…I still don’t get scared.

 **Nick:** *chuckles* If you say so Hols, *nods* if you say so. All I’m saying is…*blinks and turns to look at her* actually, what was I saying?

 **Hols:** Some nonsense about making things official between Al and I.

 **Nick:** Nonsense, is it? *laughs*

 **Hols:** why do we have to title it anyway? It just is what it is.

 **Nick:** Because it shows that you’ve admitted it to yourself and recognize the fact that this is bigger than some…repeated hook-ups.

 **Hols:** I’ve already acknowledged the…possibility.

 **Nick:** Oh for God’s sake, Hols. *shakes his head* Fine, why you should you title it?…Knowing you and him? Or rather, what you and Lynn have told me-

 **Hols:** I…Lynn isn’t exactly the most…impartial of people.

 **Nick:** *chuckles* I’m aware, she’s got some very strong opinions of him but *lips twitch* what she doesn’t say speaks more.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* Okay, Dr. Phil. Why do you think we should ‘make it official’?

 **Nick:** You’re both jealous and possessive people. You’ve claimed each other, marked each other, several times. *laughs* You’re not going to want to share. *grins*

 **Hols:** He can shag whoever he likes, we never said we were exclusive. I don’t mind *shrugs*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* You do mind. And trust me, so does he. I’m a guy, I get it. You’re his, he’s not going to want to share.

 **Hols:** *eyebrows rise* I’m his? Marked? Claimed? What are we animals?

 **Nick:** *with her* Animals? *grins* Yeah, sometimes it seems that way.

 **Hols:** *laughs in genuine amusement* Oh Nicky, if you only knew. *pats his shoulder*

 **Nick:** If you’re calling me Nicky from now on, I’m calling you Holly.

 **Hols:** …please don’t.

 **Nick:** Or maybe Rae. That’s a sweeter name, isn’t it? So soft sounding, so fragile-

 **Hols:** Don’t you daaaaareeee call me Rae, Nicky.

 **Nick:** Oh Rae, I believe we’ve some presents to find- *laughs as he starts running away from her as she chases him down the street, avoiding carts, shoppers, and other pedestrians.*

 **Hols:** *as she chases him* I’m in heels goddamnit! When I catch you, you’re dead!

**Dear Eliza,**

_Eliza! Sweetie! Honey! Baby! Fellow blond bombshell! How are you?!  
  
You know, I didn’t realize how often I was having you in my life the last few weeks of school until I had to start living my life without you. It was quite dreadful a time, really. How on Earth did you manage to sneak in to my glamorous day to day routine, I wonder? You must have special super powers of some sort, I just know it.  
  
And, I got an owl! His name is Dolce, isn’t he precious? I can only send him out at night because otherwise the reporters and paparazzi would be asking bothersome questions like why is there an owl coming out of your window? What is it doing carrying an envelope? Honestly, does privacy not mean anything to anyone anymore?  
  
But this way I can contact all my phone-less friends! It’s a bother, you must know, that I simply can’t pick up my cellie and text you whenever a thought occurs to me that I simply must share with the world.  
  
How was France?! Did you have a nice time? I know Rory was coming by to surprise you one day- did you enjoy your surprise? Did you unravel it and devour it and-  
  
…I’m deprived. I apologize.  
  
Hoping you’re having a great summer though, sweetie! Keep in touch,  
Irene. _

**Dear Irene,**

Petite Amie!!

Aww hun, I know, I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on you just…you know, being there! You have the special powers in my opinion though: you got Al to get over himself.

Or actually: Hols has special powers. But that’s a different topic.

I’m fabulous at the moment! It made my day to get your letter: are you okay? I bought you loads of sweets at this little cafe at the Monmarte but I couldn’t help but think if I tried to send them to you they’d be stolen away or the owl like…shot down or something. Truly, it was a terrible thought; but Dev’s told me all about this plan to get you out with a portkey so I can give you them soon and in person. Oh and this little purse I picked up because I swear it screamed at me that it belonged with you.

No seriously, Alcott had jumped behind the register and since he knew I was looking for something for you that was what he shouted from behind the stand. Thing is he was absolutely right; it’s darling and totally was meant for you. I told him that meant he could shop for purses; girls had to love him, but naturally he just said they loved him for a different reason and really he’d thought he was talking through the sunglasses that were on the same stand. Semantics really.

France is…oh, I cannot describe how much I’m loving the holiday here. I miss my Mum and cousins—particularly Missy, I’m not sure how she’s doing without me at the moment—but I’m here for a reason, and…well I think I’m getting close.

It just occurred to me I didn’t tell anyone but Al, Ror and Sie what it was I was doing in France besides that I begged my mum to let Sienna and I vacation here. Well, that’s true, but the real reason is I found this letter over Spring Break in my mum’s stuff and realized my Dad had gone to Paris initially when he fled. I don’t know why she hadn’t told me, and I suppose it’s foolish to think he’s still here, but I’ve got the letter and this cafe I’m staking out, while still sending owls. I’m determined to find him…just not sure what I’m going to find. I guess I kind of refuse to think about that aspect. I just want to…know, you know? It’s felt my whole life as though there’s a part of me simply missing, as though I’m only half the story and I know—this letter is evidence—that I was lied to. It’s a very short letter, certainly bereft of any long endearing sentiment and I’m not mentioned at all-but my Dad wrote that he couldn’t speak openly in case the letter was intercepted in it and then had this one line I didn’t understand at all, so it most likely was code. As I can’t imagine my mother telling me (ever), I am simply going to have to ask him myself.

Rory showing up that day did make everything better though: I couldn’t believe he was here. You can’t see my blush at your message by the way, but for the record, yes, devouring and unraveling was involved. Least, the first time, cause the second day he came Alcott was the one that brought him—it’s when we went shopping—and Sienna disappeared for the day (she’s met some Parisian, and you know I think she didn’t want to tell Al?), but Al would have…well you know, he can be very protective of me. It’s really rather sweet. If unbelievably arrogant and aggravating. Boys.

Sigh. Now I miss Dev too. The three of us haven’t been able to spend any time together this summer really; there was a day in Hawaii I popped in just to see them for a few hours, but really, I’m missing my other thirds here.

I love the name of your owl; it is so precious. As for the privacy requests, that just gave me an idea…invisibility cloaks for owls. Or muggle repelling charms maybe?

Oh! You know I actually got a mobile? Mum and the Aunts don’t know this, but Lyss was bothering me and Alcott so she could stay in touch with us for the summer, so we have like…pre paid minutes, I think that’s what they’re called right? I doubt Al’s taken his out of the box. When I get back I’ll have to show him how to use it. But you can call me at + 44 20 5550-2117! Any time, provided I remember how to turn it on. They’re a bit dodgy devices, aren’t they? Very faulty; half the time i think it just fails on purpose.

Espérons vous voir bientôt…or rather, hope to see you soon <3  
Eliza S.

 **SCENE:** That morning, an owl had arrived on the balcony of the penthouse hotel suite Eliza and Sienna were sharing. Initially they both ignored it, albeit for different reasons. Sienna believed it was from a beau she's found in Paris and was enjoying making wait those few extra minutes before responding. Eliza believed it to be from her mother, to ask for the hundredth time when it was again she was coming home. The nagging had been tiresome from the first time: but then again, she supposed, she had not told her mum the truth about what she was doing there. 

Yet after a few minutes, Eliza realized she recognized the owl. Sienna in turn realized Eliza knew it by the way Eliza stiffened with her toothbrush, letting foam and spittle drip out of the corner of her stationary mouth. She stared at it unblinkingly before coughing, splaying the sink and rubbing her lips hard with the back of her hand even as she darted across the room. 

It was one of the owls she had sent a month ago, and there was a reply attached to the leg. That was how she came to be sitting in the corner of a cafe in the heart of Paris, far out of the way of tourist traps and well-travelled paths, forced to rely on her shaky french to find her way and order the cup of mocha sitting in front of her. 

Her wrist flicked up, the delicate gold watch telling her he was late. It did not matter. She would wait all day, whatever Sienna would tell her later. What was one more disappointment, she thought? Had she not been waiting for him her entire life? As she looked up again however, she saw him.

He was wearing a blue scarf as promised so she would know him, but her dad did not know she had a photograph. Her mother had hidden it from her in a tiny box locked in a loose floorboard: she had found it years ago and as she looked at him now, he looked precisely as he did sixteen years ago. He was taller--appearing from this distance taller than the door itself he had somehow squeeze through. His hair was chocolate and shaggy, the cliche of the French poet. Lips full, she thought she recognized her eyes on his face, but that might be wishful thinking she told herself sternly. He was well dressed, as she had realized all french men were, and his jawline was strong, sculpted. Her eyes ran the inventory as she stirred the coffee around. She waited for him to spot her wide-mouth stare and watched his lips press into a line. He did not move at first, but to his credit he did not look at the door and even more to her liking: he instantly smiled. 

She swallowed as he approached her.

(for arguments sake, this entire conversation is in french, mmkay? :) )

 **Eliza:** *in a bit of a shaky, brave voice* Claude? Claude Simmons? 

 **Claude:** * now in a bit of an open-mouth happy stare himself, he closes his mouth and nods softly at her once, asking, his voice gruff* Eliza? 

 **ELIZA:** *nods, nods, nods* ...oh my merlin. It's you.

 **CLAUDE:** *face breaking into a wide smile* Yeah. Yeah, *nodding* it's me.

 **Eliza:** *nods at least three times very quickly gesturing he should sit down and realizing a moment later from here she has no idea what to ask, no idea what to say, and she continues staring at him, in utter shock that she managed to find him and on top of that, that he came. she swallows hard looking at him as he sits.*

 **Claude:** *he's in similar shock, but he cannot help himself from smiling as he looks at her; she had her mother's hair, face--in fact she was so much like her mother that he could not help but wonder if he'd even been involved in the process, for really he couldn't have been, not if she looked this beautiful. as he realizes she's not going to start the conversation, he swallows, clears his throat, and sits a bit straighter, saying slowly* I...am so glad you owled.

 **Eliza:** *her initial happiness fades slowly on her face as she furrows her brow in confusion at his words and she tilts her head asking hesitantly* You were?

 **Claude:** *noting her confusion, he presses his lips together, apparently steeling himself for the lie. What lie? Whichever it was they'd told her, whatever it was they had done to permanently remove his daughter's want to know him, whatever lie had evidently not been enough.* Yes. *he breathes softly* I was going to find you but-

 **Eliza:** *at that her eyebrows snap together* You were? *he nods* ...When? 

 **Claude:** *he swallows hard* When you were seventeen.

 **Eliza:**...and you didn't want to know me at all before then? *she means it to sound like a slap, but it comes out in a whimper, a confused query and she blinks away a tear or two* 

 **Claude:** *he shakes his head instantly* That's not true. If you'll let me explain--

 **Eliza:** *her brow arches higher* When I was six years old, that's what I wished for on my birthday. I wished to ask you where you were, that was all. I almost wasn't allowed the cake for even saying it, and so ever since I knew I wasn't supposed to say that out loud. But yes, Dad, I want you to explain. I just need to _know_. Where were you?

 **Claude:** *his lips had twitched, first with happiness to hear her snap, and secondly with regret to understand she had not even been allowed to ask about him, and he says slowly* ...What did those women tell you?

 **Eliza:** Those women? *her voice goes hard for a second* You know what would be nice? If, for at least the duration of this explanation, you refer to the women who were actually there to _spend_ my sixth birthday with, with at least some modicum of respect.

 **Claude:** *his eyebrow arches and he slowly nods* Your aunts. And your mother. What did they tell you?

 **Eliza:** I don't care what they've told me. I want to know what _you_ have to say.

 **Claude:** *nods again* I understand. It's just it will be easier to set the record straight if you tell me first what they said. 

 **Eliza:** *she furrows her brow and then relents, sitting down a bit in the chair and saying softer* Mum never talks about you. Ever. Aunt Ellen though...she said you left. 

 **Claude:** *he arches an eyebrow* Because?

 **Eliza:** Because?

 **Claude:** *quietly* I can hardly deny that I did leave.

 **Eliza:** *her lips press into a line after twitching with sadness at the words* She said Mum was supposed to get married to this other man. She was seeing someone else, someone Grandmum loved and who loved her.

 **Claude:** *his eyebrow is raising slowly*

 **Eliza:** But that you tricked Mum. 

 **Claude:** *he cannot help the little scoff under his breath*

 **Eliza:** I'm not stupid. *a bit defensively* I know that considering your blood status versus Mum's...I know that was the real issue--

 **Claude:** *nods once immediately, clarifying* I wasn't laughing at you Eliza--

 **Eliza:** *arches her eyebrow higher* Then what?

 **Claude:** The notion that any man could trick your mother is...hilarious. *he snorts again*

 **Eliza:** *she pauses and then smiles a bit and nods* True it is. She's kind of...

 **Claude:** *lips twitch* Formidable.

 **Eliza:** *laughs and nods*

 **Claude:** *he grins, and as a silence falls, he breathes and continues* Then what?

 **Eliza:** *and again the smile fades immediately* That you got her pregnant. That instantly the other man left, not wanting any part in marrying someone pregnant with another man's child. And that the moment you learned she was pregnant too, you broke up with her. And then you got caught with Mum anyways one night and then you fled.  

 **Claude:** *as the story is what he expected, he nods slowly and then just as slowly says* That isn't the whole story. 

 **Eliza:** *her heart flutters a bit* Then start at the beginning. 

 **Claude:** *presses his lips together* I met your mother here. This very cafe, almost seventeen years ago.

 **Eliza:** *her brows furrow and she leans forward* 

 **Claude:** *his eyes are clouded over with memory* She was sitting over there. *he nods* Wearing a teal sundress, white sunglasses in her hair...*he trails off and then he smiles a bit* And she was lost.

 **Eliza:** *laughs* That figures.

 **Claude:** *grinning* I'm not originally french or anything--

 **Eliza:** *immediately* I know. Your last name. *pauses* My last name.

 **Claude:** *softens* Right. But my mother was, and parents moved here when I was only seven so...I went to help her out. 

 **Eliza:** *presses her lips together and just nods*

 **Claude:** She tried to refuse. Immediately. 

 **Eliza:** *smile widens along with his*

 **Claude:** But she was late for an exhibit she wanted to see, so I won. 

 **Eliza:** *brow pops in surprise* Can you teach me how to do that?

 **Claude:** *grins and nods* I doubt it would still work but. *grins* 

 **Eliza:** *shrugs a shoulder* Better than nothing. *swallows* So then?

 **Claude:** *pauses* Right. So...we dated for a year. 

 **Eliza:** *blinks in surprise* ...an entire year?

 **Claude:** *presses his lips together* Yes, yes. She left France at the end of the summer, but I came to see her on weekends...and she came here a lot. I had an apartment that was connected to the Floo...*he swallows, the memories hard*

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip* I didn't know it was so long.

 **Claude:** *quietly* Your aunts didn't either. We didn't tell anyone.

 **Eliza:** *brow arches, but she's not that surprised by it* And the other man?

 **Claude:** *an ugly look passes across his face, but he shakes his head* They never dated. Clara set that up.

 **Eliza:** Grandmom?

 **Claude:** *nodding* She'd found out Mary was seeing me and...*swallows* Was...displeased.

 **Eliza:** *swallows* Tell me.

 **Claude:** That's not important-

 **Eliza:** All of it is important.

 **Claude:** *presses his lips together* She followed your mother to my flat here and came one day alone. Made it perfectly clear I wasn't to come by anymore.

 **Eliza:** Did she hold a wand at your throat?

 **Claude:** *surprised* No.

 **Eliza:** Yet you just disappeared?

 **Claude:** No--that...no. I didn't listen. *ponderously* I didn't even tell Mary she'd come by...

 **Eliza:** *swallows and says confusedly* Then what...

 **Claude:** *his throat tightens* Clara started setting your mother out on dates with Mark, and we continued in secret as we had, but she...we found out about you.

 **Eliza:** *goes stiff, but she doesn't say anything*

 **Claude:** *slowly* And when we found out about you...Mary wanted to pretend you were Mark's. *he presses his lips together* 

 **Eliza:** *doesn't say anything*

 **Claude:** *shakes his head slightly* I didn't want to, because obviously for Mark to go along with the pretense she'd have to...*he pauses and then continues in a different vein* I talked her out of it, but it didn't matter, Ellen had figured it out. Mary and I said we were going to live together, and Clara threatened to cut her off if I didn't leave you both alone.

 **Eliza:** *breathing quickly* So then you left.

 **Claude:** *shakes his head again* No. I...I said that it didn't matter, that I wasn't going anywhere. But...

 **Eliza:** *arching an eyebrow* But what?

 **Claude:** *sighs* But then we talked about it, Mary and I. I didn't have a job--or well, I have a job bartending, but that wasn't going to...fully provide, and your mother didn't have a job...and that was her entire inheritance...

 **Eliza:** *frowning* So you did just leave.

 **Claude:** *shakes his head quietly* No. I told Clara, as I said, that I wasn't going anywhere and then...your mother told me to leave.

 **Eliza:** *there is a long pause and she says snappishly* She what?

 **Claude:** Mary came by, I thought she was coming to move in...but she carried nothing but her purse. Same white sunglasses in her hair. *he picks out of his breast pocket the pair and holds them out to her* She told me to leave. That you would have a better life without me, that you would be provided for and loved and surrounded and --

 **Eliza:** *staring at the sunglasses* Mum _told_ you to leave.

 **Claude:** *quickly* Looking at you now, Eliza, it was the right decision--she's been able to give you a life I would never have been able to give you...I mean...*nods at the bag on the table* I know how much that purse cost you. 

 **Eliza:** I don't care. *Snaps* You really think I care about money? I'd live in rags if it meant I'd had my parents to _gether_.

 **Claude:** I couldn't let you grow up in rags! You're my daughter, I wanted you to...you deserve everything in the world, and I was going to hold you back. 

 **Eliza:** *breathless* What in the world makes you think 'having a father' isn't part of having everything?

 **Claude:** *he pauses, caught by that, but he says quieter* I couldn't be responsible for half of your family hating you, I just...how could I do that to you?  

 **Eliza:** *speaking even quicker* Because of your blood status? I have a friend, Dad, a friend--his name is Devin Stuart, I trust you recognize his last name.

 **Claude:** *just nods*

 **Eliza:** In fact I'm sure you know the story I'm about to tell you. *narrowing her eyes* It was in the papers in England, anyways. His mother is muggleborn. His father's pureblood, obviously, and more than that he was at the time, the bloody Minister of Magic. His mother had been married to his uncle originally, and the gossip columns told the tall tale that she'd been with his grandfather too. 

 **Claude:** *breathless, he still makes a noise at that*

 **Eliza:** Really, truly awful lies and slander...and it hasn't gone away, Dev went through things this year that were terrible just because of his parents--

 **Claude:** *immediately* Sweetie, that's what we wanted to protect you _from_ -

 **Eliza:** *snaps* Shh. It's my turn. Yes. I know, I saw what it was, I get it. But Dev's parents fought. They stayed together. They had his sister first, then him, and they're still together to this day. They made it work. *her voice breaks* You didn't even try. 

 **Claude:** *quiet* I know. I can't deny that. *he swallows* 

 **Eliza:** *falls back, feeling flustered and warm, and she says, more to herself than to anyone* Devin doesn't get it. Didn't, get it, maybe he gets it now. 

 **Claude:** *arching his eyebrow, but he doesn't say anything* 

 **Eliza:** *looks back up, another tear in her eye* You didn't get it either. I would have given everything in that blasted Culpeper museum house if it meant you were there. All of it. *her bottom lip is trembling* 

 **Claude:** *he shakes his head slowly* I should have..

 **Eliza:** Stayed. You should. have stayed.

 **Claude:** *he cuts himself off and then he just nods* Yes.

 **Eliza:** *lips pop apart at that as she half-gasps and then buries her forehead in her hand* But you were just doing what Mum _told_ you to do.

 **Claude:** I don't want to blame this on Mary. It was my choice. I chose to try and give you a life. I wanted to know you were taken care of. 

 **Eliza:** *arches an eyebrow* Yet you were going to run away with Mum and I, and it was Mum who cut that off because she didn't want to--*her breath hitches again* I...*stands up* I can't.

 **Claude:** *watches her stand up, his face breaking, but he nods* I understand if you hate me--

 **Eliza:** *brows pop* Hate you? *her face breaks too* I could never hate you. *her voice trembles a bit* You're my Dad.

 **Claude:** *breathless* I thought about you every day. Every single day, and I...I saw you go to Hogwarts, wait--

 **Eliza:** *surprised by that, she tilts her head* You what?

 **Claude:** *having lowered the sunglasses, he holds out a picture album to her, tiny*

 **Eliza:** *looks at it, breathless and then she takes it in shaking hands, and finds three pictures of her from her pre-Hogwarts years, one as a baby, one near her fifth birthday, one near her tenth, and then one from the train at Hogwarts station for her first year, and another few for each successive year* How did you...

 **Claude:** *he swallows* The one at Hogwarts I took. I knew you would be going and I just...I just showed up. You didn't know who I was, and I didn't dare go near the family but...

 **Eliza:** And the others? *looks at him wonderingly* You weren't outside my nursery window in the bushes were you?

 **Claude:** *tiniest laugh* No, Mary sent me those. 

 **Eliza:** *suddenly cold* Mum knew where you were?

 **Claude:** No. *shakes his head* Which is probably why they got to me so slowly, and so few. She'd send an owl; it would track me down. *nods at her* Just as you did.

 **Eliza:** *looking at the photos and nodding slowly, she just holds the photo album to her chest* You were really going to find me when I was seventeen? 

 **Claude:** *nods* Yes. And your mother promised me she'd tell you the whole story then too. Once you were grown. But when I got your letter I just..I couldn't wait anymore. 

 **Eliza:** *she looks from the album to him quietly and then just nods* I have to--my friend said if I didn't go see her after I met you, she'd assume you kidnapped me and--

 **Claude:** *nods, standing up too* Can I see you again?

 **Eliza:** *she looks at him for a long pause and then nods once, her face breaking into a bit of a smile* Yeah. Don't move and I can send my regular owl to you.

 **Claude:** *nods, just looking at her, his own face in a bit of a smile*

 **Eliza:** *her gaze drops to his toes and then back up at him and after a moment she very quickly takes a step forward and hugs him; the embrace tight, both of them spill tears almost instantly, which they brush away with the exact same gesture of their hands, and she pulls back, the initial smile back on her face* I'll see you, Dad. 

 **Claude:** *immediately breaks into a wide beam as she scoots out the door, pausing to look back at him as if to ascertain he was actually real, and then leaves; he sits back in the chair and proceeds to pay for her coffee too, which amuses him and after cradling his forehead in his hand the same way she just had, he starts laughing; laughter silly and wild, his inhibitions just gone with how happy he was* 

**Dear Devin,**

I think you should consider a career change, I really do. It is quite time consuming and frankly, as your obsessive and clingy psychotic girlfriend, I demand you only pay attention to me, myself, and I! I mean, we haven’t spoken in like what? Seventy-four hours?! How dare you be so insensitive and inconsiderate! I mean, I got a haircut last week and you didn’t even notice. Some boyfriend you are! Our eleven week anniversary was on Monday and you didn’t even get me a gift!  
  
…I just thought I should remind you how lucky you are I’m not insane. Or rather too. insane. :)  
  
You can’t see me while you read this but I was laughing hysterically as I wrote that. I’m surprised I didn’t poke a hole in the paper with my quill. An attestation to how bored I am, really, if I’m being entertained so easily. But I can’t help it, I’m mostly home alone for a couple of hours, as I’m not babysitting or dog-walking today. Dad’s spending the day with Charlie, yeah she still hates me and Chace for ‘stealing her dad’, mami’s sick in bed with the flu, her voice sounding more nasal than usual, Hols is at the Reserve, happily handling big piles of animal dung, Belle is still neck deep planning the most anticipated wedding of the year and Chace and Kass are on a date. Not exactly sure where, but they’re also celebrating.  
  
Chace got sponsored by a skateboarding company! He’s been trying to get sponsors for three years now. This is a tremendous opportunity for him. Their plan is to make him the next Ryan Sheckler. He could be a celebrity! He sure has the skills for it, and charismatic when he’s not being annoying. Unfortunately, school would get in the way of all this. He says he might not come back to Hogwarts after next year if he can convince my mom.  
  
I think I would cry.  
  
I haven’t been away from him for more than a few days like…ever! In our entire history. So on top of Hols graduating, Chace wouldn’t be coming back? And Kass graduates the year afterwards?  
  
Maybe this whole clingy girlfriend act was me channeling my future self. Fair warning.  
  
But! I have great news! Grades arrived via owl today! And I managed to pass History of Magic with an 82%! If we were talking our O.W.L.’s that’d be an E…right? Anyways! Mami is absolutely thrilled! And as soon as I finish writing this letter I’m calling Nick to let him know that his hard work did not go to waste. He’ll be very proud. Of himself. I think mom wants to like attack him with love or something; she seemed to like him immediately those few days he was in Hawaii with us. Now she says, or rather coughed, that he should tutor me forever. Ergo, I’ve been instructed to tell you, to tell Lynn, that he’s a keeper. 

If you mentally made a joke about how he doesn’t even play Quidditch, then just know that you’re a dork.

But, predictably, don’t ask me…one damn thing about any goblin rebellion right at this moment because I dumped out that information as soon as I handed in the exam. Not a very smart idea considering we have O.W.L.’s next year but I sincerely couldn’t give a flying saucer about it. I’m not being held back in History- that’s the good news!  
  
The bad news is that no sane person….ever…in the history of the world, should be able to achieve a 173% in any subject. And yet I did, in yep you guessed it, Divination. Really, if I’m really as good as these exams say than I should have seen that one coming.  
  
The lowest grade I got was in Potions- have you heard about a passing fail? The mother of all contradictions? Apparently, that’s what I got. Obviously, I will not be making potions for anyone anytime soon. But then again, that’s what I have you for right?  
  
The rest are the same, mostly average, some of my better subjects slightly above average, nothing too exciting. Whereas you probably have perfects and above perfect and great and teachers all want to kiss and hug you for breaking the curve. How did you get so smart again? And how could you end up falling for a girl who’s not your intellectual equal? Must have been her mind-blowing good looks and quirky personality, then.

Also Irene texted me a couple of days ago saying you’re going to manage to spring her out! I’m sure she sent you a letter with nothing but thank you’s and you’re the best’s covering the entire page but in all sincerity, thank you. You literally have no idea how much this means to her, and how happy she is. And whenever Rene’s happy, I’m happy. Then again, anyone around me is happy and I all but multiply that joy tenfold, but again, thank you baby, and thank Lynn for the idea. And Madame Selwyn for all her help of course!

Speaking of, how’s Madame Selwyn treating you this week? Has she pinched your cheeks yet? I am talking about your face, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t like her very much anymore. She and I actually talked for a few minutes when I came over last week to forcibly drag you to a lunch break I knew you were going to skip. Don’t try and deny it, I didn’t need the Sight to find out. She’s honestly very sweet, and ridiculously funny, if not a little forward. I think she forgets we’re only fifteen.

Don’t skip lunch break today, okay? Good.

Love,  
Nadia. 

**Dear Obsessive Clingy Psychotic Girlfriend,**

Such a shame that acronyms out to OCPG, or you’d have a new nickname for how much that whole act made me laugh. The pronunciation is just too bizarre. Disclaimer: I am writing this on my lunch break, JUST so you can be sure that I am not skipping it. Hence the stain on the top. I marked that on purpose so you have proof, not because I was that messy, but I’m pretty sure you guessed that already.

As you are my obssessive, clingy, psychotic girlfriend, I feel it’s my duty to point out that the previous letter was *only* three pages. I don’t get eighteen pages? Are you sure you’re even trying here?!

But on a serious note: thank. god. Then again hey, as I’ve been saying, you’re much more likely to get tired of me in the long run. That seventy-four hours might as well have been the longest of my life. And now I’m certainly going to run out and find a gift for you; the eleventh week anniversary deserved celebrating, dammit. (Has it really been eleven weeks? Still feels like yesterday. Every day could be the first). I do get a day off next week for some Ministry holiday (that I think they’re making up. though, so feel free to be as clingy and psychotic as you want, cause merlin knows I will be.

That sounds great for Chace! Though, well, maybe it’s me but…I can’t imagine why he shouldn’t finish school just because he could be the next…whomever Ryan Sheckler is. Skateboarding’s only going to last so long…doesn’t he need a fallback? And right about here is where you tell me I’m being too practical and technical or something like that, so I’ll be quiet. In any case, I’m with you: he should come back to school.

That is spectacular about the History of Magic grade!! We need to celebrate somehow…even if you can’t remember any of those goblin rebellions right now. In a completely unrelated to said goblin rebellions way. Me, you, your guilty pleasure and a certain pair of boxer shorts I’ve been hearing a lot about, eight o’clock tomorrow night? I’d say tonight, but I got the portkey for Irene tonight, so we’re already set on the celebrating for the evening.

As fo the 173%, that is _incredible_. You managed to beat my highest grade, so I guess that gives you bragging rights for this summer. O.W.L.’s are still coming up though (I’m already studying), so I wouldn’t get too comfortable with those. As to my other grades, let’s just say your spot on. Particularly in Potions; Slughorn gave me a bunch of extra points for knowing the particulars of brewing Wolfsbane and Felix; so the extra workload paid off. I’ve still got Felix lying around for us to use by the way.

Mind-blowing good looks, quirky personality, her huge heart, kind attitude, and off-the-charts modesty by the way. That’s how.

Madame Selwyn’s being her usual odd self. I swear she acts more like my aunt than my boss, which I prefer in the area of portkey-approvals, but I really rather detest when it comes to the fact that she won’t give me complete access yet. Actually I think she’s trying to appear as though she’s avoiding favoritism, except that the other two interns here have exactly the same connections I did to get the job, so there’s no…chance of favoritism. Or no more so than usual. Nepotism has it’s serious drawbacks.

Anyways, unfortunately I’m going to have to cut this letter off here and send it as … lunch break over.

Yours,

Dev.

**_August 3rd, 2027_ **

**Devin:** What the hell are you doing here?  
 **Sam:** Chill, Silverhawk. *nods over his head* Dad stopped by to visit yours.  
 **Devin:** *holding the door shut as he looks back, indeed seeing his Uncle already in the kitchen with his dad, and he asks with pursed lips* And you tagged along for…?  
 **Sam:** *rolling his eyes and pushing the door open to come in regardless* Oh, the pleasure of your company to be sure.  
 **Devin:** *stepping back, folding his arms over his chest and says simply* You’re not welcome here.  
 **Sam:** You’re making that clear. *is ignoring it anyways and headed into the living room, Dev follows hesitantly, certain Sam’s up to something; Sam picks up an ornament on the table behind the couch, examines it for a second and then tosses it to himself* Where’s that sister of yours anyway?  
 **Devin:** Lynn’s out. (to himself: _With Nick, but of course I’m not supposed to know that_.) *no-nonsense tone* If you have to stay, so be it. *proceeds to go out the other door, out onto their patio, sliding the screen door shut and slides a paper back book out his back pocket, sitting down and burying himself in it*  
 **Sam:** *after casting his glance to the kitchen, he frowns slightly to himself and then shrugs and follows Devin outside*  
 **Devin:** *without looking up from his book* That was a hint, you know. If you didn’t get it.  
 **Sam:** You’re being very rude, you know.  
 **Devin:** I don’t care.  
 **Sam:** *snorts and then sits on the opposing lawn chair, tilting his head back as he lounges easily, arm falling on the hand rest* Is it jealousy?  
 **Devin:** *caught off guard by that comment, he blinks and looks up over the top of the book without lowering it* Jealousy?  
 **Sam:** *nods, looking rather amused* Victoria?  
 **Devin:** *rolls his eyes and looks straight back down at the book* Yeah, oh _sure_. *pauses and then his lips twitch amused* She talks about me a lot then, doesn’t she?  
 **Sam:** *a frown flits across his lips and then he clears his throat and goes for his pocket as he says idly* Not my fault you messed that one up.  
 **Devin:** *rolls his eyes, not bothering to comment on it as it literally means that little to him but he pauses when he sees what Sam’s doing* …are you insane?  
 **Sam:** *had pulled out a joint, and was going to light it; at the comment he suddenly smirks* Might be. More fun that way.  
 **Devin:** You _can’t_ smoke that here. *is speaking incredulously* If my Mum sees you—  
 **Sam:** *lights it up, but he laughs at that* Cute, you still care what your mum thinks.  
 **Devin:** *watching him smoke it for a second, shaking his head incredulously* Your funeral.  
 **Sam:** Charming idea.   
**Devin:** *lips twitch suddenly* Didn’t think you’d think so to actually. *holds up a hand pre-emptively* Before you say anything yes, I knew that was sarcasm.  
 **Sam:** *had not bothered; was taking a drag before he blows out rather contently, looking back up at the sky and shaking his head to himself* What happened, Dev? We were friends once.  
 **Devin:** *tightly* We were never friends.   
**Sam:** *brows furrow and he tilts his head, speaking wryly* Oh, so I imagined it then?  
 **Devin:** Didn’t imagine my fist though, did you?  
 **Sam:** *snorts and waves a hand* You took me by surprise is all.  
 **Devin:** *under his breath, stubbornly* I _flattened_ you.  
 **Sam:** It’s forgotten.  
 **Devin:** *brows furrow and he looks up again slowly* Are you trying to say you forgive me?  
 **Sam:** *brightly* There you go.  
 **Devin:** *blinks incredulously* I did not require your forgiveness.  
 **Sam:** *waves this off*   
**Devin:** *slowly* What’s with the sudden generosity?  
 **Sam:** *shrugs a shoulder* We’re going back to school soon. Why start the year off with old grudges?  
 **Devin:** *purses his lips and then he suddenly gets a slow smile* You’re that afraid of me, aren’t you?   
**Sam:** *scoffs* I’m not afrai—  
 **Devin:** Of Lynn, of Hols, of Al, Irene… *shakes his head* Well, I’m not going to tell you not to be scared. You should be.  
 **Sam:** *pauses and then nods slowly, an odd look in his eyes as he raises a finger* All right, if that’s how you want it. Just remember, Stuart, I came here first.   
**Devin:** *shakes his head* You know when you say that it sounds ridiculous right, considering we're cousins? I know you want me to forget that, much as I rather wish we _weren’t_ related.   
**Sam:** *ignoring this* So what happens this year…I offered a white flag first. You refused.   
**Devin:** *his jaw suddenly tightens* Is that a threat, Sammie?   
**Sam:** *nose flicks irritably at the name* Just a fact.  
 **Devin:** Right, well then, here are a few more facts. *lowering his book* I put you in the hospital wing once, and I have no problem doing it again if you go near Nadia again. I would say if you went near any of my friends, but _factually_ speaking Hols would probably like the honor of it this time, and merlin knows Al feels he owes you a punch or two. ‘That sister of mine’ has already been restrained at least twice from murdering you; hurt any of us again, and we won’t bother with a third. And finally, whatever the hell it is you’re up to here, it wasn’t to offer me a white flag of friendship because merlin knows Sammie, I’m not that blasted stupid.   
**Sam:** *rolling his eyes and stands up smoking again, perfectly in view of the kitchen and not caring* What happens next is on you, Dev.  
 **Devin:** *he swallows tightly, glaring at him* I’m not _good_ enough, to you, to be your real friend, yeah? Or your older brothers—no one in my family deserves the name as you do.   
**Sam:** *yawns* Least you admit it.  
 **Devin:** So why in Merlin’s name would you suddenly want my friendship? And how could you be daft enough to believe I have _any_ interest at all in yours?   
**Sam:** *flicking the joint to the ground as he finishes it, grinding beneath his toe and saying idly* See you at school, Devin.  
 **Devin:** *amused at the formal dismissal, he salutes him with the book and straightens his back saying with a grin* Yessir. _Thanks_ for stopping by, Sam! *he watches Sam leave through narrowed eyes and then he frowns to himself and falls back into the couch groaning and eventually turning back to his book*

&.

**Dear Al,**

I’m bored. You’re getting a letter, it’s as simple as that.

You would think working at Fueravian’s would be a bit more entertaining, but I am a bit limited with only my O.W.L. in Care of Magical Creatures. Never mind that I didn’t miss a single question on the exam and I was visited personally by all kinds of OWL personnel to make sure I hadn’t found a way to cheat on it. A very flattering experience, by the way, I was quite ecstatic that they thought I was smart enough to cheat on this uncheatable exam. Yes, I am quite aware that uncheatable is not a word, I got an O in Care of Magical Creatures, not spelling.

Either way, I am on my lunch break and not all that hungry because I’m once again, as I try to do every summer, eating a vegetarian diet. It’s…quite the hassle, but I know it’s morally right in my heart. But my taste buds, they just won’t listen to reason! I’ve managed to keep the diet longer than all the other years though but that may be because I’m finding myself too busy to breathe, let alone eat.

And no, that does mean I’m choosing to write this letter over eating or breathing, so wipe the smirk off your face and deflate your ego back down to normal status.

We got a couple of new unicorns though! I got to oversee the transportation, it was so amazing. It was a mommy unicorn and her foal, though the poor mommy’s blind in one eye, I think some sick, good for nothing, depraved bastard was trying to get the horn, because the tip has a bit that’s been sawed off. Can you imagine? How could anyone possibly be able to do this to an innocent animal?

In lighter news, however, they’ve started to fit in with the herd just fine. They’re gentle creatures, unicorns. They never cease to amaze me with their beauty, I could watch their herd for hours, really. However, I’m doing more…manual labor. Feeding, washing, giving medicine, cleaning up dung.

Yeah…isn’t that just a lovely image?

It’s great though! I really could work here all week if they’d let me. You should come visit sometime, I’ll get you the v.i.p pass with a behind the scenes tour and complimentary shag-an-intern coupon. I should let you know now that I’m the only female intern, but if you’re feeling adventurous go right ahead. Just let me watch and take pictures, okay? Purely for artistic purposes, of course.

Also, I accidentally packed one of your shirts with me from Hawaii. Your shoulder width never ceases to amaze me. My dad found it, told him that I purposefully buy huge overgrown male shirts to sleep in. I don’t think he believed me, but he did stop asking questions.

I was never good at writing closing statements,

Hols

P.S. Enclosed is an envelope with some pictures I took during Hawaii. Film developed and prints made by moi. Yes, feel free to stare in awe at my amazing talent once you’re done telling yourself how good you look in the photos.

&.

**Dear Hols,**

response to [dear alcott, from hols](http://fynextgenbabies.tumblr.com/post/7193460543/dear-al)

Boredom? That wasn’t even an exciting excuse. I was expecting you to tell me someone escaped from St. Mungos with the sole purpose of putting a wand to your head, demanding that you write me or suffer immediate death, and how even then you would not have listened except that they might have hurt your animals too so you had no choice but to send me a letter. Incidentally, that is why I am writing you back.

Well, all right. That and because my life is incredibly boring without my daily argument with you so if you want me to put it all…poetic: my once bright life has been dulled without your constant presence. To yell, snipe, and insult me. There.

Or rather, Eliza tells me that my ego has gone unbearable again without you to put it in line and I suppose that I buy.

You’re trying a vegetarian diet? Good luck. I could say something about the natural order of things, except that really I’d be vegetarian myself if I didn’t love steak so much. Damn those tastebuds. Or…well..yeah you get it. …and see, you’re deflating my ego already.

That is disgusting about what they did to the unicorn: I’ll never understand it. Cool about the foals though; I never get to stand too close to those. I imagine that’s because of the whole…girls are more trustworthy thing, which I don’t get. In my experience, it’s much more likely that boys just tell you straight out right and girls are the master manipulators of…well, everything really. Everything has meaning to you guys; you notice all kinds of things I couldn’t be bothered with and something tells me one day we’ll find out really women have been in charge all along, yeah? So really, I should be able to meet a unicorn foal.

Speaking of foals though, Swift had hers. The labor actually went very smoothly; I insisted on helping deliver it myself naturally, but there was only one slight hiccup. She’s a beautiful chestnut color though, born fifty-seven pounds, two ounces. No health problems thus far, though I’m watching closely. I was a bit worried at first as it seemed she was mopey, but after a few hours she was as bright and curious as any of them and she certainly took to nursing immediately.

As for the invitation: very funny, but as I guess I have no choice with the only-female-intern there, I’ll be around as soon as possible. Also in regards to my shirt: I left it for you on purpose ;). Actually, you did seem to enjoy sleeping in it, to my best recollection.

Hope it stays just as intensive, if not more so, at the Reserve, and that you start to be allowed to do more interesting things there. How is everyone with you? And what days do you have off, so that I can actually come up and spend more time with you than whatever animal you’re looking after that day? I’m not daft: I know I lose that particular contest.

See you soon,

Al

&.

"Where did you get that?"

His mother stood in the doorway. Startled from deep reminiscence, his leg slammed down, near kicked a chair over. 

"Shit, Mom--" Alcott jerked to his feet, careful not to tear or crumple the edges of the paper as it fluttered to rest on his chest. Another protest was swallowed back as he mentally winced - able to foresee her reprimand. _Brackner's don't curse_ , he could hear in that prim voice, _Brackner are not so common_. 

"Alcott, where did you get that?" 

His mother's voice was strained, like a violin string pulled too taut so as to whine instead of hum. Too surprised he hadn't been reprimanded, he only gaped at her. It didn't seem to matter. As she stepped forward, a loud echoing clack against the marble, her eyes were locked on the parchment he held. Tracing the spider-web thin lines of ink across the tree, her blue eyes darted up the painted calligraphy that was her own hand and down to the corner, to the inscription H & L Brackner. Self-conscious and breathy, he folded it closer to his chest, snatching it from her view. 

With a sharp hiss she looked up to him. Lyndsea Brackner looked like she had seen a ghost. Flustered, Alcott caught his breath only to say bitterly,

"What do you care?" 

But she cut him off, sudden pain fluttering across her face.

"Alcott - give me that." There was a desperation to her voice now - she couldn't take it anymore - and she sets her jaw, stepping after him and taking it, in a flurry feverish to his astonishment. He let it go only for fear of her ripping it. _But that was silly too, they could fix it, a simple wand wave_...

She unfolded it, running manicured nails over the faded paint, lingering over a scripted 'O.' His father's wand tree, Alcott knew. The diamond glinted from her finger as it rested over a branch. It set his teeth on edge. How could she act as though _he_ had betrayed _her?_

"It's mine." 

Defensive, Alcott snapped in a low growl. He stepped forward, trying to take it back but she stepped away, holding flimsy paper over her heart. Confusion in his wide, dark eyes as she jerked her gaze up to him. How could she look at him like that? 

"It is not." For all the snap in her motion, there was none in her wavering, emotional voice. He thought he could see oceans in that blue gaze now. Wrong-footed, Alcott narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin down. His gaze flickered to her heels, wondering a moment how it was his mother could stand so tall and be so small. 

"Eliza found it for me." He admitted in a tinier voice. "For my birthday." 

"It wasn't lost." Lyndsea whispered it, and suddenly Alcott was sure Eliza had been right. Clinched between two romance novels in the library, she'd said. _Perhaps so your mother could find it, if she wanted to_. A twist in his gut made him lift his chin, still gnashing his teeth together. 

"Well, excuse me Mother - I thought it should be with someone who _hasn't_ forsaken him."

"Excuse me?" 

"No, I won't!" Ironic, considering he had just asked her to excuse him. "Since when do you care, anyway?"

Heartache evident in her violin's whine, anger flashed across her own gaze -- tinged with guilt. 

"Alcott, I don't expect you to understan--"

"What, that you fucked Dad's brother?"

The jerk in his mother's gaze reminded both of them the room in which they both stood. Alcott swiveled, the flask in his hand falling loose to clatter across the desk. Mercifully, the portrait of Harper Brackner shown only an empty stretch of canvas. Alcott's gut churned with betrayal, resentment, guilt and relief. Dead or not, that was not how he would have wanted his father to find out.

When he looked back to his mother, there was chipped ice in her gaze though her hands shook violently around the parchment. A glistening facade of self-righteousness, Alcott thought resentfully. Here was the ice queen his mother was always derided as on page six. Heart in his stomach, he muttered under his breath,

"At least you don't deny it."

But how she could stand there, and claim the parchment as hers - the hand-rendered wand tree central to his father's _research_ , that which had cost him his life --

"I don't." A crack in the ice on her face, her bottom lip trembled as a tear fell down her cheek. For a few seconds they said nothing. Then her voice broke, she took another step forward, hand reached out -- 

"Alcott, it wasn't, I never meant for it --"

He batted her arm away with absurd ease, gaze dropped back to the ground. This time he took in the tarnished gold of his father's desk. Desperate and terrified, his mother's voice pleaded in his ear,

"I thought you needed someone here! I was useless -- I asked Max to stay -" 

Alcott flinched at the name, the betrayal inherent in her even muttering his uncle's name when both of them had so defiled his father's memory. She guessed that, lowering her gaze to the desk as well. Choked on emotion, she shook her head uselessly and said quieter,

"With your father gone, I wanted you to have someone -"

"He wasn't so easily replaced for me, Ma!" Alcott snapped his gaze back up to her. Eyes flashing, he stepped forward to look her straight in the eye. Irritated by the gall that she would place that on him, he continued with fire in his own gaze, the wolf's rage he could never fully quell -- 

"You didn't give a damn about me! You just didn't want to be alone."

He'd shocked her to speechlessness, bottom lip trembling and quaking in those absurd heels of hers. 

Lifting a hand, curling a fist and then punching uselessly at the air, Alcott shook his head at her, suddenly unable to find another word to say. She didn't flinch as his fist flew near her. Sharp teeth suddenly appeared, pinching her bottom lip between them. Nodding slowly, she hissed through tears and pink, swollen flesh,

"No, I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want either of us, to be alone."

"You weren't." Alcott lifted his hand to his eyes, pressing down hard against the sides and smoothing down eyebrows, shaking his head in frustration. "Ma, you had me."

She was supposed to, he thought miserably, angrily. Not that he could remember anything -- the months after were a blurry haze of black: the color of the hearse, the shiny briefcases of lawyers, the sharp shoes his uncle wore crunched in the dirt, his mother's dress fluttering around woolen tights, the ink on a certificate of Death, followed by that absurd certificate on the wall. Order of Merlin, Second Class - awarded to Harper Brackner for his outstanding achievements in Potioneering and discoveries in Wand Lore. The silly thing mocked them from the wall, beside the empty gilded frame.  

"I nearly suffocated you." 

Her words startling him, he spun away from the wall, hands falling from his pocket. He gaped a wordless 'what?', too breathless to remark aloud.

"You don't remember?" She sounded horrified, heartbroken. There was another twist in his gut of guilt, followed by that all too familiar flash of anger, red-hot as it shot up his veins. She didn't seem to notice the yellow glint in his darkening eyes. But then, she never did. Still wordless, he only shook his head once.

"I wouldn't let you go." 

For some reason, she sounded like she was confessing something sinful. It confused him, as his heart had suddenly soared. 

"I wouldn't let you go, Al - you slept in my bed every night for two months. You came in the first night and then after that ... "

That sparked a dim memory. Yes, he thought briefly, he remembered those nights. Navy dressing gown loose, her hair tangled in her mouth until he'd brushed it out, his father's cologne on bloody everything. Was that really two months? It barely registered with him. Mostly he remembered when his uncle had arrived, when Grandmother had yelled at her to go outside, the --

"I stopped you crying." He spoke suddenly, before he'd realized it. Only now did he realize how close she was. When had she stepped after him again? He stiffened, even as she nodded in desperate encouragement.

"You did, two months later, you brought me -"

"That." Alcott muttered, looking at the parchment that had opened the can. Cringing, he looked back up at her. "And you sat me down and we drew one too."

"I still have that one too." 

That surprised him. Tilting his head at her, she only gestured to the desk. He went slowly, pulling open and rifling through the many old papers - a pang in his heart as he leafed through so many pages in his father's hand. He stopped suddenly spying the document. It was nowhere near as beautiful as the one she held now. Crayola markers, he thought, plain paper instead of parchment -- he couldn't yet properly hold a Quill. Wordless, he looked back at her.

If this was the case, his gaze asked for him - where had she _been_? Why had she left him alone for so long? She flinched away from the anger in his gaze even as a swell in his chest nearly lifted his heavy arm to reach for her. 

"I'm sorry, Alcott. I'm so sorry. When you lost your father...I lost my _husband_ , the man I - loved -- still do, with everything...every part, of me. It was --" 

Whatever it was, his mother couldn't seem to get out. She changed tact suddenly, jerking her head back up to look at him, his heat having seemed to melt the ice in her gaze.

"I've never...you're wrong, though. I _always_..."

"Cared about me?" He asked for her, as she couldn't seem to choke the words out. "Then where--"

"You look so much like him!" Her heart broke with her own words, more tears pouring down her cheeks as she regarded him. "Every day, more and more..."

Eyes widening, Alcott lifted a hand to wipe his own startled tear out of his eye. That was silly, he thought first, the stern portraiture made it obvious how different his father looked than he. He had more of the Barcelona family in him that was true, he'd always thought -- his mother English, blonde and willowy, where his father was hard-angles and all right, maybe they were both a tad bit shorter, maybe they had the same eye color --

"And you _act_ like him." She murmured it, rubbing both eyes. Pride sparked in Alcott's chest even as he struggled to hang on to guilt. "I never...I never understood half of what he would say, but you -- you got it, even when you were little, you looked at this --" With another flurry of sudden motion she was beside him at the desk. The parchment flutters away from her and lays between them. It barely holds his gaze. He didn't think he'd seen his mother so vulnerable let alone cry - since ... well he supposed since he'd been six. 

"And you knew which one came next, had all of it memorized, said you were going to make your own wand -- you _did_ make one for me ..."

He laughed the tiniest bit - remembering the first attempt. 

"It only made bubbles though." 

She laughed too. Mother and son looked at each other remembering the little stick and soap that dropped from the wood - staining her carpet. An awkward silence fell as their laughter died. 

"I've always been proud of you. And it isn't fair -- it isn't fair that you got to know him so little, Al. But I - I know, he'd be proud of you."

There was something that flashed behind his gaze - the wolf, he thought miserably with another flash of rage. To his surprise, this time he saw her startle. He pushed it off. No, he thought quickly, no he couldn't tell her that -- not now. Instead he thought what she had said. It hadn't occurred to him until now how hard it had to have been for her too. The thought made him angrier, contrarily; and he held his gaze to hers.

"Ma, I do understand you lost your husband." 

Lyndsea stiffened her upper lip. 

"But I -- I can't lose mother and father both." 

"Tell me what I can do."

Alcott made to pull away from her, made to walk out of the room -- not ready, he thought, not ready to forgive her. She didn't say anything else, she just nodded, more tears in her eyes. He held her gaze for a long moment, then heard himself say,

"Uncle Max can stay." There was a spark of something in both of their eyes, wordless understanding of the guilt between them both. It was only fair, Alcott thought briefly: Dad wasn't coming back, he supposed he couldn't blame her for finding comfort. Or Max, for that matter, he'd lost his brother too.

"But I don't want him to finish the remodeling." Alcott said quieter. "Send the contractors home. Leave the house be. It was Dad's house Ma, and before that generations of Brackners and if it's going to be mine -- "

"They'll be gone first thing in the morning." 

Alcott smiled briefly, reaching down to fold up the parchment. He went to hand it to his mother, and found himself wrapped in a tight embrace. If it startled him, he ignored the fact that the surprise was from how hard he held on to her. Neither mother nor son noticed behind them a (beleaguered looking) portraiture had stepped back into place. When they finally pulled back, his mother whispering in his ear how sorry she was, how she would do better - he sheepishly pushed it away and shook his head, ignoring the loud smack of her lips on his forehead. 

When he tried to give her the parchment, she shook her head suddenly at him.

"You're right." She said it softly. "You should have it."

He smiled. Then he ducked to pick up the flask and found her gaze turn only mildly disapproving as she remarked, "I suppose that he would want you to have that too." 

"Damn Brackner men." Alcott said with his usual wink, glad to see she was smiling now too. He felt lighter inexplicably even as he cleared his throat and gestured over his shoulder. "Shall I go tell the workers?"

His mother nodded - and he grinned wider. She didn't see him look back as he went to the door, but he did. And he saw her fold the wand tree drawing he'd done when he was six too, saw her rest it over her heart  -- one that had to ache with the same loss and want as his -- and look back to the portrait. Harper Brackner seemed to smile, - but, Alcott thought quietly, the chipped, faded paint froze in the action, as likely smiling at some faded memory as the living. It was all he could do. 

And Alcott hated that he knew both his mother and him still wanted more.

The first person she called on was Benjamin. Harper's father had answered the door a sliver and heartbeat before Lyndsi was through it, in his arms, tears striking anew. Choking out what happened had made his grip tighten suddenly. There was a ferocity and strength in the old man she could barely believe. Pulling back, Lyndsi thought suddenly how good-looking he was for his age again, just as she had when she first began seeing Harper.  _If you want to know if a good-looking boy will stay that way, look at his father,_  her mother had told her, prim and proper in her discussion that favorably could be described as comparing pureblood males to thoroughbreds. The absurd advice had echoed in her head when she first met Harper's parents, when she had first fallen in love with Benjamin instantly, and known she would love Harper well into old-age and beyond -- into eternity.  
  
The first person to arrive was the priest. He'd been dressed head to toe in black, delivering the last rites with a tired practical air before he earnestly began parroting about sermon passages he thought to use for the funeral, pestering her for details to make it more suited, more personal. He was also the first she wanted to slap, something her too-sensible older sister had kept her from doing. Sel wore black too, but at least on Sel that was normal. She'd made little black dresses her daily bread (as Lyndsea muttered, bitterly mocking the priest) since Hogwarts wild years, yang to Lyndsi's yin of cheerful brights. Now Lyndsi was in black too.

The first story she'd told to a group of desolate family members and commiserating friends was an exaggerated memory of Alcott's birth, when the normally genius Harper Brackner had found himself speechless, and amazed at what she had described to him as "the most possible, most probable thing -- considering his appetites anyway." When the laughs had died off, Lyndsea was surprised to realized she'd been among them. Hundreds of stories, memories, idle thoughts and quotes would cross their lips that first weekend -- as they stared at photographs, kept each other breathing and quietly assured each other they'd keep each other alive.

The first night Alcott slipped into her bed. He found her in his father's shirt, a wet cheek pressed into his father's pillow breathing if only to smell the last remnant of his cologne. But Lyndsea had told herself she couldn't think of 'lasts' and changed the subject to punishments wandering little boys up past their bedtimes who stole cookies would face - a tired, old joke they both knew was Harper's invention.

The first time Max touched her hand was standing over grey stone, the flowers she'd dropped over the fresh mound glistening from the tears that had fallen on them. Her gaze darted to her palm before she took the offering. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, smoothing rough patches and her breath hitched. He spoke of his own anger for losing his brother, and she suddenly jumped a hand to his forearm --squeezed, felt him flex in grief, and she said, 'Easy, Max.' Like she knew him. And he hadn't looked at her - his own watering eyes on etched stone - but she felt his scarred muscles loosen.   
  
Taking his hand again, Lyndsea held on so tightly she broke three bones in her hand, and felt so guilty betraying Harper she washed both hands for a quarter hour again and again and again -- even though he'd only been a comforting, silent presence.  
  
That first thought -- that her husband was packed away in a box and could never laugh again, could never hold her, could never kiss her -- had been the first to break her.   
  
The first time Max poured her a scotch, she drank all of it in one long burning gulp and didn't feel a thing. He had stared at her torn between shock and impress. All Lyndsea had found the breath for was murmuring quietly, "I'm a Brackner," before she jerked the bottle back to her, filled a silver flask and downed it again. It had Harper's initials carved in the bottom, and she hated to see dates. In her fogged, alcohol-buzzed state the curved flask became a shiny headstone she could fit in her palm -- and one she could throw. It smashed into a lamp, the first thing she'd break.

Lyndsea had smiled genuinely when Alcott gave Lyndsea the drawing she and Harper had done in school together, the first thing to truly make her smile in two months. One of the first experiments she ever helped him on, though she could not for the life of her understand why her husband would want to bind two woods for one wand, she had nonetheless known he'd succeed and painted calligraphy to ornament his drawings, to embellish and add flair to his science. Harper had told her that was what she was for him -- and then made passionate amends wholeheartedly when she gasped her indigence at being nothing more than a shiny ribbon he wore. With his lust and ardor, Lyndsi forgot to mention she hadn't actually been offended.

The first time she slept in the bed without Alcott was two weeks after that, when his father's mother had sniped at her about how she would screw her grandson up. It was the first time she'd heard herself raise her voice in months -- and her angry mother-bear defense had pleased Harper's mother to silence. Yet that night, Lyndsi put Al in his own bed - and did so again when she found him in her bed at midnight, wrapped around her middle. After putting him back, she realized it was the first time she thought of it as 'her' bed instead of 'theirs', and wouldn't sleep at all.

The first strawberry she ate was a year later. She dipped it in chocolate, painted down the nape of her neck, overcome in a mad, sudden fit. Sticking her coated index finger deep in scotch, then drying it's tip by waving over the flames at the base of a cauldron filled with herbs, the heat of which she blamed for her watering eyes, when she slipped the digit in her mouth she sucked to remember what he'd tasted like.

The first birthday Harper missed was hers; Alcott gave her the best present, a collection of his father's papers that had notes from her. He said shyly they were from the study -- the study she still couldn't bring herself to walk into, not since they'd spent whole weeks repairing and cleaning every inch of it to the tolerable mess her husband had keep it in -- as if their son was sure she would be angry he disturbed it. So shocked was she, Lyndsi had kissed his mouth - the first she'd kissed - ignoring Alcott's protests and cries of Mom.

Five days after that was Alcott's birthday. When he blew out seven candles, he wished for Dad to come back. As their son clasped his hand to his mouth and muttered 'blast, i wasn't supposed to say, now it can't come true,' she wondered when he'd understand. Then she wondered if she ever would.

  
The first time her mother visited to yell at her was just days after she lit thirty one candles in their bedroom before sleeping in the lingerie she'd bought for him last birthday, when he'd been so denying turning thirty. It hung off her shoulder and gapped at her breast; she couldn't bring herself to mend the strap. Her arms had locked tight around the giant stuffed panda bear he'd given her the day they learned she was pregnant with Al, when she'd joked she'd been so sure he'd find a stuffed-animal version of a potion bottle.    
  
Her personalized, engraved potion vials that doubled at shot glasses still sat on her dresser. They'd come next, a cheeky anniversary present from her too clever husband. She wouldn't use them with anyone else.  
  
The next Christmas that Harper missed - that was the first time that Max held her. He would slide his arm around her middle when she tripped at the church, and steady her on her stilettos. As he released her - casual and witty, shaking his head, she managed a weak laugh at his earnestly described fear of her shoes. It stuck weirdly in her throat; like to laugh at another's jokes as she'd once laughed for Harper was a sin. She sang to the birth of their savior all night as if it could erase it -- erase that Original sin -- knowing full well the words were hollow. Faith was something she could only pretend to have for Al and her mother's sake. Sel knew -- Sel saw, but her sister just kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand and said she was doing very well for a young widow.

It was the first time she'd heard the word aloud - widow, like she was a spider doomed to weave threadbare webs, knittings of nostalgia in the dust.

She'd taken out the wand-tree drawing that night. Harper's scrawling beneath her neat script seemed to glare up at her from the perfect parchment. Lyndsea knew it had been amongst the study wreckage, torn through the air -- stepped on and blasted away -- and yet here it was untouched, undamaged like a miracle. When she thought that, it made her wonder if she believed in such things anymore. And when she found herself hearing what Harper would have said -- that of course he believed in them, for he performed them daily -- Lyndsea knew that in any world that could take him from her side, refuse to let him beat those final odds and come back to her,  the answer on miracle's existence was clear. They didn't.  
  
It's been two years. Two birthdays that was really six all their small family combined, two Christmases, two summers and two anniversaries she spent in a haze: politely turning friend's down, refusing to listen to Sel describe Miss Havisham without pointing out that that bitter old woman had been left willingly.  
  
This is what it's like, she finds herself thinking one nondescript morning. What it's like to drown. To be alone and far from shore, or even close but you don't have the strength to even feel afraid of it; the fear is right below the surface of her skin, and it makes her feel even colder.    
  
It's Alcott that makes her fight that. The first time she felt fear - felt terror - again was when their nine year old had taken it upon himself to march into the stables and forest, declaring from now on he would take care of the hippogriff herd. It stopped her heart to see him fly over the trees, a little boy on a mass of fluttering feathers, but the young steed he rode was his age he said -- a little younger, and Swift bore him well. A remnant of pride burst in her chest to see him as easily as her heart skipped a beat for the thought that Harper would have loved to see it. She kept a photographic record, though she couldn't say why, of every milestone: every first of their son, their pride, the best of both of them. When he completed compiling Harper's research, when he first finished the gigantic book of wand lore that had been Benjamin's first, when they went to Barcelona to visit Rosalia and Arturo's third, when he rode his first broom, when he spoke Spanish at a ball and insulted that little prick Stan that had given Harper so much trouble -- when his letter arrived for Hogwarts, he was sorted into Slytherin, when he won his first Quidditch match...    
  
It struck an unwelcome chord with her: she didn't know how to teach her son to be a man.  
  
Numb, numb. She has to focus on moving, on pushing through the cold and pain and forget that it seems she can hear him call her name. Even though she answers him. She always answers.   
  
The first invite she accepted to a Ministry function, she wore the same dress she wore the first party she and Harper attended together. A reporter asked her it's maker and specifics, determined it seemed to reassert her into the fashion headlines. Lyndsi wondered why she ever cared. The one she'd had on the night they informed her she had burned.  

The first night Max comes to stay, he asks if this was really what she wanted. She was so paralyzed realizing she had forgotten how to want anything she quickly said yes, afraid he could see through her icy front. She lied. He doesn't ever ask again.

The first time he hugs her goodnight is the first day Alcott is at Hogwarts, that she's alone in the house. She could feel every beat of her heart against his, a sudden surge that made her gaze tilt down while his breath tickled the top of her head, wondering at the feeling. When he disappears into his room, Lyndsi was still staring at her chest, amazed her heart still existed.  
  
Rise and fall, and she knows that's the trick to carrying on, to breath.  
  
The first time she touches him, she touched his hand briefly, barely brushing her fingertips over the ridge of scars on his knuckles before the warmth washes over her and she shivers, forcing her touch back up to safer territory. Over olive skin -- just like Harper's had been -- the smooth curve of a defined bicep, up the valley of an elbow to notice a mark in exactly the same place his brother's had been -- to slide to his chest. Max takes a deep breath until he pushes against her hand. She slowly slides her palm against his shirt.   
  
Eventually the warmth comes, like a slowly rising wisp of smoke that unfurls and she almost moans in relief of it -- and he's close, he's so close to who she wants, who she needs, and she doesn't care for a moment that she knows it's horrible, so relieved is she of a pulse, of a heartbeat, of how alive he feels -- until she realizes he's grasped her wrist and pulls away. Max is shaking his head, muttering he's sorry, that he can't and she's thankful, she's muttering in relief for his rejection, for when she had looked up and saw her husband's brother's eyes, instead of the man she wanted, she'd nearly screamed.  
  
That first little reminder was followed by her splayed on marble, sick with guilt and sick with want. Her lungs feel like the edge of a razor blade as she struggles for oxygen, but it's sharp, so sharp a feeling and she clings to it, clings to that reminder she's alive.   
  
Lyndsea finally understands why they say drowning is the worst death. It's slow.  
  
Five birthdays missed, five Christmases where her mother fought with his and Benjamin spoiled their son, five anniversaries she spent alone in their bed, muttering to his pillow how much she hated to sleep alone, praying to a God she didn't believe in that he was just downstairs, just downstairs in his lab and study, that he could be there in the morning. She could make herself believe it.   
  
The first time Alcott brought his friends over she insisted they call her Lyndsea without thinking; Mrs. Brackner would have been fine. She just couldn't stand to hear 'Lyndsi' from one who wasn't her husband. Alcott teases her about this for weeks, calling his mother by her first name until she snipes back playfully that fine, he should use her nickname then. He smiles - and she thinks it the best sight still in her life.   
  
The first time she takes her diamond ring off is when she sees in the shadow of Max in the hallway, studying her with want she could see him struggling to fight. She bites her lip, studying him too, eyes gazing up his surfer's chest and wishes for a moment he was as careless as Harper had always said of his slacker brother. Then he wouldn't be there, he wouldn't be trying to help Alcott, he wouldn't be finding internships in the Ministry for their son's friends. Then he wouldn't be making her laugh, he wouldn't be hugging her and touching her so casually, he wouldn't know her favorite scotch. Then she could be at peace.  
  
On the other hand, if he was that careless, he also could walk over. The shadows curve around his body and turn to chiseled stone, his chest moves slowly up and down and she thinks -- he is so very alive right now.  
  
She puts her hand on his neck, nestled right under that jaw line. Max mutters her name softly, her thumb feeling the vibration of his throat, eyes darting over his brother's wife -- his brother's widow, she thinks, cold -- and then sticking on her own gaze. When he moves to speak she shakes her head, preempts another rejection, pleading with her eyes -- please, just let me feel something.  
  
He kisses her then, but she pushes him off. Everything is already so heavy between them - the sudden thought that her pink lips already belonged to another hurt too much, twisted her stomach. If it bothered him, Max doesn't show it. It relieves her, for he just spun her around and pulled her up to the wall. She says softly, "You're such a prick, Max."  And she wants to laugh. Or cry.   
  
His mouth is on her nape then, he brushes her hair up and away, lips wet and warm and opening and -- then her skirt is sliding up, and she's lost to a rush like sticking your hands in an open flame; when he slows, grows softer, she tugs at him. She can't take romance, and she suspects he can't either, because that isn't what this is between the widow and brother; he simply obeys, hands digging all over, warming her icy skin, breathing fire into dead veins and then -- fuck -- then he's inside, and she's lost, and she knows, and she's guilty and horrified and warm and feels good at last and all she can think is --  
  
It happens, it happens, it happens.  
  
When she wakes the next morning she shoves him away, finds a concrete pillar and cries. Then laughs. She shakes her head to herself, looks to the sky and thinks how much her head is spinning, how dizzy she is, how breathless and how wonderful it is to feel something in her bones again. She walks to her husband's grave and sits there for hours; she tells him of Alcott's latest accomplishments, the electives he's thinking of pursuing. She can never bring herself to ask his forgiveness. 

She knows she doesn't deserve it.  
  
The next time Max tries to kiss her again,  she shoves him off and breaks -- breaks, and tells him she can't let him touch her there, that please, dear God, he'd touched everything else, that her pink lips belonged to her husband still. He's shocked, angry and they scream at each other, break things and resort to drink -- and then throw the drinks. He finally gasps he can't believe she'd think of Harper - tries to tell her to stop torturing herself, that Harper would want her to be happy, want his brother to be happy.   
  
She snaps Harper wouldn't want his brother to fuck his wife.  
  
They shout some more, and drink some more, and collapse heads-spinning on the sofa - and it's never clear to her who won. He sits in dazed wonder, hurt and finally murmurs quietly, "Our first fight."  
  
Lyndsi says nothing. Her eyes are stuck on her hard little diamond. His mouth had tasted bitter, like aged amber scotch drunk by old men as they talk old hurts, old regrets and light two-cent cigarettes because what life are they throwing away anymore? When she smacks her lips she still tastes betrayal. All she can think of is that when Harper gave her the ring, they had promised to have all their firsts together, as they'd shared first kiss, first anxiety-ridden 'i love you', first time (and the first re-try) already.   
  
And that she hoped his ghost could be content with having been her first -- and her only -- love.

 **Eliza:** *sliding into the booth with a smile, she sets her bag down, slides her mobile out and proceeds to start playing solitaire on it; she’s approached and orders herself a butterbeer before continuing to work avidly at the game.*

 **Sam:** …well well. Eliza Simmons, fancy meeting you here. *narrows his eyes at the game*

 **Eliza:** *positively jumps when she hears his voice and then frowns instantly* Samuel Roswell, not a surprise at all.

 **Sam:** *ignoring this, sliding into the booth across from her, pointing at the game* Isn’t that that muggle thing?

 **Eliza:** You know your girlfriend really isn’t going to like this stalking habit of yours.

 **Sam:** What are you doing with it? *still pointing at the phone*

 **Eliza:** *frown flits* If you insist on ignoring my responses, why should I answer your question?

 **Sam:** I wasn’t stalking you. *points over his shoulder carelessly* Guys and I came for a drink.

 **Eliza:** You’re only fifteen. They won’t serve you.

 **Sam:** Cute. *shakes his head* Although now see, as I recall it, _you’re_ sixteen now…and perfectly legal.

 **Eliza:** *smiles tightly* Don’t ask me to buy you anything.

 **Sam:** I couldn’t help but notice I wasn’t invited to your birthday party, you know.

 **Eliza:** *false cheery* I was just surprised you didn’t gate crash, honestly.

 **Sam:** *lips twitch* Wanted me to surprise you?

 **Eliza:** *exhales and shakes her head slowly* Sam. Seriously. Please just…leave me alone.

 **Sam:** *face contorts a bit as he frowns at her* I’m just sitting here.

 **Eliza:** *holds her hand tighter around her phone* I didn’t ask you to sit down…and besides I’m not talking about just right now. We’re going back to school…why can’t se just have a nice year?

 **Sam:** *lips twitch a bit* You know, I made that same offer to that boy toy of yours—

 **Eliza:** *exhales quietly* Devin, I assume? You know he’s your _cousin_ —

 **Sam:** —and he seems to want the opposite.

 **Eliza:** I have a hard time believing Dev wants anything but peace.

 **Sam:** *arches his eyebrow quietly* You think? Seems to me he relished notoriety.

 **Eliza:** Notoriety? Is _that_ what you’re calling it? He was _miserable_ —

 **Sam:** Hardly my fault. *shrugs a shoulder* I just gave him exactly what he wanted.

 **Eliza:** *incredulous* You beat Justin up.

 **Sam:** *frown flicks* Oh it’s _Justin_ now, is it? When did you get all chummy with _him_ as well?

 **Eliza:** *swallows* Sam. I was at your bedside in the hospital once this past year…I have a great capacity for forgiving assholes.

 **Sam:** *jawline tightens*

 **Eliza:** *desperate little whisper* Why do you want war at school? Sam…you’re with Victoria, and I’m with Rory. We—

 **Sam:** *frown flicks* Who’s Rory?

 **Rory:** *over her shoulder, frowning, his arms folded on his chest* That would be me.

 **Sam:** *straightens up/standing up and grinning suddenly* Palmer.

 **Rory:** Roswell. *not smiling in the slightest* I think the lady wanted you to leave her alone.

 **Sam:** *chuckles once* We’re just talking.

 **Eliza:** *eyes dart to the menu*

 **Rory:** Well, now you’re not talking. *has taken a step to stand in front of her a bit,*

 **Sam:** *purses his lips together and then hears a shout for him from his friends over his shoulder and just shrugs a shoulder* See you both in class.

 **Eliza:** *had turned to look at Rory, slightly surprised by the ugly look and just nods a goodbye to Sam—while Rory stands stiff—and then blinks at him once*

 **Rory:** *sliding down next to her in the booth once Sam is far away, he turns, wrapping one arm around her shoulder gently, loosely* Are you all right?

 **Eliza:** *frustrated exhale, she titters a bit, her breath quick* Yeah, I’m fine. Really, you didn’t have to — he’s…it’s sad, honestly, how much he’s trying to hold on to me.

 **Rory:** *his eyebrow arches, tightening his grip on her shoulder* Sad? It’s not sad, Eliza, it’s…possessive, impolite, downright disgusting.

 **Eliza:** *frowns* I mean, of course I’d rather he’d leave me alone—

 **Rory:** He _should_ —

 **Eliza:** But I mean, I _did_ dump him…and humiliate him…

 **Rory:** Eliza. *he brings a hand to her cheek, calming her shaking, gently carressing her skin and holding her softly, if firm* He doesn’t have the right to treat you this way. No matter _what_ he’s said you’ve done…this is all him.

 **Eliza:** *looks at his eyes steadily for a moment and then nods, slowly smiling* I know. *closes her eyes, leaning to kiss him for a heartbeat* Thank you.

 **Rory:** *quietly kisses her back, nodding once*

 **Eliza:** *as she pulls back, she asks determinedly* How was work today?

 **Rory:** *looks at her critically, not at all sure he’s gotten through to her and then shrugs a shoulder and laughs once* Work-like.

 **Eliza:** *laughs in her exhale* Want me to get us drinks? Actual drinks?

 **Rory:** *he chuckles and then kisses her cheek* Let me get them.

 **Eliza:** *nods, hmming as he kisses her and wriggles out of his grasp, waiting as he darts to the bar, looking after him with a troubled, breathless expression, eyes darting as she sees Sam is still looking at her from the same direction; she meets her eyes to his for a second and then looks back down at the menu, biting her bottom lip hard. when Rory returns, they have a few moments over drinks, and, as he notices Sam won’t stop staring and how uncomfortable she is by it, Rory finally drapes his cloak over Eliza’s shoulders and takes her out; the moment they are back just the two of them she cheers up, and she manages to persuade him to take her dancing :) *

**Dear Devin,**

_Drink!Buddy, you have connections right? Big top secret connections inside that Ministry, yes? I have faith that you do, a smart and resourceful guy like you, of course he would!_   
  
_…Do you possibly have a connection powerful enough to influence a member of the House of Lords to let his daughter have a normal childhood? At least, as normal as it can be?_   
  
_Please, Devin, this is a matter of life and death! I will die in this house. I will quite literally be walking from my room, down to the dining room to eat breakfast and mid-step, my eyes will roll into the back of my head and I will tumble to the ground, spilling my daily morning tea on the imported Persian rug and be ruled dead._   
  
_Cause of death: Fatal boredom._   
  
_It’s not a joke, I’m pretty sure someone in the world, in the history of time, has died of boredom. Because, think about it. That’s a shitload of people! They can’t all be dying from natural causes or murder or hunger or malaria or diarrhea or something.  
  
Let’s get to a happier topic.  
  
How goes your summer internship? Are you having fun in a way only you would have fun in a summer internship? Because, seriously boy, that’s just plain weird. Anything new and exciting in your life?  
  
…I’m living vicariously through my friends, sue me. Only don’t because…I’m pretty sure you’d be able to win. And I’m quite happy to use my obscene amount of money to buy booze for my friends and I, don’t you agree?  
  
Say hi to Lynn for me! Hope you’re having a great summer,  
Irene. _

**Dear Irene,**

in response to: [this!](http://fynextgenbabies.tumblr.com/post/7192367468/dear-devin)

Due to the emphatic nature of your request, despite initially thinking I would be completely unable to aid you in the area of influence, I didn’t give up and I had an ephiphany the other day: if we can send you a portkey, we can get you out. All right, that was actually Lynn’s idea, cause Dad went on an absolute *rant* about unauthorized portkeys but the thing is I actually can get one authorized for you and thus no broken laws necessary! (Lynn says to tell you she thinks that takes the fun out of it but as we won’t end up arrested, I’m a fan of this). My immediate superior at the Ministry is Madame Selwyn see, a lovely charming woman, who has told me at least twelve times about the times when she was my age and how her father never let her out of her house either. For the..er, opposite reason. Or rather similar reason but opposite situation. Anyways, apparently I look like the guy she kept sneaking out to see. It’s a bit odd. Nadia finds it adorable, of course. Love her, I do.

Ah…I think she has me watching too much Star Wars. I just sounded like that…what’sit…the green one.

Point being, if I tell her what the portkey’s *for* I am sure she can rush one through for you and we can send it to you via your owl. So I suppose I do have connections. About time actually.

I am having a fabulous time at this internship: there is a ton to learn. I mean, sure I’m mostly just boiling the tea and delivering news too delicate for the paper airplanes, but I got to meet your Prime Minister the other day. Well, stand in the room with. He wasn’t very happy: evidently there was a dragon loose in the West country. Made me think Hols probably set it free, but she’d be glad to know that it has flown off perfectly unencumbered yet and seems to have left Ministry jurisdiction, so there’s no worries about it getting hurt.

As for the drinks: please. Being back home, Mum’s gone on a rampage to insure we’re both clean because of…well. Yeah. So please; we’ll get you the portkey for…say Wednesday, probably, you supply the booze?

Lynn says “Salut!” She decided she wanted to learn French this summer: don’t ask me why.

Hope to see you soon,

Devin.

 **Eliza:** Hey, you made it!

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Wasn’t going to miss your big day, Eliza. Sixteen. Wow.

 **Eliza:** You’re still peeved I’m older than you, aren’t you?

 **Alcott:** *snorts* I am not peeved.

 **Eliza:** *laughs* You are totally peeved!! *fake-punches his shoulder* Cheer up, when we’re older you’re gonna love it.

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head amused* Yeah yeah, all right, so booze is that way? *pointing with his thumb over his shoulder*

 **Eliza:** Wait—*grabs his hand*—you sure you’re okay right now?

 **Alcott:** Worried I’m gonna eat your guests? *knows that’s not why she’s asking; she ignores it, and he looks up at the sky and swallows and then rolls his eyes* It was last night, Eliza, I got a whole month. *shrugs a shoulder*

 **Eliza:** *exhales and then goes up on her toes to hug him* You know I love you, yeah?

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Don’t let Rory hear you say that—

 **Eliza:** *fake punches his shoulder again*

 **Alcott:** *fake ows* Hey. While I got you here alone. *hands out her birthday present*

 **Eliza:** *turns it over and unwraps slowly, and then her eyebrows arch and her mouth drops in surprise* What the…

 **Alcott:** *presses his lips together with the smallest shrug* Sienna gave me the photo, I just put it in the frame. *lips twitch* No big deal. And…yes that’s us at ten.

 **Eliza:** *blinks; the frame is one of the three-photo frames, the top left is one of Eliza and Alcott, age ten, outside of her house climbing a tree; the second is of Eliza, Dev, and Alcott from their day out in Paris; the third is one Sienna took in France, of Eliza and her dad, on the second ocassion of them hanging out for two hours* This is amazing. _Thank_ you.

 **Alcott:** *he smiles* Don’t go putting it up in your house of course.

 **Eliza:** *nods* They wouldn’t go in my room anyways.

 **Alcott:** *nods, amused by her expression* That’s not all of it.

 **Eliza:** *laughs in surprise* You’re spoiling me, you know that?

 **Alcott:** Hey, I like to think of it more as ‘completely excellant gift giver.’ *brow wiggle*

 **Eliza:** *amusedly* All right, all right, so where’s the rest?

 **Alcott:** Well first. *hands another small box; she pulls out a new CD and laughs*

 **Eliza:** Monty Python’s greatest sketches. You _do_ know it’s not muggle music, right?

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head bemused* I know who Monty Python is. *coughs under his breath* _now._ *clears throat* This is better; see, we can listen to it together.

 **Eliza:** *putting it behind the frame and going to hug him again; holding on insanely tightly* Only you could get me a present that’s partially for yourself.

 **Alcott:** *laughs and holds on to, ignoring the fact that he’s sore* It’s present enough to hang out with me isn’t it?

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head* You.. …I don’t even have an adjective.

 **Alcott:** *both brows wiggle* I did say first you know.

 **Eliza:** …first?

 **Alcott:** Yeah. *nods* Turn around.

 **Eliza:** *lets him go and turns around; sees her Dad on the outskirts of the party and just stands looking at him shocked for a moment and then looks back at Alcott in wonder* Al…

 **Alcott:** *shrugs a shoulder, with a tiny half smile in place* Go.

 **Eliza:** *kisses his cheek once and goes to wave* You’re…amazing, totally, amazing.

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Booze, that way? *gestures with his thumb again*

 **Eliza:** *turns back* Wait—

 **Alcott:** *has already pretty much made a dash for it* Happy sixteenth!

 **Eliza:** *frustratedly blows hair out of her eyes and then turns back to her Dad, and smiles very slowly even though she’s still stunned/in awe* Hi.

 **Claude:** Hi, cheri. *standing a bit awkwardly, watching Alcott run off and then looks back at her amused a bit* …so is that you’re boyfriend?

 **Eliza:** *blinks* What? No. That’s Al.

 **Claude:** *laughs once* …is that you’re way of saying—

 **Eliza:** *laughs and shakes her head* He’s my oldest friend. I’ve  known him practically since I could walk. That would be dating my brother.

 **Claude:** Ahh. Well I thought…he was very insistant on the phone. Didn’t know how to work it, but…

 **Eliza:** *sighs* He’s had all summer to learn but that won’t mean it’ll happen. *lips twitch* That’s Al for you.

 **Claude:** *shakes his head and then points* But your boyfriend _is_ here—

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Rory’s hiding from you, I’m sure.

 **Claude:** *shakes his head and takes another step forward towards her* Rory. I’m going to remember that.

 **Eliza:** *tiny exhale* Actually, you can forget that, really, it’s all right, no big. *pauses*

 **Claude:** *smile flicks and he holds out a present* Happy birthday, cheri.

 **Eliza:** *she looks down at the bag in surprise* No, really, you didn’t—

 **Claude:** Yes, I did. *tiniest fidget* I figured I’d missed…enough of them.

 **Eliza:** *takes the bag slowly and then pulls out two things: a t-shirt, for The Who, and an old handwritten journal, leatherbound. she holds the t-shirt up first laughing* I really _didn’t_ mean to talk your ear off about them you know—

 **Claude:** *his lips twitch* That was your mother’s.

 **Eliza:** *cuts off startled* My mothers? …No. She wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing—

 **Claude:** *lips twitch* Well, we went to the concert…they were doing a …Teenage Cancer, show, in London and it was a favorite band of mine…so I dared her.

 **Eliza:** *blinks again, amused* You got Mum to go to a _Who_ concert?

 **Claude:** *grinning* Yeah…without, ear plugs too. She couldn’t hear anything for several hours afterwards…we were miming..*clears his throat* Anyway, I bought her that at the concert. *his lips twitch slightly as he looks at it, and then looks back at her*

 **Eliza:** *smile faltering a bit in her awe and she nods, and holds put the book questioningly*

 **Claude:** *smile widens* That…is songs. Songs I’ve written.

 **Eliza:** Oh…cool. *brightly, turning it to flip through it*

 **Claude:** About you. I…wrote them over the years…they’re probably rubbish but…I…I wanted you to know I hadn’t…ever forgotten about you.

 **Eliza:** *she pauses, her fingers on a page that has her name up top and she runs her name through it and then looks at him smiling softly; after several moments of looking like she’s going to cry, she goes on her toes and throws her arms around him, hugging her dad really tightly* Thank you. I’m really glad you’re here…really, **_really_** , glad. *a few tears leave her eyes but she just holds on to him even tighter; she doesn’t know it, but from the party’s general direction, both Devin and Alcott are watching with tiny smiles on their face before turning back to each other and clinking bear bottles*

&.

august 22nd 2027 :: Reid's House

 

 **Reid:** so, tell me the incantation again.

 **Alisha:** *lying on his bed face down, a hand on her head holds her head up while trying to read a textbook for summer homework, lower legs in the air with her ankles crossed, turning the page idly and looking up at him, lips twitching and biting her lips as she sees him shirtless* Hmm? I’m sorry, I’m incapable of focusing at the moment.

 **Reid:** *laughs and shakes his head, slipping on a wifebeater before sitting next to her on the bed* How is that different from any other day of the week? *teasing*

 **Alisha:** *pouts a bit as the shirt goes on and grins* Well, this time instead of wanting to go outside, I just want to use your body as a jungle gym. *wiggles her eyebrows and then leans up to kiss him*

 **Reid:** *smirks as kisses her back, cupping her face as his lips move against her slowly, but deliberately, leaning away after several long moments* You know, your aunt told you she was going to check to make sure you actually did some work this time.

 **Alisha:** *grins* Then your room wasn’t the best idea.

 **Reid:** *laughs* No it really wasn’t. *lips twitch* Wasn’t my fault you can’t live without me and showed up early. *grins and teases* What if my other girlfriend had been here?

 **Alisha:** *amused* Another girlfriend, eh? I didn’t realize you were such a hot commodity. *lips twitch*

 **Reid:** oh yeah, definitely. *standing up as his phone rings and checks it before putting it on silent and moving back towards the bed* You should consider yourself lucky, really. *teasing*

 **Alisha:** *laughs* Reid. You barely know what to do with me, how could you possibly handle more than one girlfriend? *smirks*

 **Reid:** barely know what to do with you? Is that so? *eyebrow rises*

 **Alisha:** *grins* I didn’t stutt-AY! 

 **Reid:** *had jumped on the bed, now grabbing her knees and flipping her over to face him and then tugging her closer to him with a wicked grin on his face*

 **Alisha:** *giggling as she bounces on the bed and then gets dragged down in one quick movement, biting her lip as she puts her hands around his neck to tug him downward*

 **Reid:** *smirking, his hands resting on each side of her head as he leans down to kiss her again*

 **Alisha:** *after several minutes of snogging, she hooks her leg around his, and pushes one shoulder to the side to flip him, giggling as she sits on top of him and goes to lean down again when all of a sudden the door swings open with a little girl walking through*

 **Whitney:** Reid! I need your he- what are you doing?!

 **Reid:** *head turned towards the door and he immediately sits up, throwing a pillow at his little sister* Whitney! Stop picking my lock!

 **Alisha:** *had immediately jumped off Reid and landed on the other side of the bed, sitting on the floor, her face in her hands trying not to laugh hysterically*

 **Whitney:** Is that Alisha?! Hi Alisha!

 **Alisha:** *hand comes up over the top of bed to wave at Whitney*

 **Reid:** *stood up* get out! Come on, get out.

 **Whitney:** But I need your help!

 **Reid:** Then you should have knocked *pushing her out* Go get Matt to help, I’m studying.

 **Whitney:** Sure didn’t look like studying to me.

 **Reid:** Bye, Whitney!

 **Whitney:** *before Reid closes the door on her* Bye Alisha!

 **Alisha:** *waves again and then as the door closes she peeks above the bed and looks at Reid..and starts to laugh* 

 **Reid:** *grins apologetically* Sorry, she’s a downright pain most of the time.

 **Alisha:** *beams and shakes her head* I don’t mind. *lips twitch* Shame though, the one time I manage to get you on the bottom *teases*

 **Reid:** A sign that clearly, it wasn’t meant to be. *walking towards her and sits down next to her on the floor, leaning his back against the side of his bed* Though, I can’t lie. That was very, very hot of you. *smirks*

 **Alisha:** *bites her lip, blushing a bit* Well, I was inspired.

 **Reid:** *smirks still* I have that effect.

 **Alisha:** *laughs and hits his shoulder before she picks up the book that had fallen on the floor during their snog session* Vanishing Spells.

 **Reid:** Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me *pulls her towards him by her waist as he starts to kiss her neck*

 **Alisha:** *bites down on her lip and then can’t help but giggle* Reid! 

 

august 25th, 2027 :: Rory's Farm

 

 **Eliza:** *grins* No…you have to close your eyes.

 

 **Rory:** What?

 

 **Eliza:** And then guess.

 

 **Rory:** *laughs* …that’s a dangerous game to play with Bertie Botts.

 

 **Eliza:** Don’t you trust me?

 

 **Rory:** *grins at her* What do I get if I’m right?

 

 **Eliza:** *jaw drops and she laughs and pokes him with the Bertie Bott box* You’re-

 

 **Rory:** -impossible, I know. *brow wiggles*

 

 **Eliza:** Fine. *holds up her finger* One kiss. Per one right.

 

 **Rory:** *eyes the narrow box and then looks back at her* You’ll still kiss me if it’s really nasty?

 

 **Eliza:** *pointedly, brow wiggling* I didn’t say where I’ll kiss you.

 

 **Rory:** *grins in sudden surprise and then just opens his mouth and closes his eyes*

 

 **Eliza:** *smiles, and sticks one in his mouth, pausing to trace her thumb around his lips*

 

 **Rory:** *chews slowly and then he laughs, sticking his tongue out, opening his eyes* Grass. I should know, ate enough of it as a kid.

 

 **Eliza:** *laughs and leans over to kiss him once* …really? Well, I suppose we are on a farm.

 

 **Rory:** *chuckles* …you never ate grass as a kid?

 

 **Eliza:** *squeals* No!! Next you’ll tell me you ate bugs.

 

 **Rory:** *grins wickedly*

 

 **Eliza:** *ews* Oh, that’s gross.

 

 **Rory:** *shrugs, laughing* I grew up outside. Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it…

 

 **Eliza:** I am never eating bugs. God. No.

 

 **Rory:** You sure about that? *taking the box from her* Cause I think it’s my turn.

 

 **Eliza:** *pointedly* If you give me a bug-flavored jelly bean I am never kissing you again.

 

 **Rory:** *laughs and covers her eyes with his hand* Duly noted.

 

 **Eliza:** *opens her mouth hesitantly for the bean, and then blinks and makes a face under his hand* You know I think that was raspberry jelly.

 

 **Rory:** *laughs* Well…they are jelly beans.

 

 **Eliza:** I didn’t know actual jelly beans existed in there.

 

 **Rory:** Have you ever had an actual jelly bean?

 

 **Eliza:** Yes! *defensive, then pauses* Well. No, actually.

 

 **Rory:** *shakes his head* Your next birthday, I’m buying you a big box of them.

 

 **Eliza:** *grins* I was pretty happy with your present you know.

 

 **Rory:** *chuckles and nods* I thought you’d like it.

 

 **Eliza:** Now of course, I have to get you to use it.

 

 **Rory:** *pauses* …you can record anyone elses voice. Not mine. I can’t sing. At all.

 

 **Eliza:** *mmms* See, now I know that’s not true.

 

 **Rory:** *pauses and then laughs* If you played cuts like that on the radio you’d be censured. We’re british, luv.

 

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head bemused* I’m part-french, babe. *holds up a bean* Close your eyes.

 

 **Rory:** *shakes his head and obediently closes his eyes; tasting the bean for a second and then grins* Bug.

 

 **Eliza:** *squeals!* It was not! *whacks his shoulder lightly, chuckling in spite of herself*

 

 **Rory:** *laughs and opens his eyes again* You sure? *brow wiggling*

 

 **Eliza:** Yes, I’m sure. Here I try to be nice, give you toast, and you go and say…*hmphs* I am not kissing you now.

 

 **Rory:** *laughing and goes for the bottle of water beside them, taking a quick sip* I guess that’s fair. *amused brow wiggle* You ready for school, miss fellow prefect?

 

 **Eliza:** *bites her bottom lip, grinning at him* Miss Prefect, hm? You know, I could go put on my uniform. *grins* And the badge…

 

 **Rory:** *lips twitch, hmmming at her* I wouldn’t complain.

 

 **Eliza:** *drinking a sip too, stealing the bottle* Mm, bet you wouldn’t. I can’t believe we’re going to be prefects though.

 

 **Rory:** *chuckles* Why? Have you been bad?

 

 **Eliza:** There’s a loaded question if ever I heard one. *pokes his shoulder grinning* That wasn’t clever, you know, you’ve got loads of better lines.

 

 **Rory:** *grins* All right, fine, why can’t you believe you’re a prefect?

 

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch wickedly, leaning backwards so that his gaze drops* Cause I’ve been bad.

 

 **Rory:** *eyes dart over her for a second and he shakes his head amused* Yes, yes you have been.

 

 **Eliza:** *leaning back on her hand, eyes twinkling as she looks at him* Three days to school. Can I just stay here?

 

 **Rory:** *grins* Where, my bed?

 

 **Eliza:** *laughs and pokes him again* Your house.

 

 **Rory:** …don’t you have to pack?

 

 **Eliza:** Nope. All packed.

 

 **Rory:** *blinks* Your Mum though…

 

 **Eliza:** *scowls a bit and shrugs a shoulder* I’ll say goodbye that morning.

 

 **Rory:** *arches an eyebrow at her*

 

 **Eliza:** *sighs and flops back on his pillow* If I say I’ll stay in your bed the whole time can I stay then?

 

 **Rory:** *shakes his head* I think you should talk to your mum.

 

 **Eliza:** You’re spoiling the mood.

 

 **Rory:** *laughs lightly under his breath* Well, then, don’t make me be the bad guy here.

 

 **Eliza:** *rubs her eyes and sighs* All right. *her lips twitch* All right. I’ll go home. …tomorrow.

 

 **Rory:** …that works. *grins and leans over her to hold up another jelly bean*

 

 **Eliza:** I had a feeling you’d like that. *grins, and then closes her eyes; is cut off in surprise as he’s kissing her; kisses back and then laughs and pushes him off of her and chuckles in a delighted exhale* Rory!

 

 **Rory:** *grin flicks, has leaned over her and breathes out teasingly* Correct. And your reward…*trailing kisses slowly down her neck, one hand coming to rest on her hip, the other sliding up her cami, fingers digging in a bit as he reaches the strap, pulling it down so his mouth can sink lower…*

 

august 27th, 2027 :: Devin's Bedroom

 

 

 **Devin:** …wait, what?

 **Eliza:** *looks up, a bit of a worried expression on his face saying hesitantly* Didn’t I say?

 **Devin:** *sits back down next to her on his bed, bringing a knee up as he sits down* No, you didn’t. When did you see Sam?

 **Eliza:** It was no big deal, really. *takes a breath* Really.

 **Devin:** Eliza.

 **Eliza:** *points up at his wall* That’s cute.

 **Devin:** *not at all distracted, but he follows her finger at the wall and blinks, snorting* Lynn’ll be happy to hear it.

 **Eliza:** You stole Lynn’s stuffed animal kitty?

 **Devin:** No, she gave it to me. It was a joke—Eliza—

 **Eliza:** A joke?

 **Devin:** *sighs* Apparently I used to take it from her when I was like, two, so eventually she just gave it to me—

 **Eliza:** *awwws*

 **Devin:** —why did you see Sam?

 **Eliza:** *frown flicks, insistantly* It really wasn’t a big deal! I was just waiting for Rory at a pub…he happened to be there.

 **Devin:** And?

 **Eliza:** And nothing.

 **Devin:** *narrows eyes at her*

 **Eliza:** You should bring the kitty to school.

 **Devin:** Yeah, I’m sure Al would let me forget that one. Eliza, if you keep dodging, I’m going over to his house right now.

 **Eliza:** Don’t! *grabs his arm* Seriously, don’t, you’ll just make it worse. Nothing happened, okay? He just…well I guess he knew Rory already. *bites her bottom lip* I don’t know how or from where though.

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* Gryffindors and Slytherins, Liza.

 **Eliza:** *frustrated tiny exhale* Yeah. Can’t wait to go back to that.

 **Devin:** *puts his hand on top of hers where she’s gripping his arm in a vice and asks quieter* What did he say?

 **Eliza:** He didn’t say anything. *just as quietly* That’s what made me worried.

 **Devin:** *arches his eyebrow slowly at her but says nothing*

 **Eliza:** *swallows, hard* It’s…he was so…amused. Bemused. If he was honestly worried, or angry, he would be…belligerant, unruly. He’s not. He’s calm, and saying nothing, and just showing up. Which can only mean…

 **Devin:** *exhale* That he’s planning something. I know. I had the same feeling.

 **Eliza:** *eyes narrow and she nods once* He said he saw you.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Did he? He still jealous?

 **Eliza:** *rolls her eyes* Called you my boy toy.

 **Devin:** *laughs under his breath* And every time I think he can’t possibly get any thicker.

 **Eliza:** *grin flicks* Oh I don’t know. *brows wiggle* You and Al are my boys.

 **Devin:** Sure Rory’s real glad of that.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Well he’s not an idiot. He knows there’s nothing between us all.

 **Devin:** *shakes his head amused and squeezes her hand* Yeah. Doesn’t mean I won’t kick Sam’s ass again if he touches you.

 **Eliza:** *her lips twitch* Between you, Al, and Ror, I’m well protected.

 **Devin:** And Sam better not forget it. *lets her go and sighs, leaning back* You ready to go back to school?

 **Eliza:** Not really. *laughs, a bright sound* Not really at all. Very glad to get away from my mother but…

 **Devin:** *swallows* Did you tell her?

 **Eliza:** *shakes her head slowly* I don’t know what to say to her. *breath* She told him to leave. All this time she said he left…he wanted her to go with him, and she told him…

 **Devin:** *nods silently*

 **Eliza:** *looks back up at him quietly after a moment* You realize how lucky you are now, right? Your parents fought to stay together.

 **Devin:** *bites his bottom lip, but he nods* Yeah, I am. I didn’t…even realize that was optional.

 **Eliza:** *bitterly* Evidently it was. Evidently I meant nothing compared to—

 **Devin:** —security for you.

 **Eliza:** *surprised that he interrupted and blinks* What?

 **Devin:** Your mother…your father…they were scared for you.

 **Eliza:** No more than your parents were for you.

 **Devin:** And they handled it differently. *nods* My parents decided to try and make it on their own, forgetting my father’s family. But they had a little help there: it was my father. Not my mother. And his father was in prison. They weren’t left without financial support…in fact I doubt my father’s ever wanted for anything in his life.

 **Eliza:** *quietly* So what you’re saying is—

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder* They might have had to fight to be together, that’s true. And I am not discounting that, I really…I’m not, not anymore. But your parents, Eliza, they made the best decision they could.

 **Eliza:** *frowns* For them.

 **Devin:** *quietly* I doubt that actually.

 **Eliza:** *falters a bit and then concedes* You mean they gave up their love…so that I could…

 **Devin:** Have a house and a future. I’m not defending your mother’s lie, I’m really not…but…

 **Eliza:** *quiet* But you’re right. *sigh* Under their circumstances…they thought it was what was best for me.

 **Devin:** *nods, saying nothing more*

 **Eliza:** …but it wasn’t though. How could letting me think my father never…never loved me..never wanted me…how can that be what was best?

 **Devin:** *shrugs a shoulder, and then his lips twitch* It sucks, doesn’t it?

 **Eliza:** *laughs quietly, bitterly* Yeah, it does! *pause* Wait, what does?

 **Devin:** Realizing our parents aren’t perfect.

 **Eliza:** *looks at him oddly for a moment and then just starts laughing* Oh…Dev, I love you.

 **Devin:** *blinks* What?

 **Eliza:** Only…*laugh* only you, could…have brought it out to that.

 **Devin:** *blinking rapidly and has his lips and face screwed up with bemusement and then just chuckles* Out to…

 **Eliza:** *wiping a tear of laughter from her eye* You sure you want to go into politics? Because I’m positive you could do psychology.

 **Devin:** *chuckles* Oh god. I would go insane…

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch and shakes her head* Well, you’re good at it. I’m serious, you say the…oddest things sometimes, but you’re absolutely right.

 **Devin:** *looking around the room looking for something else, anything else, to talk about, and then eyes settle on his prefect badge on the counter and points at it* You ready for that?

 **Eliza:** *follows his finger and then laughs* No. Alcott hasn’t bothered you about that already?

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* Oh, yeah, he’s already taken the mickey out on me at least twice. No more rulebreaking for us, apparently.

 **Eliza:** *rubs her forehead and shakes her head* If they gave us the badge to try and control Al…

 **Devin:** Slughorn probably would do that. *laughs, lips twitching*

 **Eliza:** Yeah, and since when have I been successful at stopping you two?

 **Devin:** *pauses, considering* Well…you’re always right in the morning. That’s something.

 **Eliza:** *laughs and leans back to grab a pillow off his bed and whacks him with it* Devin!

 **Devin:** *laughs and grabs the pillow as she hits him with it and then shakes his head* It’s true! *the pair of them wrestle for the pillow*

 **Eliza:** *laughs and falls back on the bed, giving up, shaking her head* … *narrows her eyes at the books on his desk* …you’re already taking practice exams?!

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* It’s O.W.L. year! I refuse to apologize for being prepared.

 **Eliza:** Yeah, and when you get your 12 Outstandings—

 **Devin:** *holds up crossed fingers instantly* Don’t you dare!

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch* Superstitious much?

 **Devin:** If—If— I get those grades, I will deserve them. …but don’t. Just…just don’t.

 **Eliza:** *chuckles and shakes her head* You’re going to be studying all the time aren’t you?

 **Devin:** Not…all the time. Nadia. And well Alcott with the… oh, did he tell you?

 **Eliza:** That Hols knows he’s a wolf and for some ungodly reason he still hasn’t asked her out?

 **Devin:** *laughs* That, yeah. Says he’s waiting for the right moment.

 **Eliza:** …isn’t he with her? Like, right now? At the res?

 **Devin:** *looks at the clock and then nods* Yeah, think so.

 **Eliza:** *groans and facepalms* He’s an idiot.

 **Devin:** And your boy.

 **Eliza:** Shut up. *drops her hand* You both are my boys.

 **Devin:** *laughs and shrugs a shoulder* Either way, no, I am not going to study all year.

 **Eliza:** You would if you could.

 **Devin:** ..no, I’d spend the whole year with Nadia if I could. But…we can’t study together anymore.

 **Eliza:** *smiling really brightly to hear him and nods* Oh gee, I wonder why.

 **Devin:** *laughs and pushes her* Oh shove off.

 **Eliza:** *pushing him back* Well, Al better hurry up honestly. It’s Hols last year. *pauses* Oh…it’s Lynn’s 17th birthday isn’t it? First day of school?

 **Devin:** *grins and nods* Yeah. Yeah, that’s just weird.

 **Eliza:** What are you getting her?

 **Devin:** You’ll see. *brows flick*

 **Eliza:** *laughs and shakes her head* So…Lynn and Hols last year. Once a month, we’ll lose Alcott and Hols to the forest.

 **Devin:** More than that if Hols gets her way-

 **Eliza:** *lips twitch and shrugs a shoulder* O.W.L. year, prefects…and…

 **Devin:** And one asshole whose name isn’t worthy of being mentioned. *nods*

 **Eliza:** *smiles sadly  & then continues, lips twitching* Oh this is going to be a hell of a year.

 **Devin:** *grins* Of that I have no doubt.


	12. September First

**Hols:** …you got her a lollipop.

 **Nick:** *grins*

 **Hols:** what are you, four?

 **Nick:** six, actually, I’m six. Get it right.

 **Hols:** pft. And what else?

 **Nick:** I can’t tell you.

 **Hols:** I told you mine!

 **Nick:** one part. Just like you know one part of my gift. Are you gonna tell me yours?

 **Hols:** …no. It was personal. Private.

 **Nick:** *grins* how private was it?

 **Hols:** *lips twitch* well we did end up on her bed.

 **Nick:** and I wasn’t invited why?

 **Hols:** *smirks and shrugs* you weren’t needed Nicky.

 **Nick:** you cut me deep, *Rae*

 **Hols:** *goes to whack him but he dodges and then hmphs* where is she anyways? *checks her watch*

 **Nick:** *grins as she watches her arrive* Right on time, mind if I-

 **Hols:** *motions, amused* Go ahead.

 **Nick:** *steps away from Hols, leaving her behind a moment and then maneuvers pass the people to get to Lynn* Happy birthday, baby. *offers the giant lollipop with a small smirk*

 **Hols:** *stays behind to give them a moment, turning around to look “aimlessly” through the crowd of people*

 **Lynn:** See? We’re fine. A whole 15 minutes to spare.

 **Devin:** *shakes his head* You just can’t be wrong.

 **Lynn:** Hello irony. Nice to see you again. You just follow me around don’--

 **Devin:** *nudges her teasingly; clears his throat as he looks around* Yeah yeah.

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch as she looks at him* Oh go on, Mr. Important Prefect. *flicks his badge—with her middle finger* Nadia’s probably in the compartment already.  
Devin: *chuckles, waving over her shoulder at Alcott and nodding* See you at school.

 **Lynn:** See you. *followed his wave, she sighs once to herself and brightens as she sees Nick instead and moves to him, about to kiss him when she sees the lollipop and beams, with an honest squee* Thank you! *takes it, grinning up at him and wrapping an arm around his neck to kiss him—lingering for several moments* Hi. *brow wiggle*

 **Alcott:** *having been exuberantly hugged by Eliza as she darts off after Dev for the prefect cabin, he spots Hols and his lips flick in a natural smile, heading over to her and rather ignoring Lynn and Nick a few feet from them, grinning at her* Hello. *promptly leans down to kiss her once too, brow wiggling as he pulls back, saying lightly* So it appears I have been abandoned.

 **Nick:** *laughs lightly as she squees, putting his arms her waist to pull her closer as they kiss and then grins afterwards* Hey. *kisses her briefly once more* I see you wanted to make a stylish entrance. *eyebrow rises and then he teases* cutting it a little close there, birthday girl.

 **Hols:** *smiles easily as she sees him and then kisses him back* Hi there. *lips twitch and then her eyebrows rise* It would appear so. How sad, you’re all alone. It’s okay to cry, you know. Abandonment issues are tough, do you need my shoulder? *smirks playfully*

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* If I had to, I’d have found a way to make the train wait, babe. *nods importantly, grinning down at the lollipop and holding it up* Where in the world did you find one so big? *brow pops and wiggles* Not that I’m surprised. You’re…good in that area.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles, smirking and shakes his head without looking away* Mm, shoulder? No. But if I could trade the offer in for another body part…*brow pops and wiggles*

 **Nick:** *laughs once and then nods* You know, I fully believe that. *eyebrows rise with hers, smirking afterwards before shrugging and tilting his head to the side momentarily* Oh you know, I have my ways…

 **Hols:** *chuckles and then mmhs* depends, do you have the receipt? Because I can’t offer trade-ins without it. *lips twitch* If you hurry, you can save now and get a complementary entrance to my compartment. *brow wiggles* Oh and a seat on the train too.

 **Lynn:** *laughs under her breath* Well I don’t lie, *pauseee* …to you, I don’t lie to you. *nods to herself and then her lips twitch and she mimics his head tilt* Enigmatic. *licks her bottom lip for a moment* Delicious.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles and immediately goes to look in his pockets, brows furrowing* Hm. I know it’s on me somewhere…*lips twitch* I suppose you’d have to find it. *grin widens and then nods* Thanks.

 **Lynn:** *her ears perk up and she instantly bites her bottom lip, counting visibly to ten under breath, and spins around* …wait what?

 **Alcott:** *turns slightly, hands going into his pockets* …hi Lynn. *nods at Nick* Nick.

 **Lynn:** *exhales* …hi Alcott. …did I hear-

 **Alcott:** *smirks flicks* You don’t *have* to sit with us.

 **Lynn:** …yeah, no chance.

 **Nick:** *chuckles, lips twitching in amusement* I was going to say, you do have a tendency to bend the truth just a bit…*grins* Glad you think so. *kisses her once*

 **Hols:** *grins widens and then she wiggles her eyebrows* Find it myself? Sounds fun. *smiles and then nods*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch in small amusement as Lynn starts counting under her breath, kissing her forehead before she turns around, stepping up as well and then nods at Alcott* S’up man.

 **Hols:** *exhales upward, blowing a strand of her hair out of her face, hoping that they just play nice* No murder on the first day back, please.

 **Nick:** *as the train whistles in a five minute warning* We should start heading in anyways.

 **Alcott:** *shrugs a shoulder at Nick, still grinning* Not too much. You?

 **Lynn:** *had mouthed at Hols as he does this* This-is-how-much-I-love-you.

 **Alcott:** *grin flicks and he shrugs* Hey, I’ll behave if she does.

 **Lynn:** Small chance there then. *sliding her arm down and tucking her hand into Nick’s, squeezing it for a moment, and she nods, cheerily* Yeah. Let’s go. *steps forward, with nick, taking Hols arm; Alcott promptly takes her other arm and follows them, lips twitching in amusement*

 **Nick:** Eh. *shrugs* can’t complain, really.

 **Hols:** *mouths back* I’m-sorry-I-love-you.

 **Nick:** *amused, chuckles* Lynn behaves? Have I entered a parallel universe?

 **Hols:** *sighs, smiling a bit but shaking her head* Not yet.

  
 **Nick:** *biting down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing as Lynn walks them forward, all but pulling them along*

  
 **Hols:** *couldn’t keep from laughing at least once, shaking her head and then turning to Al to offer an apologetic look, afterwards shrugging as they get on the train, walking down, uncaring about the glance from some people and then beams as they approach their carriage and then smiles as she sees Oreo sitting at the open door, growling and baring his teeth at anyone who tried to enter* Good job, Oreo! Good boy! *takes both her arms back so she can scratch Oreo’s ears and pat him twice, to indicate he could let them pass*

 **Oreo:** *goes into the carriage, curling up on a spot on the floor*

 **Hols:** *beaming and then motions* Birthday ladies first. *lips twitching*

 **Alcott:** *just nods at Hols, looking to the side and shaking his head to himself while he laughs in a low chuckle; lips twitching as he sees Oreo and waves at him; a bit wary* Hello again, Oreo  
.

 **Lynn:** *grins at Hols, still squeezing Nick’s hand as she nods saying happily* Thankkk you. *moves their joined hands behind her so she doesn’t have to let him (or the lollipop) go and sits, promptly opening the lollipop and crossing her heels underneath the window, biting her bottom lip as she casts her mind around; she would mention football but figures that’s still sore for Nick, and settles on Quidditch instead* Hols, when are you holding tryouts?

 **Hols:** *amused* Oh? He’s not “pup” anymore? *tease*

 **Nick:** *follows Lynn inside, sitting down next to her and keeping an arm around her waist, lips twitching as she begins to open the lollipop immediately*

 **Hols:** *sitting down across from Lynn, next to Al and then brightens* Saturday morning! Right after breakfast, I owled McGonagall during the summer with the training schedule and she spoke to the Headmaster and cleared it for me. *grins* Just call me your slave driver.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles and shakes his head* Nah, he and I are good now. *sitting down next to Hols and sliding the door shut behind him; leaning over a moment to pet Oreo’s ears for a moment* Aren’t we, boy? (he barks; Al grins) That’s right.

 **Lynn:** *tucks herself against Nick grinning; the lollipop too big to fit in her mouth so she’s licking it, eyebrow arching for a moment at Nick, and mms back to Hols, laughing once* Slave driver? *brow wiggle* …sorry that nickname’s taken already.

 **Alcott:** *can’t help but smirk and tilts his head amused—looking at Nick a heartbeat; Lynn shoots him a sideways look of annoyance; he looks back at Hols* You’re the new Quidditch captain?

 **Hols:** *chuckles and then hmms, actually very pleased that he gets along with Oreo* Maybe he just identifies with you now *lips twitch*

 **Nick:** *smirks briefly as Lynn looks at him but doesn’t say anything before looking forward again, lips twitching as Alcott throws him a glance and then says to Hols* Don’t leave her too sore, that’s my job.

 **Hols:** *laughs and shrugs* I’ll tryyyy. *lips twitch and then blinks as she turns to Al* I didn’t tell you? Oh!-

 **Nick:** another person for her to brag to.

  
 **Hols:** *kicks him* Anyways. *beams and nods* Yep! I got my C like three weeks ago *takes it out of her pocket to show iti*

 **Alcott:** *looks bacj up at her, lips twitching, just shaking his head in feigned disapproval, even though he’d thought the same*

  
 **Lynn:** *chuckles and nudges him with her elbow as she’s too loathe to put the lollipop down/endager it* Naughty. *brows wiggle*

  
 **Alcott:** *lips twitch amused as she takes it out, nodding with a grin* Classy, definitely. Surprised you’re not wearing it actually. And *teasing lightly* second place will certainly be honorable--

  
 **Lynn:** *kicks him- with the stiletto* Ahem. Who won last year?

 **Alcott:** *rubbing his shin, rolling his eyes* Temporary amnesia. Side effect of being blindsided.

  
 **Lynn:** And shame. *grins, resuming eating the lollipop*

 **Nick:** *laughs and then shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows* What? Just the truth.

 **Hols:** *grins* It goes on Quidditch robes, obviously. *sniffs “pretentiously”* Yes, it certainly will be honorable, for you. *brows wiggle*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Hey, who knows maybe both of you will lose.

 **Hols:** …what, are Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff all of a sudden going to get talent?  
 **Nick:** *smirks* oh when I tell Nadia--

  
 **Hols:** *putting her badge back in her pocket* I will hit you.

 **Lynn:** *just winks back*

  
 **Alcott:** *scoffs, amused and shakes his head* First match. I reckon we still owe you.

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks* Hey, Hufflepuff might have a chance this year…they were pretty good last year. *pauses and then looks at Nick, licking her lips over the lollipop* …sorry baby.

  
 **Hols:** Yeah, right. I came up with a whole new playbook. *pauses* Okay well maybe not a bookful but! *eyebrow wiggles*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* Ravenclaw got a new captain though, you never know. Besides, I heard last year half the team mysteriously got food poisoning the day before the match. *eyebrow rises*

 **Hols:** Yeah, they lost so badly—no amount of points would have given them the chance to be in the running.

  
 **Alcott:** *laughs, teasing* Oh, did you? *looks to her bag, grinning* I assume you carry those with you…

  
 **Lynn:** *finishing a bite of the lollipop at Nick’s words and looks immediately at Alcott* Oh, really, did they? *grin flicks* I’m stunned. Dirty tricks before a match. How shocking.

 **Alcott:** *eyebrow arches at her* …yeah, and you’re perfectly innocent.

 **Lynn:** *shrugs a shoulder exaggeratedly, still licking the lollipop, and looks back at Nick bemused* But you’re right.

 **Hols:** *glares and then whacks his arm* Don’t even joke, I will hurt you.

 **Nick:** *lips twitch, wrapping his arm tighter around Lynn’s waist* Didn’t the Gryffindors dye the Slytherin’s uniforms pink?

  
 **Hols:** *smirks*

  
 **Nick:** Hmm, maybe I should try out.

 **Alcott:** *laughs and hardly moves as she whacks him* I wasn’t joking actually.

 **Lynn:** *smile flicks, brow wiggling and nodding at him* …mm, might have happened.

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* Hot, pink actually. *shrugs a shoulder amused* And not all of them could pull it off.

 **Lynn:** *turns delighted, ignoring Al* Oh, you should! *smile widening* You were quite good this summer actually.

 **Hols:** reach for my bag and I’m gonna cut off your arm. *I’m* not joking.

 **Nick:** *laughs* hot pink. Nice choice.

 **Hols:** I’m sure whoever came up with it would say thank you. *grins*

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* I played keeper enough times yeah. I can give it a shot.

  
 **Hols:** that would do *wonders* for your sex life.

  
 **Lynn:** *laughs* Hols.

 **Hols:** What? Factssss.

  
 **Alcott:** *snorts* Trust me. I believe you.

 **Lynn:** *winks at hols as she says they’d say thank you*

  
 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* You can say you’re welcome to them too.

 **Lynn:** *brows wiggles, laying her hand on Nick’s knee as she finishes another part of her lollipop and nods* Brilliant actually. *pauses and then grins wickedly at Hols’ comment* …baby she does speak the truth.

 **Alcott:** She’s speaking from experience *teasingly to Hols*

 **Lynn:** *ignores this, leans in to whisper in his ear* If it can even get better.

 **Hols:** good. Besides, if anybody else but me touches it, all their hair on their body will fall off. And stay off. *hmphs* I learned my lesson.

  
 **Nick:** Right, we’re polite here. *lips twitch*

 **Hols:** *lips twitch in a small smirk briefly before nudging Al’s side with her elbow* Shut up.

 **Nick:** *smirks, licking his lips* naughty.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles under his breath, nodding* tame for what they’d deserve actually. And I wouldn’t cheat.

  
 **Lynn:** Course we’re polite. We’re ‘behaving’. *pauses looking out the window* For approximately another thirty minutes or so.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles in amusement as he’s elbowed and shakes his head, smirking* Oh never.

  
 **Lynn:** *grinning, her lips against his ear, still a bit sticky from the lollipop and she exhales amused* Perhaps.

  
 **Hols:** I don’t believe in the torture of animals. *lips twitch* Really? Because when you took my bat--

  
 **Nick:** *lips twitch* I wasn’t aware it had a time limit.

 **Hols:** *shakes her head at him* Fine, I’ll just have to make you…*raises her eyebrows, lips twitching but says nothing else*

  
 **Nick:** *chuckles, fingers digging into her skin in “reprimand”* Didn’t you say you were behaving? *lips twitching*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* Now that was just to get your attention.

 **Lynn:** Mm, you gotta love revisionist history.

  
 **Alcott:** *ignores this, pulling himself a little closer to Hols smirking at the remark and saying heatedly, while hmming* You’re welcome to try. *brow wiggle*

 **Lynn:** *also ignoring him, she breathes out as his grip tightens, her smirk flicking and she pulls her lips together without pulling away to lick her lollipop again, eyes cast up at him and her lips flick* That’s when we should. If you prefer I still behave in private…

 **Hols:** *laughs out loud once, shaking her head, lips twitching at Lynn’s comment but doesn’t say anything about it*

  
 **Nick:** *grins at her use of revisionist history* Now that’s dirty talk. *teasing*

  
 **Hols:** *grin widening slowly in amusement, lips twithing* Try? Are we pretending there’s a chance of failing?

  
 **Nick:** *looks at the window, sees it getting darker* Time flies. *looks back at her and then smirks* Behave badly, sure.

 **Lynn:** *laughs once under her breath, pursing her lips as she grins at him* Oh you…*shakes her head, amused* Clearly I’ve spent too much time with you.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch in his smirk and he shrugs a shoulder just as teasingly* Might be. What exactly are you going to do about it? *brow pop*

 **Lynn:** *now utterly ignoring both of them, just looking at Nick and her lips twitch* I will if you will. *grin widens*

  
 **Nick:** *laughs and then grins* You say that as if it’s a bad thing. *lips twitch*

 **Hols:** *hmms, pretending to deliberate for a couple of moments, bringing her hands up to toy with the collar of his shirt, patting it down before sliding a hand down his chest looking back up at him finally, lips twitching* Hmm, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. *stands*

  
 **Nick:** *grins, brow wiggling* Of course I will. *all of a sudden brought back to reality as Hols stands up* …where are you going?

 **Hols:** *lips twitch as she turns slightly to smirk once at Al, looking back at Nick* Bathroom. Oreo, stay. *as she saw Oreo about to get up, and moves to open the sliding door when Nick’s foot comes up to block her way*…yes, *Nicky*?

  
 **Nick:** *lips twitch* can you buy me something off the trolley?

 **Hols:** no. *kicks his foot out the way* Lick her lollipop if you’re hungry.

 **Nick:** Oh. I intend to. *lips twitch in a brief smirk*

  
 **Lynn:** If I ever start quoting corrupt Renaissance popes, *pointedly* It will be a bad thing. *her lips twitch adding lightly as she leans back a bit, licking her lollipop again* …and worse for you.

 **Alcott:** *had leaned back and was groaning a bit, eyes watching her as his lips purse in amusement* bathroom. Right.

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip as she looks at him, decidedly waving Hols off and saying simply, with a hand up* Whatever clever excuse you think you have, save it, it’s obvious. *waaaves the hand at the door, lips still pursed waving Alcott off after Hols and she chuckles again, closing the blinds on the door with a wave of her wand—delighted to do magic openly still—and sits up straighter so she can slide herself onto Nick’s lap, proceeding to offer him her lollipop with an amused smirk* Did you want a taste?

 **Nick:** *eyebrow wiggles in a smirk* Well it depends on the definition of bad, really. *eyebrows pop, lips twitching in amusement as he waves to Hols as she leaves the compartment, chuckling as Lynn bluntly tells Al not to bother with an excuse, waving as well and turns back to look at Lynn with a smirk as she closes the blinds, chuckling and then moves her lollipop out of the way* yes I do. *leans in to kiss her deeply, pulling away after several moments, licking her lips as he does and then smirks* Delicious.

  
 **Lynn:** *mid amused- chuckle she’s cut off by his lips and relaxes into him, kissing back fervently, her free hand going to his neck and cheek, the other moving her lollipop so it won’t be ruined and as she pulls back, she smirks in satisfaction and nods* mm, one second. Would be a crime to waste this. *without moving off his lap, she leans over to slide the rest of her lollipop into the wrapping still and then leans back, grinning* …it was a present, see. *she leans in to kiss him again, softly pressing her lips to his and pulling back a heartbeat later to mutter playfully* …well half a present, supposedly, but I’ve only seen the one half.

  
 **Nick:** *chuckles, licking his own lips and then nods, waiting for her to put the lollipop away* I see, you must treasure it then. *grins and wiggles his eyebrows, kissing her back as he brings a hand to cup her cheek, but she moves away, lips twitching as she does* Right. The other half. *grins* I suppose if you’d want it *now* ….*shrugs*

  
 **Lynn:** *smile flicks and she nods softly against his forehead, sliding her hand down the front of his shirt and curling around a fistful of fabric as she whispers teasingly* Are you going to make me beg?

 **Nick:** *lips twitch* tempting. Very very…tempting. *grins* but there are better things to do on your knees. *brow wiggles and then laughs once* I wanted to wait till we were alone in the castle but if you insist…*teasing and then pats the side of her leg* it’s in my bag.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles, running her hand down lower as she continues* That’s usually involved when I beg. *looks back up and brightens, lips flicking* Yeah? Well…we’re alone now. *pauses thinking, muttering under her breath as she reaches for his bag* Though I doubt he lasts long. *pulls the bag towards them, brow wiggling as she starts looking through it*

 **Nick:** *chuckles throatily as he follows her hand with his eyes, lips twitching in a brief smirk before he looks up at her and smiles as she brightens, laughing once and shaking his head but refrains from commenting, and helps her shuffle through his bag and then takes out a slender rectangular box and offers it to her* Happy Birthday baby.

  
 **Lynn:** *lips twitch with his laugh and she winks at him, moving slightly as he finds the box and takes it slowly, her smile wide, unwrapping it gently, her jaw dropping as she lifts the necklace out and holds it up to catch the light with nothing short of awe and pure joy on her face, breathing out* It’s gorgeous…*before she closes her mouth and grins back at him, lowering it to cup his cheek and kiss him, softly this time, just brushing her lips to graze his jaw before pressing to his and she smiles as she pulls back briefly* I love it. *quieter, softer, without realizing she says it* I love you *you*. *she blinks a moment and then without waiting just kisses him again anyways*

  
 **Nick:** *watching, even a little nervous, as she takes it out for her reaction, and then explains as she looks at it without saying anything* It was my great grandmother’s. Given to her by the Shah of Iran, as a declaration of his love…it’s a long story. But she was born in September too, hence the sapphire…it’s been passed down and I wanted you to have it. *kisses her back just as softly, a smile on his face as she pulls away and then his eyes soften, eyes searching her face briefly as she starts nodding slowly, kissing her back when she leans in again, afterwards pulling away and saying just as quietly, looking in her eyes* I love you, Lynn.

 **Lynn:** *with the necklace still in her hand, she’s holding on to the chain like it’s a lifeline- she blinks in soft surprise as he explains, and has to lick her lips as they’ve suddenly gone dry; her gaze drops to look at it again as she smiles, and nods* That’s…I’m honored. *she looks back up, her face breaking with happiness* Truly, I am so…honored and flattered and…*thank* you. *she blinks as he looks at her steadily, repeating he words and even as she pinks a bit she can’t help a wide, true and honest smile and she kisses him again briefly, pulling back to say it louder, without hesitation or anything but happiness* I love you, Nick. I really do. *she seems to be in slight surprise of herself, but she holds the necklace up again, saying softer* Can you help me with the clasp?

  
 **Nick:** *smiles genuinely and then nods softly as she thanks him* You’re worth it, baby. *leans in to kiss her again, his smile growing wider, turning into a grin as she repeats it, chuckling in happiness and bringing his hands up to grab the necklace gingerly* Of course. *undoes the clasp and then leans forward to put the necklace around her neck, moving her hair out of the way* There. *grinning*  
 **Lynn:** *chuckles quietly and says teasingly* Well, obviously. *turns her head, lifting up some of her hair, shivering as his hands brush the nape of her neck and she smiles back up at him as a hand fails to examine it against her neck, smiling* you know sapphires are actually my favorite gemstone? Even before I knew it was my birthstone. *smile flicks and she cups his cheek again as she settles it down* …Shah? Iran? *curious* Your family’s from Iran?

 **Nick:** *laughs once and nods, repeating* Obviously. *lips twitch as his hands fall after putting thee necklace on to wrap around her waist again and then nods* my mom’s family, yeah. She renounced the Muslim religion and her family for a number of reasons really but it was mostly to marry my dad. She’ll deny that like the plague now, obviously, but.

  
 **Lynn:** *turns to settle more comfortably on his lap, smile flicking and she nods, listening curiously in surprise* Well, naturally. *lips twitch* That’s really interesting though…my mum was raised Catholic, but gave up on it when…* a bit uneasy* well, before she started seeming my dad anyways. Now it’s just so we can celebrate Crhistmas I bet, as Dad says he’s too logical to believe in a God. Do you celebrate any Muslim holidays?

 **Nick:** *nods* Yeah it’s kinda hard to remain Christian when wizards and witches are supposedly the devil’s handiwork. *lips twitch and then he shakes his head8 No, not really. My mom though, she follows the Islamic calendar. Habit, she says. My dad’s an atheist. We celebrate Christmas because when Jesse was four he cried about how his friends in preschool all got presents but he didn’t *laughs* so there’s no baby Jesus anywhere in our Christmas decorations.

 **Lynn:** *laughs and nods* yeah. I suppose Wiccan’s the only real option then but…*shrugs a shoulder* Christmas was really Yule anyways. *brow wiggles and then she laughs* oh Jesse. *shakes her head, grinning* I, still need to meet your family. We’ll have to go for a weekend.

 **Nick:** *chuckles and then nods* True enough. *lips twitch and then grins* Yeah he’s something alright. But he was young, my mom’s family doesn’t talk to us, and my dad is the only child of an only child of an only child, so. *chuckles* Yes, of course. Mom’s already mad I “wasted the summer” *laughs*

  
 **Lynn:** *laughs quietly and nods* My dad’s family doesn’t talk to ours either but—thank. *god.* Seriously. And my mom’s an only child…she has cousins though, in the country. *laughs and nods, mming* Aww…she sounds sweet. I don’t think we *wasted* this summer though…*brow wiggles* Very good memories.

  
 **Nick:** *chuckles and then nods* And by the sound of it, you have tons of honorary family members anyways *grins, lips twitch* my mom sounds sweet for reprimanding me? *laughs and then shakes his head* It definitely wasn’t a waste. *leans in to kiss her once, softly*

 **Lynn:** Best kind. *lips twitch* The family you choose. *brow wiggle and then she chuckles and slides her hand around his neck, nodding* Sweet for being so eager to meet me. Not that I blame her naturally. *grin flicks and then softens, leaning in to kiss him back breathlessly, not moving away*

 

september first :: 2027, the hogwarts express

 

 **Irene:** *getting to the train station, her dad’s bodyguards keeping the reporters away while her butler escorts her inside- despite of the hullabaloo she’s all smiles and happy to be going back to Hogwarts and turns to Stiles when she gets to platform 9* I’ll take it from here, Stiles! *takes her stylish bag because she refuses to use those god-awful trunks*

Stiles: *smiles and then hugs her, kissing her cheek* Take care, poppet. I’ll be here to pick you up for winter break

 **Irene:** *beams* take care, old man. *hugs him back and they do their signature handshake they came up with when she was little and then laughs, waving Stiles away as he leaves and then she turns around and takes a breath before running through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, bouncing as she sees the Hogwarts Express, so happy to be back. Noticing she’s one of the first to arrive- like always. She goes in the train quickly to put her bags away in a compartment and then goes out on the platform again when she sees Alisha and Trent* STONES! *runs at them*

 **Alisha:** *leaves her cart, jumping over it to run at Irene, picking her up and spinning her around!* My baby!!! *hugs her!*

 **Irene:** *squeals as she gets spun around, laughing and then gives Alisha a quick peck in greeting and beams further!* I’ve missed you! Omg! Sweetie!

 **Alisha:** *laughing, cheeks going slightly red to match her hair and grins* I’ve missed you too! My life has been absolutely dismaaaaal.

 **Trent:** ladies, please, bring some attention to me. *opens his arms and wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Irene:** *jumps off her and then runs at Trent, and he jumps on her instead* babycakes! *gives him a quick peck in greeting as well*

 **Trent:** *grins* my delicious English muffin!

 **Irene:** *laughs and puts him down* Where are my babies? *looks and then spots her owl and doggie in their cages* My babies! *leans down to coo at them* You didnt miss me for too long, no you didn’t aww, mean daddy wouldn’t let me bring you with me- but I always get my way don’t I? Yes I do! *pets them before looking up at the Stones again* come on my loves! I’ve got a carriage.

*They make their way to the train compartment, putting up the trunks and then taking Dolce and Oscar out of their cages, Dolce perching himself up top and Oscar barking and running out of the compartment*

 **Irene:** Oscar! Oscar baby get back here! *runs out after him, pushing through other students coming in* Oscar Poe Burns you get back here this instant- *jumping out of the train and then exhaling in relief as she sees Oscar stopped in front of someone, faltering briefly in her steps as she sees who it is*

 **Justin:** *leaned down to pick up Oscar as he came up to him and starting scratching at his pants and barking up at him, grinning at the small dog* Hey buddy, how are you? You’ve got your mom worried don’t you? *scratching Oscar’s ears as he barks happily and then laughs, looking up at Irene and she walks up to him* Hey, Rene. I think this one belongs to you.

 **Irene:** thank Merlin you caught him, Justin. He could have been squished, my poor baby- *takes Oscar back and kisses the back of his head* Oscar baby you’re getting older, you’re not supposed to be such a rascal. *looks back at Justin and then laughs* Hi! *hugs him once* Great to see you again!

 **Justin:** *laughs and hugs her back* Yeah, you too. *grins* Where’s-

 **Alisha:** Justin!! *coming up and hugging him tightly* Hey doll!

 **Justin:** *kisses her cheek as he hugs her* Hi sweetie. Trent, my man! *hugs him as well, patting his back twice*

 **Trent:** Nice to see ya, mate. We’re all settled in- you’re a prefect too, yeah? **Justin:** Yeah *grins*

 **Trent:** unsurprising. You’re perfect, right?

 **Justin:** hardly *laughs* you said it, mate, not me. *lips twitch*

 **Irene:** Nadia’s a prefect, Trent’s a prefect, now Justin. You guys aren’t gonna let me have any fun. *pouts*

 **Alisha:** *laughs and shakes her head* Like anyone could stop you Irene.

 **Irene:** *smirks* Yes, true. Isn’t that right sweetums? *scratching Oscar’s ears*

Oscar: *barks!*

 **Trent:** do you know who the female Ravenclaw prefect is?

 **Justin:** It’s Trish-

 **Alisha:** *scoffs* I don’t like her.

 **Irene:** *lips twitch* This doesn’t have to do with the fact that her and Reid used to date?

 **Alisha:** Not at all.

 **Justin:** *smiles softly* Alisha, Reid is crazy about you. You have nothing to worry about.

 **Alisha:** *beat passes and she smiles* Thanks Justin.

 **Reid:** *coming up to them from behind* Moving in on my girl while I’m not here, Hall?

 **Alisha:** *turns to Reid absolutely beaming* Baby! *throws her arms around him and kisses him enthusiastically in greeting*

 **Trent:** *after several seconds clears his throat* Ahem.

 **Reid:** *pulls away with a smirk before kissing her slowly one last time* Hey.

 **Alisha:** Hi. *smiling widely*

 **Irene:** Hi Irene! How are you? Great, Reid! Thank you for asking sweetie. *tapping her foot on the floor*

 **Reid:** *laughs and then hugs Irene tightly* How’s my favorite blond in the universe doing?

 **Justin:** …hang on, when did I lose that title?

 **Irene:** *hugging him back as tightly as holding Oscar allows* Better now that I’ve been properly greeted.

 **Reid:** *laughs and then macho-hugs Justin and Trent*

 **Trent:** now were just waiting for Nadia.

 **Irene:** right! Before Dev and prefect duties steal her away from me. *sighs* I knew I should have confessed my eternal devotion sooner.

 **Alisha:** *laughs* it’s never too late! All is fair in love and war.

 **Irene:** *beams* you’re right. I would never make her choose though *flips her hair over her shoulder* I don’t want Dev to be heartbroken.

 **Trent:** *laughs* who would dare choose someone over Irene? *teasing*

 **Irene:** Unworthy people, *obviously*

 **Reid:** *laughs and then shakes his head* oh Merlin, I have missed you sorry lot.

 **Alisha:** *hugs him around the waist* Same baby, definitely.

 **Nadia:** *walking in arguing with Hols* I don’t see how it’s my fault-

 **Hols:** it is clearly your fault!

 **Nadia:** You didn’t want to help me!

 **Hols:** I was busy, Nadia. I have important things to do, my time is precious and to be allocated accordingly- I can’t afford to help you with every single thing.

 **Nadia:** oh shut up Holly Rae. /

 **Irene:** *claps her hands together* I hear their dulcet tones!

 **Hols:** In any case, a castle is no place for a bunny.

 **Nadia:** Bugs is going to be so alone *pouting* It’s not fair. All because *you* didn’t want to temporarily transfigure him into a rat.

 **Hols:** Like I said- more important things to do. *shrugs and then spots Nick* I’ll see you around okay?

 **Nadia:** *pfts and then waves at Nick exuberantly, blowing him a kiss before turning to look for her Huffleclaw group and finding them all but waiting for her. Proceeds to squeal in delight. Loudly. Bouncing up and down in place*

Irene/ **Alisha:** *join in on the squeals, causing half the station to turn to look at them for a moment and immediately the girls run up to each other and join in a group hug, kissing cheeks in greeting, all of them chatting animatedly and excitedly about how their summers had been and how much they’ve missed each other and they start hugging each other again*

Trent/Reid/ **Justin:** *just look at each other, exchanging knowing glances about how girls will be girls*

 **Nadia:** *as they separate and start to calm down* Oh my God I’ve missed you all *so* much. *turns to her boys!* TRENT! JUSTIN! REID! *throws her arms around all of them, kissing them on the cheek and greeting, excitedly bouncing in place* Hii! Oh my God you all have *loads* to tell me about the road trip! I want to hear *everything*!

 **Trent:** I wish we had time for everything babe, we have to be in the prefect’s carriage.

 **Nadia:** I know, reunited, only to be viciously separated again! How romantically tragic. *beams* but we have like 40 mins before the train leaves anyways! And we’re not expected to be in the prefect carriage the whole time, it’s a six hour train ride after all. We’ll be fine. *grinning and then turns to look around*Have you guys seen Dev?

 **Irene:** Nope! I’ve been here since 9:55, hes not here yet.

 **Nadia:** *sighs* Lynn. If it wasn’t her birthday-

 **Irene:** *blinks* It’s Lynn’s birthday!? I didn’t get her anything, quick everyone! To the compartment- I have to find a suitable bottle of alcohol for this. *drags them all inward* And I think we might be the same cup size, what do you think?

 **Nadia:** *glares* I don’t know, I’m not an expert on boobs seeing as how I have none, thank you for reminding me miss my-back-hurts.

 **Trent:** *laughing loudly and then shaking his head from side to side*

 **Irene:** Well, no matter. *waves her hands dismissively* I’ll estimate- I did the same for Eliza and her birthday present fit perfectly. *beams*

 **Justin:** What did you get her Eliza?

 **Alisha:** This is Irene. Think about it for a quick moment.

Reid/ **Justin:** *dawning comprehension* …oooh.

 **Reid:** *smirks* When does Alisha get one?

 **Alisha:** *playfully hits his shoulder* Oh shut up.

 **Irene:** *winks at Reid while Alisha’s looking away, closing the door in the compartment as they all pile in and lets Oscar run among them in the floor*

 **Nadia:** *picks Oscar up for a brief moment, kissing his head* So, Irene, where’s Dillon?

 **Justin:** *decidedly looking uninterested in the topic of conversation and looks out the window*

 **Irene:** *immediately beamy and unaware of any such negative reactions* He should be here soon!

 **Trent:** There should be plenty of room in here after the me, Nadia, and Justin leave at least.

 **Justin:** *mutters something under his breath about small favors*

 **Reid:** *lips twitch in amusement but doesn’t say anything*

 **Irene:** *still blissfully unaware* Of course, and when you all get back from the prefect carriage we can just scooch together, every girl grab a lap.

 **Trent:** I call Justin’s lap

All: *laugh out loud*

 **Justin:** *actually smiles at that* Sure, Trent. Why not.

 **Irene:** They need bigger carriages actually. *pouts* I have lots of friends. From all houses. I want them all in one place, because they’re mine.

 **Nadia:** *putting Oscar back down on the ground and then lips twitch into a small smile* babe, you can’t own people-

 **Irene:** You’re all mine. It’s decided. Deal with it.

 **Nadia:** *laughs and then shakes her head* Fine, we’re yours. So now! *claps her hands together* Tell me about the road trip! Show me pictures! Make me super jealous!

They hang out together until they start thinning out, Nadia leaving when she spots Dev getting to the platform, Trent and Justin when Trish comes to get them to head to the prefect carriage, and Irene stays with Reid and Alisha while Reid jokes about a threesome while they wait for other people to get there.

september 2nd, 2027 :: divination; nadia tudor

 

Nadia’s stared at the crystal ball in reluctance. She hadn’t touched the tiny but potent little thing since last year, but as the quote from some famous person said “desperate times called for desperate measures.”

Nadia never denied her talent when it came to Divination. Born into a family of academic excellence, and having a best friend (now boyfriend), who was always a step away from reading dictionaries for fun, Nadia always felt just a bit inadequate with her lack of book smarts. That’s not to say she was stupid, because she wasn’t, but she also never really excelled at anything, and when it came to history and potions she just outright failed.

Two years ago however, when picking their elective classes Nadia chose Divination as one of the two. The subject always interested her, and maybe half of the basis of its appeal was that it was disregarded by her family and friends as a “true branch of magic.” Most students were either “too logical” for such things, thought the class a joke, and thought the professor a nutter (though Nadia would never say such a thing…she couldn’t help but to see some validity in their remarks). Then there were students who took the course because the rest of the courses were either too rigorous and demanding, and they wanted an easy grade. Then there was her.

Nadia from an early age liked to pretend she could see the future. She would dress up as a gypsy fortune teller, borrow one of Hols’ bandanas, wear a long flowy skirt and a white fluffy shirt and walk around the house saying “I foresee the future!” Her predictions were often simple things like “you will take a bubble bath today” or when she really wanted something “you will go the zoo- yes, yes! I see it clearly!” She would add details of cotton candy and monkeys, or something like that.

Yet for all her pretending, Nadia had always been aware.

She always won rock, paper, scissors; always. Hols had challenged her five times a day, every day, for a month when they were younger. Finally, she gave up and refused to play with her. Hols had always been a sore loser, of course, and when she was younger it was even worse so Nadia had just simply stopped playing the game in general.

Another time when she was over at Dev’s house and they were upstairs, she ran out of the front door and into the street to pick up a puppy that had broken off his leash. She got in a lot of trouble for that, but the man thanked her for saving his puppy from getting run over- she knew she had done well.

Probably the one that freaked everyone out the most was when during breakfast one morning, Nadia told Chace that she was sorry his snake had died. He looked at her like she was crazy- his snake was fine. The next morning it was dead; the lamp in her tank had gone out in the middle of the night. Chace blamed Nadia at first; his love of all creepy-crawly-slimy-gross animals was just as extensive as Hols’ love of all animals except humans, but soon realized it wasn’t Nadia’s fault.

Nadia had lots of odd examples like that, and she had always wanted to find out more about them, preferably while on a swing or in a tree somewhere (her mami liked to tease that Nadia was part fairy.) So when it was time to take Divination, Nadia couldn’t wait! She immediately proved not only capable, but rather gifted as well. It was the one of the classes in Hogwarts she looked forward to. Yet even that class became a burden to her after the crystal ball fiasco of last year.

Nadia’s talent had expanded to include palmistry, tea leaves reading, dream interpretation, and tarot cards over the years. These were the four of her choosing whenever she wanted some particular insight, or during common room parties. Irene always told her that she should at least charge for her service, and Nadia always responded that she was not a mind-prostitute. Yet, with those four she never Saw as well as when she used a crystal ball.

Time was a tricky thing, but as soon as you wrapped your mind around the idea that it all happens simultaneously, every single thing happening at the same time, it became easier to understand it. Somewhat. It was still a force that was beyond comprehension by humans, and she doubted it ever would be. The only reasons that the past, present, and future exist is because the lifespan of a human being gives it the appearance of a linear timeline, when in fact it was entirely the opposite. Yet, there was no use explaining that to most, and so she too discussed time in a linear manner.

Nadia could safely say that they were approaching a point on the line that had her uneasy for weeks.

She didn’t know what, but she had a bad feeling, something that she had been trying to keep down during the summer because damnit it was the summer and it was not fair. She consulted her four, but none could tell her much more than “danger”, “revenge” “loss” just words, feelings, not images…but despite her initial fear, she told herself not to read too much into it. They could mean anything after all, and it was foolish of her to dwell on it when there was sunshine to be enjoyed during the summer.

Summer was over, though, and they were back at Hogwarts, and her feelings just got worse and worse- stronger, as well. She had been too nauseous at dinner that night to eat anything solid. That’s why she was resorting to the crystal ball once more.

The rather small ball lay in front of her while Nadia just glared at it for a few seconds. She recalled the vividness with which she saw Justin getting beaten up in the ball and the more vivid the dream, the more likely it was to become true. That’s why she was forcing herself to read the crystal ball again- she wanted to know more. Ironic, seeing as how just six months ago she was crying about how no one deserved to know the future, no one. Now, she was purposefully looking a future that was sure to be unpleasant, at the very least.

Nadia inhaled deeply, taking the crystal ball in her hands and then exhaling, opening her eyes simultaneously, looking deep into the crystal ball. She emptied her mind, letting the magic flow through her, letting the fog spread…she saw teeth, fangs, snapping open and shut as they tried to tear and rip…there were people running in the dark…she sees a flash of green, of red,…blood splattered the ground from a body that was collapsing on the ground as well….she saw some sort of metal door- no a gate- no a…unkind lips curled upwards as they looked down…a tombstone read R.I.P.

Nadia threw the crystal ball from her hands immediately and then backed further into the back of her bed. She breathed heavily, panting as she attempted to make sense of what she saw but she couldn’t. Bits of pieces of something so complicated that…it might never be resolved; forever doomed to exist as it was, maybe even get worse. She wiped at her eyes as they filled with tears, as she holds her chest just looking for breath. There was only one feeling that accompanied what she saw, a deep understanding that she could never explain with words.

Pain.

Whatever was going to happen…everyone would suffer.

With her eyes tearing up again, she sniffed and looked up suddenly as she saw a shadow looming over her, the vision still fresh on her mind.

Irene stood there, holding her hands up, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, the bump on the floor woke me up, I guess Alisha’s with Reid…” She was holding on to Nadia’s crystal ball and Nadia sighed, passing a hand over her eyes with one hand and taking the crystal ball back with the other, putting it back in her nightstand.

“…What did you see, sweetie?” Irene asked in concern, immediately moving to sit next Nadia on the bed.

Nadia just shook her head, and laid back down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, exhaling in worry before she turned her head sideways to look at Rene. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Irene nodded, “Of course, love.” Irene settled as comfortably as she could into the bed next to her friend, brushing strands of hair from her face as she hummed a lullaby under her breath. 

Within minutes, Nadia was asleep.

 

september 3rd, 2027 :: 

slytherin common room; trio

**Alcott:** Oh you two have to be kidding me.

 **Devin:** *looks up from the essay he's writing* ...what are you talking about?

 **Eliza:** *looks up from her book* I suppose you haven't even started have you?

 **Alcott:** Proudly, I have not. *frowns* Homework! We haven't even been back a week yet!

 **Devin:** It's O.W.L. Year mate.

 **Eliza:** You might be able to get Os without studying but--

 **Alcott:** *sits down next to them with a smirk and a grunt* First you become prefects and now this.

 **Eliza:** Yeah, you're really stressed.

 **Alcott:** I'm bored is what I am.

 **Devin:** *darkly, mutters over his paper* Soon you're gonna wish you were bored.

 **Alcott:** What's that mean?

 **Eliza:** *shooting Dev a look* He means nothing. If you're bored, why don't you find Hols?

 **Alcott:** *bouncing a hand across his knee* Currently working her team to death.

 **Devin:** *amused* Lynn did mention they were going to practice more often.

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes* They think it's gonna help them. 

 **Eliza:** *lips flick* Careful Al, you do remember who won last years Quidditch Cup don't you?

 **Alcott:** *eyes narrow* Thanks for that, really, thank you so much.

 **Eliza:** *lips flick* And that's not all she mentioned was it? I was right, wasn't I? *brightly*

 **Devin:** *annoyed* Oh shut up.

 **Alcott:** Right about...?

 **Eliza:** Her new sapphire necklace. It's from Nick. And perfectly priceless.

 **Devin:** ...apparently, *he lets the quill lay down* It's from the Shah of Iran. Originally. 

 **Eliza:** *blinks* So definitely priceless.

 **Devin:** Not as priceless as something else.

 **Eliza:** What?

 **Devin:** You had me appraise jewelry. That, was a once in a lifetime thing babe.

 **Eliza:** Oh come on! *pouts and blows hair out of her eyes* Guys should know jewelry. So you know what we like. 

 **Alcott:** We know what you like. *brow wiggling* Trust me. And it is our pleasure to give it to you.

 **Eliza:** ....Seriously, everything I say, you're gonna take it that way?

 **Devin:** *mmming over his essay* You did set him up for that one.

 **Eliza:** Right, sorry, what was I thinking? *returns to her books rolling her eyes*

 **Alcott:** .. still lost in boredom over here.

 **Eliza:** So do your homework.

 **Alcott:** I'm not yet that bored.

 **Eliza:** I do not want to be sitting next to you when the teachers see you in class.

 **Alcott:** *pauses and looks at Dev* Why did you say I was going to wish I was bored?

 **Eliza:** It's nothing.

 **Devin:** It was not nothing. *mutters*

 **Eliza:** She's jealous, Dev! Drop it!

 **Alcott:** *warily* ...Sienna say something? 

 **Eliza:** No.

 **Devin:** Victoria did.

 **Alcott:** *faux cheery* Oh, even better!

 **Eliza:** She's just jealous.

 **Devin:** Yes, and revenge-prone, and hooked up with a guy who--...*he pauses, eying Eliza*...won't hesitate. 

 **Eliza:** *sighs over her book* When are you all going to stop acting like I need to be protected on the subject of Sam?

 **Devin:** *mutters* Sorry.

 **Alcott:** He's got a point though, she's not very mentally sound when jealous.

 **Devin:** Thank you. *jabs the paper with his quill* 

 **Alcott:** ...what did she say? 

&.

_During Potions..._

**Devin:** *frowns*

 **Alcott:** *cheerily, clapping his shoulder* Sorry mate.

 **Devin:** *under his breath* I would rather partner with Hall. *shoots a look across the room at him and Reid*

 **Alcott:** *laughs out loud and winks at him* Good luck.

 **Devin:** *mutters* Hate you man. So much. *moves over to the table, and after a moment, mutters* ...Hi. 

 **Victoria:** *pursing her lips as she looks at him muttering back* Hi.

 **Devin:** *sighs quietly* ... ...have a good summer?

 **Victoria:** *bluntly* Do you care?

 **Devin:** *sigh* Right, sure, let's work in total hatred and silence, easier that way.

 **Victoria:** *rolls her eyes* Well, I'd be foolish to think otherwise, wouldn't I?

 **Devin:** *bites his bottom lip* ...I don't hate you, Victoria.

 **Victoria:** Your girlfriend does.

 **Devin:** Yes, she does. It's not as though you didn't give her a reason, Vic.

 **Victoria:** Yes, your right, I had a crush on you. Sue me.

 **Devin:** I was referring to you insulting her.

 **Victoria:** If I recall properly, she insulted me as well.

 **Devin:** *rolls his eyes* Yes.

 **Victoria:** And punched me. 

 **Devin:** I repeat, you gave her ample reason. 

 **Victoria:** *groans* So you're still pretending none of it was your fault?

 **Devin:** I never pretended that. *frowns* All of that rested on me. But I am not responsible for your actions anymore than I'm responsible for Sam's.

 **Victoria:** *sighs and then with a tiny smile* We'll see.

 **Devin:** ...and what does that mean? *frown flicks*

 **Victoria:** *smile flicks and she goes to pick up vial* 

 **Devin:** *frown deepens* Victoria. You know, you didn't just attack Nadia. You didn't just go after me. You went after Hols. We have proof, we know it was you who planted those pictures of her. 

 **Victoria:** *purses her lips and looks over the vial* I didn't take those photographs.

 **Devin:** *eyes narrow* Lie, fine, I don't bloody care. Just...you had your revenge. Whatever you and Sam are planning, why won't you just let it go?

 **Victoria:** *pauses and tilts her head with a tiny pout on her lips* You really don't hate me?

 **Devin:** *blink* No, I don't, not at this moment. 

 **Victoria:** And you told me that why?

 **Devin:** *arches an eyebrow* Excuse me for wanting to actually work in peace today.

 **Victoria:** That was meant to fix everything, then? Oh, you don't hate me, so therefore everything's okay?

 **Devin:** No. *snaps* It was supposed to ensure we kept some kind of civil discussion here. I don't intend to fail this assignment.

 **Victoria:** *stony glare as she lifts another vial* Oh, in that case, I'll make sure we do. 

 **Devin:** Fantastic, Victoria, just plummet your own grade with mine. Glad to know you care so much about academic excellence.

 **Victoria:** Small price to pay for humiliating Slughorn's potions genius really...

 **Devin:** So you hate me. That's fair, I probably deserve that. *rolls his eyes again* But leave everyone else alone. 

 **Victoria:** ...you truly don't get it, do you?

 **Devin:** *snapping, as she'd miscounted some potion ingredient and his perfectionist nature is making him fix it* Get what?

 **Victoria:** *low whistle* Everyone else. So nice to hear you defending them all. All those who I introduced you too. 

 **Devin:** Alcott's my roommate, Victoria. *rolls his eyes* You did not have exclusivity on who I made friends with. 

 **Victoria:** *arches an eyebrow* I invited you to that party. If it hadn't been for me--

 **Devin:** \--you could argue I wouldn't have ever lost Nadia. *frowns* But, that was on me. So regardless? I've ceased to care. Stop reliving the past, Victoria, just bloody get over it, move on. You have a boyfriend, and friends, why must you--

 **Victoria:** \--I knew Alcott long before you did, and well too--you really think we never made out?

 **Devin:** ...okay? *lips flick* Interesting tidbit of history. Why the hell do you think I care?

 **Victoria:** And Eliza? She was my friend a long time before--

 **Devin:** \--before you slept with her boyfriend you mean?

 **Victoria:** *frowns* And Sienna--

 **Devin:** \--is still your friend, are you going somewhere with this?

 **Victoria:** *shakes her head incredulously* You took, my friends from me Devin. I knew them long before they knew you, and they turned around and sided with you in the long run. You left me with no one, not one person while everyone cheered on your girlfriend--

 **Devin:** For defending herself while you insulted her! *incredulously raising his voice and he freezes when he sees Slughorn turn around, and mutters an apology and goes back to work, still desperately trying to fix what she's sabotaging because she can't let it go*

 **Victoria:** *rolls her eyes* Devin, this went a lot farther than the crush I had on you. You attacked my friends, you hurt my boyfriend, you declared open war on me and isolated my from everyone I ever knew.

 **Devin:** *hisses, having burned himself with the water slightly and pulls his thumb into his mouth glaring at her, and then sighs* Neither of you are willing to move on, are you?

 **Victoria:** *her smile suddenly reappears and flicks across her lips* Hope you enjoyed your summer with Nadia, Dev.

 **Devin:** *frowns and glares at her, thumb popping out of his mouth* I did, yeah, thanks, we went to Hawaii, went surfing, tanning. We watched movies--you do know what a movie is, don't you?--and went to amusement parks and conventions. *his brow flicks* Had the time of our lives really, though it's all just getting started, thanks so much for asking, now can we please for the love of merlin just get this bloody assignment over with?

 **Victoria:** *frowns and swallows tightly, muttering under her breath* You're right on one thing: it has just started.

 **Devin:** *looks practically like he wants to headdesk, and he turns to try and ignore her, going back to work*

...back at Common Room

 **Alcott:** ....wow. Seriously?

 **Devin:** Yeah, seriously.

 **Alcott:** ...she just sounds deranged and jealous mate.

 **Eliza:** *over her book* Thank you.

 **Alcott:** I doubt she and Sam are doing anything. 

 **Devin:** *groans* You really don't think she'd let it go do you?

 **Alcott:** No...I just think it's more likely she probably wants to just scare us or something into acting first and getting expelled.

 **Eliza:** If you two get me expelled during my O.W.L year, I really will kill you.

 **Alcott:** *reaches over and slams her book shut*

 **Eliza:** Alcott!

 **Alcott:** It's the first weekend back!

 **Eliza:** Give. it. back.

 **Alcott:** *turning the book over in his hand* I'm thinking no.

 **Eliza:** I'm going to practice the O.W.L. hexes on you if you don't--

 **Alcott:** *brightens* Oh go for it. That's fun practice.

 **Eliza:** It won't be fun for you when your legs are stuck together and you can't talk.

 **Devin:** *pauses* ...tongue-tying curse? Leaving Alcott incapable of talking?

 **Alcott:** *warily* Hold on--

 **Eliza:** You're right! Why didn't we think of this before?

 **Devin:** *putting his quill down* I'll hold him down.

 **Alcott:** *snorts* In your dreams, Silverhawk.

 **Devin:** You know, I bet Hols thought of it before. 

 **Eliza:** Probably.

 **Alcott:** *smirks* Nah, she prefers tying my tongue with her own.

 **Eliza:** *facepalms* 

 

september 3rd, 2027 :: quidditch pitch; hols

A whistle blew the air, quieting the voices at the pitch to a stop, letting only the sound of raindrops splattering on the stands, the grass, and themselves.

“Listen up, because I’m only going to say it once.” Quidditch Captain Holly Rae Graft was standing in front of a rather large group of Gryffindors clothed in her vibrant scarlet uniform, her “C” pinned to let everyone know that she was in charge of things. “If a little thing like rain is already making you nervous, you’re not in the right place. Tryouts are still happening today: rain, sleet, snow, or shine. Understood?” Hols took the brief moment it took most to decide to wonder whether McGonagall had seriously considered the consequences of giving Hols an actual reason to boss people around.

As no one complained, this time at least, Hols nodded and clapped her hands together. “Alright! Split up into four groups depending on the position you want to try out for: chasers right here, keepers right in front of me, beaters to the left right there, and seekers right next to them,” she directed, pointing to the spot as she listed them off. They had a good turn-out this year, surprisingly. Hols attributed it to their brilliant win against Slytherin last year. Everyone always wanted to jump on the bandwagon, now the trick was going to be to weed out the stragglers.

“Now remember, just because you had a spot on the team last year doesn’t mean you’ll get a spot on the team this year but I will be picking reserves also,” she spoke as she walked and handed each of them a number. “Stick that number on your back so I’ll be able to tell who you are up in the air.” Not that she didn’t already know most of them there, but it was standard procedure.

She put her hand over her broom and gripped it when it flew up in her hand. The younger students were impressed at the use of non-verbal magic, and she in turn was amused with them. She never discounted younger students though. She after all had tried out for the Quidditch team when she was a second year, and got picked as a reserve, the next year she actually made the team. No one really expected a thirteen year old girl to be a good beater, much less an amazing one, but she kicked ass.

But, she digressed.

“First, you’ll go by group and perform some basic quidditch maneuvers with the bludgers in the air,” she listed those evasive maneuvers she wanted to see while she kicked open the chest with the balls in it and watched the bludgers soar upwards and begin their treacherous and dangerous journey through the air. “Avoiding bludgers should be second-nature, so that you’re not worried about getting hit by one while trying to get the Quaffle or catch the snitch.”

“Beaters you’re actually flying towards bludgers so since there are five of you, I’ll split you up into pairs, the third comes with me, and you’ll go with each group as they go around the pitch. One of you will aim the bludgers at the group, the other will keep them away. I’ll be keeping an eye to make sure no one gets hurt.” They wouldn’t get hurt. Hols had charmed the numbers of the keepers, chasers, and seekers to repel the bludgers if they got within two inches of them. No reason to send anyone to the hospital wing, that could be saved for when practice actually started. She just wanted them to think that they could get hurt, otherwise it would be pointless.

“Chasers, you’re up first. On my whistle, kick off from the ground, fly around the pitch, do the evasive maneuvers and once you’re done, come back down to the ground. Keepers, seekers, move to the side. Beaters 10 and 13, come up with them, the rest move to the side as well. Ready?” She blew the whistle and the six chasers, and two beaters shot up into the air.

The drill worked tremendously: she was able to instantly spot who actually had a clear shot at being on the team. Despite her initial statement of not being guaranteed a spot on the team, the fact was that Lynn, Chace, and Rael were the best of the best. There was no denying it. And after having them shoot penalty shots, it was obvious. She welcomed them back into the team, with only minimal complains about her blatant favoritism. She picked a fourth year by the name of Rita as a reserve. She also managed to find a new keeper through the penalty shots. Hugh wasn’t particularly graceful in the air but boy did he keep those Quaffles away from the hoops by any means necessary. He had moxie, and Hols appreciated moxie; gracefulness could be learned, but moxie couldn’t be.

There were only three seekers trying out, and only one of them managed to get weeded out by the drill. She picked the new seeker easily enough: just had them go up against each other to catch the snitch. A small, tiny, and light little girl in second year with bright purple hair by the name of Zura caught the snitch first, and Hols awarded her the spot on the team. She gave the reserve position to the third year boy who had lost.

And the beaters…well.

Hols was naturally picky. Her and Gui had been the dynamic duo for so long that just thinking about looking for a replacement for him was challenging enough. There was one girl who was simply…terrible, just terrible. She screamed as a bludger had been heading her way and Hols had to fly in and hit it out of the way. She was crying in hysterical sobs by the time she came back down to the ground. Hols just told the poor girl to get a calming draught from Pomfrey.

Two others were way too thickheaded for her liking and they didn’t manage to hit the bludger backwards unlike the other two. They gave her an attitude that she knew she was not going to accept. You didn’t mouth off to Holly Rae Graft, especially not when she was in a position of authority.

She…might have potentially insulted one of them till they both left willingly.

Then they were two, one a sixth year, the other a fourth year. She knew exactly how she was going to pick the one: the Dopplebeater Defense. It was her and Gui’s ultimate move; when they sent that bludger flying with the force of two bats then that person was going to get knocked out of the air. To carry out the move successfully took coordination, skill, communication, and teamwork. 

She was really going to miss Gui.

She told each that they were going to have three tries to carry out a Dopplebeater defense with her and whichever one was most effective would get the spot, the other the reserve. The first guy was three years younger, but she was sure he could get mistaken for a baby rhino, or something. The boy was huge, with giant arms like apes that he had perfect control of. But as soon as they both got in the air and attempted to try it out it became clear that he thought way too highly of himself. Yes, she knew this was bordering on the hypocritical but Hols knew how to share.

Mostly.

In any case, the guy always ended up hitting the bludger two seconds too early- too much of a miss. Then, the second guy came up and he was intimidating. A year younger than her, he looked every part the beater that he was. Well-built, slightly above average height, arms that looked like they could wrestle a tiger; he could have been a poster boy for beaters actually. She had also noted how he pulled off a sloth grip roll in order to hit the bludger, not avoid it. He had style.

He had both style and skill. They both had managed to make contact with the bludger in a perfect execution of the dopplebeater defense twice. Twice. He was definitely on the team.

“Robert, right?” She asked as they both touched down on the ground again.

“Robbie,” he corrected with a grin, undoubtedly pleased with himself. Hols couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t expected him to be able to do it.

“Welcome to the team, Robbie!” She congratulated, she extended her arm out and they shook hands, Hols patting his arm as she walked pass him to address the few players that were still there, and the small audience that had gathered once the rain had stopped falling earlier. “Thank you all for coming out today, we had some amazing talent this year. Remember, keep practicing and you’re sure to do even better come next year. Players and reserves, stick around for a bit, I want to talk to you.”

She handed them all a practice schedule of dates and times that she had already booked the pitch for, went over some procedural boring stuff that captains always went through at the beginning of the year, and told the reserves those days that they practiced with the team. She wanted them to be aware, after all, not just bring them up for speed at the last moment when someone unexpectedly dropped from the team or was injured, etc.

“Let me know if anyone has any problems with the schedule, and that’s it! See you next Wednesday,” she beamed and waved as they left, positively squealing as her and Lynn finally indulged themselves in the giddiness they had been holding back so Hols could look professionally in charge. After a couple of quick sentences, Lynn headed off to Nick who was in the stands, waiting. Hols turned around to head to the locker rooms and ended up almost running into the battering ram that was Robbie.

“Oh! My bad, Robbie,” she apologized with a small laugh.

He laughed as well and shook his head, “No problem, love. I actually had a question.”

“Ask away,” she told him as she began walking in the direction of the locker rooms with him, taking her wet hair out of her ponytail to see if it could be tamed in any way; it was almost a lost cause.

“I’ve been meaning to get a new bat and I was wondering which is the better brand, Agriista or Broadmoor”

“Broadmoor. Always. Then again I basically flail over anything Falmouth Falcons related, so I might not be the best person to ask,” she admitted. “Did you know Zuma Rex Sawyer is getting married?”

“To Gwendolyn Sykes? Yes. Successfully ruining teenage guys’ fantasies everywhere.”

They talked about Quidditch and related topics until they got to the locker room, and they were about to part ways when Hols felt a chill run down her spine and she stiffened, turning around and looking. “…Did you hear that?”

Robbie frowned in confusion and then shrugged, “Hear what?”

Hols frowned as well, taking out her wand and then looking around, casting a homenum revelio to make sure it was only Robbie and her there. It was. Hols frowned and she put her wand back in her robe pocket. “I just thought I saw something…daughter of an Auror and ex-trainee, I’m a bit paranoid sometimes,” she chuckled, though the feeling of being watched didn’t go away.

“Better paranoid than sorry, right?” He teased slightly and then chuckled. “Anyways, I better get going. See you around, Captain.”

Hols smiled and waved to him as he left, really liking the way Captain was sounding. She could get used to that. What she couldn’t get used to was the feeling of being watched, and decidedly walked into the locker room and changed quickly, taking her things with her and heading towards the castle. She could shower later with company.


	13. Be Careful of the Curse that Falls on Young Lovers

**Trish:** *walking down from the girls’ dormitory, a birthday sash over her school robes, being careful not to block her prefect badge, and wearing the new heels her daddy had sent her. She spots Justin and Reid about to walk out the door and then calls to them* Boys! And where do you think you’re going?

 **Reid:** *pauses in his step and then exhales, speaking under his breath to Justin* Doesn’t she have an off button?

 **Justin:** *lips twitch but doesn’t say anything, just turns around and waves at Trish* Hi Trish-…special occasion?

 **Trish:** *beams* Oh darling, every day is special with me. *hugs him*

 **Justin:** *chuckles and hugs her back* Happy birthday, love.

 **Trish:** Thank you sweetie. *turns to Reid* Well? Are you just going to stand there and pretend you don’t know me? *grinning*

 **Reid:** Can I?

 **Justin:** *chuckles once, turning it into a cough*

 **Trish:** *purses her lips but keeps looking at him playfully* …Reid.

 **Reid:** Happy birthday, Trish.

 **Trish:** *beaming again!* Thank you, now, was that so hard?

 **Justin:** *pointedly looking at Reid to indicate he should try and be nice*

 **Reid:** …*inhales once* Nope! I’lll see you around, Trish.

 **Trish:** you two aren’t even going to invite me to breakfast? *tsks* Where are your manners?

 **Justin:** We don’t function normally before 11am *joking*

 **Trish:** *eyebrow wiggles* Oh? Actually I was under the impression men function quite well in the morning.

 **Justin:** *lips twitch briefly into a smirk* Well, in some respect…

 **Reid:** Alright, you two can keep chatting, but I’m gonna run along to meet up with Alisha.

 **Trish:** *Purses her lips in clear dissatisfaction and then waves her hand about* Pish posh, no need. I’ll walk with you two. Who best to escort me to the Great Hall?

 **Reid:** *mutters ‘anybody else’ under his breath*

 **Justin:** Are you sure you want to sit with us? We promised the girls we’d stop separating them today and eat at the Hufflepuff table.

 **Trish:** Why, am I not welcome? *eyebrows arch*

 **Reid:** N-

 **Justin:** Of course you are, Trish.

 **Reid:** *looks away before rolling his eyes* Let’s hurry up then. Sure you can keep up in those heels?

 **Trish:** Baby, the question is whether you can keep up with my heels. *walks a few steps in front of them*

 **Reid:** *steps closer to Justin and punches his shoulder, speaking quietly but rushed* Sodding tosser-

 **Justin:** She’s my friend- *speaking just as quietly*

 **Reid:** And I’m your brother, you could stand acting like a dick once in a while.

 **Justin:** *lips twitch* You could stand acting like a human being-

 **Reid:** Piss off, Justin. *scoffs and shakes his head as they catch up to Trish*

 **Trish:** *asks ‘innocently’* So Justin, how are things with Irene?

 **Justin:** Nothing’s going on between Irene and I anymore, Trish.

 **Trish:** Finally came to your senses then?

 **Reid:** No dissing my blond bombshell, Trish.

 **Trish:** *rolls eyes* Calm down, King Kong. It’s not an insult to her-

 **Justin:** It better not be-

 **Trish:** Burns and I have a mutual understanding. She doesn’t cross into my territory, and I don’t cross into hers. *eyebrows rise* Otherwise, the hallways would be a warzone.

 **Reid:** And you’d get slaughtered immediately.

 **Justin:** *exhales* guys-

 **Trish:** Anyways, Justin baby, you know you could do much better.

 **Reid:** I hope you don’t mean yourself.

 **Trish:** I am a perfect example, obviously, but no, I didn’t mean myself. *lips twitch* If I went for blondes, you know I would be all over you. Anyways, Iii *elongates the ‘I’* happen to know someone who would love a chance to doodle Mrs. Hall over their notebooks. *eyebrow wiggles*

 **Justin:** *laughs* Thanks, but no thanks Trish. I’m flying solo this year.

 **Trish:** Justin Hall? Solo? *eyebrow rises* That’ll last two weeks. Maybe.

 **Reid:** Mate, I already told you, we’re going drinking this Saturday, you’re gonna find a girl to snog, and you’ll be fine.

 **Trish:** *eyebrows rise* Why Saturday?

 **Justin:** *explains for Reid* It’s Alisha’s birthday on Friday. He’s got plans.

 **Trish:** *mouths an ‘oh’ in understanding* …speaking of, how are things with Alisha?

 **Reid:** Great, thanks for asking. How are things with your vibrator?

 **Justin:** Guys. *rolls eyes* Enough.

 **Trish:** *lips quirk into an amused smile* Still picturing it, huh?

 **Reid:** *scoffs and turns away from her and then brightens, seeing Alisha at the end of the stairs* I’ll catch up with you later, alright Justin?

 **Justin:** See ya man *hits his shoulder and then turns to Trish after he’s far enough* Trish.

 **Trish:** *rolls eyes* Oh, what? I was being friendly. He’s just…grumpy. *pouts* It’s my birthday…

 **Justin:** *exhales* Trish, he’s always an arse. You know that.

 **Trish:** I remember the exact opposite, actually.

 **Justin:** He’s moved on, Trish. You two didn’t work out for a reason.

 **Trish:** *exhales* I know, I know but…I miss you two! We don’t hang out like we used to anymore. It’s like I’ve been traded in.

 **Justin:** Maybe if you didn’t have such a natural distaste for your own gender…*eyebrows rise*

 **Trish:** …I get along pretty well with Nadia.

 **Justin:** She doesn’t count, everybody gets along well with her. But Irene-

 **Trish:** Okay, now that doesn’t count.

 **Justin:** -And Alisha-

 **Trish:** The ho stole my man, Justin.

 **Justin:** Trish, you two were already far broken up when they started being interested in each other.

 **Trish:** *purses her lips and then sighs* Okay, okay that’s true. And I know I don’t have any ‘claim’ or whatever, but…I just want to try to be friends. Remember? You, me, Reid, Quentin, Gustav, Dixon?

 **Justin:** We do still hang out, we just hang out with a lot more people now.

 **Trish:** Yeah, where is there room for me in this new scenario?

 **Justin:** *looks awkward, doesn’t know what to say*

 **Trish:** *frowns for a moment, her face breaking*

 **Justin:** *purses his lips and then sighs* Hey, *takes a step closer to her and then tilts his head* how about we take you out for your birthday this weekend?

 **Trish:** *smiles a little bit* Yeah?

 **Justin:** *chuckles and then nods, smiling* Yeah.

 **Trish:** *beams and hugs Justin, turning her head to whisper* If you tell anyone about my near breakdown-

 **Justin:** you’ll cut off my balls and shove them in my mouth. *grins and pulls back to look at her* Right?

 **Trish:** *smiles and nods* Right.

 **Justin:** *as they walk to the Great Hall and sees the large group of friends sitting at the Hufflepuff table, and then briefly understands how Trish might be feeling* You know what, Trish? I’ll sit with you today.

 **Trish:** *grins* I’d love that, boo! *looks at the hufflepuff table and then arches her eyebrows* This wouldn’t be because-

 **Justin:** No, it’s not. It’s your birthday, Trish. Might as well feed your unhealthy addiction to yourself once a year.

 **Trish:** *smiles a bit and then nudges his shoulder with hers* C’mon, baby. You can sing me happy birthday.

 **Justin:** There is no way I’m singing to you. Birthday or not.

 **Trish:** I happen to remember you having a wonderful singing voice *teasing*

september 2027 :: the entrance hallway; hols & alcott

 **Devin:** All right mate, I’m going to go…wolf down a sandwich or something. *turning to depart*

 **Alcott:** *eyes narrow and he glares at him a bit* …wolf.

 **Hols:** *amused, as she’d been coming up to them and overhears* …touchy, touchy.

 **Alcott:** *looks up, and then grins at her, nodding as Dev waves and leaves* Well, I do like being touched. Preferably by you, so I..have no problem with that analysis.

 **Hols:** And would Dev be second favorite here?

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* Nah, wouldn’t want to deprive Nadia. *lips twitch*

 **Hols:** How considerate and unusually selfless of you. You should get a medal.

 **Alcott:** …rather claim a different reward if you don’t mind. *brow wiggle* As you say, it’s a rare occassion.

 **Hols:** *laughs once, lips twitching* And just what kind did you have in mind? *eyebrows pop*

 **Alcott:** *laughs once and he considers her for a moment and then pulls her in to kiss firmly, just once, but deeply, holding her hip and pulls back breathlessly after a moment and looks at her, contemplating another moment and saying calmly, as though it’s effortless* A yes, actually. To that simple, yet impossibly cliche question of would-you-be-mine?

 **Hols:** *grins as he pulls her towards him, putting an arm around his neck as she kisses him back, eyes fluttering open to look at him as he pulls back. Her heart then proceeds to skip a beat as she listens to the question, “considering” him for a few moments/teaching her how to breathe again before she nods, a soft smile on her face* I guess I can do that.

 **Alcott:** *despite the calm collected appearance, had honestly been rather nervous once the words had come out, and his anxiety grows as she pauses, and then his face breaks into an amused grin, and he pulls her closer still, bringing his other hand up to gently tuck hair behind her ear and trace her cheek as he teases lightly* Oh you guess, hm? *lips twitch as he kisses her again, once* I ‘guess’ I can live with that. 

 **Hols:** *had been unsuccessful in keeping a very unlike-her squee at bay, grinning easier now as he pulls her back in to kiss her again* Well, I can’t give you *exactly* what you want, what’s the fun in that? *smirks once*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles once, smirking and nods* Ahh…who said anything about giving? *brow arches teasingly* I get what I want, as I know you do. *lips flick, adding firmly* …and what I want is you, Hols. If I’m going to be honest, I have for a while, but *shoulder shrugs, disinterested in words* …details. *leans in to kiss her again, now cupping her cheek and lifting her lips to his* 

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and then tilts her head in acknowledgment* True. *her heart flutters in her chest again at his words, biting her bottom lip briefly and then chuckles* You don’t exactly have a problem taking…me. *lips twitching again as she repeats* Details. *kisses him firmly, wrapping her arm around his neck tighter*

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch at the remark and then he shakes his head once, breathless even as he admits, teasing* No, guess I don’t, do I? *kiss, lingering, and mutters against her lips, heated* And you like that. *meets his lips to hers again, hard*

 **Hols:** *grins briefly against his lips, shaking her head slightly, not wanting to pull away too much from him to answer* Nooo…*kissing him again as he does, sighing once as he pulls away, licking her lips and then grinning against his lips again, nodding in answer this time as she slips her fingers in his hair and grips it as she kisses him back, moving her lips against his*

 **Alcott:** *sliding his arm around her hip and waist to pull her flush into him, he swipes his tongue back and forth against her lips, demanding entry; his other hand brushes his thumb against her jaw*

 

september 2027 :: the courtyard; hols, trent & the charlie's angels

**Trent:** *coming up to his Charlie’s Angels, in a jog actually* You will not believe what I just heard! Actually, you probably will, believe it, but-

 **Irene:** Spit it out, Trent! What is it?

 **Trent:** *clears his throat* Alcott and Hols are official.

All: *Gasp!*

 **Nadia:** Oh my God, really?!

 **Irene:** *squeals really really loudly*

Alisha: Finally! Who told you?

 **Trent:** I heard it from Trish, who heard it from Aaron, who heard it from Blake, who heard it from his girlfriend of the moment, who probably heard it from-

 **Nadia:** Yeah, yeah, got it- just…oh my God!!! And she didn’t…spontaneously combust?

 **Hols:** *coming up with Nick* Who are we talking about?

Nadia/Irene/Alisha: *SQUEAL AND HUG HER!*

 **Hols:** *umphs, putting her arms around the younger girls, eyebrows raised and she looks at Nick*

Nick: *just shrugs*

 **Hols:** *looks at Trent* What in the world?

 **Nadia:** *pulls back* Al asked you out?!

 **Irene:** How did he do it?!

Alisha: When was this?!

Nick: *laughing* News travels fast…

 **Hols:** …yeah, apparently. Only happened after lunch…

 **Nadia:** I want details!

 **Hols:** Why not ask Trent? *motions to him* He might know already. *amused*

 **Trent:** No, I do not have anymore details.

 **Hols:** shocking.

 **Trent:** …okay, so I might have also heard you two decided to skip class and occupy a broom closet instead.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch, licking her lips once* Half untrue. It wasn’t a broom closet.

Nick: What if it would have been Care of Magical Creatures?

 **Hols:** …but it wasn’t, so, problem solved.

 **Irene:** *laughs and then winks at her* Can I join in next time?

Alisha: I don’t think Dillon would be too keen on that idea…

 **Irene:** *pouts* You might be right…can he come too?

 **Hols:** *laughs once* You both can come on your own time.

Nick: *lips twitch* Hols.

 **Irene:** *grins and brow wiggles* We-

 **Nadia:** *shushes Irene* Okay, whatever, Hols, I want details from you. I mean, I had to find out from Trent, who found out from Trish, who heard it from Aaron, who heard it from Blake, who heard it from his girl of the week! C’mon, why don’t I get told anything?!

 **Hols:** I would have told you the moment I saw you.

 **Nadia:** You needed to have come found me! So we could squeal about it together! I mean, it’s not exactly as if your usual squeal buddy is too ecstatic about this.

Nick: *turns to Hols* Speaking of Lynn, how did she take it?

 **Hols:** she is happy when I’m happy.

 **Irene:** So basically she’s gonna keep her mouth shut?

Alisha: Irene!

 **Trent:** *laughs* Hard to imagine.

Nick: *nodding* Well, I’ll be hearing about it but *grins*

 **Nadia:** *bouncing on her toes* Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! *pouts* I don’t want to have to hear details from Devin, that’s embarrassing, you’re my sister!

 **Irene:** I want details too!

 **Trent:** Three!

Alisha: Guys, maybe it is none of our business.

Nadia/ **Irene:** Yes it is.

 **Nadia:** *turns to Hols again, all bright-eyed and pouting* Pretty pleaseeee.

 **Hols:** *looks at her and then sighs, nodding* Alright, alright-

 **Nadia:** *squeals and throws her arms around Hols*

 **Hols:** But no, squealing, merlindamnit Nadia, how old are you?

 **Nadia:** *holds up four fingers* This many.

Nick: *laughs* Alright, so I’ll take the other toddlers elsewhere.

 **Trent:** *protesting* Hey! 

Alisha: *laughs and turns to Irene* Maybe we should leave willingly Irene.

 **Irene:** *sighs* Well, I can see where I’m not wanted. *flips her hair over her shoulder*

Nick: *grins and then turns his head in the direction of the Great Hall* I’m starving guys, let’s go.

 **Trent:** Read my mind.

 **Irene:** *as she’s passing by Nadia* Detailswhenyoureturn!

 **Nadia:** *nodding and then turns to Hols as they all leave* Outside?! *beams*

 **Hols:** *shaking her head, amused, and then nods with a smile on her face* Sure, satisfy your need of the outdoors. *holds out her arm for Nadia to take*

 **Nadia:** *does so with a huge smile and then as soon as they get to the grounds she turns to look at Hols and then laughs* It’s okay to squeal about it, you know! It’s a great thing!

 **Hols:** *laughs* I’m not the squealing kind…*bites her bottom lip and then grins* But I’m tempted to make an exception.

 **Nadia:** *rolls eyes playfully, grinning while she does* Oh my Merlin, stop trying to be so cool! You’re not cool.

 **Hols:** Oh gee, thank you Nadiaaaa.

 **Nadia:** *laughs* What I mean to say is, I’ve known you since before you were cool. *beams* so it’s okay to be the dork I know you areee.

 **Hols:** *grins sheepishly and shrugs, licking her lips and then beaming* It’s still kind of surreal.

 **Nadia:** *smiles* I don’t know why because you two have basically been going out since Kendells.

 **Hols:** *eye rolls and teases* And you and Dev have been going out since you were fetuses, how did you feel?

 **Nadia:** Oh shut up *hits her shoulder* Okay, so details.

 **Hols:** *laughs* There’s really not much to say though! We were just teasing, about how he should get a medal for his rare case of selflessness and then he just…asked.

 **Nadia:** Just like that? “Will you be my girlfriend?” *eyebrows rise*

 **Hols:** …okay, not exactly-

 **Nadia:** thought not-

 **Hols:** -different wording-

 **Nadia:** -because I’m sure you would have laughed in his face if he said that-

 **Hols:** Would not! *tucks a strand of hair behind her ear* I wouldn’t be that big of a bitch.

 **Nadia:** *just beams* Aww, so he was nervous?!

 **Hols:** …do you get that from what I said?

 **Nadia:** He was, wasn’t he? *beaming still* That’s so cute.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and then shakes her head from side to side* Well, I don’t know about him, but I was…just a bit though.

 **Nadia:** but why? He was the one doing the asking, after all!

 **Hols:** Well! It wasn’t exactly expecting it, was I? Besides, it’s not like I’ve had a great track record with relationships.

 **Nadia:** well…neither has he? And you’re all…weird about this anyhow, same mindset on the whole thing, it’s not all of a sudden going to change because you two are exclusive and official.

 **Hols:** I hope not…I really like him, Nadia.

 **Nadia:** *smiles softly and then nods* I know you do, Hols.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch and then shrugs* Go figure right? *chuckles*

 **Nadia:** *chuckles as well* You were bound to find someone who could keep up with you eventually…he just happened to be a 15 year old, pureblooded Slytherin you used to hate.

 **Hols:** *nose wrinkles* Sounds a lot more odd when you say it.

 **Nadia:** Imagine the innocent bystanders that are looking in on this! *laughs*

 **Hols:** *smirks a bit and then shrugs* They’ll have some quality entertainment, at least.

 **Nadia:** *just shakes her head and then smiles, hugging Hols* What do you think daddy will say?

 **Hols:** *hugs Nadia back and then pauses*…damn. Do I have to tell him?

 **Nadia:** *laughs* You’re lucky mom didn’t tell him about your little midnight excursion down in Hawaii. I don’t think you can keep another secret from him.

 **Hols:** *lips twitch in amusement of the secret she’s basically keeping from everybody* I suppose…

 **Nadia:** *giggles* He’d probably run a background check though.

 **Hols:** Probably already has, actually.

 **Nadia:** *chuckles and then nods* …does that mean when we’re all around I can refer to him as your boyfriend?!

 **Hols:** …*eyebrows rise*…and your excitement stems from…?

 **Nadia:** He likes to call me ‘the girlfriend’ whenever I hang with Dev, Liza, and him. A joke naturally, but! Shoe’s on the other foot now!

 **Hols:** *purses her lips in amusement, keeping a laugh at bay* If you want to I guess…

 **Nadia:** *teases* You’re not going to get used to the ‘boyfriend’ are you?

 **Hols:** Well they need a better term!

 **Nadia:** I’ll communicate your request to the relationship gods then.

 **Hols:** You’re not funny.

 **Nadia:** I’m quite hilarious, actually.

 **Hols:** *smiles and then shakes her head and tugs on Nadia’s arm* come on, let’s go eat. I’m starved.

 **Nadia:** …wait! *blinks in confusion* You haven’t told me how he asked you yet!

 **Hols:** *laughs*

september 2027 :: the quidditch pitch; irene & alcott

 **Alcott:** *walking with his broom behind his head, arms bracing it against his neck, he had decidedly gone straight to the field as he knew that what had transpired between him and Hols--his girlfriend he thought, the word sounding odd to him as it never had with anyone else. That was because, he thinks beneath a furrowed brow, this simply wasn't how it was with anyone else: his relationship with Hols had never been 'just another relationship', nor like any before it, and as such, it felt odd to just assign the word now. He had only bothered, he thought amused, because he knew that by now he could not stand to see her with anyone else--and a smaller more truthful part of him pointed out that was because he did not want anyone else. He looks up as he sees Irene, face breaking into a smile as he expects what she is going to say, and holds up a hand, coming to a stop in front of her* 

 **Irene:** *had decided that food could wait as she went out to look for Al, asking Blake if he had any idea and the older boy said he saw him take his broom with him when he left the common room/told her to stop using him as an informant because it toyed with his ego. Irene then left for the Quidditch pitch, her heels charmed so they wouldn't sink in to the grass and then sees Alcott walking up to her and at first she beams, a moment away from squealing, before she decides she wants to look annoyed, though that doesn't quite work out when he looks up and smiles at her, seeing as how she's back to smiling and wanting to squeal, and demand to know information immediately* You little arrogant twat, don't smileeeeee at me, I want to be annoyed with you, damnit, not wanting to *throws her arms around him anyways to hug him, a bright beam on her face and then hits his shoulder after she pulls away* SO! Whyyy did I have to hear from Trent, who heard from Trish, who heard from Aaron, who heard from Blake, who heard from that no good white trash ho Jessica, that you asked Hols out?! Jessica knew before me! This is unacceptable, and I demand that you get on your knees and grovel and beg for my forgiveness and while you're down there, DETAILS, SIR! I demand to know them!

 **Alcott:** *blinks as he looks at her, repeatedly, though not surprised by her fervor, more flatly overwhelmed and amused as she insults him, his smirk flicking and eyebrow wiggling in plain enjoyment and affection for Irene; he laughs in surprise as she hugs him anyways, dropping an arm to wrap around her back and hug her back, chuckles and shakes his head* Jessica heard it because she's addicted to eavesdropping and was around the corner. *lips twitch* I can't help it that people like talking about me so much, you know, I was planning on telling you. *he pops an eyebrow and then says laughs again, dropping the broom to rest against his side and leaning against it* ...Sorry babe, but there really aren't many details. She said I should get a medal and I kind of just...decided to ask. *shrugs a shoulder* Not in so many words though. I'd been stressing about it too much--much easier just to ask. 

 **Irene:** A lot of good *planning* did you. *hmphs* Your first thought should have been "Gee!" -and yes, it must start with that word- "Gee! I should go find Irene and let her know of this wonderful and fantastic occurrence!" But it wasn't. If I was a lesser person, I would be insulted. Insulted that I had to hear from that slutbag Jessica about this. But, I'm not, I'm a greater person! So I can totally forgive you either way, because you need to tell me more! *bounces a little, beaming, only to then frown a bit* You're such a boy- there's always details! *exhales, and then shakes her head before waving her hands around dismissively* But, whatever, that's not the details I want! *beamy* How are you feeling?! Is it a relief knowing now you have full and undeniable dibs? How did she react? Was her face about to explode from all the emotions she was trying to keep in check cuz she doesn't want you to think she's not cool? And if you didn't occupy a broom closet, then where did you go?! And why are you out here flying? Flying is not an act of celebration, more of an act of exasperation, least that's what it tends to be- see?! Details! Now I want answers. Aaaaand go!

 **Alcott:** *blinking in amusement and chuckling with a grin, still overwhelmed just to follow though he is not surprised and blinks, looking up once she says go and just honestly laughing once, twice and then shakes his head* Rene, you know I have never met anyone who talks as fast as you do. *pauses, trying to think* I'm...happy. I can't deny that I..certainly don't want her with anyone else, but I wouldn't say it's a...relief. *his brow pops*Because...I'm not exactly thinking of it as "dibs," it's...more than that. *shoulder shrugs and then his lips twitch* ...she did squeal once actually. As to where we went--you've been there, once, so...that room. *presses his lips together amused* And it's not out of exasperation. Well. Being badgered constantly as I anticipated...that's exasperating. *teasingly* 

 **Irene:** *smiling, amused, and shrugs* It's a gift. *polishes the back of her hand against her shoulder and then grins again as she listens to him, nodding enthusiastically as he says he's happy and then wiggles her eyebrows* I had a feeling, but I wanted to hear you say it out loud. *beams* Aww, she did?! That. is adorable. *nods once* Oh the orgy room, how fitting. *smirks once and then purses her lips in small reprimand* Oh shush, you know you love me. And it's not badgering, it's...*pauses, unaware of a word to describe it for a few seconds* ...it's harmless probing. Which I'm allowed, cause...I'm me.

 **Alcott:** *just chuckles, very amused and gestures away from him* Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no? *laughs again* ...your title, not mine. Though I'd never really given it a name. *lips flick* And well...you can ask away really, I don't exactly have any secrets. *pauses, thinking he has one rather large one, and then sighs, amending lightly* ...or many.

 **Irene:** *beams, immensely pleased, and then nods* Exactly. *grins* Well...it's a lot more appealing than the 'sun room'. And unfortunately, the room of requirement is already dubbed 'the come and go room'...otherwise, it would be fitting, seeing as how you use it *teases lightly and then brightens* And your honesty is one of my favorite things about you, babe! Reminds me of myself. *grins and then her smile softens* I'm really happy for you, Al.

 **Alcott:** *at 'come and go room' he just chuckles in delight* Oh Irene, you know how much I love you don't you? *grin flicks and he nods after a few moments* Thank you babe. Honestly, it ended up not feeling like such a big deal after all, just kind of...meant. *he shakes his head again, lips flicking* Merlin, I sound really corny, don't I? 

 **Irene:** *grins* it's hard not to. *fluffs up her hair but then beams sincerely, grin widening as she listens to him and then laughs once, but nods enthusiastically* Just a tiny bit, but that is definitely a good sign! *squeals and hugs him, pulling back and keeping an arm around his shoulder as she stands next to him now* C'mon darling! I'm hungry and from experience guys are always hungry, and you can ramble more corny poetic things that Hols has inspired in you *teasing*

 **Alcott:** *chuckles, hugging her back and shakes his head* No...I think if we keep talking about this I might die from shame and just what -- *he lays his arm across her shoulder as well and his head shakes once* would Hols do without me? *lips twitch teasingly, and he continues* And what would you do, for that matter? *pauses* Food though, food sounds great, that I'm always up for. 

 **Irene:** *laughs and then shrugs with her free shoulder* I have no idea! The world would be a truly desolate place without you. Let's avoid such a tragedy. *teases and then laughs* Yep, food and sex. How incredibly manly of you. Manly man, would you please lead the way in all your manliness?

 **Alcott:** *laughs, her lips flicking in his smirk and he takes her arm* Well, of course. *tucks his arm within hers teasingly and he shakes his head* Now hold on. If you got to quiz me, I think it's only fair you tell me about Dillon. 

 **Irene:** *grinning as he takes her arm* why thank you so much. *pauses and then laughs, beaming brightly* I suppose, if I must. *'sighs sufferingly'* to be fair. *grins and then chuckles, licking her lips* Oh my Merlin, where do I even start? *bites on her bottom lip* Give me a starting line, Al. Then let me run the race. 

september 2027 :: greenhouse #3; lynn & alcott

 **Lynn:** *is staring critically at a plant, her head propped up on her chin and red hair pushed up out of her eyes, head level with the flower; she has a her elbow on her sketchbook, her other hand tapping a colored pencil insistently as she mutters slowly* Okay, and you are going to stay the same color for me, right? *as she’s talking, she gets whipped with a tendril and she drops her jaw, amused in spite of herself, rubbing the small red welt* Down girl, geez. I just want to get your best side! *points with the pencil now* We’re both girls aren’t we? *she gestures with it* Cause I know you are, I can count reproductive parts as well as anyone, trust me. *brow wiggling as the tendril stays straight and she brightens* Thank you! Just stay…exactly like that…

 **Alcott:** *had been listening as he’d walked in, and now his lips flick amused* A talent I think everyone already knows, Lynn.

 **Lynn:** *jumps slightly, not having heard him enter as she is utterly absorbed and she frowns, rolling her eyes* Oh, surely you could have come up with a better line than that. Could have insinuated I’m a hermaphrodite or something.

 **Alcott:** *walking a bit closer and he snorts now, chuckling under his breath* Didn’t know Nick was into that…

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip and turns back to the plant, counting under her breath* Are you just here to bother me?

 **Alcott:** *pauses and then shakes his head* …no, actually. I…wanted to talk to you.

 **Lynn:** *narrows her eyes in curiosity and then says lightly* Well, way to butter me up.

 **Alcott:** *snorts* I didn’t say I wanted to lie to you. Just talk to you.

 **Lynn:** Nice. Can we talk later? I’m busy.

 **Alcott:** *brow arches; leans against the same counter and looking at her, ignoring this * Was the plant talking back, by the way?

 **Lynn:** *purses her lips and looks at him, pointing* This, is the result of a Puffapod. Its’ seeds burst into flower if dropped, which this one was, and I repotted it.

 **Alcott:** You dropped it?

 **Lynn:** *pokes him with the pencil, incredulous and then she laughs once in amusement; the plant had snapped him and he mutters a small ‘ow’* …good plant. I should name you.

 **Alcott:** *ignores this as well, though he warily leans away from the table and arches an eyebrow at her* I’m serious, Lynn. Can we talk for two point five seconds in a civilized manner?

 **Lynn:** I wasn’t the one doing the insulting. *exasperated exhale, she blows a strand of hair out of her eyes*

 **Alcott:** *sighs and then says blatantly* Hols is my girlfriend.

 **Lynn:** *eyes narrow and she pauses a moment, before saying idly* Do you want me to call a fife and drum corp? Haul out fireworks and find 76 trombones and a big parade? Like that wasn’t completely expected?

 **Alcott:** Lynn—

 **Lynn:** And do you really think I didn’t already know? *arches her eyebrow higher*

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head immediately* No, I knew she’d tell you first. And…that’s why I’m here.

 **Lynn:** So, you’re not here to gloat and jibe? Maybe I will go find the Music Man…

 **Alcott:** I’m here, because I know how important you are to Hols. 

 **Lynn:** *pauses, and looks up over the plant, waiting a moment, not wanting to admit she’s impressed and says slowly* I’d do anything for her. Including kick your ass.

 **Alcott:** If I hurt her, do you really think she won’t kick my ass herself?

 **Lynn:** *lips twitch* I have no problem being her back up. *pauses and then says quieter*…she’s like my sister, Alcott, I love her.

 **Alcott:** *decidedly rolled his eyes at the first remark and then nods slowly, folding his arms on his chest* Yes. And…I know it’s been killing her, to lie to you, and I…do not, want her to have to do that anymore.

 **Lynn:** *had startled, and then her brows narrow* …she hasn’t—-*pauses, knowing she’d suspected as much forever and then sighs and looks at him with a slight frown* I swear, Alcott, if you’ve put her in danger—

 **Alcott:** It’s not like that. *he pauses, thinking that well actually, it is, but that wasn’t what he meant and that really, Hols was the one who kept insisting on accompanying him and he says slowly*

 **Lynn:** *pauses and says quieter, realizing his altered manner and feeling a bit awkward, thinking its’ much easier when he’s just an ass and then she straightens and says with a snap* But, before you bear your soul here, can you just answer me one…unrelated thing?

 **Alcott:** *frowns, thinking that honestly, he was having a hard enough time admitting this and purses his lips together saying tightly* Maybe.

 **Lynn:** Do you regret all the things you said to me?

 **Alcott:** Do you regret insulting me?

 **Lynn:** Not especially.

 **Alcott:** Then why exactly do—

 **Lynn:** Because I was right.

 **Alcott:** *snorts* Naturally, you’re right, there was only ever once side to the story.

 **Lynn:** So you still hold to it then? *brow arches higher* You still think my mother’s a Mudblood whore, my father a traitor, myself worthless because of it?

 **Alcott:** *frown flicks, brow arching and after a moment, he said pained* …I didn’t say that.

 **Lynn:** *snorts and leans away from the table herself* No? *her heels make a clack against the ground* I might be the only one who remembers it, but sorry Alcott, deciding to actually acknowledge the fact that my best friend is goddamn gorgeous, not to mention a fantastic person does not mean I am just going to forget it.

 **Alcott:** *testily* I haven’t forgotten what you’ve said to me either, Lynn. It has absolutely nothing to do with why I’m here.

 **Lynn:** Not my problem you can’t take what you give. *eyes narrowing*

 **Alcott:** *eyebrow arches and he whistles incredulously* You truly are incredible, you know that? Do you know how you sound? I want, to tell you something, for Hols sake. Instead you’re going to—

 **Lynn:** *snaps* For Hols sake, I’m trying to forgive you. That requires talking to you. And knowing where you actually stand. So goddammit—

 **Alcott:** What you said to me? *eyebrow arches* For such a remarkable memory for what I said, you’d think you remember calling my parents out for bigotry, accusing me of continuing a…what was it? Legacy of hatred, torture, kidnap, rape and murder? As though I’m responsible for all my forefather’s ills?

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip* It was your attitude I was protesting. *snaps* You hate my family—or you did, til you wised up and realized what a great guy Dev is, and then you tried to freaking brainwash him—

 **Alcott:** What Devin did last year was not my damned fault, Lynn!

 **Lynn:** *bites her lip harder* I know that. *heated exhale* It was his. But still. *quieter* You haven’t answered my question.

 **Alcott:** What question?

 **Lynn:** Do you still think—

 **Alcott:** *arches his eyebrows* No, for fucks’ sake Lynn, I don’t! I don’t know what happened with your parents, and I really don’t care, it’s not my business. But I also don’t see why you should get to attack me for just defending my family.

 **Lynn:** *swallows tightly, looking at him for a moment and then nodding, breathless and saying instead* What is it you want to tell me for Hols?

 **Alcott:** *wry* So no apology, then, for going after them as long as I’ve know you?

 **Lynn:** You didn’t apologize. Why should I?

 **Alcott:** *pauses, and then says honestly, dropping his hands to his side* I’m sorry. *swallows*

 **Lynn:** *her head lifts with her shock and she takes a breath, nodding slowly and looks down, tucking hair behind her ear and saying slower* …apology accepted. I’m sorry too. *she swallows and looks back up, saying quieter* What is it you wanted to tell me?

 **Alcott:** *had nodded once, not entirely sure he bought the apology, but decided she probably didn’t buy his either and at the repeated question, he curses under his breath his decision to come here and then leans back, running a hand back through his hair* What I’m going to tell you, Lynn, I’m not asking you to keep secret for my sake. I’m asking you to keep it secret for hers.

 **Lynn:** *she pauses and then nods her head once* …all right.

 **Alcott:** *he bites his bottom lip and then adds, aggravated* I’m…trusting you, here, okay?

 **Lynn:** I get it. *she is speaking breathlessly, undeniably curious, but her words calmer; as he doesn’t continue, she waits a few moments and then says slowly* …it’s bad, isn’t it?

 **Alcott:** *his expression clearly pained, his eyes lift to hers and he swallows tightly, and says after a moment* Last…March. Dev, Liza…well, bunch of us were in the forest just…

 **Lynn:** Getting stoned. *brow flicks*

 **Alcott:** *swallows and then shrugs a shoulder* —hanging out. …well, I wanted to find the centaurs. …to make a very long story short—*bluntly*—I was bit by a werewolf.

 **Lynn:** *startled and she straightens up, her jaw dropping once, and then her eyebrow arches as she mouths the word back at him ‘werewolf?!’ and then she blinks and her brow furrows* …and Hols…?

 **Alcott:** …knew. She knew first actually. I mean, besides Dev and Eliza. *he blinks at her, a bit surprised she doesn’t seem to be freaking out and continuing hesitantly* …she was in the forest the first time I…transformed, as…*he gestures away from him*

 **Lynn:** *breathes out* …as a lioness.

 **Alcott:** Yes. *swallows, throat tightening* She…intervened.

 **Lynn:** *bites her bottom lip* That was the night Sam got attacked.

 **Alcott:** Yes.

 **Lynn:** …you, attacked him.

 **Alcott:** *eyes narrow* He attacked me, actually. *frown flicks*

 **Lynn:** *quieter* …sorry. *she takes a breath, running her hand through her hair and then says slowly* …so Hols has been going with you, when you transform? *sharply inhales* Despite how unbelievably dangerous that is? …Because it doesn’t surprise me.

 **Alcott:** *his lips flick* Yes, well. *he shrugs a shoulder* She said she didn’t want anyone else getting hurt.

 **Lynn:** Dev knows too? *pauses and then ahhhs* Oh, but of course, his sudden interest in brewing Wolfsbane…

 **Alcott:** *nods once briefly, honestly still waiting for her to stop putting pieces together and just freak out*

 **Lynn:** *licking her bottom lip and looks at him evenly* So you’re a werewolf.

 **Alcott:** I’m a werewolf. *repeats it in her even tone, brow arching*

 **Lynn:** *breathing rather quickly, but she doesn’t say anything for several moments, now feeling a bit guilty for having bothered him before, as she’s recognizing now why this would have been hard for him to admit and she exhales and then after a long pause, she tucks hair behind her ear again and nods* Well, okay.

 **Alcott:** *now seriously wrong footed, not having expected this reaction and he blinks once in hesitant* Okay?

 **Lynn:** Okay. *her lips flick in a soft smile*

 **Alcott:** …is this some kind of trick? I’m not gonna find it plastered all over the school tomorrow?

 **Lynn:** *arches an eyebrow amused* I’m not going to tell, anymore than I told that Hols became an animagus. *she bites her bottom lip and asks hesitantly* …is she safe with you?

 **Alcott:** Werewolf bites are only dangerous to humans. *swallows* And trust me, she is more than capable of restraining me on her own, even without the Wolfsbane.

 **Lynn:** That’s where you guys were in Hawaii wasn’t it? *lips flick* I mean, I did think you guys were off being animals but…had no idea how accurate I was. *amused*

 **Alcott:** Ha ha.

 **Lynn:** *chuckles once and then shrugs and turns back to her plant, saying quietly* I really won’t tell, Alcott. If she trusts you…so do I. But for the love of Merlin, if you bite anyone I care about—

 **Alcott:** I’m not going to bite anyone. *resolutely* It won’t happen.

 **Lynn:** *looks at him sideways and then she just nods once, saying with a bit of a softer smile* Right. Well, thanks for telling me. ..Truly. I appreciate it. *bites her bottom lip* And just…so you know. *her eyebrow arches* I haven’t ever…seen Hols like this, about anyone. She really is…happy. Practically deliriously so.

 **Alcott:** *smile softens* Yes, well, she’s not alone in that.

 **Lynn:** *flatly, protectively* She better not be. You better treat her—like an Empress, Alcott, do you have that? You’re never going to meet anyone better.

 **Alcott:** *lips flick* Funnily enough, I think we might be on the same page on that account.

 **Lynn:** Mm. Well. Whatever.

 **Alcott:** *lips flick* But I shouldn’t mistake that for meaning you like me, right?

 **Lynn:** *laughs, perhaps her first real genuine laugh and she nods* Anymore than you like me, no.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles and shrugs, saying pointedly, backing up* Long as we’re straight on that. *exhales, honestly thrilled she took it so well, and a bit surprised that it doesn’t seem to have changed her opinion at all—he decides he likes that, and without so much as a wave he turns and leaves*

 **Lynn:** *looks back at the plant, muttering at it* Well, how about that? Alcott’s a werewolf, he and Hols are official, and he doesn’t hate my family. Weird day. *blinks once and then laughs suddenly to herself, delirious, confused and amused all at once, going back to shade in the tree, fingering the sapphire on her neck, decidedly turning her thoughts to happy ones with Nick from that morning.*

&.

september 2027 :: alcott's room

 **Alcott:** *walking into his room, rather late, and he pauses seeing Eliza sprawled backwards on his bed, head hanging off of it with a book in her hand and he groans*

 **Eliza:** *book goes down immediately* Well there you are.

 **Alcott:** There’s no chance at all we can postpone this interrogation? *feigns a yawn* Seriously—

 **Devin:** *chuckles over top his book* Aw, Eliza we should let him sleep first, looks like Hols wore him out…

 **Alcott:** *stops yawning immediately and groans, leaning over to find the nearest book and throw it at Devin*

 **Devin:** *lifts his hand to bat the book away with his own effortlessly, laughing*

 **Eliza:** *over top of this* When did you ask her out?!

Alcott/ **Devin:** This morning.

 **Alcott:** *looks at Devin* …how—Nadia.

 **Devin:** *lips flick* Course mate.

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head and collapses onto his bed, nudging Eliza to move over with his foot*

 **Eliza:** *pokes his foot in return and does not move* No, the whole school knows it was this morning by now, I meant…when? Like, how did you decide?

Dev: You are kidding right? He’d decided two months ago.

 **Eliza:** Right, how did you decide to stop being a coward?

 **Alcott:** *jaw prat falls* I wasn’t being a coward!

 **Eliza:** It certainly took you long enough.

 **Devin:** *faux apologetically, smirking* It did, yeah.

 **Alcott:** Sometimes I truly hate you both, yeah?

 **Eliza:** *ignores* And more importantly, why weren’t we told?

 **Devin:** *points at her with his book* That’s Eliza on that one, could care less mate.

 **Eliza:** *rolls her eyes* Way to be ‘cool’ Devin.

 **Alcott:** *his lips flick* Well if you two really knew it all already, why should I need to tell you?

 **Eliza:** *gasps and straightens up* Because I need details! How did you ask? Were titles involved or are you still both being an idiot on that matter?!

 **Alcott:** *blinking at her* ..no, she’s my girlfriend.

 **Eliza:** *lips flick in a wide grin* Finally.

 **Devin:** *tossing his book onto the counter* It was getting a bit tiresome.

 **Eliza:** How did you ask though? Were you planning it or did it just kind of finally slip out? Where were you two? Are you gonna remember this date for your anniversary or Kendells?

 **Alcott:** *looks at Dev, gesturing with his thumb* She been like this all night?

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* You have no idea.

 **Eliza:** *resolutely* And I’m not leaving until I get answers.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch as well, still looking at Dev* Hey, I got a letter from my Mum this morning too?

Dev: *teasingly* Oh did you? What was it about? What color stationary? What was the stamp on it? Can you please recite every detail of this letter verbatim for me to obsess and squeal ove—*gets hit by a pillow and breaks off laughing*?

 **Eliza:** *threw the pillow and now looks back at Alcott* Seriously. Not moving.

 **Alcott:** You know, Hols probably won’t like another girl in my bed.

 **Eliza:** *lips twitching amused* Then I say you better tell me before you have problems with your girlfriend.

 **Alcott:** Kind of forgot the questions to be honest, you asked them really pretty quickly…

 **Eliza:** How did you ask?

 **Alcott:** *sighs* She said I deserved a medal. I said I wanted a different reward. And then I just kind of said the reward I wanted was her to say yes.

 **Eliza:** *lips flick, beaming* And then you asked her to be your girlfriend?

 **Alcott:** Not in so many words.

Dev: She’d have laughed in his face.

 **Alcott:** Helpful Dev, so helpful.

Dev: *shrugs a shoulder* True though. Hols hates the terms.

 **Alcott:** I got that. *lips twitch* Didn’t stop her from saying no.

 **Eliza:** …oh look at you. So proud.

 **Alcott:** *laughs and shrugs a shoulder* And if I am?

 **Eliza:** So long as it’s not merely because you got a ‘yes’ in general, no problem at all.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch* It’s not…because I got a yes in general.

 **Eliza:** *smile softens* …well I guess this explains why you missed class and lunch though.

 **Alcott:** *laughs, saying nonchalantly* It’s first week-

Dev: Second week—

 **Alcott:** Right, second week back, I’m not missing anything.

 **Devin:** And he would have been if he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity.

 **Alcott:** *nods resolutely* Right, exactly.

 **Devin:** How far did you two go anyways?

 **Alcott:** *smirks*

 **Eliza:** So, this is the part of the conversation I don’t want to hear yeah? *points at Alcott* Next you’ll ask about him and Nadia? When you guys whip it out to compare sizes I—

 **Alcott:** *breaks over her laughing* Woah-woah-

 **Devin:** *simultaneously* Eliza—

 **Alcott:** That is not—

 **Devin:** Not happening.

 **Eliza:** …yeah, not homophobic at all.

 **Devin:** …in the way that makes sense, sure. Got no problem with that. *lifts his book back up*

 **Eliza:** *purses her lips smirking, a few moments pass*

 **Alcott:** Seriously. *points at his bed, lifting his knees up and leaning back against the wall* You done now?

 **Eliza:** …was she happy?

 **Alcott:** Very happy.

 **Eliza:** *beams* Did she squeal?

 **Alcott:** Which part of the afternoon are you—you know, never mind, she squealed both times. *nods* Now, I want my bed.

 **Devin:** *snorted behind his book*

 **Eliza:** Ahhh, *teasingly as she gets up* I bet you do, she didn’t finish you fully did she?

 **Alcott:** *laughs, answering teasingly as well*  Why, you offering?

 **Eliza:** Just concerned for my best mate is all, if his girl can’t—

 **Alcott:** Trust me. *lips twitch* She never had a problem there.

 **Devin:** *helpfully behind his book* Half of what Lynn says is true it’s Alcott keeping up with her.

 **Alcott:** *rolls eyes* That’s not true. *pauses and then looks back over at him* …seriously though? You mean with Lynn?

 **Devin:** *groans and lifts the book Alcott threw at him to throw back* That is my sister, mate.

 **Alcott:** *lips twitch, laughing as he parries the book* You’re the one who brought it up!

 **Eliza:** *ducked the book* All right. Fine, I’ll let you two get on with your masculine, macho evening. *leans over and plants a kiss on Alcott’s cheek purposefully*

 **Devin:** *teasingly* Hols isn’t gonna like that.

 **Eliza:** *promptly kisses Dev’s cheek too; he laughs and rubs it, messing up her hair and pushing her away from him*

 **Alcott:** Ahh, neither is Nadia. You know, nor Rory.

 **Eliza:** Love you bothhh. *hops out the door, chuckling, only adding just before she goes* In all seriousness though, happy for you mate. *points at Alcott before shutting the door*

 **Alcott:** Yeah. *waves her off with a smile and collapses fully on his bed, looking up at the ceiling a moment and tossing the book on the floor* …all right.

 **Devin:** *lifts an eyebrow and looks up* What?

 **Alcott:** I told Lynn.

 **Devin:** Told her what?

 **Alcott:** That I’m a…*he swallows* wolf.

 **Devin:** *he blinks and lowers the book slowly, sitting up straighter* Yeah? Why?

 **Alcott:** …cause it was bothering Hols to lie to her, it was obvious.

 **Devin:** *grins, but decidedly doesn’t tease him* …and?

 **Alcott:** And nothing. She hardly reacted really, not to that. We kind of apologized to each other too but…

 **Devin:** *lips twitch and he nods* I’m glad you told her though. I don’t exactly like lying about it either.

 **Alcott:** *groans and shakes his head* I have to tell Nadia too don’t I?

 **Devin:** You mean Hols actual sister? Uh, yeah, I think that would be a good idea.

 **Alcott:** Yeah, and you don’t have an ulterior motive at all.

 **Devin:** I’d love to stop lying to my girlfriend yeah, thanks.

 **Alcott:** *nods* I’ll tell her as soon as I can see her alone.

 **Devin:** …care if I’m there?

 **Alcott:** *blinks, frowning a bit* Suppose not.

 **Devin:** Lynn really had nothing to say?

 **Alcott:** Oh she had plenty to say—*gestures away from him*—just not about that.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch* You thought she was gonna freak didn’t you?

 **Alcott:** …I’m a little surprised she didn’t, yeah.

 **Devin:** Lynn doesn’t care what someone is mate. *shrugs a shoulder* You could be part leprechaun and she wouldn’t give a damn. *pauses* Well she’d take the mickey out on you but—

 **Alcott:** *waves it off* Yeah, yeah.

 **Devin:** Nadia won’t really care either. *shakes his head* They aren’t prejudiced. Nor will either of them tell. *pause* I mean they might point out to Hols she willingly puts herself in danger once a month but—

 **Alcott:** I’ve been pointing that out myself since it started mate.

 **Devin:** *lips twitch and he nods, decidedly giving up on his book and laying back in his bed* Yeah, true. *happily* And when are you going to tell me how she does that?

 **Alcott:** *blinks* What?

 **Devin:** If you bit her, she’d turn too. What, does she keep you chained up magically or…?

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head* Her secret to tell. Not mine.

 **Devin:** …Ahhuh. Fine. *pauses and then adds comfortably* And seriously, congrats mate. Know you’d been wanting this for a while…

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* You’ve been wanting it just as long.

 **Devin:** Longer. If you two didn’t get your acts together soon, think Rene and I might have forced you into a room to talk.

 **Alcott:** *laughs and nods slowly* Wouldn’t surprise me. You just think it’ll be easier with Nadia..

 **Devin:** *grin flicks* But I meant…. you both seem honestly happy.

 **Alcott:** *laughs* Yeah. *shrugs a shoulder* Yeah…I am. *and he just slowly, honestly, smiles*


	14. Praying for a Riot

**Alcott:** Yo, Nadia. *He punched his own palm as he rounded the corner and suddenly smirks to see her. Leaving the study room designated for prefects.* Why am I not surprised? *He dropped his hands to his side as he stops, leaning against the wall with an easy grin.* I don't know - you and Dev on my case, looks like I'll just have to stop breaking the rules. 

 **Nadia:** *Her hair flips away from her face as she turned her head suddenly to see who had called her name, her books held firmly in her arms because she wasn't startled (she was not. Nope. Nada.) Seeing who it was, she beamed, a smile she saved for her friends appearing on her face, paired with a slight exasperation she usually reserved for Rene. It was quickly becoming an Alcott expression as well* The day you stop breaking the rules Al, is the day I get an O in Potions. *As in, never. She reached him and then gave him a quick hug before she teased* Unless you've come to turn yourself in?

 **Alcott:** *Thank God he grew up with Eliza. The hug didn't throw him off. Okay he blinked before hugging her back -- well, he squeezed and then worried he (the wolf...which blast, was him too) might squish little Nadia he let go. That reminded him. Still smirking,* And take all the fun outta life? *Ha.* Catch me if you can, luv. *He winks.* Oh, as for the O -- I'm sure you could get Dev to get you that; seeing as you have him whipped and all. *Then he held both hands up in surrender to gesture; I kid. Mostly.*

 **Nadia:** *A good movie, she almost said, starring Leo DeCaprio one of her favorite older actors before she realized Al had probably never seen the movie "Catch me if you can". Or Inception. Shame. She fought off a giggle at the notion of Dev "being whipped" and shot him a reprimanding glare before she added brightly* Just because Hols has you on a leash doesn't mean I treat Dev the same way. *she pats his shoulder, unable to contain the giggle any longer.* And besides, what kind of example would I be setting as a prefect? A very poor one.

 **Alcott:** *Thoroughly amused at the irony, he tilts his head. Dog on a leash...well in a manner of speaking. More exciting and passionate ways he thought; wolf on chains. Smirking,* Well...I wouldn't say I'm whipped, but oddly enough...*He looks both ways more for show; his ears already had picked up who was nearby and swiveled to hear (and dear God, Camille's perfume from down the hall was choking him).* I actually do have something to tell you. Maybe a little more private locale? 

 **Nadia:** *eyebrows arch* There is no way that sentence ends with something appropriate. *"Oddly enough" after whipped and leash was not something that sounded like she wanted to hear. That was, when she thought it was a tease or a joke. But that quickly turned out not to be accurate as Al began to check if the coast was clear- she thought it was but apparently not. She had never had good instincts about that. Curious, and a little concerned, she nodded* Sure. The study room was empty when I left it?

 **Alcott:** Of course not. *Smirk momentarily bitter as he though how precisely 'not appropriate' it was -- Merlin he really was just into bearing his soul today wasn't he? -- he forced the smirk back in place as he walked with her towards the room.* I have a reputation to upkeep after all. *He winks at her, hand sliding easily into his pocket.* I wouldn't want to disappoint. 

 **Nadia:** *He was odd. It wasn't noticeable but Nadia was a people person (most of the time), she understood them. And why she didn't know Al as well as she knew the rest of her friends, she could tell something was off. What she -didn't- understand was why he was telling her. Even out of the Huffies, he got along best with Rene. Kindred spirits and what not.* Heaven forbid. *her lips twitch briefly before she took off prefect's badge and pressed it to the door handle, allowing them entry. Prefects had their choice of passwords each year and they had all agreed- verbal passwords just didn't cut it anymore. She trusted she didn't need to tell Al to not say anything- besides, as if -he- needed any more hiding places in the castle. She still remembered the nightmare of a search party the morning after Kendell's. She waited until the door close behind him before turning her eyes, wide from concern, towards him again* What did you want to tell me then?

 **Alcott** : *Amused at the way she got them in, he mentally took note of that. Borrowing (not stealing of course) Eliza's badge then would make exploring only too fun with Hols again -- particularly if they tried out that Felix spell..this had potential. Yet it was driven from mind by her simple question. Leaning back against a too-comfortable cushion and folding his arms, he bit down on his lip. And then hissed -- right, damn teeth.* Well. I'm ... only telli ng you because of Hols. I know it's been killing her not to be able to tell you. *He rubs his forehead.* Do...you remember how when Sam was...attacked by an animal last year, he was convinced he saw Hols? 

 **Nadia:** *That made sense, she acknowledged with a small nod and she was actually rather pleased to hear him being a little selfless for his sister's sake before the anticipating dread filled her. Killing Hols to tell her...what? What was happening?* Yes...I remember. *But she hadn't believed that for a second, Sam was just looking for someone to blame. And if she was being (horribly) honest, he deserved it after what he did to Justin. It wasn't something she was particularly proud of admitting however, wishing bodily harm on someone.* You mean this is about what really happened? *What if that's how Hols and Al first bonded, kicking the shit out of Sam? ...Was it strange she didn't find it stranger? But no, Sam had been left a bloody mess "inches near death", even Hols would have never...now she was confused.*

 **Alcott:** *Noting her instant panic he held a hand up -- trying not to feel guilty too long for flustering her. Really, he was trying to lay the groundwork here wasn't he? Merlin, her heart was racing, he couldn't determine between beats. It rang in his ear.* Yes, it is. Hols was there - ironically considering the blame, she saved his life. Saved mine too. *If he wasn't sure he'd tear clean through his tongue he would have bitten hard now. It sickened him, the sudden rush for blood the though brought. Hey, would his tongue grow back!? He snorted to himself. Gotta have some advantages...that's what he said too. Breathing out, he added,* It's what really happened in Hawaii too. Though I'm better...in control now. *He rubs his forehead yet again -- God, did he have to sweat so easily?* I .. -was- the animal that attacked Sam, Nadia -- though...not intentionally. It...*he furrows his brows and just said simply,* It was a full moon. *Dead silence. As usual, he filled it with a wry comment.* I know you're shocked Hols fell for a dangerous animal.

 **Nadia:** *That...sounded a lot more like Hols. But she was still confused. What did Hols save both of them from, he was continuing on to Hawaii now and Merlin did that throw her for a loop, what did Hawaii have to do with anything? Until it hit her like a ton of bricks. Well, first it was maybe a quarter ofa ton but by the words "full moon" the full weight had dropped, along with her mouth. She brought a hand up to cover it as her eyes began to water. Al was a werewolf. How -horrible-! No, no, that wasn't fair! Al was just a boy, they were just teens- this wasn't fair! The only reason she didn't march up and hug him was that to him this was old news. Except it wasn't! This was only how many months? Mental math sucked. And just- oh God, poor Al. He deserved better. Another thought flashed her mind- the half formed images of the fur and fangs she kept seeing in the crystal ball, the mouths open in what she knew would be screams even if she couldn't hear them, blond hair matted with blood...She rapidly blinked away the tears in her eyes and dropped her hand once she was sure she wasn't just going to gape stupidly at him.* I know you're trying to make a joke to play it off, but you shouldn't refer to yourself as an animal, Al, you're not. *she licked her lips and then asked curiously* So Hols knows, and Liza? Dev? Them too, yeah? *She vaguely remembered Dev saying he got extra extra plus perfect for knowing the specifics of brewing wolfsbane potion.* ...How are you? Silly question of course but...*she licked her lips again* I mean...oh fudge nuggets, Al. *She couldn't help it. Her books were on a table and she was giving him another hug, a tighter one. And if he wanted to peel her off, well, he would be welcome to try, super human strength or not.*

 **Alcott:** *It seemed much as he enjoyed the extra-sensitive senses in regard to one sister was how much they discomforted him in the other -- well, maybe discomforted was too negative. Truthfully he didn't know how to take her reaction; on the one hand he appreciated her attempts at comfort and on the other bloody hell he did not want her to look at him differently. Yes, he knew that was an idiotic goal but -- oh he just wanted her to know precisely how insane Hols was for being with him all right? The thought flipped his sheepish grin lopsided, his inky eyes lightening amber instead.* Yeah -- not by choice really. Eliza and Dev... found me. That was when you and Dev...well. *He shrugged off the old news -- and then suddenly was engulfed. Blinking in shock at the strength of her grip, he made sure to catch her...you know, just in case.* Bloody Nadia -- you sure -you're- not the one with a furry alter-ego? 

*Abashed by how much comfort he seemed to take from the embrace, he held her one handed. His grin was still lopsided as he asserted firmly,* I'm fine. Honestly, so once a month - tonight actually - I sprout hair, and run around on four legs chasing tails while Hols burrows into my side -- it's not that out of the ordinary. *He smirked as he let her go, plainly ignoring that she'd already stated his need to make it a joke.* And I am an animal, Nadia. *His shrug was sad, but he held her gaze steady.* I'm not gonna deny the truth. And ye'h'--Hols was...well coincidentally there as a lioness; she peeled me off Sam. Yelled at me as she does -*he grinned more honestly*- said she was gonna make sure I didn't kill anyone, even though it's much better now Dev's learned to brew Wolfsbane. Oh, that reminds me. *And he slid his hand in his pocket to pull out his flask -- tensing for the taste, before casting back the final dose and swallowing what tasted like bloody bogwater with animal sick in sheer determination. As he lowered the flask, he pinched his nose (ignoring the little swirls of steam leaving his nostrils), trying to remember where he'd been.* ...oh, who else knows? Sienna -- it's the predominant excuse for our break up -- and I told Lynn yesterday, for the same reason I'm telling you now. *firmly* But my Ma and Uncle don't know - and they're not going to.

 **Nadia:** *Yeah, Nadia figured that was around the time of their living hell, it made sense. She was glad Al had not gone through it alone, bloody hell, no-one should have to go through that period let alone...alone. Oh cheese-balls.* Of a rabbit, maybe. *She exhaled and squeezed him tightly again before stepping back, her eyes still wet but the tears were contained, that was the important thing. She was glad to hear he was "okay" even if it was a big fat lie (maybe not big and fat, it could be average sized) and even glad to hear the joke even if she frowned at him for it. It was her prerogative.* No you're not Al, you're human. *Human, not beast or being or however the hell they tried to classify werewolves this decade. So Hols and him were running off every full moon, gallivanting as animals (animals but -human-) while Dev made him potions and he kept trying to live a normal life, right, no big deal, just another day in the life of Alcott Brackner, Slytherin extraordinaire-slash-Quidditch star-slash prat! 

Could she call him a prat yet? Were they at that point in their friendship? She had just squeezed the air out of his lungs in her world famous embrace-of-caring, so really, that was pretty much it for her. Still, she wasn't going to even mildly insult him after he had just shared that with her, knowing that he didn't have to.* Hols is -insane-. Who in their right mind steps into the middle of a werewolf attack to save someone they detested? No one. Because Hols wasn't in the right mind, she wasn't even in the left one, she was somewhere else entirely where she thought she could save the planet. And damnit at this moment in time, she was more inclined to believe her. If she didn't kill her first. 

Nose wrinkling as she saw him down what she guessed was the potion, she nodded along as he finished explaining. Well, that was sad but...not unexpected regarding Sienna. And really, her loss, Hols' gain, which was Nadia's gain because if her sister was happy, she was happy. Even if she was...insane. Daddy Shawn would lose all his hair in a moment if he ever found out. Nadia was glad Al had told Lynn too (and was -extremely- glad she had not been there to witness it) and then just nodded (sad he felt like he couldn't trust his mother and uncle, but she would not prod. His choice, she respected it.* Thanks for telling me, Al. I know you didn't have to. I'm...sorry, you have to live like this now. *And do you by chance happen to turn into a black wolf with red eyes and are you sure you have enough wolfsbane? because I think you might go on a rampage and hurt someone. Not very polite additions.* But I would just like to point out that I -knew- your quaffle throws were packing extra punch- the one I intercepted last year splintered my palm bone, whatever its called. I just thought you were doing steroids, explains the-- *she puffed out her cheeks and flexed her biceps.*

 **Alcott:** *No, he didn't have to -- but he didn't like making Hols keep it from her sister. He just shook his head, bristling as she continued and said simply,* Don't be--just part of who I am now. Not like it's your fault. *His eyes still amber, they darkened as he realized her heart was still pounding furiously fast. Was she that scared? -Well, what did you expect-, a bitter mental voice chided, -oh you just turn into a monster once a month and nearly killed someone, no big deal?-. He was surprised then and chuckling suddenly as she continued - Nadia had a bloody decent poker face. Odd, for one so expressive. But if he couldn't hear her pounding heart, smell the rushing blood through her veins, he'd have thought she was relaxed.* Yeah, well. *He shrugged exaggerated.* Gotta have some advantages. Sorry about your nameless-palm-bone though. *That was genuine, despite his smirk; no need to dwell on the injury. Beaming,* Aw luv, I wouldn't do steroids -- messes up your appetite. *Obviously, that made it unacceptable. He waited before just asserting, blunt,* I'm not gonna hurt her, Nadia -- or anyone. I swear. 

 **Nadia:** *No, it wasn't but...she was still sorry. But no more than she was amazed by how well he took it. Outwardly, at least, she knew as much about internal conflict as any teenager did and those were boundaries she would never dream of crossing, because his turmoil (or maybe lack there of? Was he reallythat calm about all this? She wouldn't be, but she was made of less tough stuff than macho-man-Al. She laughed and waved it off* Forgotten. The loss hurt more than my hand. *Not a very happy night, not a very -sober- night. She had missed the fucking penalty- no, she didn't think she would ever let that go. Looking up after a small smile in response to the steroid comment, she was instead more captivated by the sureness in his tone and then wondered if her wariness over the vision was showing on her face. She didn't want to burden him with that, especially knowing that things were not always what they se emed- she might not be seeing him after all. But something was coming, something bad, and she didn't know to stop it any more than she knew how to stop Justin from being attacked last year either- another vision she had read wrong.* That's not what I'm worried about, Al. *she admitted softly, realizing the way she worded it revealed that she was indeed worried about something but if he was trying to assure her then he already knew that. Neither could she offer any more explanations though, so instead she placed a hand on his arm* Add yourself into that promise okay? Don't get hurt, you're not -entirely- indestructible...*she smiled and then teased* And Devin would be devastated beyond repair without you.

 **Alcott:** *Smirking undeniably pleased with the assessment -- his gaze fluttered to the hand she had on his arm. Nodding absently just once, his gaze flicked to hers in surprise. If that wasn't what she was worried about, what was it? Was that just another carefully worded statement of cover and concern? Her heart rate had slowed anyway - he couldn't help but notice. Yet he didn't think Nadia so blatantly lying ...well, ever. Brows furrowed as he pondered if he dare ask, the moment that thought crossed his mind - he asked in what he hoped passed casual if not quite genuine mirth.* Aaand you are worried about instead , Nadia? *Fuck not daring, basically.* C'mon, help a clueless -*Ha as if.*- guy out, don't make me analyze here. *He winked, but his gaze darted back to her hand on his arm as he added,* And yeah all right. Nadia...you know I never had an issue with you and Dev right? 

 **Nadia:** *Stubborn man. She could respect his right to private turmoil but could he do the same? No. Granted, she was more amused that annoyed, for he reminded her so much of Rene at that moment. She sighed before she thought of how best to answer that, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. She had to be honest.* I don't know yet...shadows mostly, in the midst of being formed... *She cleared her throat and then shook her head, realizing she was sounding crazy, she chuckled and took her hand back and hugged herself quickly before she looked up in surprise* You didn't? I....I just figured you changed your mind, after.

 **Alcott:** Shadows. *He tried his best not to sound dismissive, he really did -- but...seriously? He thought he had enough to be worried about before random nightmarish shadows made themselves a problem. Unless it was like him getting choked on fumes or something and well if he got a satisfactory high first -- oh she would smack him for that.* Well, let me know if that becomes more specific. *Distracted as she pulled back, he smiles more honestly.* No, I didn't. I think he overestimated how much I cared who he dated --but well. *'Who could blame him?' his shrug said.* Always thought you were pretty cute actually.

 **Nadia:** *No, she probably wouldn't tell him actually, especially not if what she thought ended up being true. And what good had come of telling before when her credibility and believability in general lay somewhere between zero and zip. She couldn't blame him though, Al was a practical person. If he saw it, if he had facts, he believed it. He was very much like Dev in that manner. Dev was just a little (note: a lot) more sensitive. As she heard him recount his actual attitude towards it all, the barely restrained scoff came out full blast.* So it was basically a "I don't give a flying fart". Very nice. *Actually, if she thought about it, it was. They needed more people like that, minding their own business, instead of worrying about who shagged who in how many positions and the like. Not that she would say that out loud. Besides, she was long over it. Gossip buzzed around her ears and she ignored it, save for a few trigger words that sparked her interest still. Mostly Trent's name, because she'd always tell anyone who spoke against him off. And now she had the threat of docking points! Not that she would ever abuse her power like that. Course not.* Aww, thanks Al. *she beamed* I know. You and the rest of the male student body. *Sometimes she forgone modesty too. She chuckled and then picked up her books again, looking at the time* We should probably get going, dinner's gonna start soon. And I've long learned not to ask men if they're hungry.

 **Alcott:** Basically. *He agreed with a shrug and smirk of nonchalance; he took it in stride. Of course it was nice -- Nadia didn't seem the type to enjoy being the center of gossip (unless it was regarding Quidditch and that, he agreed, was wholeheartedly different). Happier to see her honest smile (and to know her heart rate remained steady now), he nodded.* Don't like being told the obvious? *He smirked, only his gaze naturally turned to the window. Dinner. Which he should skip. Turning back, he said passing lightly --* Well actually, I'll have to join you another time luv. *He smiled--and realizing he was probably in danger of another tight hug, he leaned to peck her cheek and dart towards the door.He called back, * Thank Devin for me? *Smirked, waved, and was gone. 

 **Nadia:** *Oh, right, yes because tonight was the full moon. He probably had to...prepare or something. She almost gave him another hug right there but he just leaned in to kiss her cheek and dart away as quick as he could (did lycanthropy give him legilimency?!). She exhaled exasperatedly and called out* Cuidate! *Protective tendencies usually came out in Spanish sometimes. Pausing after realizing something she followed after him and opened the door, popping her head out and yelling again* And if I find out you broke into this room on your own Alcott Brackner, I -will- dock points, don't think I won't! And no running in the hallways! *She hmphed and then exhaled, accio'ing her books to her again and headed to the Great Hall. Being nervous made her hungrier.

september 2027 :: outside

 

 **Irene:** *laying down on the grass with Alisha and Nadia in a circle* You know what’s weird?

 **Alisha:** The fact that we’re laying down on the grass on a Sunday afternoon when we have OWL’s in seven months?

 **Irene:** That we all have guys and we’re lying down on the grass with each other like we used to do when we had no guys.

 **Nadia:** *giggles, putting her hands over her face momentarily* Yeah. A bit weird. But it just means we love each other a loooot.

 **Alisha:** Devin’s with Al and Eliza isn’t he?

 **Nadia:** *lips twitch*…I still love you both.

 **Alisha:** uh huh. I see how it is.

 **Irene:** Oh please, Alisha. You know perfectly well if Reid wasn’t studying like the Ravenclaw that he is-

 **Alisha:** Oh shut uuuup.

 **Nadia:** *laughs* Busted.

 **Alisha:** We’re all equally guilty.

 **Irene:** Except me, of course. Chicks before dicks.

 **Nadia:** Where’s Dillon then?

 **Irene:** Not too sure actually. Off somewhere being macho *waves her hands around dismissively*

 **Alisha:** *laughs* Macho? Is that what we’re gonna call reciting Shakespeare?

 **Irene:** *tsks* Hey, no poking fun. *pokes her instead*

 **Nadia:** *giggles* I think it’s rather cute, really.

 **Irene:** it’s an endearing quality. *beams* Like when he speaks to me in Italian. It’s like when you speak to me in Spanish, Nadia, but better.

 **Nadia:** *laughs* Why is it better?

 **Irene:** Well you don’t whisper it in my ear and then kiss my neck afterwards.

 **Alisha:** *laughs* No, she did one time!

 **Nadia:** Oh my God, shut up about that! *covering her face with her hands*

 **Irene:** *giggles* You were so wasted, it was hilarious.

 **Nadia:** No it was not. *lets her hands fall from her face again* It was embarrassing. Not to mention, the next day I felt like I was dying.

 **Alisha:** Do you remember she tried taking off her clothes in the common room?

 **Nadia:** I thought I was in the dormitory!

 **Irene:** *giggles* Yeah and you were saying how Al wasn’t allowed to kiss Dev anymore.

 **Alisha:** *laughing* And you also said you were glad Liza had Rory otherwise you might not have liked her as much.

 **Nadia:** *blushing, turning around to bury her face in the grass* Itdidnot! *muffled*

 **Irene:** You did so! *beaming* And that you were sad that Dev had friends now cuz it meant you had to share. *giggles*

 **Nadia:** *looks up from the grass with a horrified expression* ….I did not.

 **Alisha:** You did too! *biting on her bottom lip to keep from laughing as she turns around to face Nadia*

 **Irene:** It was mondo cute to see you jealous babe *turning around as well, propping her head on her hands, grinning*

 **Nadia:** that’s…horrible. I didn’t mean it! I was drunk- I didn’t say that in front of Dev or anyone else did I?

 **Alisha:** *shakes head* Nope, I mean he brought you to the common room, but we took it from there. He was drunk too. Wanted to stay.

 **Irene:** I had to remind him that boys weren’t allowed in the girls dormitory.

 **Nadia:** *puts her face in her hands again* I’m a horrible person.

 **Alisha:** For wanting your boyfriend all to yourself? *blows a strand of hair out of her face* Hardly.

 **Irene:** Babe no one can blame you. You had him all to yourself for about 14 years, and then you go through that horrible break u-

 **Nadia:** Gross let’s not even mention it too much-

 **Irene:** and you had just gotten him back! It’s an odd transition from being a best friend to a girlfriend, a bit difficult to get used to. *shrugs* Of course you were hesitant at first.

 **Nadia:** yeah well, doesn’t matter. It’s still horrible.

 **Alisha:** Don’t beat yourself up about it. You were drunk! Almost blacked out -which by the way? How did they let you get that bad?! If I was there-

 **Nadia:** Down mother. I was just…*blushes a bit* trying to keep up.

 **Alisha:** you’re a lightweight, hon.

 **Nadia:** But they weren’t.

 **Irene:** …*blinks* Baby did you feel left out?

 **Nadia:** Noooo. Just a tiny bit intimidated. A smidge.

 **Irene:** Oh baby, *hugs her- an odd sight seeing as how they’re both laying down* they’re nothing but big softies.

 **Nadia:** Sienna was there that night too.

 **Irene:** Alright, so she’s a viper, but I swear, you poke Al and cotton candy comes out.

 **Alisha:** *laughs* I don’t think he’d like you saying that.

 **Irene:** *grins* Oh he’d probably-

 **Nadia:** make a joke about being delicious?

 **Irene:** *beams* Exactly! See, you’re getting it!

 **Nadia:** Yeah well, it’s alright now. I was just nervous in the beginning, that’s all.

 **Alisha:** Babe you had everyone fooled. I swear.

 **Irene:** And now you’re better at sharing, obviously, seeing as how you don’t want to assassinate Al or Liza *teasing*

 **Nadia:** Oh stop it! *hits her shoulder* Moment of weakness and low self-esteem. It didn’t last long.

 **Alisha:** Well, good. Because you’re amazing and gorgeous and beautiful and adorable and funny-

 **Irene:** and hot and sexy and alluring and fun and-

 **Nadia:** *going a bit red, waves her hands at them* Alright, stop, stop, I get it. *smiles*

 **Irene:** *smiles* We went very off topic, I was talking about foreign languages whispered in my ears and kisses on my neck-

 **Alisha:** That’s right! *giggles* So who does it better? Dillon or Nadia?

 **Nadia:** *covers her face with her hands* Guysss

 **Irene:** That is not a fair question! *smirks and wiggles eyebrows* Two totally different experiences. Dillon’s teeth and lips, whereas Nadia is all about the tongue-

 **Nadia:** *squeals and throws a handful of grass at Irene* stop! stop! I did not!

 **Alisha:** She also straddled you remember? *grins*

 **Irene:** That you did, Nadia! You straddled, which makes sense, cuz you’re so tiny-

 **Nadia:** *rubbing at her cheeks to urge the red to go away* I hate you both.

 **Alisha:** *grins* Oh babe, you just wanted to know if you were doing it right.

 **Nadia:** Taking advantage of meee-

 **Irene:** *smirks* You liked it, if those moans were any-

 **Nadia:** I DID NOT MOAN!

All: *fall silent for a moment as others around the grounds look at them, and then Alisha and Irene start laughing*

 **Nadia:** *pouts, sitting up and crossing her arms in front of her chest* I didn’t.

 **Irene:** You’re right, it was more of a…mewling, a whimper-

 **Alisha:** *laughs and then shakes her head* No, you didn’t. Irene didn’t do anything. And I peeled you off her before you had a chance to really start your lesbian tendencies.

 **Irene:** *giggles* You did kiss it for like a second though.

 **Nadia:** You guys suck.

 **Alisha:** Yes we dooo.

 **Irene:** *laughs* Well, well, speaking of sexual education. *brow wiggles*

 **Alisha:** …shut up.

 **Nadia:** ha! Not so much fun is it?

 **Irene:** Did you two enjoy your birthday presents? *smirks*

 **Alisha:** *licks her lips, going a bit red as well* Yes, we did- NO, I’M NOT GIVING DETAILS! *as she sees Rene and Nadia opening their mouths to ask*

 **Nadia:** That’s not faiiir, I give details…ish.

 **Irene:** And you know it’s an open book with me.

 **Alisha:** It was personal…but…*blushes and then motions them to come closer and then whispers in their ears*

 **Nadia:** *her jaw falls to the ground and she covers her mouth with her hands* OhmyGod-

 **Irene:** Hell yeah! I knew you had it in you! *giggles and claps*

 **Nadia:** How did…how is…what was it like?

 **Alisha:** *laughs once, a bit abashedly* Um…good. Really…really good. Not gross at all…cuz I mean at first it sounds gross-

 **Nadia:** It definitely sounds gross-

 **Alisha:** But it’s not gross at all. It’s…*rubs at her red cheeks*

 **Irene:** It’s hot, is what it is. And not too many guys would do so- you lucky little wench! *giggles*

 **Nadia:** …but it’s…gross.

 **Alisha:** That’s what I thought but no! *shakes her head, biting on her bottom lip* It was…damn. It was good.

 **Irene:** and did you…’return the favor’? *eyebrows rise*

 **Alisha:** *pauses and then goes redder*

 **Irene:** *squeals you did!*

 **Nadia:** OhmyMerlin. Alisha!…oh my God. How did you even…like how do you…know what to do?

 **Alisha:** I just…did what felt right. He liked it *bites on her lip, permanently red by this point*

 **Irene:** Of course he liked it. *laughs* Oh my God, you two are sexual deviants! *winks*

 **Nadia:** Reid has always been a deviant but, Alishaaa-

 **Alisha:** *giggles* It’s just…I was curious.

 **Irene:** Moment of truth! *pauses for dramatic effect* How big?

 **Nadia:** *covers her ears* I don’t want to know! Shut up, Rene!

 **Alisha:** *laughs, passing a hand over her face* Rene!

 **Irene:** I’m curious!

 **Nadia:** I’m not! Stop, one sexual image per person is enough!

 **Alisha:** *exhales* Oh my Merlin. Just…*makes an estimate with her hands*

 **Irene:** Oh my God.

 **Nadia:** *closes her eyes* I did not see that, I didn’t.

 **Irene:** You lucky little wench!

 **Alisha:** *laughs* that’s…okay the one that matters? Is this one *makes a measure with her thumb and forefinger*

 **Nadia:** *afraid to ask*….

 **Irene:** *looks between Nadia and Alisha, mouth pursed and eyebrows raised* what is that, then?

 **Alisha:** width.

 **Irene:** *jaw falls as Nadia squeals and covers her face, shaking her head from side to side, and then laughs* Oh my God!

 **Nadia:** It’s gonna haunt me. This is so wrong.

 **Alisha:** *laughs and then shrugs, grinning a bit*

They continue to spend the remainder of the afternoon outside talking, gossiping, joking and playing, eventually being joined by Trent, before going inside for dinner. 

 

september 29th, 2027 :: the charms hallway

 

 **Reid:** *in the middle of an explanation* -It’s like living with a fucking soap opera-

 **Alisha:** *hits his shoulder in reprimand* Reid!

 **Reid:** Hey, it’s true! *turns to Justin* You need to get your shit straight.

 **Justin:** thanks, man. I appreciate it.

 **Reid:** *nods* It’s what I’m here for mate.

 **Alisha:** He was being sarcastic, you know.

 **Reid:** *teasing* No! Really? *grins as she hits his shoulder again and then shrugs* Boy needs tough love sometimes. 

 **Justin:** Let’s keep talking about ‘the boy’ as if he weren’t here.

 **Reid:** Do you hear something, Alisha?

 **Justin:** prick.

 **Alisha:** *shakes her head and then puts her free arm around Justin’s shoulders* Don’t worry, hon. I’ll offset his need for tough love.

 **Justin:** *lips twitch in a smile* Thanks, Alisha.

 **Reid:** Whoa whoa, hey…it defeats the purpose of tough love.

 **Alisha:** *mocking* No! Really?

 **Irene:** *catching up after having said bye to Dillon* Tough love doesn’t work, trust me.

 **Alisha:** Thank you!

 **Reid:** *shrugs* I’m a product of tough love.

 **Justin:** *scoffs* meaning you were strictly forbidden from dessert without dinner first?

 **Reid:** Watch it, Hall. *pointing at him with the hand draped around Alisha’s shoulders*

 **Irene:** *laughs* Tough love is overrated. It only makes people believe they can act like bitches to other people for the other people’s “benefit”.

 **Justin:** So basically, it makes you an asshole with good intentions, but an asshole nonetheless.

 **Irene:** Exactly.

 **Justin:** That’s Reid.

 **Reid:** You want to take this outside? *eyebrows raised*

 **Alisha:** *lips twitch, tucking herself closer to Reid* Baby, behave. They’re just trying to rile you up.

 **Reid:** It’s working. *lightly glaring at Irene and Justin*

Irene/ **Justin:** *high five each other without looking*

 **Irene:** Mission accomplished. *grins*

 **Reid:** Just because you happen to be my favorite blonde-

 **Justin:** -and I still can’t believe you took away my title mate-

 **Reid:** -doesn’t mean I won’t spank you. *teasing*

 **Irene:** *brow wiggles, licking her lips* Do you promise?

 **Alisha:** *clears her throat*

 **Reid:** *smirks* Baby, I’m spanking you too.

 **Alisha:** *pokes his ribs while fake!glaring* Wait, does this mean *points between Reid and Justin* you used to spank your former favorite blonde? *smirks*

 **Irene:** *laughs as Justin just sighs and shakes his head -no doubt used to the jokes by now-*

 **Reid:** Don’t think I won’t spank you right now. Skirts are easily moved out of the way *playing with the hem of her skirt*

 **Alisha:** Reid! *bats his hand away, biting her lip briefly* Behave.

 **Justin:** Do you two need some time alone?

Reid/ **Alisha:** Yes/No *simultaneously*

 **Irene:** *beams* Can I watch? I haven’t tried the spanking fetish yet…but I don’t think I’d like it. It insinuates that you’d already have a submissive and masochistic nature. And I have neither.

 **Nadia:** *walking up to them after having said bye to Dev after lunch and then her eyebrows rise slowly* …Do I want to know?

 **Justin:** Apparently Reid wants to spank Alisha and Rene.

 **Nadia:** unsurprising. *blows a strand of hair out of her face*

 **Reid:** Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?

 **Nadia:** It goes with your need to be in control all the time.

 **Alisha:** *laughs* I didn’t realize you had an interest for psychology, babe.

 **Irene:** I suppose in order to make conversation with her genius boyfriend *teasing*

 **Nadia:** As it happens, textbook psychology has been one of our conversation topics, thank you very much.

 **Irene:** unsurprising.

 **Justin:** …wait, that isn’t a conversation topic for everyone?

 **Reid:** It’s actually one of the most interesting-

 **Irene:** Eww. Boys, your smarts are showing.

 **Alisha:** Any reputation you may have had as a hardass, Reid, just become void and invalid. *grins*

 **Reid:** Oh? Is that right….?

 **Alisha:** Hmm, yep- *yells out in surprise as she gets picked up and slung over Reid’s shoulder, causing a few people to look over at them* REID!

Justin/Irene/ **Nadia:** *laughing/cheering/looking on in shock*

 **Alisha:** *hitting Reid* Put me down! NOW!

 **Reid:** Sorry, can’t do that. We’re not at class yet.

 **Alisha:** Reid Jackson Morris if you don’t put me down RIGHT this instant!!

 **Justin:** *still laughing*

 **Irene:** *lips twitching* Hold on a second, Reid-

 **Alisha:** -thank you!-

 **Irene:** *pauses them all in their tracks as she tugs Alisha skirt down a bit to make sure she’s not flashing the entire school and then nods* Okay, carry on.

 **Alisha:** TRAITOR!

 **Nadia:** *trying to stifle giggles through her hand* Reid, put her down.

 **Reid:** Nah, not yet. I’m enjoying this too much. *smirks*

 **Alisha:** When I get down from here you’re going to regret that! *hitting his back and then glaring at the people staring at her as they walk by* What are you looking at it?! Help me!!

 **Justin:** *clears his throat after he stops laughing, lips twitching in amusement still* Mate, put her down. I think she’s serious.

 **Reid:** Oh? Is she? *puts her back down in front of him*

 **Alisha:** *starts to hit his arms immediately* What. in the bloody hell-

 **Reid:** *laughing, grabbing her hands and then pulling her in against him in a kiss*

 **Nadia:** And there they go *shakes her head and turns around to keep walking forward*

 **Justin:** *did the same* No shame, no shame. *lips twitching*

 **Nadia:** *laughs* Hark who’s talking! *hits his shoulder with her own* What haven’t you done in public?

 **Justin:** *lips twitch* Well-

 **Nadia:** Actually, don’t…answer that.

 **Irene:** *poking Alisha and Reid* We’re going to be late for class!

 **Alisha:** *pulls away a bit red, and pokes Reid* You’re still in trouble.

 **Reid:** *smirks* I hope so.

 **Irene:** Come on loversss *turns around to catch up with Nadia and Justin, and then watches Nadia pick up something from the floor* Er-

 **Justin:** *trying to warn her* Um, Nadia-

 **Nadia:** huh. *holds up the bracelet* That’s odd…this bracelet looks so small. I didn’t know anyone’s wrist could be this small.

 **Reid:** *lips twitching, amused* No, but white dick is.

 **Alisha:** *hits his shoulder* Reid!

 **Nadia:** *looks confused* …wha-

 **Irene:** *leans in to whisper into Nadia’s ears exactly what it is she just picked up*

 **Nadia:** *her eyes widen, jaw dropping, before she screams in surprise, disgust, and slight terror, sending the ‘bracelet’ flying through the air*

All: *laughing hysterically*

 **Nadia:** Eww! Eww! Eww! *hands flailing*

 

september 30th, 2027 :: early morning

 **Nadia:** *comes storming into the Great Hall early in the morning, having just tried to read the crystal ball yet again and only managing one almost-clear image and is therefore frustrated and upset, and upon seeing Justin she steps up to him and starts hitting him with the notebook in her hand* You! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!-

 **Justin:** WHOA! *holds up his arms, trying to keep her from doing any actual damage as he looks at her confused* Nadia! What the hell-

 **Nadia:** Why are you always in trouble?! Why are you always. always. always! finding yourself where you don’t need to be?! *whack. whack. whack.*

 **Justin:** What the hell did I do?!

 **Nadia:** *whacks!* Stop it!

 **Justin:** Stop wha-

 **Nadia:** *whacks again!* Getting in trouble!

 **Justin:** *mutters ‘oww’*…can you talk to me like a normal human being? I haven’t done anything.

 **Nadia:** *huffs out, breathing easier and then her cheeks pink a bit as she sees the majority of the students that were having breakfast were looking at them and then she clears her throat silently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear* Maybe we should talk outside.

 **Justin:** *looking at her curiously, eyebrows raised and then tilts his head* …I’d rather stay here. There’s witnesses.

 **Nadia:** *purses her lips, shaking her head in disapproval at the joke* Justin.

 **Justin:** *motions to the doors with his hand*

 **Nadia:** *once they’re outside, she turns to him* I was looking in the crystal ball.

 **Justin:** *eyebrows pop, his mouth forming into an ‘oh’ of understanding* …and?

 **Nadia:** And you need to stay out of trouble.

 **Justin:** What did I do?

 **Nadia:** Nothing yet, I’m assuming, but if you’ve got a guilty conscience, you might as well let it out now-

 **Justin:** *holding up a hand to stop her rant* No, I mean, what did you see me do in the crystal ball?

 **Nadia:** It was…rather fuzzy. *frowning* I don’t know, I keep seeing different things. Last year, I saw your attack clearly *her bottom lip trembles momentarily* this year…it’s just flashes of images. Like…*exhales* it’s difficult to explain.

 **Justin:** I’m pretty smart, Nadia. You can try.

 **Nadia:** *bites her bottom lip and nods quickly* Okay. It’s…time happens simultaneously, but we perceive it as a line. Everything we do affects our future, some choices lead to different directions, but the future that would have happened doesn’t just…go away. It…exists elsewhere. *looking at him* Have I lost you yet?

 **Justin:** *shakes his head* Keep going.

 **Nadia:** *nodding* Okay, well, the fact that I was able to see what happened to you last year clearly meant that it was probably happening to you in all instances, in all…’alternate universes’ if you will.

 **Justin:** *lips twitch* I have shit luck.

 **Nadia:** *exhales, throwing him a look* This isn’t funny.

 **Justin:** *clears his throat, looking down briefly, properly admonished* Sorry.

 **Nadia:** *exhales* This time I’m not sure…it’s not clear. Maybe it can be prevented. If the choice were out of our hands, I could see it better or if the choice really is out of our hands then, whoever’s choice it really is…they haven’t made it fully or they keep changing their minds or something. *passes a hand over her mouth* I’m good at this, I don’t usually try to purposefully find out what’s going to happen, but when I do, I can get glimpses. The majority of these aren’t glimpses…they’re feelings.

 **Justin:** …and what are you feeling?

 **Nadia:** Like something horrible’s going to happen. To all of us. Me and Devin and Alcott and Eliza and Irene and you and *licks her dry lips* …I don’t know what to do.

 **Justin:** Nadia *softly* you shouldn’t feel responsible-

 **Nadia:** If I can see it, it’s for a reason. If I can see it, I’m supposed to be able to do something about it. But…I don’t know what to do. *trying her very best not to cry by this point*

 **Justin:** …have you told anyone else?

 **Nadia:** *inhales and exhales* I told Dev I had a bad feeling about this year. But I just saw…*falters*

 **Justin:** *quietly urges* Saw what?

 **Nadia:** …you. You were hurt. Or…you looked like you were hurt. I don’t…*purses her lips* It’s the clearest image I can get.

 **Justin:** …Well fuck, I’m screwed.

 **Nadia:** *shakes her head from side to side stubbornly* no you’re not! You’re not. It’s why I’m here right now, warning you. Stay. out. of trouble.

 **Justin:** I don’t purposefully go looking-

 **Nadia:** *repeats, louder this time* Stay! Out. of trouble.

 **Justin:** *relents, just nodding* Okay.

 **Nadia:** Okay. *nodding as well* I don’t want you to get hurt.

 **Justin:** Again. *lips twitch*

 **Nadia:** Again. *repeats*…at least this time, you’re listening to me. *eyebrows rise*

 **Justin:** *smiles a bit, looking down briefly* I already learned that lesson. Thanks, Nadia.

 **Nadia:** *smiles as well and then nods, hugging him* If you get hurt, I’m going to kill you, you know.

 **Justin:** *laughs once as they pull away* Counterproductive.

They walk back to the Great Hall, more students coming in by now as it starts reaching a normal hour, though the majority of their friends are probably still in bed. 

 

september 30th, 2027 :: 

late at night, location unknown

 **Victoria:** *a bit hesitant* And you’re sure it will work?

 **Sam:** *looks up from it and rolls his eyes* If they know what’s good for them, it will.

 **Victoria:** *her lips twitch* You don’t default on a promise to you, I gather.

 **Sam:** *idly, lifting the vial back out of a pitch black cauldron, now filled to the brim with a white substance, looking like cream* Not if you want to live.

 **Victoria:** *shivers and leans against the table*

 **Sam:** *notes the shiver and looks back over the vial at her, narrow eyed and then tilts his head* You’re not going soft on me, Vic?

 **Victoria:** *immediately* Not on your life.

 **Sam:** *arches an eyebrow* You were rather close to Devin.

 **Victoria:** *snaps* No, I wasn’t. I was kind to him once, and he took everything from me. I won’t let that happen again.

 **Sam:** *tilts his head* You cared.

 **Victoria:** You cared about Eliza.

 **Sam:** *jaw tightens and he looks back down, all but growling* I told you, not to talk about her.

 **Victoria:** *in a breathless whisper, seeing the sudden clench and she nods after a moment* …Sorry. *firmly and her lips press together tightly* I just want them gone.

 **Sam:** *brows arch and he shrugs a shoulder, nodding* This will certainly take care of that. *just as idly* Should have been done a long time ago. My father went soft. *sticks his tongue out for a moment in distaste*

 **Victoria:** *hesitantly, breathing out* Still…if you’re caught killing them—

 **Sam:** *laughs once, an eyebrow arching* Oh but I’m not killing them.

 **Victoria:** *blinks and tilts her head*

 **Sam:** You think this is poison? *holds it up, a grin on his face*

 **Victoria:** It’s not? *she blinks*

 **Sam:** *laughs and shakes his head* No. *slides the vial into his pocket now, reaching for a bottle nearby, pouring out two blood-red glasses* That would be too obvious, and to easy to trace back….even if I won’t be giving it to them.

 **Victoria:** *watches him pour and hold one up to Victoria, which she takes hesitantly and leans a little closer, examining the substance idly* But you said…we can’t just get them expelled. Little Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Records…

 **Sam:** *chuckles, taking a sip of the wine and nodding* Very true.

 **Victoria:** *looks back* And they’re all oh-so-well-liked now.

 **Sam:** *shakes his head, shrugging a shoulder as he sits down, gesturing and asking instead* Have you found out what Brackner and Graft were doing that night?

 **Victoria:** *shakes her head instantly, sitting on his lap and taking a sip of the wine* No. They just disappeared.

 **Sam:** *narrows his eyes, exhaling* And Sienna?

 **Victoria:** Stuck on pretending she doesn’t care. *rolls her eyes*

 **Sam:** *laughs, setting the glass down and putting his hand on her thigh, his other hand playing idly with a strand of her hair* She doesn’t think anyone believes her, does she?

 **Victoria:** *shrugs a shoulder, her lips twitching in amusement, eyes on his hand* She doesn’t believe it herself. Though she agrees she’s better off…Alcott was lying to her, she says.

 **Sam:** *arching an eyebrow* About?

 **Victoria:** *frowns* She says about Graft, but-

 **Sam:** You think there’s something else?

 **Victoria:** *pokes his shoulder, amused* You know perfectly well I think there is, as do you.

 **Sam:** *brow wiggles and he nods, freeing her hair so he can take another sip of the wine* Sienna…could be a useful asset, honestly. Brackner won’t suspect anything coming from her. *he tilts his head* Well, besides that she’d be after Graft—

 **Victoria:** —who I could care less about. *nods* I know.

 **Sam:** *arches an eyebrow, saying heatedly* Graft attacked me too, Vic. A few pictures released were hardly fair considering she nearly murdered me.

 **Victoria:** *swallows* I know. And she is not going to get away with it. Sienna won’t willingly go against Al though, she still loves him.

 **Sam:** *smile flicks* Who said she has to know she’s doing it? Besides, against him, sure, but the others…

 **Victoria:** *nods, a tiny smile in place* Took everything from her too.

 **Sam:** You—my dear *his hand on her thigh tightens* —just have to be particularly persuasive.

 **Victoria:** *smirk flicking over the top of her glass* You know I can be good at that.

 **Sam:** *chuckles and nods, taking her glass back too so that he can grip her neck and pull her down to kiss her*

 **Victoria:** *kisses him back heartily for a moment, her fingernails grasping at the front of his shirt and then pulls back and breathes a moment, blinking at him and looking back at the cauldron* If it doesn’t kill them…

 **Sam:** *breathing, against her lips* You’ll see.

 **Victoria:** Rivers too? *brushes her lips against him a moment*

 **Sam:** Focus, baby. *hand grasping her neck tighter* You just worry about what Graft and Brackner are up to in the forest. I’ll take care of the rest.


	15. My Father's Daughter; My Father's Son

**Hols:** *Hols had grown up hearing people talk shit about aurors, about their incompetence, their stupidity, and their inability to get anything done. Consequently, Hols had grown up kicking the shit out of those people (well, those stupid enough to say it to her face). It had been a while since she felt the urge to punch Al in the throat, despite her daily playful threats involving some form of bodily harm, but as an infuriating remark left his mouth, Hols looked up from her N.E.W.T level Potions work (only 36 more inches left to go), she threw him a glare. 

Al was working, actually had finished working, on a History of Magic essay she knew he could have done in his sleep. Hols didn't even think he was aware of what he had just said, and that just made it even more annoying. So much for her reward system (him), now she was more distracted than when his hand had tried to tease her way up her skirt.* Are you fucking kidding me right now?

 **Alcott:** *If Binns wasn't a ghost, he'd be bloody tempted to take a look at his bank account -- could a dead man be in league with the Ministry anyway? How many times was he going to be forced to read how brilliantly intrepid and perseverant the Aurors had been during the second Wizarding War? Yeah, sure, intrepid -- recklessly hypocritically ignorant -- same thing, right? 

Distracting himself from slamming the book shut, by the wonderful visage his girlfriend provided, he still dropped the quill lest he receive poor marks again for letting 'personal opinion intrude on facts' (as if the book did not do just that).* What? *His gaze flicked back to Hols' eyes, a brow arching.* Am I supposed to ignore the blatant favoritism? I know Binns likes to pretend history is built of "Veritable Fact"--*Straightening his back and dropping his voice, Al couldn't help but mock the ghosts demeanor and tone,* -- but it's written by the opinionated winners, who deride and grossly misrepresent their foe. *He pauses. Oh hell, what verbose academic garbage had left mouth? He sounded like Devin, for Merlin sakes. * I've been writing this essay too long - I'll rephrase: it's bullshit.

 **Hols:** Blatant favoritism? *Oh my Horntail- he was serious! She scoffed, momentarily surprised before realizing no, she really shouldn't be. It was no secret after all that in the pureblood society aurors were considered to be a joke, but she thought Al might have been smart enough to realize what a bunch of cock and bull that was.

She dropped her quill and leaned in closer to him* In case you've forgotten, that "grossly misrepresented foe" was Voldemort and his followers. And the Aurors lost two thirds of their numbers ensuring their downfall- how is that bullshit? That's fact!

 **Alcott:** Yes, Voldemort. *Tone dismissive, the words stuck in his mouth felt poisonous - he knew he'd spit them out, even though Hols didn't know. How shocking, they'd covered it up so well! His eyes narrow a bit, but at least(!) he restrained himself from rolling them. That deserved credit, he thought.* And all the Aurors were just bloody saints weren't they? *Sarcasm, poison--same thing.* 

They were nothing but heroes against an endless mass of bad guys wearing black and skull masks and they never made a mistake -- never shifted their bullshit philosophy onto those they blamed. Just a glorious old-fashioned fight of good and evil, yeah, right --*and he did spit, right on the ground, and okay he might of rolled his eyes now, but he looked back up, snapping,* -- it's bullshit, because it fails to take into account their hypocrisy. Hey, I know what I'm talking about with it right? I'm a Brackner? *He arches an eyebrow.* According to them -*his nose wrinkles*- I -must- be a Voldemort supporter, I'm pureblood.

 **Hols:** *Her eyes narrowed as he was able to say that name so casually, as if it wasn't the very definition of evil- she couldn't even begin to think it without wanting to curse and he just- she was gonna throttle him.* Of course not Al, because they're angels sent down from the heavens and a God's blessing on us- of course they made mistakes, they're human! *She rolled her eyes as he spit* But at least they were fighting for a just cause. *She frowned again, her arms crossed over her chest as she gaped at him* No! You -mustn't- be anything, you're doing the same thing you're accusing them of doing right now! Spinning all of them into some prejudice. They fought for all of us, all, -all-! *She stressed that last word before pulling back again, shaking her head before continuing* They fought and bled and died, and they deserve a lot more respect than this!

 **Alcott:** Fought for me!? *Face and eyes darkening with every bloody word, he still had to restrain a sudden laugh as she accused him of doing the same thing -- exactly what he meant to, point out it was -their- philosophy that had assumed him against the 'Common Good' -- or rather, had assumed his --* They didn't fight for my father. *Snaps it, coldly, pulling back from the table.* Not when they followed the bastards to -my- house, attacked and killed him. So I'm a -bit- hard pressed to believe they bloody fought for -me-, Hols, when they lumped my father into that same cock and bull stereotype of our last name, *he breathes out heavily,* and murdered him. 

 **Hols:** *If she hadn't already recoiled away from the table before, she would have then. So stunned she was by the revelation, Hols felt her mouth physically dry up with the silence that had overtaken her. Al never mentioned his father, ever. She knew he lived with his mother and uncle, never asked him about it. Hols wasn't pushy, she figured if it was something he wanted to share, he'd say in his own time, if not then whatever. She never thought it was something she'd be attacked with, though. Not that she blamed him now...she supposed, but it wasn't her fault either.* You never told me. 

*She wasn't sure why she had said that. It was obvious, duh, of course he hadn't, he was telling her now. Admittedly, not in the best of ways. What was she supposed to say exactly? She didn't know. Nadia would know, it was her sister who always knew the right thing to say to make people feel better, but Hols didn't share that particular talent with her.* Al...

 **Alcott:** *Ripped, tattered pages fluttering on non-existent wind -- a streak of vibrant green -- a set of shiny, shiny black Derbys and his yellow-Golden Daniels watch -- that loud echoing shout he never seemed to acknowledged had bellowed from his own lungs into his sweaty palm -- Alcott jerked his eyes back open to chase away the sudden flash of images. 

He blamed the blasted wolf inside of him; a good memory with sharp, vividly painted senses wasn't something he'd ever wanted of the night. And he blamed it for the swelling rage he was still struggling to contain. True, Hols could transform and contain him if need be but God -- the look on her face struck an unpleasant chord of guilt with him already. 

Hand instinctively going for the flask in his trousers, he fingers the silver cap on that which had been his father's as he shakes his head. Hols hadn't known. Yet despite the words 'Forget it, it's not important,' on his tongue's tip he heard himself say instead,* It's not exactly my most favored of subjects, luv. *It was dry, bitter and through his all too omnipresent smirk. But he met her eyes, unable to swallow or hide the hurt, pain, guilt and rage glistening from his own.* It's not...like there's anything anyone could say. And I don't need anyone's pity. 

Hols: *Oh, Al. She might have even said it out loud, she was sure her lips had formed the two syllables but she didn't hear them. Maybe because it was a struggle to speak (that was a first).* Is that all you think I could have offered, my pity? *She did feel sad for him, sad that he had lost his father in such a cruel and horrible way...if that was pity, then so be it. 

And while she understood his anger with the Aurors, she also knew it was misplaced. They were not the only ones there. Why did the Death Eaters receive no blame for this, when it was them who had come into their home...and why? For the first time, she wanted to pry. She pursed her lips...asked a simple question, told herself she would not push if he protested, but she wanted to know more* When was this?

 **Alcott:** *Shrugging, now he did duck her gaze and reach for the flask. Thumb flick was all he needed to do to open it, but he was distracted by the engravings on the bottom of the silver: his own, A.B 2025, beneath H.B 2008 -- his gaze stuck on C.M.B (1912) and G.A.B (1879) as he always did -- before he lowered it back to his lap. It was easier to ponder the family's legacy of alcoholism (the stuff of legends, in his opinion) than it was to think on this. 

Only, pity? No, obviously, or he wouldn't have said anything at all. It...it just had seemed...like he should say it. Yet her question stuck another date in his mind, one he could not forget hard as he tried - but blast if he was gonna spit it out, might as well say it all (right?).* July 26th, 2018. *He flicked the cap off as easily as his smirk, looking at her over the silver rim,* I was six. *And over a sip, and gasp.* And I was there. 

 **Hols:** *It did not surprise Hols in the slightest when Al's flask seemed to magically appear in his hand. It was never far from him at any moment. She did not say anything against it (it was Liza's self appointed job to moderate his alcohol consumption though Merlin knew that was near impossible), merely watched him patiently, listened attentively and tried not to express the horror she felt upon learning Alcott had seen his father die with his own eyes. The horror seemed to sink down into a pit at the bottom of her stomach and there it stayed unmoving. 

She had uncrossed her arms and leaned forward again, her gaze fixed, but soft.* It must have been horrible for you. *Any attempt to imagine that, trying to imagine herself that young and seeing something happen to her parents, was being rejected by her mind; she couldn't even picture it.*

Alcott: *His face contorted at her words; his immediate desire to snap 'no, it was all sunshine and daises really' only quelled by the fact he was mid-swallow. And by the time he'd choked the Absinthe down -- the only bloody thing that buzzed the wolf -- he...well, Hols -was- trying to offer support. And...he still felt slightly guilty for attacking her with this once already(though he didn't think it wholly unfair; why did everyone have to blatantly assume the Aurors were the undisputed martyrs of innocence and justice they pretended to be?) So he set the flask back on his lap, shrugging.* Yeah, it was.

*He looked back at her. Hols was smart - she could get it, she wouldn't be as blind as...well, say, Lynn.* He was too damn brilliant -- was showing me his latest wand handiwork when...yeah. *He tilted his head to cover a grimace, but added proudly,* You know he made me my wand? *He beamed at that. But he started adding slowly* Well...wand makers, let alone those who patented their first potions while still at school...*He bit his tongue.* Geniuses, *He thought that a fair summary,* were -- and are, I assume -- coveted by both sides. 

*He shrugs, gaze distant as if he's not fully aware he's still recounting.* Mum says he would lock himself up for hours to try and disprove a physics principle, working with the 'improbable and impossible' - that's how he'd put it. *Alcott met Hols gaze again and said simply, dead pan,* He refused to work for the Death Eaters. But that didn't matter - he hid me in his study behind a pile of books when they came to recruit, but they were leaving. When the Aurors attacked, and killed them all. *He pauses.* Well, not all - one was captured and died in Azkaban, one had already left before they got there, *he shrugs a shoulder, bitter* never found him, either. I mean to. *clenches teeth* Oh but wait - when they realized they killed an innocent man, they gave him an Order of Merlin. Couldn't wrangle first class, but still - I'm sorry, that makes it -all- okay. *He was near spitting that again. It was hard to separate his hurt from his rage.*

 **Hols:** *Hols was glad, more like relieved really, that she didn't have to keep pressing for more information. She didn't want it to be an interrogation, she wanted to know of course, but she also wanted him...to want, to share. There would be more time for her deciding what that meant later however, right now she just listened. His beam of pride for his late father elicited a small smile of her own. She shook her head at his question, she hadn't known his father had been some sort of genius (it made sense really if Al was any indication). She followed him easy enough, in the midst of his nostalgia that made the ball of horror in her stomach twinge every so often; the Death Eaters had come to recruit. Unable to hide a frown any longer, she wondered really how it was any person, genius or not, could convince Death Eaters to leave without what they came for, before timing required her to move on from the detail. Ignoring the want to offer him help tracking that stray Death Eater down (she almost heard her father's ire and disapproval all the way here), she instead exhaled after realizing she hadn't been breathing and then spoke quietly.* Of course it doesn't make anything okay, and they knew it wouldn't- Al. Trust me, I know them, all of them...and I know it means next to nothing to you but the aurors involved, I can guarantee you the guilt of that mistake is still with them. *If it was them, and not the DEs themselves. Damnit, she needed their version of events too. It wasn't their entire fault. Alcott's father had been caught in the middle...she couldn't say that out loud to him. And it made it no easier to process to know Al's life had also been at risk. And to Alcott himself, she knew it would appear as if she was defending his father's killers (except they weren't killers, they weren't, it was an accident, and it was horrible).* I'm sorry, I know that's...the last thing you want to hear.

 **Alcott:** I don't care. *It was blunt, but he didn't. Rubbing his forehead hard as his muscles seized, he let the flask fall to the table instead, knowing how near he was to crushing the silver in his fist. And well, hell, that would hurt - silver did not do well with him, he could see the scarlet marks on his thumb where its leather jerkin slipped already. But was he supposed to wear a glove every time he wanted to hold it? It wasn't like the blister wasn't already disappearing before his narrowing, hard eyes.*

They should be guilty Hols, *he was still tense, looking up at her if only to stop gazing at his father's engraving,* they should be bloody accountable for what they did -- the -mistake-!? *It made him bristle. He could say it that way, his mother could -- she couldn't not when she was damn defending them.* It isn't like they left the kettle on for tea when they left the house in the morning - they -killed- my father! And that book -*he jabs at it, not realizing it flew away from him without touching it to -thump- to the floor,* wants me to praise them, worship them? Bullshit. I won't. I don't forgive them, I don't forget it either -- and I don't give a damn if they think themselves guilty while everyone else praises them for saving the damn world.

*Al drops his hand back to the table, slamming his palm to it - hard enough the chair legs beneath him quaver with the fluttering floor. Then he winces. The rustle of suddenly airborne papers and echoing crack was too damn reminiscent of...of it. So he says much quieter,* I'm sorry... I know you didn't know.

 **Hols:** *She rubbed at her forehead, wishing she was a little different because she knew this would bug her and gnaw at her attention until she marched to the ministry and talked to her dad, he'd find out for her and tell her...unless he already knew. He must have known right? 2018, that was many years after his promotion, various of them if she remembered correctly. A little heads up might have been appreciated dad, she thought to herself, letting her hand fall on the table again as she winced but she forced herself to look at him as he continued.

He had a right to be angry, it wasn't as if she inexperienced with his anger (though this constituted an entire new level of rage). She wished he felt differently, especially given the fact that with his words he was also grouping her father into those at fault. He was punishing an entire group for the actions of a small faction, of one person, one spell that might have rebounded or swerved...but it would be hypocritical of her to say she had never done the same either. It some ways she was still combating the interhouse prejudice that had been so ingrained in her mind...this was a mess. She didn't want Al to keep blaming the aurors, but she didn't see how to do that. 

She waited until he quieted again, bringing the discarded book back on top of the table with a wave of her wand and then just setting it aside before she reached for the hand he had slammed down. She pushed down comments about death eaters and blame and guilt, bit down logical arguments and appeals to reason, for she was unwilling to let the subject linger especially now when he looked so...worn down.* Thank you for telling me.

 **Alcott:** *Startled as she lays her hand on his, he flips and grips it faster than he blinked. He knew that his emotions (in particular rage) were bound to be closer to the surface now - only a day from his transformation - but he still endeavored not to crush her hand. As hard-pressed as he'd be to break a lionessess' bones. Grateful for that suddenly, grateful for being able to hold on, for the fact she didn't say anything, he swallows painfully hard on air. Goddammit, he wasn't about to cry - he wasn't - he was sixteen, his father's son, he could handle this. It had almost been a bloody decade! Why did it feel so raw? Why did he suddenly care so much if he'd hurt Hols too?

 Al gripped her hand tighter and spoke - eyes lifting back to hers, if only for something to do.* You should know. I'd...like, you to come see my house -- you should know why Uncle Max is there instead. *His fingers move to lace with hers.* I just wish...he knew, somehow. That I can...understand his research; I salvaged most of it. 

And--*his face tautened but he admitted quieter,* --and I wish he was here, with what...what happened last April. *He clenched his teeth, but his words were dry.* I'd scare Ma -- and Uncle Max would disown me if it became public --*bitterly,* but I...I think he'd have understood. *Wishful thinking; his face had been dead more than nine years. But he wanted to believe that. At least ... it would have been something to study, right? Some other improbable, impossible thing he could maybe have fixed.*

 **Hols:** *Rather than startled by how he gripped her hand, she was assured by it. For a moment there she thought he might have just pulled away, and the thought of that upset her more than she knew she should allow it too. Damn Alcott had gotten so much under her skin. She nodded silently, gaze flicking to their hands momentarily as their fingers laced together before she met his gaze again. 

She knew that she shouldn't build opinions about people she hadn't met but she already didn't like his uncle, and liked him even less the more Al spoke of him but she kept that to herself (well...she had said it to Lynn various times but mostly to herself). She spoke softly.* I think he would have understood too. And I think he'd have been proud of the way you handle it. His Brackner ego would have been bigger than yours I imagine.

*She smiled a little before deciding she was too far away and stood up, crawling over the table instead of around it before sliding into his lap.* And he would have -loved- me. *Ha, that was a little less likely but she said it anyways, her hand still in his, fingers curled before she asked curiously, wondering if it was okay to still discuss his father, or if he'd rather move on (she was gauging).* Are you going to continue his research?

 **Alcott:** *Did he have to say aloud how much he appreciated hearing that? For some reason it sounded more genuinely true from her (gorgeous) lips than from Eliza's. Maybe it was because Eliza had always known - it always felt like placating him - and Devin had flat out worshipped them both (he didn't blame his mate of course) -- but Hols always told him exactly what she thought. It was one of the things he most liked about her. As she slid onto his lap, his smirk widening (homework forgotten), he was reminded...oh of several things he liked. This view for instance. 

Free hand hanging loose around her waist, he nodded absently, lips quirking open as he agreed,* I'm sure he would have, yeah. But he wouldn't have been surprised - *he nods importantly, teasing* - his son having the hottest girl in the school. *He winked. That was much easier to talk about. He didn't trouble himself wondering why.* I think so. I do know I'm going to work as a wandmaker...I'm not sure about the rest - he experimented with everything. Regeneration, invisibility, memory...

 **Hols:** *She would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been complimenting her at the same moment he was himself, so instead she shared in his smirk because after all, he was telling the truth.* Yes you do. Frequently and voraciously. *She grinned a moment before she nodded, knowing well his love of wandlore and continued the subject upon realizing he didn't mind carrying on the conversation* Any chance that potion he patented during Hogwarts gives the drinker a photographic memory, even temporarily? That would make my year.

 **Alcott:** *At that he just laughs -- amazed equally by how easily she seemed to cheer him as he was delighted by the images her words provoked. Still,* And yet never enough, really. *Both eyebrows wiggled, his head cocked once as he worried his bottom lip and then he started teasing with the hem of her skirt as he answered,* Sorry luv, that's just me. But he did patent a liquid Invisibility Cloak in his seventh year. *Nodding, he said brightly,* I'm sure someone of our imagination could come up with -something- to make of that. *His gaze flicks back up to her eyes, rather than follow the progress of his own hand, and then he says simply,* With regard to memory - he was in the middle of experiments with awakening latent memories, recovering them, working with amnesiac trauma victims. *He shrugs.* 

I think he abandoned that particular project in the middle of a brainwave about harnessing the child's power to express magic when emotional when an adult. *Alcott considers weightedly; the many varied subjects had always fascinated him, and Eliza tended to tunehim out. Still, he wasn't letting himself think too deeply on this - for some reason, he seemed to be able to talk about it - he wasn't going to question it. His gaze stayed on Hols,* And I think that one was interrupted with a foray into a spell to mirror felix felicis. I'm not sure; the research is jumbled. *Because it had been scrambled, ripped, scattered and stepped on upon the floor. He chose not to say this aloud.* But I have it on good authority it's the province of genius to have a messy desk. *And he winked.*

 **Hols:** *Oh good, she much preferred his laughter. He had a nice laugh, when it wasn't diluted with sarcastic mockery or condescending attitude. She smirked briefly as he started teasing her skirt with his fingers (and she might deserve that after teasing him with the view and then dropping it out of his line of vision) but still managed to pay attention to what he was saying- it was fascinating. Not her own ability to focus, she meant his father's experiments. She had never heard of a potion like that before, but she also knew potions like that weren't divulged to the general public for obvious reasons. Especially not randy teenagers.* Oh I already have quite a few ideas. 

*Memory loss recovery, harnessing emotional magic, a Felix spell...Hols wondered if such a man might have found a cure to lycanthropy if he had been alive. He would have had the proper motivation...thinking about it almost made her sad, so she stopped because even if he had been alive, that was a stretch. Some part of her also recognized that Al being turned is consequently the circumstances that forced their cooperation at first. Who knows what might have happened.* It must be a sign of your own genius how easily you follow the organization, or lack thereof, of a genius' desk. 

*She teased before shifting more comfortably in his lap, putting an arm around his neck* He sounds amazing. I think you're brilliant enough to continue his work, let's check- how messy is your desk? *she wiggled her eyebrows and then looked over her shoulder, knowing perfectly well she had made a pit of a mess when she transferred over the table and then replied brightly* Why, Al you're a genius! You're an absolute pig.

 **Alcott:** *Hols had never met his father -- nor his mother, aunts and uncles for that matter -- but he thought oddly enough the fact she hadn't made him appreciate her vote of confidence more. His family weren't the only Brackners -- for fucks' sake, they didn't even descend from the original estate, rather a second son -- but they were large enough, and he knew he wasn't always exactly fair to Uncle Max when he spoke of him. The man -had- come to live with him for nearly eight years now; even if he was motivated by sleeping with Ma, he'd been there. Still it was his father he wanted most desperately to be like; Hols' assertion generally made him warm. For reasons so unlike the usual ones, he was almost abashed! Almost. The world hadn't ended. Astonishing, really, considering he and Hols in the first place -- but, well, wasn't them getting together just another Brackner achieving the improbable and impossible?* I am. 

*He nods exuberantly without looking once at his desk; his gaze was full of her. Her (sparkling) eyes and those (extraordinarily kissable) lips and the (tantalizing) bare nape of her neck beneath the (soft) curls -- and her (glorious) chest. The adjectives were courtesy of Eliza's attempt at 'civilizing' his descriptions. Sue him for male enjoyment. (Actually, he shouldn't tempt her. Or Hols for that matter. At least Irene would be on his side, Rene would get it.* An absolute pig. *He leaned to kiss her shoulder in between each word.* You really should punish me for it more. *Al winked. Why had she said that again? Oh...right. He pulled back, still smiling.* I guess I'll just have to figure out the areas that interest me most besides wand lore - and do whatever I want from there. *It seemed a decent enough philosophy; in tradition with his father's. Or, well. So he thought. The back of his mind wondered about curing his...his condition -- but his father had no such documentation. Caring for Swift and the herd yes, but part-humans (a grossly insulting term, as all three would agree; and Alcott didn't know -how-to bloody 'classify' himself anymore anyway) had never been a subject in his father's notes for, he presumed, exactly that reason.* Must admit, a Felix spell has potential. *And Al winked again.*

 **Hols:** *She wasn't doing as bad at this as she thought she would. Actually considering the subject, things could have gone a lot worse, way worse. She was more surprised when she realized that was partly because -she- hadn't gotten angrier on the auror's behalf. Since when did her anger simmer away instead of boil up? Was this part of being a responsible adult? (No, not necessarily, she reminded herself as she thought of her Mami and Brad, not always.) 

Distracted, she licked her lips in enjoyment as he pressed soft (too soft) kisses to her shoulder.* Punishments don't work on you. *Because he liked it, up until a certain point where he retaliated and punished -her- in return....she liked it too.* It sounds like a good plan. It'll keep you plenty busy...*and given her plans at the end of the year, she couldn't deny that she wanted him busy rather than bored, but she was ignoring that thought process too.* Baby, you don't need a Felix spell to get lucky *she teased, biting her lip and smirking before she pulled back as if suddenly remembering* Oh, do you mean for Quidditch matches? Yes, that you and your team could do with a little more of. *nodding seriously*

 **Alcott:** Mm, you don't say... *He resumed trailing kisses across the sweet pink pocket of skin, tasting pulse. God, he loved that his girlfriend wore shirts such as these on a daily basis. So what if others admired too? He wasn't jealous easily. Okay, well, rather he wasn't mindlessly jealous -- and Lynn could look, that was absolutely fine with him. As she pulled away (and his hungry lips formed an immediate playful pout) Al suddenly laughed again. Drily,* So you can get me arrested and thrown in a cell? *His hand started snaking up her back,* Baby I knew your were kinky, but I didn't know you wanted -that- *He cupped her neck, yanked and spun her to be straddling over him instead as he met her lips. There were some advantages to the whole 'supernatural strength' after all. Breaking the breathless kiss only to mutter teasingly,* You know there's better cells at the manor. Chains too. 

 **Hols:** *Merlin, he was too good at this she thought as her head seemed to move on its own accord to grant him better access to her neck and shoulders, a small sigh leaving her lips.* You know me, always up for new thi- *she gasped and was promptly cut off as he moved her to straddle him, a smirk on her lips as they kissed hard, even harder given what tomorrow was. She laughed once rather breathlessly at his next comment, smirk still on her lips as she teased.* Well, why didn't you say so before? *She pressed her chest against his before meeting his lips again. Whatever part of her had wanted to be a better person and remind him he had plans with Liza and Dev soon promptly figured...they could wait a little bit longer.*

&.

 **Lyndsea:** Well, that was one Howler I can’t believe I had to answer.

 **Max** : *is batting his face off with a towel as he comes in from a morning jog, grinning sideways at her, as if to ask ‘What did I do now?’*

 **Lyndsea:** I cannot believe you did that. *Is muttering in awe as she slips a pearl out of her ear.*

 **Max:** *Chuckles as he grabs water and downs most of it, patting his face off before handing the towel to Jimmy, and shakes his head to wave him off.* Which are you refer—

 **Lyndsea:** Roswell! *She says the name with distaste even as she slides the other pearl free, both falling from her palm into the silver dish on the counter. They vanish after clattering to a still; Lyndsea knows she’ll find them in her jewelry box upstairs. It was one of Harper’s many spells - one that had enabled her to remove jewelry after a night out without them having to bother with stairs. Gathering blond curls on her neck and tossing them off, as if to take the memories with the loose strands, she spins back to him.* What you said to him!

 **Max:** *Moving towards the bar to pour himself a reward for finishing the run, he points at it wordlessly asking if she wants one, she ignores this. He’s still mid-chuckle.* Still have to be more specific.

 **Lyndsea:** You have a baby blanket for him if the movie gets too scary?

 **Max:** I know. *somberly, swirling his pinky in the drink.* I lied. I didn’t actually have a blanket. I’m terrible.

 **Lyndsea:** And then you gave him —

 **Max:** That was for you! *protests*  You could _see_ how your insult had wounded him, seemed only sporting to give the guy a little to cover it up. 

 **Lyndsea:** Pink bandages? 

 **Max:** *He laughs as he lifts the glass.* Hello-Kitty actually. It’s a muggle little girl thing.

 **Lyndsea:** Only you said-

 **Max:** *grinning from ear to ear as he moves to sit on the couch.* Well, I know how he prefers ponies, but unfortunately they were all sold out of those.

 **Lyndsea:** *drily* So you tell him to check with his mother, because you _thought_ you saw them in her medicine cabinet last night.

 **Max:** *laughing out - pleased at his own brilliance once more and toasting thin air with the glass,* I know, another lie…have you seen his mother though? I’m doing her a favor just by mentioning her,—

 **Lyndsea:** Bolstering her reputation by insinuating you slept with her?

 **Max:** I’m a charitable kind of guy now. *He winked, then he took a sip. Though really, he was only at that fundraiser because it was loosely attached to the charities that went to giving his brother’s health potions out for free, the one Lyndsea helped start. Lord knew, it wasn’t for the prissy grey-haired women or their “alcohol-free” punch that resisted even being spiked. Eying Lyndsea closer and noting her actual dismay despite her amusement with his words, he sighed with a cocked eyebrow.* Lyndsea - what is it?  

 **Lyndsea:** Ingrid is my friend. *Presses her lips together, suddenly finding it easy to disapprove despite still repressing laughter. Honestly, Gustav holding that box of pink kitty bandages was hilarious.*

 **Max:** I didn’t go near Ingrid. *Plaintively, as if he hadn’t spent half his life in this pureblood society. And really it was half his life. He’d gotten out as fast as he possibly could.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She just cocks her eyebrow higher.*

 **Max:** *Lord could Lyndsea look the ice queen she was decried as when she wanted to. For someone with such a usually sweet face too…but then, it didn’t surprise him. Harper had had…kind of a type. Even though he knew quite well Lyndsea would have just said his type was “her.” Shying away from these thoughts as he usually did - he was surprised and pleased to realize it wasn’t because it hurt this time, the usual heavy-breath-stealing-ton of guilt was gone. Instead he said,* Oh come on, Lyndsea, Ingrid is as related to Gustav as I am to you. *There was a pause, and then because he couldn’t resist himself, he gestured between them.* Hey! You think they eve—

 **Lyndsea:** You’re a prick, Max.

 **Max:** You know better insults than that, Lyndsea. 

 **Lyndsea:** *waves her hand, saying lightly,* I’m being diplomatic.

 **Max:** You’re a real saint.

 **Lyndsea:** *She winces the tiniest bit and darts her gaze away, fixing her hair as she sits on the opposing chair. Her gaze is suddenly hard on the photographs on the mantle, but she asks passing casual, cool,* What in the world were you doing with a box of little muggle-girl’s band-aids? 

 **Max:** *Lyndsea had always taken his sarcasm too seriously, but he knew why. At least with this. At her tease, he chuckled,* Oh, recovered them this morning.  Squad cleaned up that mess in Surrey - where the spell went wrong? Nearly burned down the street? 

 **Lyndsea:** *Her smile softens as it always did when she’s reminded of how charitable Max really was - whatever his jokes. He’d been part of the Magical Law Enforcement half his life now, fighting magic-gone-wrong fires and catastrophes. He said Harper got him into it; said his brother had been making those messes his whole life when inventing things and he was ‘always the one cleaning them up.’ She knew what Max really meant - but she chose not to think on it. Looking back at him she just nods, saying lightly,* Well, you have an answer for everything, don’t you Max?

 **Max:** *He laughs at that and shakes his head, leaning back further into the couch.* Oh I know what this is.

 **Lyndsea:** *His sudden self-satisfied look made her frown. Deciding not to bother guessing,* What?

 **Max:** You _heard_ us out on the balcony.

 **Lyndsea:** *Her eyebrow suddenly sky rockets. Truthfully she hadn’t even thought of that, but she laughs incredulously - her words dry.* It was kind of hard not to hear, you know, she was being awfully loud.

 **Max:** Kind of hard to help. *He mirrored her diction perfectly; if there was one thing he was really good at it was mocking words. Harper had turned him into a parrot once for that. He chuckled at the memory, than set the glass down.* Lyndsea, I wasn’t sure -

 **Lyndsea:** *She rolled her eyes, only the faintest bit surprised that she honestly didn’t care. It was hard for anyone to touch her anymore at all, she thought sadly. Whatever comfort she used to draw was outweighed by guilt - guilt for betraying the man who had given her the ring still ever on her finger, guilt for stringing Max along, guilt for the way her son had looked at her when he confronted her over it. Even guilt was so overwhelming she felt rather numb to it.* I’m glad, Max.

 **Max:** *He gets an honest smile at that - knowing as he did now how to tell when Lyndsea was just saying something or honestly believed it. It wasn’t hard to figure out; she believed in very little. As she’d say, she was a Brackner: she said what she meant.* Oh, perfect then. 

 **Lyndsea:** *drily* She sounded lovely.

 **Max:** She is. *smirking, he adds with ease* Flexible too. 

 **Lyndsea:** Prick.

 **Max:** *arches eyebrow*

 **Lyndsea:** Wanker. *Rephrases after a long, deliberative search for the word.*

 **Max:** *Laughs* Now didn’t she just disprove that?

 **Lyndsea:** You’re -unbelievable.- *She was beginning to want a sip of that drink he’d put down, but it meant budging, and budging from the seat meant she was fidgeting — fidgeting meant he won. She wouldn’t allow that. So instead she said easily,* But I am glad you’re doing better.

 **Max:** *Oh, the many ways he could take that. That comment was just dying to have his zinger-addled brain remark on her knowing damn well he didn’t get much ‘better’ - but the distant look in her eyes and twist in his chest told him it was too soon, and too raw a subject. Since they had ended things months ago, it had been annoyingly uncomfortable to navigate terminology. They’d never truly been _together_ either — and yet again, he felt nothing but relief to know it was over. So he just nods, turning his gaze away from his brother’s photograph on the mantle and holding his widow’s gaze steadily.* You seem like you’re doing better too, Lyndsea.

 **Lyndsea:** *Was she? She couldn’t tell anymore. Her teeth clenched. In some ways she thought she was…she smiled more easily, had a frequent correspondence with a son who actually was taking the time to write back, Max had moved out and when he did — it seemed far from crippling her, to have freed her. Life seemed to have possibility again, a better tomorrow rather than one just filled with an endless cycle of guilt, pain and want. Yet there was still a deeper hurt, one that had it’s roots in her soul and so she nodded though she felt like shaking her head.* I’m trying. *And it was. Anyone who knew her well - and granted, she’d never let that many people in, not since the one who knew her best had died - said she had changed. Of course she had, she always wanted to scream at them, her husband had died when he was only _thirty_ , and she _twenty-six_. He’d been murdered in front of their _son_. It had been almost a decade, and still her gut twisted, her heart beat faster and ice-water flooded her veins at the single, simple thought. She twisted the diamond ring around on her finger as she asked weightily,* Why is it so hard? 

 **Max:** *That was one of those questions he was supposed to not bother trying to answer, all those self-help books his mother had bought him afterwards said. And yes, he’d leafed through them, bent pages down (just to annoy his mother for defiling the book, having never known how Harper could stand to scribble things his brilliant older brother deemed “corrections.”) Yet, he argued mentally with the tattered pages he read way too many times for his self-esteem and comfort, _He knew the answer_. And if he did, he surely should try to tell her, right? Right.* Because Harper made everyone love him, Lyndsea. 

 **Lyndsea:** *Hearing his name actually cross Max’s lips made her spin around, mouth drawing down and open in shock. She couldn’t find breath - and he continued anyway.*

 **Max:** *With a shrug.* When it’s that easy to fall, it’s near impossible to climb out. Especially because you don’t want to. 

 **Lyndsea:** *Hearing it put bluntly calmed her racing heart, and she nodded, looking down to her knees. Of course he was right; he got it. Max missed his brother almost as much as she and Al did. Struggling to breathe still, she focused on it. In and out.* 

 **Max: *** Max looked over her shoulder towards the frame on the mantle again. He was uncomfortable with the topic, but there was a lighter feeling to his words, a deeper want. They didn’t talk about him often — no one talked about Harper enough. Max hated the feeling that the world might have forgotten, even with his name plastered on every high-scan plastic label Lyndsea designed for his medical potions with the charity. Eyes falling on the photograph, he continues almost without thought,* I get it, Lyndsea, I really do. I know we always fought - *he laughs because he has to, because he has to choke out a chuckle at the irony, or the shame and guilt might consume him* - but…I wanted to _be_ him when I was younger. He was bloody perfect at everything he ever tried.

 **Lyndsea:** *She smiles slightly, shaking her head. No, she wanted to say as she was flooded with memories. No, she could outstrip him on a broom and draw better, and her hand writing was actually legible and what good were brilliant ideas when you couldn’t decipher them? That was what she’d always said. Yet even these things she loved, and Harper was perfect in every way that mattered to her: he was him.*

 **Max:** *Eyes rolling to the ceiling as he reached for the glass again, he thought about that - thought about how much his brother drove him up the wall with the usual pang of sadness for the loss. He’d never been able to best him academically, despite his quickness at drawing spells — Harper was too clever for quick. By the time he’d lifted a wand he usually was flying around or braying as a bloody arse. He thought proudly how he could cast full-body transformations now (flying as a parrot had been too fun; he owed his brother one. Or a hundred rather, but one for that particular tidbit). Then he thought he was more proud that he’d left, that he did have his job and dates and how well Alcott was — how strong the boy was, how safe both he and Lyndsea were, how taken care of. Those were the things he had to focus on for his sanity.*

 **Lyndsea:** You say you wanted to _be_ him..? *Her wariness interrupts his rapid thoughts.* 

 **Max:** That’s not why. *He could see where it was going instantly and forestalled the question with his hand held up.* Lyndsea, you’re a beautiful, remarkable, independent woman.

 **Lyndsea:** *Far from making her feel better, that made her feel worse. She looked at her heels.*

 **Max:** You’ve also always been his. *It was said with ease, without a trace of desire left in his voice - the statement was simple fact. He looked at her steadily as she leaped her gaze back to his, smiling sadly.* Since I met you when I was .. what, fourteen?

 **Lyndsea:** *She grins shyly, thinking about that Christmas.* 

 **Max:** I just don’t think you should torture yourself anymore. There’s no shame in finding comfort or happiness, hun, there’s not. 

 **Lyndsea:** *That was a little less with ease, the words stuck in his throat. Lyndsea picked up on it, but she didn’t know quite how to respond to it.* If he was here —

 **Max:** —then it wouldn’t have happened. *He shrugs, not a trace of doubt in his mind as he finishes off the glass and sets it down. It clinks against the wood. She looks at him disbelievingly and he cocks an eyebrow.* Lyndsea. Do you really think -

 **Lyndsea:** Of course not. *She snaps it, offended at even the hint of the suggestion that she’d have committed adultery. As if every bone in her body didn’t harbor the deep, immovable need to have Harper back - a want she could never satisfy, a thirst she could never sate.* 

 **Max:** He died. *It was blunt.* And he’d be angry, yes, but…

 **Lyndsea:** It happens. *She whispers it; the mantra that had been her only respite for years which had the welcome addition,* And it’s over.

 **Max:** *He nods, agreeing with that pleasantly and happily.* If he’d been here,  it never would have happened. Who knows? I might have had a wife of my own by now driving me absolutely crazy. 

 **Lyndsea:** Balcony girl isn’t a contender? *She challenges instantly, for truthfully she’d thought bitterly: he should have been married by now. That was the life she’d wanted.*

 **Max:** *He laughs suddenly, shrugging a shoulder up.* Perhaps? Who knows? 

 **Lyndsea:** *quietly* That’s…that’s what we were supposed to have you know. Myself and Harper, Rosa and Sandor, and Max with someone — all of us with Al, with Ric and Graciela and Alisa and Rosa - gathered around the Christmas tree, singing Feliz Navidad. Ducking your mother’s disapproving looks even as she spoils my son, ending Benjamin’s ear for another yarn and drink. We were _supposed —_

 **Max:** I know. *Quietly, and he shrugs, standing up again.* But this is the life we’ve got.

 **Max:** Harper would hate to think hate us to be miserable all the time. Don’t you think? 

 **Lyndsea:** *She had no idea honestly. Wouldn’t she have thought he’d be miserable without her? Though…that was more the brutal reality, she would never _wish_ Harper ill. Her thumb fiddled with her diamond, a habit and she chuckled once under her breath.* Well, no of course not. But I never gave him exactly what he wanted.

 **Max:** *agrees easily* You are a difficult woman.

 **Lyndsea:** *she chuckles, surprised* You’re supposed to make me feel better.

 **Max:** I did that for _far_ too long. *just as easily* Besides, that was what you wanted to hear. *He’s getting up and going to put the drink back.*

 **Lyndsea:** *lightly, prim* Well, I may be difficult, but he never had _difficulty_ pleasing me either. 

 **Max:** *Now it’s his turn to snort, ignoring the slight (she was just saying that), and he looks back to shrug his shoulder at her, smirking.* Yeah, yeah. Besides, Lyndsea, you did give him what you both wanted: his son.  Alcott’s brilliant. Just like his father really — too bloody brilliant for his own good, and too capable of beating me up by the way, did he gain like a dozen new muscles in a weekend? 

 **Lyndsea:** *Had beamed at the praise even though she thought quietly she had nothing to do with it; Alcott was perfect because he was who he was. That latter makes her frown briefly as she’d noticed the same thing.* I’m sure it wasn’t a weekend…

 **Max:** Well. *That was not the end of that, he thought bitterly, as likely there was a long explanation for it.* You should probably make sure he hasn’t like. Invented some potion. Like father like son? 

 **Lyndsea:** *She smiles faintly at the last statement, but she shakes her head.* He was brewing potions with Devin over the summer, but I…*She pauses delicately, thinking how to say it* …recognize the ingredients.

 **Max:** *guessing* Harper’s research?

 **Lyndsea:** Something like that. *She didn’t want to say what she really thought. It was up to her son to tell her…most often she refrained from thinking about it. Her boy was healthy, strong - whoever had hurt him was going to get a piece of her mind, otherwise, she didn’t want him to think she thought him unable to handle it. She cleared her throat again, bringing her chin up and asking lighter,* Are you going to give the poor girl replacement band-aids?

 **Max** : Hardly. *after a brief snort; eyes narrowing* You’ll tell me if Roswell says anything else to you, won’t you?

 **Lyndsea:** *easily* I can handle Gustav. The little -

 **Max:** *eyebrow arches*

 **Lyndsea:** *cutting off the insult with a polite smile to cover the vulgar word half out of her lips,* Has been unbearable for years, but honestly…I swear, I’d almost like him to actually try something. Then I’d be justified hexing that smirk off his face.

 **Max** : He’s been unbearable for decades - since we stepped in, defended the Noel girl in school, Marie. *rolling his eyes, glaring and going for another bottle of water now.* Little -

 **Lyndsea:** *arching her brow*

 **Max:** *changing mid-word* Prick. *Grins at her eye roll* Is going to get what’s coming for him one of these days, you know that? Cross my heart.

 **Lyndsea:** *cursing him under her breath* 

 **Max:** *He grins* Sounds like Al has the Roswell at school in hand though - couldn’t be more proud really. And poor girl? *laughs* She was healing my men! *It was playful; she’d been adorable, running around with her fake first-aid kid and band-aids.* I told her when she was higher than my waist I was going to have to hire her. She promptly went on her toes too.

 **Lyndsea:** *Grinning again, more at ease now.* Did she reach your waist?

 **Max:** It was a very near thing, I’ll have you know, and _then_ I’d have to have explained myself to the chief. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining the five year old on staff.

 **Lyndsea:** How did the Chief explain hiring you? *prim*

 **Max:** Oh, ha ha. I am _seven and three quarters_ , I’ll have you know. 

 **Lyndsea:** And if you wish really, really hard you’ll even be up to your brother’s waist someday.

 **Max:** *snorts; but he shakes his head, saying plainly,* There aren’t enough heels in the world. *And there weren’t. He would never be able to repay the debt to the brother he lost, the brother he loved, so he moved on: as they all must.* 

 **Lyndsea:** You want to borrow mine? *She gestures down, smirking.* They’re pink, but.

 **Max:** You wound me. *chuckling* 

 **Lyndsea:** Ah, well, they would look absolutely darling with the kitty band-aids.

 **Max:** _I’m_ worth at _least_ the ponies. 

 **Lyndsea:** I’ll consult your staff. *lightly* Direct me to the Basil Bush hospital?

 **Max:** *lights up with a smirk* Absolutely. Do you know, all the nurses there are incredibly foxy?

 **Lyndsea:** …sometimes I really hate you, you know.

 **Max:** I know, hun. *he chuckles, saying brightly and ignoring the pang in his chest.* Sometimes I hate myself. 

&.

 **Hols:** *Technically, she was of age. Technically, she could leave Hogwarts whenever she pleased if she pleaded her case to the Headmaster. But it was just so much more fun sneaking out. And yes, her dad would reprimand her while trying not to look so proud and then ask if everything was alright, and Hols would promptly inform that all of his daughters (and his honorary children) were fine. However she had not been able to yet figure out where to go from there. Calmly? Calmly was good, hysterics were bad. So...well, she didn't know yet. 

She got to the ministry and got a visitor's pass, pinning it over her tank top and then taking the elevator to the Auror's offices. She knew everyone there and they all knew her. How many times had she begged her daddy to take her to work with him? She loved to see the wanted posters on the wall and the maps with last known locations (was that not normal for a child?). She also loved to spin in the chairs and was constantly being told off by her dad, one of the few rare times he actually meant it, when she asked to see scars. 

Now she understood why, but when she was a little girl, she dreamt of adventure and scars and stories to go along with those scars. To her it was the utmost sign of strength. And the Aurors, despite their short comings, despite what Al had said...they were heroes. They fought for a better world, risked it all to make it safer, and they kept doing it despite the constant insults and accusations. Hols loved them, they were her daddy's family and there for eher own. She loved them the same way her boyfriend hated them. The thought made her wince. As she was through the door off the elevator however, she moved towards the Auror's offices and beamed at one of the secretaries.* Hi Pip! Is my dad around? 

*He was! Oh good, she was worried he was out on a raid and she'd have to wait (with worry. She was always waiting with worry that he might not come back after one. Aurors didn't get old after all...she repressed a shudder. She was just thinking like that because Alcott's story was still fresh on her mind, the pain on his face permanently etched behind her eyelids. 

She walked over to her father's office (she was so proud when he got an office so many years ago and made him a Popsicle stick picture frame to celebrate it) and knocked on the door.* Daddy? *She peeked her head through the door.*

 **Shawn:** *Once upon a magical time he had groaned and complained about the amount of paperwork associated with being an Auror. Tyler had even begrudgingly thanked him when he imploded half the office -- one of the few Aurors who actually had stuck it out with him this long. 

The office had been overhauled since then. Now he'd do it all the time; a desk job and a peaceful life with his wife and daughters hardly seemed too much to ask after all that they had been through, everything they had seen, how many people they had lost. After all, heir dark days finally looked a bit lighter, didn't they? It had been nearly ten years since the Death Eaters were any real concerted threat; things were getting better. 

Or they had been. Recently, for whatever reason that Shawn could only darkly gripe was 'the death eater's children have come of age and are looking for revenge' to no truly-amused laughs, there had been an uptick in the strange, improbable and worrisome. Two disappearances over the summer had kept him and Tyler late, the old vets (Kevin had transferred home to France, Abi took to the desk) the butt of rookie jokes. They didn't remember the last war. 

Lina was still there, but in her stilettos she was hardly any kind of 'joke' -- and besides, she worked special interests now. He was glad they had more solid training behind the younger Aurors now -- a few years at least -- if these signs meant what his tired eyes thought it meant. 

Looking up in surprise (and nearly tipping his coffee over), Shawn brightened to see Holly-Rae.* Do I hear my baby-girl? *Ripping his glasses off his face and standing up as she entered, he furrowed his brows in fake confusion.* Oh sorry Miss - have you seen my daughter? About yeh high -- *He gestures around his waist,* -- six, might be sneaking off to see a dragon? *Barely able to drop the pretense long, he engulfed her in a furious hug.* Hols -- you all right? Why aren't you in school? 

 **Hols:** *Oh daddy, she thought to herself with a bright beam on her face.* Maybe you should check ten years ago, daddy. *She hugged him back tightly, her eyes shutting close. It was probably because what Al had told her was still so livid, but she was just so happy to see him, and couldn't imagine life without him. She exhaled and then pulled away with a smile on her face.* 

Dad I'm only taking four classes for my N.E.W.T's, I have time. *adds quickly* Everything's fine...well...I guess, I, well. I don't know. *Word vomit, it always happened with her dad, she told him everything. Well, not -everything- that was what Lynn was for.* Daddy...do you know about what happened to Harper Brackner?

 **Shawn:** *Face visibly tightening, wrinkling and furrowing so that he seemed to age ten years. Hilarious. Instead of losing them when looking for his six year old, he'd gained them. Bloody hell. Shadows pass through his eyes: old hurts, old guilt and he let out the briefest exhale without ever taking his eyes from hers.* Alcott told you. 

*Shawn was only shocked it had taken so long. Leaning back against his desk, the wood cut into his sweating palm. He'd begun to hope (read: pray, beg, plead) that perhaps he wouldn't have to ever tell her -- actually if she wanted to stop dating all togeth--* Wait, -do- I know? 

*That confused him, as he picked both arms up, folded them on his chest. So, Alcott hadn't told her he was there then. His internal sarcastic 'great' turned genuine a second later; he would prefer to tell her the entire story himself. Breathing out and rubbing his forehead hard,* Sweetie...*His voice was taut with pain and guilt.* What happened to Harper was a terrible tragedy. He should never have been in danger. *He clenched his teeth.* Neither should Dana, the trainee who died that day too. 

*He figured Alcott may have left that detail out, but Shawn couldn't forget. Both deaths rested heavily on his conscience.* Yes, I know. *His hand dropped, he ceased pinching his nose and held his daughter's gaze steadily with pain evident in his own.* I was there. In fact, it was my raid - though I fired the person responsible for kick-starting everything, I still should have been...*He didn't know what he was going to say, so he groaned and said aloud, dry,* a better leader? Stronger? Thrown myself bodily in front of Harper and not been focusing so damn much on Jonathan?

 **Hols:** *She nodded, before adding a bit bitterly* Yeah, after I yelled at him for bad mouthing aurors. *Her shoulders dropped. She had been hoping that he hadn't known, or that all he'd have to do was go dig up a file or find someone who had been there to tell her the truth. This was, much much worse. She pursed her lips, watching her dad. It was ironic, when she had talked to Al she told him that whoever it was, they were probably ridden with guilt. She didn't know how true that had actually been. The guilt was palpable on her Dad's face. Al hadn't mentioned a trainee had died but she understood why he wouldn't. Hols sighed, frowning now. 

She couldn't be angry with her dad, she was just exasperated.* A little heads up might have been useful daddy so I don't end up being a totally insensitive girlfriend who's bringing up this traumatizing- *She stopped, that wouldn't help. It wasn't her dad's fault. Whatever he said.* So it was just...an accident. *A horrible accident.* Right? I just...*she frowned and then sat down on the seats in front of his desk.* He was caught in the middle? *she asked quieter* Do you know who cast the spell that killed him? 

 **Shawn:** *A brief - brief - smile tilts up his lips as he says simply,* Thank you for defending me. *Not that honestly, he ever expected any different -- but guilt-ridden as he was, he liked simply finding something positive to say. That was who he was: always looking for the good in the irredeemable, the light in the black. He couldn't help it. He didn't want, to help it. Holding up a hand as she started to chide him, he nodded just once,* I know. I'm sorry honey--I wanted to -- I guess I--I didn't, want to step where I wasn't wanted, in regards to his family I think I've done that enough. *It was bitter. Waiting with bated breath he nods instantly,* A terrible accident. Whatever different newspapers wrote later - we have no control over the media - my report was always that: it was clear from what we overheard that Harper was neither with them nor doing anything but ordering them out. *God, if he closed his eyes he could still hear the snapped 'Get the fuck out of my house' that lead to the trainee jumping into acton. Jaw tightening, he shook his head slowly,* I don't. I know it wasn't me though - *quickly adding, though in low moments he wondered himself* - I was fighting Jonathan - that's the day I killed him. *point blank, his voice dark and tired.* The spells I used - the injuries they would have given, well - *He didn't want to talk about specifics, or the hole he'd put in the bastard's head; this was his daughter.* -- Harper didn't have them. He simply wasn't breathing, nor his heart beating. It was AK. *He clenches his teeth.* I don't use, that spell. 

 **Hols:** *Of course. She always had, and she always would. No one talked shit about her family and got away with it, not without a metaphorical punch in the face or sometimes a very literal one. But she nodded after, believing that. She always had, it had just been a...fatal mistake. Not just for Alcott's father, but for a trainee too. She was grateful, so very grateful that there was no chance it had been her father. Because if there was even the remote chance...she felt sick. She had previously found the date worth rejoicing- when Jonathan Arlette was killed. Hols was too young when the man had come in, kicked the door down, and took her mom. But Belle remembered, too well. For a while Belle hadn't wanted to tell her because she was a second mother to all of them. Little Belle, now big Belle, big cancer-defeating-businesswoman Belle, had taken it on herself after that event to keep all of her siblings safe...there were a lot of them. Between her mom and Brad...it was busy. Belle told her what had happened that day, how she had taken a crying Hols from the crib into her arms and carried them both through the magical wardrobe. Hols hated Jonathan, hated him with a passion. But it was unfair, totally unfair, that the day the world lost a monster, it had also lost a good man, Alcott's father. She supposed these things happened every day but...she still found it unfair.* I just don't understand why he doesn't...blame the Death Eaters! They were the ones who were there trying to recruit his father, the ones who would have kept pushing until they got what they wanted, who would've had no problem dragging Al in front of his father and hurting him as leverage, and he doesn't even blame them at all! He's so bloody stubborn *she frowns* and I wanna change his mind but then I'd look like the witch with a capital B whos defending the people he thinks are responsible for his father's death. And you aren't! *she looks back up at her father* You aren't. You were doing your job, and risking your life-- how can he even begin to compare you or aunt Lina or uncle Tyler to filth like Jonathan? *Her hands were shaking, she hated it, she was so mad, or maybe upset. Maybe both.*

 **Shawn:** *Honestly, he was both surprised that Alcott wouldn't blame the Death Eaters...and not. When the six year old had looked into his eyes, Shawn had _watched_ his fear and hurt melted to anger, which twisted to hate in seconds. After the briefest smile as Hols yelled (he couldn't help it, he was always impressed by her fervor even if disapproving and in this case, she had every right to scream at him) he took a step forward and gestured her into another tight hug.* God, I love you so much. *He waited a long few seconds before sitting beside her this time, saying slowly but simply,* Alcott was hiding behind the bookcase - I always believed that's why Harper was even caught, he was defending his son. He wouldn't have understood what the Death Eaters were, really - but he understood our Ministry badges, and it was .. me, who stayed when he came out and when he ran over to his father's body, begging him to wake up. *his voice constricted with pain* Of course he associates us with it. We're the ones he saw. *clutching her hands if only to get them to stop shaking he said quietly,* Hols, I don't mind if he blames  us - if it gave him peace, then I'm even glad.

 **Hols:** *Physical intervention was always required for her to calm down. Lynn tended to put her hand on his shoulder and say "babe", Nick grabbed her hands as they flew around the air, Nadia pulled her hair and used her full name, Al cut her off with his lips, and her daddy hugged her. She hugged him back, tightly, burying her face in his shirt for a moment. She was just so...frustrated. She hated not being able to do anything to help. She backed away and together they sat down, her lips pursed together. Honestly, it didn't make her feel any better. Al hadn't met her dad yet and now if he recognized her father's face...her head hurt. And her heart was suffering just as well. Thinking of a little six year old boy running up to the body of his father. Horrid.* Well, I do mind. It doesn't give him peace. It gives him someone to blame eternally, someone to direct all his anger at, and now I found out that someone is you? Am I just supposed to sit back and let him insult you?! No. *If he ever brought it up to her again that was. She was half hoping he both wouldn't and did. It was quite conflicting.* But anything I'd say would just hurt him. That's the last thing I want. 

 **Shawn:** *His face contorting in pain - he thought brutally, rueful: just when I thought that day couldn't be more painful, couldn't bring more guilt, it hurts my daughter. Fan-fucking-tastic. Rubbing his forehead hard as he freed one hand, he still squeezed hers, still held on. His words were still slow.* I know honey. It's...an impossible situation. And I want to meet him - for real, that is. *Because he knew that if his daughter was this serious about someone, he needed to, it was important to her. Even if he'd rather hoped they might have broken up by now and he'd not have too.* Look - if he cares about you --and he better (his 'fathers' voice was on a moment) -- then he's not going to want to insult -your- father, right? You can say it without it being an attack - chances are he can't blame you for acting in my defense anymore than you blame him acting in Harper's. *So he hoped.*

 **Hols:** *She snorted. Yes. Impossible summed it up as best as it could. And then she winced, adding in a mutter* And I thought I was nervous about that before. *She would have to cross her fingers and pray Al didn't wolf out. The wolf rage was always close to the surface, and while normally she could use it to her advantage, she would be useless in a situation like this. She hated it.* I hope so...Al's more "react now, think later". It's not like we're strangers to arguing anyways...*she huffed out in frustration, leaning her head on the palm of her hand* 

 **Shawn:** Hey, I always was going to be nice. *He winks. Then he exhales.* Now I just know to be...a little more sensitive. *Like that wasn't British understatement at it's finest. Rubbing his lips and wishing he had something better than the office coffee, he nods before saying reassuringly,* Well..if that's the case...you've always made up before haven't you? I'd rather not think precisely how they encouraged you -*he holds up his hand* But - arguments haven't stopped you. 

 **Hols:** No, you were going to be intimidating and now you're irked because you can't without upsetting me instead of just annoying me. *She was smiling still despite her words, well that was before she groaned, complaining* Da-ddyyyy. *No, he really didn't want to know. She nodded and then shrugged* I guess I'll just have to see. *It had been much easier to not give a shit, so long ago, but that ship had long passed by her, she cared, obviously. Her actions were pretty loud even if she didn't exactly voice out the feelings.* Dad, when's your lunch break? I'm hungry. *Given that she couldn't very well drink this away...she could eat it away.*

 **Shawn:** *He chuckled. shrugging a shoulder.* Well, I won't deny being irked. *Just that he was scared. Which he wasn't. Maybe he was little wary; he did feel kind of personally responsible for horribly ruining this kid's life and God, who said karma didn't exist and the world didn't love irony? Holding up both hands 'innocently' as she exaggerated his name, Shawn nodded.* Well, we can go now if you want. *This case work could wait an hour - there was nothing urgent. And he rather prayed nothing urgent came up. Smiling briefly, he asked slowly,* ...is there anything in particular you want to ask? 

 **Hols:** Yes, exactly what I want. *she nodded* I've been starving for weeks, I've been trying to get the headmaster to adopt an additional, smaller, vegan menu but he refuses. And I know this great little restaurant where they make vegan tomato, mushroom, and pepper pizza- my mouth waters thinking about it. *She beamed. Sometimes she missed the simplicity of not being a vegan (and in particular missed chicken wings and pepperoni) but after the way she had seen the way those cows had been treated so horribly at that plant last summer, she swore off it immediately.* Don't worry, there's normal food there too. *she nodded before thinking on that. Anything she wanted to ask? She was both curious and terrified to know more. So she asked instead* Yes, can I have a motorcycle? *After grinning, she went to hug him, and held on tightly, as tight as she could. Damn, she was just so emotional at times.* I love you, daddy.

 **Shawn:** *It was amazing how much easier he could breathe the moment he saw his daughter happy - and he wondered briefly if he wanted to see about getting Phoebe and Elle out of school too for lunch with them before deciding he was probably in enough trouble as it was. Smiling, he nodded,* Oh good, I was worried. I can't pretend to be a rabbit. *He was honestly, delighted at the question she chose to ask even though he knew she knew what he'd meant. Shaking his head slightly he was about to say he'd consider it when he held a hand up, grabbing his jacket - only to let it go when she jumped on him again. Squeezing as tightly as he could and shutting his eyes, he tried not to think how he'd feel and only said softly in her ear,* I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I'm right here. *They stayed in a mutually, strangling hug before he finally pulled back to ask,* As to the motorcycle- just one question- has your mother already said no? 

 **Hols:** *Rabbit food- pah! Rabbits didn't eat vegan pizza, or have hummus or salsa on pita chips, or all the peanut butter they could eat, thank you very much. She disregarded the quip though and was honestly relieved to hear her dad reassure her of a fear she hadn't known she had acquired. He was psychic, this father of hers. She pulled away before she beamed* Haven't asked! So no, she hasn't said no. *Wiggles her eyebrows* would this be a good moment to bring up technically I'm of age?

 **Shawn:** And remind me of that? I hope this impossible any way, I couldn't be so old. *Immediately looking around his waist.* Ten years ago you said?  I'll get right on that...once I figure time travel out. *After squeezing her again for another brief hug and getting his jacket,* So we could just pay a call on Rowland and Rebecca I suppose. *At that moment he couldn't even remember how old their kids were, but the thought made him smile anyway; he liked memories that time didn't have to be so utterly damn final.*

 **Hols:** *She brightens and then nods her head agreeing* Yes, we should visit them. Rebecca will be on my side for getting a motorcycle and Rowland never contradicts her. Good relationship. *she teased before grabbing his arm so they could walk out of the office and ministry and grab some food and forget the absolute mess for a few hours. She wondered if she could convince her dad to let her get a -flying- motorcycle.*

  
**\--** _flashback too **: july 26th, 2018.**_   


**Lyndsea:** Alcott--!--*as he darts away from where she'd tried to kiss him, and hug him*

 **Alcott:** *He instantly stops running, putting both hands behind his back. Unconvincing innocence in his smile, he says sweetly,* Yes, Mum?

 **Lyndsea:** *With equally unconvincing exasperation and disapproval,* What do you have behind your back?

 **Alcott:** *looks over his shoulder with a devil's grin* Lamp, shade, rug, that bookcase of those papers i always fall asleep too--

 **Lyndsea:** *One hand flies to her hip and she looks sideways at Harper with an eyebrow arch, saying primly,* I blame you.

 **Alcott:** \--and that tapestry from Grandmum that you said you really actually hate but it's important to be polite. *turns back*

 **Lyndsea** : *Had laughed out in surprise, lips in a tiny 'oh', gaze darting back to her son and then her husband, teasing* That's not true - I really do.

 **Alcott:** Mum, you and Dad say lying is bad. *looking his Dad straight in the eye, still grinning wickedly* 

 **Lyndsea:** *lips twitch, and then she kneels slightly, hands going to her kneecaps* Would you just come here and give me a kiss? I have to leave soon.

Alcott: *lets her (reluctantly) kiss his cheek, looking at his Dad as he asks,* Am I going?

 **Lyndsea:** *kisses him, and then chuckles once, pretending to misunderstand the question* Do you want to come?

 **Alcott:** No. *resolutely* It's boring. And has people who smell bad.

 **Lyndsea:** *tiny bit scolding* 

 **Alcott:** They do - *nodding importantly, insistently* I'm telling the truth, Mother, the girls smell like they've bathed in gardens or something and the boys even worse.

 **Harper:** *he smirks as Alcott answers his mother's question accurately, but not in the manner Lyndsea expected, undoubtedly proud.* And I take full responsibility. *He chuckles and then it's his turn to raise an eyebrow and turn to his wife* Hate? *He didn't think the tapestry was all that bad. He snorted once as Lyndsea tried to placate him (lie to him) and then turned back to his son, smirking briefly again and then nodded* Quite right. Nothing beats blunt honesty. *Except a good dose of sarcasm but saying that out loud would only earn him a reprimand from his wife, and she was already running a tad late. Laughing once again, he grinned* How about we leave mum to her boring, stuffy, meeting and you come help me with what i've been working on?

 **Alcott:** *beaming with pride, he adds sheepishly* Well...she might not have said hate. Might have exaggerated.

 **Lyndsea:** *holds up her forefinger and thumb, amused* A little?

 **Alcott:** A little. *nodding, smile bright*

 **Lyndsea:** *shaking her head, saying pointedly as she straightens her back, grinning* You can be bluntly honest without being rude. *looks back to Alcott* But no lying.

 **Alcott:** You just tr---*looks at her face and changes mid sentence* Yes, Mum.

 **Lyndsea:** &beaming at Alcott* Thank you, darling. *spins to nonchalantly slide her hand around Harper's back and waist, looking up at him bemused* My boring, stuffy meeting that was the compromise that I work on this comission so that -you- could get your regenerative potion's patent? 

 **Alcott:** *starts beaming, jutting his little chin out and holding his back straight, ignoring his mother, excited gaze resting on his father* Can I really come in the study? I'll be good, I swear I won't knock anything over this time *nodding* yes, please! 

 **Harper:** *Their son learned quick. When Lyndsea got that expression on her face there was no arguing with her, none at all. Well, sometimes Harper could get away with putting up a challenge and handsomely rewarded for it but he was a special case.* A compromise you would have talked your way out of if you didn't really want to do it darling. *he grinned at her, winking once and then turned back to Al.* Yes you can. *He laughed, remembering the mess that had resulted from Alcott spilling a potion before.* Do you have your wand with you?

 **Lyndsea:** Perhaps. *This was with a sly little smirk. She would have added it was still all his fault, but she had said that already and she did so loathe to repeat herself.* Oh - I see what this is though, get Mum out of the house so you can have your boys night -

Alcott: Noooooooo... *is nodding a virile, anxious 'yes' with a smirk, eyes shining while he exchanges a guilty grin with his Dad.*

 **Lyndsea:** And here I was going to hurry home to you, darling. *She murmurs it under her breath, amusedly as Alcott continued right on talking.*

 **Alcott:** No - it'll only be two minutes! *He resumes darting away, which reveals the cookies in his grasp, but Lyndsea lets this slide with a little laugh.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Eyes flicking back to her husbands, she shakes her head once.* Do you know I don't think even four hands between us will be enough with him? *Merlin, she jested but there was an undeniable truth to her words. And Lord, was she proud of that.* 

 **Harper:** *In chorus with his son* Not at all. We wouldn't dream of it. *grins, exchanging a knowing glance with Al before turning back to Lyndsea, licking his lips briefly at her muttered comment and then laughs softly* Don't run- *Too late, there was no stopping him and he laughed again, turning away from him as he goes out of sight, and towards his wife.* Of course not. He's a Brackner, Brackners are more than a few handfuls *he wiggled his eyebrows and then leaned in to kiss her* Do hurry home, though. I don't much fancy having to share you with so many people, after all. *he leaned in to kiss her again*

 **Lyndsea** : *Leaning in to the kiss, her hand slides up his back to twist in the hair at the base of his neck, chasing this tongue with her own. It was a habit. She preferred to lick his lips for him. Hand still dancing along the nape of his neck, she finds herself chuckling.* Well, and here I was about to suggest we ask my sister and your brothers for their help and hands. *Tilting her head, she added as if it had only just occurred to her,* Oh, that's right though, Rosalia is pregnant...and due soon, isn't she? *She winks.* It would be selfish of me to ask her to travel. 

Besides, I suppose - *her hand travels down Harper's forearm with ease, casually fixing his collar and sleeve,* - adding more Brackner men to this household should only double the trouble. *Chuckling once, she tensed a moment - thinking seriously of the trouble there was, as she glanced over her husband's shoulder to their secretary desk. Exhaling heated, she looks back up at him and asks with a single moment of sincerity,* You haven't gotten another letter from them, have you? 

*But then, her hand drops, teasingly moving away from his kiss,* Darling - *she protests as his lips pluck hers, stealing the paint* - you're going to make me have to redo my lipstick again. *It was the third time. Hardly a record, though. She chuckles, rubbing the corner of her lips,* I swear, sometimes I think you want pink lips of your own. *It was as if he thought he could keep her taste with him always. Considering that thought, a flood of warmth igniting her, turning her cheeks rosy as her lips, she chuckled and held up the lipstick.* Ah, wait. *She kissed him once, then winked, reapplied with a smack, snapped the cap back on, and yanked him forward, hand dropping to dig into his pocket and slip in the gold case, engraved with her initials.* There you go. With you always, sweet.

 **Harper:** Not soon enough according to my brother. *He chuckled and then nodded, smiling as Lyndsea continued to talk and fix his shirt as she did, mostly out of habit because the shirt didn't need fixing up or straightening. She would say otherwise of course, because nothing could ever be too perfect and Harper couldn't disagree with that, after all he was a walking, talking, living example of that, they all were.* They haven't. *That was the truth, there had been no more letters, but various attempts with other methods of communication there had been. He did not wish to dwell on it however and moved to kiss her again, grinning against her lips as she protested.* Your pink lips are mine already, both of them *he smirked* so your theory is wrong. *He waited as she said, and then chuckled as she put the lipstick in his pockets.* Don't think this means you can take your sweet time. *he placed a small kiss on her neck, alright two, and then pulled back to wink at her.* Go. We'll be waiting.

 **Lyndsea** : *Nodding once, unease flitting across her face. Squeezing his hand, anger she couldn't help in her voice she said only,* Good, it was infuriating and insulting they should assume to know you by our last name, and own you as such. *Exhale hot, she kissed his cheek, and then found herself suddenly laughing as he moved his warm lips to her neck, disproving as he ever did her theory. Mming,* Darling, I'm not another principle of physics you can so easily disprove. *She winked too as she embraced him, hugging him tightly before pulling back as she saw the clock.* Lord but I am late. *blowing him another kiss as she pulled back, even as she heard the door open, stopped to scoop Alcott into another hug and kiss before he could pull away.* You behave for your father, all right? I love you both so much. *He was laughing by the time she let her little boy go to leave, winking at her husband and calling back to Harper,* I love you.  

 **Alcott:** Yes, Mum. *He nodded eagerly, only half paying attention to her -- too excited to get started on whatever it was Dad was doing. Holding up the small wand Harper had made him proudly (and rubbing chocolate off his lip, he waited until his mother was gone before he grinned cheekily up and added his other hand, one lone little cookie sitting on his sweaty palm.* I saved you one!

Harper: I haven't disproved a principle of physics yet...but that does sound like quite the idea. *He teased and winked back at her, before hugging her tightly and kissing her neck again, stepping away from her as he heard the door open indicating Alcott had returned with his wand.* I love you too, Lyndsi. 

*He watched her leave with a small smile before turning back to his son, grinning and laughing once as he was presented the cookie.* Ha, I knew it. *he took the cookie and patted Al's shoulder before he started walking towards his study.* Alcott, what I'm going to show you is top secret, need-to-know basis. You must not tell -anyone-. *Sure he was embellishing a little, sue him, he thought as he ate the cookie.*

 **Alcott:** *Walking with his head held high, the self-satisfied smirk curling his lips nearly identical to his fathers. Eyes round, he wondered if his father was pulling his leg - before remembering, his father didn't lie, especially not to him. So he nodded importantly, jerking his head in agreement and squeezing a hot hand around his wand as he promised,* I swear I won't tell a living soul. What are you working on? *Careful not to skip as his father opens his private study, because otherwise Dad might think him too excited and he didn't want to embarrass him,* Is it illegal? Dangerous?

Harper: *He wasn't surprised to hear the first questions that Al had come up with. He was requesting absolute secrecy after all, his son knew it had to be for a reason. It wasn't though, Lyndsea would have ripped his head off if he exposed their son to something dangerous (the illegal she would have more tolerant of).* No son, *he shut the door behind him and then grinned* Just unheard of. But before I go on *he motioned to his son's wand* Do you remember the wood and core?

 **6!Alcott:** 12 inches, made of blackthorn with a phoenix feather. *Immediately, and proudly. Phoenix feathers were rare. And blackwood represented...oh he forgot specifics; something about blooming after frost - anyway it was supposed to mean he was a survivor. Pulling himself up to the stool (and okay spinning on it - but only once!), he grinned back at his father.* Means I'm special, and a survivor. *He nods repeatedly, asking curiously,* What does yours mean?

 **Harper:** *He beamed, nodding in pride for Alcott was accurate of course.* Blackthorns are fierce warrior wands. *Worked enormously well with dark magic but there was no need no divulge that just yet. He took out his wand.* 14 and 7/8ths. Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Powerful and lethal. *He placed it on the desk in front of him* Each wand wood has its own meaning, it's own personality. Like the rhyme: rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, hazel moans. Or the infamous "wand of elder, never prosper". I came up with a few myself when I was younger. Like "an apple wand is never rotten", because it detests the use of dark magic. *he took out a series of papers and laid them out on the table, motioning for Al to look* But even through their differences, some wands woods are more compatible than others. Elm and Cypress for example, are about as compatible as they get. Both value dignity, nobleness -not to be confused  with nobility- pride. *He picked up his wand again and then held it between his two hands* I was not entirely truthful earlier, Alcott. This is not cherry wood, that is, it is not solely cherry wood. This...is cherry and elm.

 **6!Alcott:** Does that mean I'm gonna be in a battle? *curiously, spinning his short wand (though it had wound up bigger than his father expected, he remembered that clearly because Mum had whacked him for something he said about Brackner men being bigger than expected and he didn't understand why that made her cheeks colored like strawberries). Listening carefully, he recited dutifully and with a tiny grin,* Rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, hazel moans. *That was a fun rhyme, actually.* And an apple wand is never rotten. *He giggles at that, not at all surprised his Dad had made the most humorous of them. Oh, he'd forgotten one. Solemnly screwing his bottom lip up he brightened to add,* And wand of elder never prosper. *But rhymes (for babies, which he was not now, he was -six- now!) were forgotten as he listened hard, eyes going round as Galleons.* Two woods? How? *The thought excited him.*

 **Harper** : *he grins and then shakes his head before answering* It means the wand values those with the quality of a warrior. Bravery, a little recklessness, pride. Blackthorn wands also prove to be the most loyal after going through a battle, or a hardship with the owner. A stronger bond than arguably any other wand connection. *It especially made sense if you thought as wands as people- people tended to be closer together if they both suffered a tragedy together, more than two people who simply shared a trait in common. But as the topic switched just slightly, so did his attention again. He rummaged through the papers, reminding himself to file these into some sort of alpha-numerical-chronological system later and then laid out the wand one with the detailed sketched.* It's a bit like DNA strands- or you know the braid your mother wears sometimes? *He waved his wand and the sketch moved on the page* I essentially weave the two woods together "strand by strand" with magic. And polish the outside. If you were to cut the wand in half, you would be able to see the different intertwined woods. The real trick actually lies in choosing which woods to combine because in the end, the wand has to feel whole. Not to you, but to itself. The union has to be so perfect, that the wand cannot distinguish one wood from the other, just that it exists as is. Otherwise, you'd end up with a temperamental and conflicted wand, as useless as moss on a tree. 

 **Alcott** : *Nodding in earnest -- though he couldn't help but point out --* Mum takes a long time to braid though, it's -boring- *--because it was true. Blinking once in slow excitement, he amended,* Maybe...a little more exciting when it's with magic though. *Shyly letting his own spinning (warrior!) wand go, he gestured at his Dad's curiously, bright eyed.* Can you weave with more than two safely? Or with elder? Say you have an enemy, *his mind was filled with warriors stories now,* and they want a wand because yours are the best in the kingdom - no, the whole world - and you say you're making it, and you do only you hide elder in the center of it so when they try it out it implodes. *His voice grew feverish with excitement at the end of his tale.* Or would that be a way of safely tempering elder? If you could weave it with apple safely somehow, get them to work together, couldn't you have a wand both strong in healing -and- dark magic? Made stronger by polar opposites -- yin and yang? The principle of summer needing winter and vice versa? 

 **Harper:** *He laughed out once, smirking.* I won't tell her you said that. *It was a simple enough spell of his own creation, but as he said, the spell was not the end, but rather the means to the end. It was why wandlore was so fascinating- anybody could wield and channel magic through words and create their own spells (okay maybe not -anyone-) but it took a deeper understanding with wands, as well as with potions. Those two subjects would always interest him most.* It would be difficult. Not impossible, but extremely difficult to intertwine three. *Once he realized the questions would be coming and there would be no end for them, he stopped trying to answer them one by one and instead waited for him to tire and need to breathe, always watching him with a prideful smirk. How many other six year olds posed such questions? No other, besides himself at that age of course. But at the same time, he tried to push aside the fact that his son's hypothetical situation, was not as hypothetical as he would have liked. Polar opposites...was tricky. Opposites attract was either completely wrong or completely right.* Elder wood would not likely paid with anything because it distinguishes itself as unique, unusual, testy. The very fiber of its personality rests in independence...it wouldn't like sharing. But if I were to try and pair it with anything, I'd first try Rowan, which is quite similar to Apple, but Rowan has more of a patience than Apple. A real ying and yang combination, would be Spruce and Willow. Spruce wands are tough, stubborn, they want to do magic the way -they- think they should do magic, and they need a firm, confident hand to meet its match. Willow wands are bendy, owners are more insecure though usually unwarranted, less adamant, subtle, gentler. That wand could either explode itself or be rather powerful. It depends on who makes the wand too. 

 **6!Alcott:** *Nodding slowly, chest puffed out to hear the pride in his father's voice, his mind kept ping-ponging with lightning speed as his father answered as many questions as he raised.* So then. *He turns towards the table again reaching for one of his father's charts and following his finger. His bottom lip still screwed up in concentration, he spoke slowly,* So if it depends on the person too, couldn't you feasibly meld it better if you find the man who -- or woman! (He could hear his mother now, and he grinned sheepishly before promptly crawling to his knees to lean closer across to the book, balanced a bit precariously to point) -- who kind of exemplifies traits of both? People are a lot less black and white than the wood, and it'd depend on the core but maybe... if you created that bond with the wood before hand; had them trim and take care of the tree for instance, they'd be more likely to work together, right? Already creating that bond? 

 **Harper** : A solid theory, my boy. *He made sure Al wouldn't fall (and if he did that he'd be able to catch him) before he continued* The bond would be indeed significantly stronger but it takes quite a bit of time to find the right wand tree. Not all elms possess the qualities necessary to channel magic much like not all humans have the ability to perform it. A difficult task, not many would have the patience for it...*he grinned before he poked his side lightly* Maybe when you're older you'll do it. Make your own wand, surpass even mine. We can have friendly duel to see who wins, we'll have your mum judge.

 **6!Alcott** : *Looking both awed and scared at the prospect of facing his father, he finds himself giggling suddenly (and tucking his feet under the counter, because Dad tended to like start tickling him there). It wasn't that he really found it funny -- well him really being able to beat his Dad was funny, but he said instead.* Okay! I promise, Dad, I'll do it. *He holds his hand out to shake with his father's.* Though -- I think you _want_ to give Mum a heart attack sometimes. *It was cheeky; but no less so than Dad was being!* 

 **Harper:** *Grin widening, he shook Al's hand, not in the least bit surprised to find the grip firm and steady already before he laughed, mouth twisting into an amused smirk- he realized he knew too well exactly why one of his favorite past times was making Lyndsea's pulse race, but he wouldn't say that.* I'm just preparing her for the constant heart attack you're going to give her Mr. Heart-of-a-Warrior. *He winked.* Besides, she married a Brackner, she knew very well what she was getting into. *A shudder ran down his spine then, his brows furrowing as he realized what that meant: the wards were taken down. The ring of the doorbell was heard at that immediate next moment.* Hang on, Al- *He walked towards the door of his study, opened it slightly, peered directly forward down the hallway where Jimmy opened the door, only to be immediately pushed through. Those damn bastards- how dare they come into his home?! Teeth gritted, he closed the door quickly and quietly. There was only one way in and out of this room, and they were going to come through it soon. He waved his wand, levitating the bookshelf a few inches forward before he knelt down to meet his son eye to eye* Alcott, I want you to hide to behind that bookcase. Try not to make any sounds or any movement. And don't come out until I tell you to, okay? *The doors along the hallway were opening with loud slams, getting closer* Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to you, trust me. *Harper stood up again, taking Al by the shoulder and leading him quickly to behind the bookcase, casting a reflective charm so that whoever looked at that corner would see what they expected to see and then reached the middle of the room again, just in time for the door to slam open, the gust of wind making even more of a disarray of his papers.* Your mothers taught you poor manners, gentlemen.

 **Alcott:** I like the sound of that. *Mr. Heart-of-a-Warrior. It had a pretty ring. Not that he was pretty. And he didn't get why the saying involved rings either -- he didn't sound like a bell. An--oh, well, ha! Maybe he was clairvoyant. Though he wanted the doorbell to stop ringing, because it meant they had to stop, and Al didn't want to stop -- they'd just been getting to interesting things! But sure enough, Dad walked towards the door. Bloody people. He blew a raspberry. Only when he heard a sudden shout, his head jerked up from his father's papers, hand poised over a curly-Q and eyes going wide. He muttered under his breath the rhyme - just to make sure he could remember it.* Rowan gossips and chestnut drones ... something...something moans; blast. *He wrinkled his nose and said instead, determined to be right,* Wand of elder never prosper. *It made him giggle, considering they had just been discussing how you -could- use elder, but the giggle choked off cold as he heard a door slam. Jerking his gaze over his shoulder, willing himself to see through the wooden door, he jerked back as his Dad was suddenly in front of him. Locking his wide-eyed fervent gaze onto Dad's, he felt better almost instantly. He looked more angry than scared. See! They didn't want to be interrupted. Not when they were discussing top-secret projects especially! Dumb people. So, so then...he didn't have to be afraid, even with the slamming doors, he thought stiffening his upper lip and trying to smile for his Dad.* I'm not scared, Dad. *It sounded a lot better aloud than he felt. Hugging him once before his father jerked back, Alcott didn't say anything else; the sooner Dad dealt with the dumb-interrupting-people the sooner they could get back to wands. Maybe he could get a lesson on dueling today. Not the really dangerous stuff, but Mum wasn't here...

 **Gustav:** *'Gifted' men were always too stupid to realize when they should be frightened, when they should be intimidated. He was not surprised to find the man as if nothing had happened* You didn't write me back! And here I was thinking we had become such excellent correspondents.

 **Harper:** You never were able to handle rejection very well, Gustav. *He finished placing the papers back in a neat stack before looking up finally. Gustav had four others with him. Two remained at his side, one by the door, the other looked around the room. His heart stopped and restarted several times as he reminded himself not to look over at the bookcase*

 **Gustav:** We're all men here, Harper. 'No' just means 'try harder.' *he grins and then pulls the pile of papers towards him, keeping his gloves on.* How's the family?

 **Harper:** Visiting my mother.

 **Jonathan:** His wife's at the Ministry. *He had kept his gaze fixed at a spot through the bookshelf where he thought he had seen a shadow pass, but at the lie he faced forward again.* Absent his son. He's probably still in the house.

 **Harper:** *jaw clenching, his eyes narrowed before he turned to face Gustav again, eyebrows arching* Stalking me?

 **Gustav:** *frowning himself as the words in all of this papers are jumbled, worthless information* Keeping an eye on you.

 **Alcott:** Peering over green spines as the study door slammed open, Alcott tried not to wince. Yes, okay, he wasn't going to move...too much, he wanted to see what in Merlin's name was happening. Heart thudding furiously fast in his chest, his hands folded over two books -- thumb brushing gilded gold script and pushed them apart slowly. Then he stiffened; there were four of them, and one of them had just glanced his way. He went instantly more still than he thought he'd been in his life -- but it wasn't fear, it wasn't, it just was that now seemed a really, really good time to learn how to play Statues well enough so he could beat Ric at it at Christmas. 

He couldn't make out their faces and he didn't dare move again. Instead he trained his gaze on the floor. Lord in Heaven, that man had shiny shoes. Maybe it was a girl. But no, the other one - the one talking? - he had burly wrist, kept flicking to glasses on his face, but Alcott was more interested in the watch. Was that real gold? He recognized the makers mark on it, but not the house crest. It didn't really matter (he told himself even as he leaned a little forward trying to peer closer so he could see it better); when his Dad got that tone of voice, he was _really_ mad, and these men with the shiny shoes and sparkling watches were in _trouuuble_. 

 **Harper:** Sorry. *he leaned forward and snatched it out of his hands* Brackner eyes only. Keep looking any longer and you'll go blind.

 **Jonathan:** You're bluffing.

 **Harper:** *He smirked and then offered them to the burly and sour man instead.* Call it.

 **Gustav:** *He laughed and then smirked* Oh Harper, Harper, Harper- child prodigy Harper Brackner. It doesn't have to be this way.

 **Harper:** *He dropped the papers again after receiving only silence as a respond and slipped a hand into his pocket* You break into my house, attack my servant, stalk my wife, and try to harass me? *wry* What's next? Chocolate? Roses? Diamonds? You're all quite the charmers boys, but I suggest you get the fuck out of my house.

 **Gustav:** *Now this was more interesting. Threats, were always the most entertaining aspect of this.* Or you'll do what exactly? You're a smart man, Harper. The odds are stacked against you.

 **Harper** : Not when you're playing the game in my house, it isn't. *A sudden yelp of surprise and horror came from one of the men standing close to Gustav, one who had clearly tried to call his bluff and was wrong. He was rubbing at his eyes, reaching for his wand, a motion that had caused all of them to bring them out suddenly.* Look at that, the odds are turning around.

 **Jonathan:** *Idiotic cunts. Overeager recruits they should have left behind but no, Gustav was a man of flair, he wanted the numbers.* I've killed men like you before, Brackner.

 **Harper:** *he tilted his head* Dashingly good looking?

 **Gustav:** *He sighs regrettably after delivering a kick to his cowardly blind companion so he could compose himself* Jonathan, play nice. We're all friends here.

 **Harper:** Old buddies. *his eyes narrowed as he gulped down, his hand still holding on to his wand, his guard constantly up* Dear friends, you've overstayed your false welcome. Leave.

 **Jonathan:** If we leave, the next time we come back it won't be while you're alone.

 **Harper:** Your funeral, gentlemen. *eyebrow arch* You think -I'm- a threat? You haven't met my wife.

 **Gustav:** How is Lyndsea doing, by the way? *He adjusted his glasses and then grinned* I heard she lost another baby. Miscarriages. Shameful thing.

 **Harper:** *His blood ran cold with the insinuation, and somehow he was able to bite back twenty different curses from twenty different cultures. He would not take the bait.* Get. out.

 **Alcott:** Alcott clenched his teeth together suddenly when one man yelled, and he couldn't help but pull back into the shadows. Maybe a little fear was okay. Maybe, just a little bit. His father could be scary himself after all; and while he had no idea what they were talking about, he agreed with his Dad: Mum was scary too. And-- no, no dammit, tears were not going to spring to his eyes (he raised his hands slowly to try and rub them all away) -- what right did that man have to talk about his baby sister like that?! He was still upset he wouldn't get to meet her, and _Mum_ had cried and if he only could remember a spell he thought, anger shining through as he reached for his wand. 

Only, he stood suddenly frozen. 

 **Shawn** : *It was too far away to hear what any of them were saying too well; perched outside the study as he was, slowly lowering wards. The blasted Death Eaters had systematically destroyed the doors of half the hall, inadvertantly nearly discovering their presence, and left him this nice little cozy spot behind an urn to hide. It made what they were hearing eco. The sarcasm dripping from the host surprised Shawn -- as did the blatant threats -- but he set his jaw. Four targets were in that room then; it sounded well as though Harper would hand over any evidence they needed. That was handy. Shawn breathed a little easier. A sudden shout distracted him from hearing more.  

Well, and all right -- since having spotted Jonathan's unmasked face, admittedly he'd had to remind himself that it wasn't a good idea to jump the gun and ambush him -- as much as he wanted to fucking wipe the grin off that bastard's face. See how _he_ liked to be shot. Sure, he'd never shot a gun, but he could shoot a paralyticas well as anyone and then work out how to best utilize the weapon!

And apparently, he wasn't the only one who needed the reminder to wait -- just the only one in the group that regained their common sense. Two months they had been following, tracking, and laying the ground work to insure they could gain intelligence as well as capture -- but two of the overeager trainees with him (Merlin how he wished he could just have had Tyler and Lina on this mission with him -- but no, trainees were at once too inexperienced and too necessary) had taken the shout as a cue apparently. For _what_ Shawn had no bloody idea, he just knew that the loud smash of glass meant they'd crashed through the windows. He heard spells suddenly fly, muttered a curse under his breath, and broke into a sprint himself. He _was_ careful not to knock the urn over. He figured the wife would have not-pleasant words for him if he'd broken it. 

Ripped paper was already scattered through the air, spells rebounding to cast hazy shades red and green and blue, reflected in the broken glass. Blasted -- he was going to have words with these trainees after; **_sharp_** fucking words, and -- oh he forgot, because that, that was Jonathan Arlette, and Shawn ceased caring. Who cared how they got there? He raised his own wand and shot a quick series -- all green. He was through screwing around. They all were.*

 **Harper:** *There was a crash, a crash he quickly realized none of them were expecting. Could the Death Eaters not even manage to -threaten- him without botching everything up? His fear was bubbling up in anger for the split second that passed. He could see vials of potions exploding, furniture breaking, papers flying and burning and glass showering all on them but none of that mattered. His life's work could be ruined, but he didn't even spare it a second thought. He waved his wand to cast a protective spell, not an offensive one, and not over him but over his son who was hiding behind the bookcase. His brave boy, who looked him in the eye and had said he wasn't afraid. Harper knew he must be frightened now if he wasn't before; Harper was afraid as well but not for Al. Spells rebounded off that invisible shield, away from his son, in a charm he had been perfecting for the Ministry themselves. But the second it had took him to raise that barrier, the second he had been blind to anything else was a second too long.*

 **Gustav:** *Fucking Aurors. He shot spell after spell, not caring who got caught in the crossfire, they could all burn. He laughed, his chest filling with simultaneous rage and joy. Yes. They would all burn. And his dear old friend, he turned towards Harper at that moment, would not escape fate. Gustav had come here with a mission, and he never failed. Never. So after sending an Auror flying back through the window he jumped from, he raised his wand arm high and brought it down roughly, with all the vulgarity he possessed, the yell of the curse hot on his lips. It tasted sweeter than any lover to him.*

 **Harper:** *He turned around, and all he saw was a spectacled visage smirking at him behind a flash of green. In that instant before it him square in the chest, he must have realized he was going to die, because his mind refused to let him depart with that man's face as the last thing he ever remembered. Harper had only to think back half an hour before, if that, to arrive at a happier memory of them all together. His family. Time started again, and Harper dropped to the floor in a heap, his wand rolling out of his hand. He moved no longer.*

 **Jonathan:** *He had almost relished a fight. He hadn't had a good one in years, fuck, he hadn't had a good anything in years thanks to that auror bastard. And look, fate was so kind as to deliver Jonathan to him today. The man who had turned him into a fugitive, the one who he had enjoyed taunting so many years ago during simpler times. Back when he was so sure, nothing could ever go wrong for him. Jonathan supposed a part of him should have been offering Auror Graft gratitude. What better gratitude than the kiss of death? He lashed out with hex after hex, all fatal, all painful, because what good was experiencing death if you couldn't feel it, every single agonizing painful second? AK's held no appeal to him, but apparently they did to the aurors. He smirked, shaking his head before he realized what Gustav had done. He blanched- no that was not how it was supposed to happen! Oh, he would be so furious. They had failed, he wasn't supposed to die- his anger made him aim a spell at the one man in their entire group he thought he could rely on to do his fucking job. But who was he kidding? They were all a bunch of fucking psychos, all of them. But he had been the best.*

 **Gustav:** *He smirked as he watched the pretentious bastard fall down. He crouched lower then, both to take cover and to say a few words (he was nothing if not polite)* See you on the other side, Brackner. *He looked up, and then was surprised to see a pair of small, tearful eyes looking at him through the bookshelf. The spell must have broken. Oh, another child he had ruined hide and seek for. Oops. He waved and just like that he was gone, smaller, much more smaller. 

A green spell meant for him flew right through the air and hit the comrade who was supposed to have been guarding the door (he would have been fired anyways) in the face. So much for morally superior aurors. He wondered, would they lock themselves up for using these unforgivables? No. He flapped his tiny wings and flew away. Flies knew when they were not wanted.*

 **Jonathan:** *Jonathan was the most devout, the most dedicated. He had offered his whole life...every single aspect of it. And now here he was, alone. Two were dead already, Gustav had ran off, the man who had been blinded had either been captured or he had fucking surrendered (the dumb cunt should have fought to the death) but at least Jonathan had taken a trainee from them too. He almost giggled, realizing that had been M.O. Fucking with trainees...sometimes very literally. 

He spat out blood, not knowing how the fuck that had happened. Since when had his head been bleeding? He dropped to his knee, clutching his head, holding his stomach, blood bubbling in his mouth, choking off air. He looked up at the Auror's face in shock...in fear. He felt so...cold.*

 **Shawn:** *An entire decade had passed. Dear God, had it truly been that long? Ten years since that bloody echoing ring of a phone out of range, Winnie's terrified face and pre-emptive "I'm so sorry"s, told him his sister was gone. Six months later - the eerie deja vu with unerring precision, another phone call buzzing, another look of horror and Shawn knew Anne had joined her in the grave. It might have been this morning he'd joined the Aurors for how vivid the picture in his mind.

This man - no, man was too kind a word, but then did one exist to incorporate the width and breadth of the sinner that laughed at him over a corpse he made? - Jonathan Arlette had plagued him since his early trainee days. Introductions had skipped tea-and-crumpets (Shawn prided himself on the fact he wasn't so provincial) straight on over to him kidnapping the mother of his daughter, torturing her, locking her up. It felt sometimes like since then - since he'd uncovered his identity in the Ministry and forced him to run - he'd spent half his life chasing after the fucking monster, following trails of slippery scarlet and maggot-ridden corpses. No more, he was repeating as a mantra to himself with a rare spark of rage. Slicing, casting, spinning, locking them in a deadly two step of fiery flashes, the light show spectacular. Honestly, they could have put on a remarkable fireworks show -- well, if it wasn't for the fact they were made of fatalities. 

Wasn't that true of both of them though? Death Eaters and Aurors? As a trainee -- fuck, Dana had only been twenty years old -- let out a blood-curdling shriek that turned silent all too soon - Shawn whipped a spell, the same one Jonathan had once ripped a hole through his arm with, and stood still with shock when he saw it slip through the crack to land. He'd done it. It landed, sure it exploded his inner ear drum on one side he thought - but there was a hole reminiscent of a bullet wound in the side of the man's head. 

Heart thudding in his ear replaced the violent shrieks. The room was oddly silent as his companions realized it was over and stood silent -- well, except for Hassan, he dropped to his knees beside Dana. Shawn pushed forward, feeling as though he were a marionette and Jonathan still yanked his strings though his were cut. It barely registered with Shawn that there was fear in the dying man's eyes. Hand crumpling his shirt to fist and yank him up, Shawn lent to lock his gaze as he spoke, hissing as if flames licked his lips,* It was always going to end like this. You know that? *Why was it so hard to breathe? Eyes dark, blood trailing through shadowy stubble, Shawn bit out,* Always. Before you die - I want you to know something. My daughter's name -- _Amaris'_ daughter's name -- is Holly-Rae. She'll be ten in January. And she's perfect. Hols going to grow up in a world without you, a safer world, a _better_ world - one where despite what you did to her mother, despite all your blasted efforts, she can go anywhere, do anything -- talk with,  marry whoever she bloody likes, regardless of any fucking blood status. You don't matter. 

*A sudden seizure of breath told him his foe was dead. One finger at a time released his shirt and dropped the broken puppet to the ground. Standing back up slowly, rubbing the blood from his lip, dusting it off his hand as if it were just paint it was only then that Shawn realized the number of bodies on the ground. Three death eaters, one bemoaning being blind before he was struck dumb as well (clever little spell of Hassan's), Dana in Hassan's arms ... and one more.* Fuck. 

*Clapping a hand to his mouth suddenly, as he saw another hand much too small curling around the corner of wood his heart plummeted. That would be Alcott, some logical part of his brain registered -- Harper's son...he was only four? Five? Shawn suddenly couldn't remember -- how could he not remember?! How did he not know this -- it was his fucking case, his fucking responsibility, he couldn't, he couldn't...* Hassan. *He snapped it, hand dropping as he looked at him.* Take Dana... back to the office, all of you - *He looks at the other three of them, two teeth piercing his bottom lip as his orders cut through the air,* - go back. Now. Tell Abi what happened, have her inform the Minister -- tell her I'm waiting for her orders here. 

*One of them looked as if they were going to argue, speak -- but Alcott's sudden shriek stopped every heart in the room. And quick as that they were gone, all of them -- leaving him in the room of death and one, small child who had just collapsed at his father's side.* 

 **Alcott:** *He didn't understand. For a time even _papers_ had seemed to fly away from him, bounce off of him, spells cutting themselves dead in the air -- and then suddenly they flooded him. It was if he popped back into existence. Thrown by the squealing, piercing high sounds that suddenly exploded his ears he slammed both hands over them. It did nothing to deaden the sound but he didn't drop them for fear it would get louder again. He saw one of the men -- the one with the glasses, the one with that shiny golden watch, wave at him. Al felt sick at that. He tried not to retch though, he could hear Mum now for making a mess. Oh the whole study was a mess of flashes (it looked like Guy Fawkes Day, and would have been cool if he didn't still feel sick) but Mum would still find a way to be mad at him.

The thought made him turn (the monster was gone anyway) to find his Dad; he was always on his side in these cases. Or, well, mostly. Tears had frozen in his eyes, but that Alcott could get. Because well see, it seemed his body had decided to become an igloo, or else he'd taken a trip to visit the penguins (or Father Christmas), and if his blood was going to freeze it made sense tears would, like the lake in winter or like -- he turned, thinking maybe he could ask his Dad (he _wasn't scared)_ , because he always knew what to say. And maybe then, then it wouldn't be so cold ...

Only his Dad wasn't moving, and that was what didn't make sense. One of those who had attacked, the leader, had a terrifying rage on his face. Alcott stopped walking again to shiver, and then quickly dropped his gaze. He seemed to be the leader anyway, started snapping orders. Al didn't want to look at him. 

Instead he started slowly gathering some of the papers on the ground -- his Dad would be mad they were a mess when he woke up, Al thought, and he had him keep _his_ room clean. Clutching a drawing of an elder tree to his heart, he remembered suddenly -- if these were Aurors (did that make sense? Why would Aurors attack his Father?) -- then he wasn't really supposed to have a wand yet. 

He stuck it behind his back, and traitorously his gaze darted back to his father, the father who had made it for him. Why wasn't he getting up? Taking a step forward again gingerly, he heard himself ask,* Dad? *Nothing happened to the pitiful question; so he decided to repeat it, he was a Brackner, a boy -- he wasn't going to be weak, at least not when they weren't alone.* Dad? 

*Still nothing. Why wouldn't he get up -- tell him it was all right now? That was what he was supposed to do - that was what he always did! When Al fell off Swift learning to ride, when his broom had broken, when he'd (accidentally) broken half his mother's best dishes...his father always made it all right again.* Dad!? 

*It was a sudden shriek. Now he was scared, his traitorous heart reminded him and the papers dropped from his arms as he ran the rest of the way, fell at his Dad's side. Grabbing his shirt and yanking on it, he didn't care it would rip and he didn't care that tears were suddenly flooding his eyes again.* Dad, wake up! Dad, get up, it's over, it's _over_ , they're gone now you can get up -- Dad please, Dad I don't understand, I did what you said, I really did, I swear, I kept my promise. And the mess isn't my fault -- please, please wake up now, Dad, why were they -- who were they? -- Dad come _on_ , Dad--Da-- _please_. 

*The rest of them were gone suddenly -- it was just the one man. The leader man. Who had spoken to him, he realized, though it seemed he could hardly speak. Alcott snapped his gaze up, tears falling thick and fast onto his father's shirt, but he didn't let him go. He wouldn't.* No! 

*He couldn't. The man had to stop talking, he didn't want to hear it, didn't want to listen; he was wrong. His father wasn't...* Dad, _please_ , get up, tell him to go away! *Shaking hard, brutally hard, he didn't get it - why his father made him wait - why he was so still, so.. so cold.* 

Dad...

*The man took his wrists, lowered his father to the ground. Alcott was still shaking, still rubbing tears from his eyes.* No! 

*He decided very suddenly he hated this man, he thought, and wasn't it funny how his heart could beat so fast to turn the ice in his veins to flames? Leaping to his feet, ripping his hand back, clenching his fist he slammed it forward into the man's jaw - and _ow_ that hurt -- but Alcott just snapped in a voice he was scared to recognize sounded like his father,* 

Go away! Leave us alone - no-one invited you, we didn't want any of you here! Leave. _Now_. 

*The man held both hands up, seemingly not caring for a bruise Al was proud he could see already forming on his cheek. He said something about waiting outside then, but Al didn't hear after that; his ears were ringing. Falling back to his knees, he threw himself bodily forward to hug the man who had given him the wand he still clutched tightly, who loved him, murmuring brokenly,* Please Dad... 

  
_The Present ..._ &.

**Alcott:** *after seven or eight rings of the bell (within thirty seconds, he's wincing at how loud it is to his overly sensitive ears) calling out, with a little smirk* Hey--Gramps! *Hand paused halfway to knock on the door, he claps both together as it suddenly opens -- revealing the (bemused) butler.* Afternoon Thomas. *clasping both hands together * 

 **Thomas:** *stiff-attempt at a little head bow* Mister Brackner--*startles as Alcott enters* Sir, this is most irregular.

 **Alcott:** You mean to tell me Gramps never has been irregular? *smirks happily.* I just thought I'd see if he was in?

 **Thomas** : *Had an amused look of '...er you have a point' he quickly makes disapproving to say primly* The parlor. Shall I-

 **Alcott:** Nah, *spinning as his shrugs out of his jacket* I know the way - thanks Tom! *tossing jacket at him before striding with ease down the hall.*

 **Benjamin:** *Well whoever was at the door was insistent weren't they? Benjamin's ear buzzed then, and he frowned though he didn't know exactly why as he looked at the door. Psychic senses must have been kicked in, or this scotch was working on him too quickly. He flipped pages absently, trying to find the information he needed. It always seem to allude him- there were too many books in this library. Hearing a voice echoing down the hall, quiet his grandson was not, he smirked and then spoke when he heard the door open without turning around at first.* Don't you have school?

 **Alcott:** Holiday. *He beamed at his Grandfather's back.* Granted, I'm absent in protest. Did you know on this day in October the Ancient Romans used to sacrifice a horse to Mars to supposedly give them good luck in the upcoming 'Equirria' -- the horse race? So, *he shrugs as he comes to stand in front of his grandfather, grinning wide as he purposefully lays it on.* I'm protesting, and coming to spend time with my grandfather, who I don't get to see enough.

 **Benjamin:** Hah! What holiday exactly? *He closed the book and placed it in the shelf again before turning around, eyebrows raised as he listened to the random spew of information that made him sound so much like his father at that moment, the only one of his sons who hadn't agreed with him over the size of the library. Scoffing briefly before laughing in a guffaw and bringing his grandson in a tight hug, clapping his back* Damn right, not near enough. I should kick your arse up and down this house, boy.

 **Alcott:** *Smirking even as he raised a hand in defense, he met him in a furiously tight hug. He held fast, saying nothing at first, comforted by the strength and embrace - unable to help himself from wondering if his father had the same kind of hug and deciding he did. With his own incredulous disbelief in his laugh, he scoffed,* You'd have to catch me first, Gramps. *He pulls back asking playful,* And is that anyway to thank me?

 **Benjamin:** *he smirks* Don't let this gray hair fool you, m'boy. I still have a thing or two to teach you yet. *he raises his eyebrows* Like how to stop calling me Gramps. *He takes a sip and then chuckles, shaking his head* Sometimes Al, I think you want me to hurt you. *He grinned and then clapped his shoulder again, walking him towards the comfortable plush chairs. More for his benefit than this grandson's but he didn't need to know that.* Stop kissing arse, Al, it doesn't become you. *He smirks before asking more genuinely* How are things at that ancient school anyways?

 **Alcott:** See, *following him to chairs that only grandmother could have picked out with his hand up and smirk wide,* now I think that's conflicting advice. Stop antagonizing and stop kissing up? *He winked, cocking his head as his eyes went to the glass of scotch.* Can I try some? *The -brand- obviously; Gramps always had something new. Or rather, insanely old. Maybe he could sneak some of it into his Dad's old flask, in his pocket. Still pondering this,* Ancient. Outdated. Infuriatingly praiseworthy of the Ministry and certain bloody institutions. *...all right, maybe he wanted to see his Gramps for two reasons. He wished he hadn't even brought it up with Hols -- so close to the full moon? His emotions were haywire.*

 **Benjamin:** It's a Brackner's prerogative to live in contradictions. *he shrugged, not in the least bit ashamed, though he was pleased Al had attempted to trip him up at least.* Don't tell your grandmother. *He grabbed his wand out of his robes and flicked it in the air, making the decanter and a glass float towards them, the amber liquid pouring into the clear glass. He snorted at his grandson's descriptions, inclining his head* Nothing's changed then. *he took a sip* Hogwarts has only ever remained neutral through a few successful Headmasters, the rest of the time it's firmly in the ministry's pocket, along with the Prophet. The way of the world, my boy...something happen?

 **Alcott:** Ah, I'll do my best then. * He smiles.* Live up to my forefathers. *As the decanter appears.* Or Mum. *He agreed, delighted as ever he was being allowed to try it. Clenching the glass, and swirling it softly so as to allow the scent waft up his nose, he continued,* So I'll be silent as the jobberknoll. *Through a small, gasp and hiss, he smiled at the burn, flicking fingers off crystal as he hedged,* before their farewell song of death that is. *Smirking, he took another sip -- then patted his chest. Merlin, that had an after kick.* Thanks, that's good. *He was nodding in agreement with his grandfather's assessment,* Yeah, I know, thank you! That's all exactly I was saying...*when the question made him sigh, grimace and relieved at once. See! Living in contradictions..what a Brackner he was then.* Yeah. It--I mean it wasn't anything really just...Hols, *He knew he'd talked about her all summer and didn't bother elaborating on who she was,* just...well, she was praising the Aurors. *His nose wrinkled.* And I...well I snapped I guess, told her what...happened to Da. *He promptly takes another drink. This one was a wide, long gulp.*

 **Benjamin:** *Oh, Alcott was too experienced at this. He didn't know whether to be proud or reprimanding. Some would say both but he couldn't help it, he was just proud. Any normal man would have coughed up a lung at the first sip of this particular brew.* Farewell song of death, ha! You make it sound so peaceful- it's a nightmare. *He chuckled and then nodded* My favorite. *He didn't readily part with it, but he had a hard time denying his grandson anything).  Any of them, but if Al was supposedly bad at keeping contact, Enrique, Rosa, Graciela and Alisa were worse. Not that they all didn't love their "abuelo". He blamed Sandor's love for his mother's, Benjamin's wife, Spanish heritage. He loved Spain and stayed there, married Rosalia there, made his family then silently aah'ed as he understood. Truthfully, he was surprised Alcott had told her so soon, despite how often he had talked of her during the summer. He was young once- anything that he said over the summer could not be held accountable to the rest of the year.* So did it not work out? *eyebrows rising.*

 **Alcott:** Blame Eliza -- *He laughed, shaking his head.* She's decided to give up on curbing the alcohol, but says that if Dev can use textbook psychology before punching someone, our words could be -*he held up the hand not clutching the drink*-"more refined." I, say she just doesn't want her Dad to hear her curse. As if the French mind anyway? *Shaking his head, and taking another sip it occurs to him he's had this before - once. If the scotch was repeated then...it was a favorite. Delighted to be allowed a sip as he was curious if his Dad has liked it, he suddenly looked back up - scotch driven from mind.* No, no nothing like that -- she let it drop. Said sorry, as they all do. *He didn't know why that sounded so dismissive suddenly, so bitter.* I appreciated it even...and enjoyed forgetting what we were talking about more...*Tiny smirk; oh boy, had he appreciated that. He exhales, pinching a nose on fire, patting his throat again and thanking the wolf for letting him not embarrass himself by choking the drink out.* It just...she went to the Ministry today, and Dev informed me her father's an Auror - which I don't know how I didn't know. *Eliza would intone ironically at this point -'Maybe they should talk more and fuck less'- but he didn't have a problem with that usually. A bit frustrated,* It jus--I cannot stand their hypocrisy.

 **Benjamin:** *he chuckled* Women and words *he waved his hand too* We can't all be poets. Tell her to use these newfound elegant words of hers to write to me. Just because she's not biologically my granddaughter doesn't mean she gets off that easily. *He took another sip of his drink and listened, laughing once and then smirking in pride  before his eyebrows rose* Her father's an auror? Oh my dear boy, I have a feeling that's far from "dropped". *he shrugs before he chuckles at the irony.* You sure know how to pick 'em.

 **Alcott:** *chuckles* Was one of my forefathers a poet? *That would be news. And it was part of why he loves coming to visit; learning about his heritage as a Brackner. Breathing out, he nods,* Yeh-*he laughs just once*-I'll let her know. *Nodding with a grimace through his chuckle, he throws both hands while he smirks,* Hey. Living within contradictions. *And he winks, despite the twist in his gut. It wasn't that this changed how he thought of Hols, just...it didn't change a damn thing how he felt about Aurors and the Ministry either. Or did it? Blast. He took another drink, and shook his head.* Like I wasn't wary enough about meeting her Dad.

 **Benjamin:** A few dabbled, mostly as a way to woo *he smirks* we have some of the original parchments stored in the other library. But no published poets, published writers, yes. *He nodded, pleased that he would be hearing from Eliza soon, wonderful girl. Tapping his fingers against the glass for a moment, he passed his hand over his short beard and mustache, sprinkled with more grey than he'd care to admit.* Meeting the father already? This girl means a lot to you then?

 **Alcott:** Right, to woo -*he smirks, shaking his head at the irony*-but, that was when prancing around in tights was manly. *Curious, he casts his glance around the books already while he nods.* Wicked. *Instantly waving his hand as if to dismiss- his jaw tightens, caught,* I was just - saying as a joke - you know. *He waves his hand again, drops his gaze to the amber liquid. Amending just as quickly,* Not that she's meaningless, the opposite--*he promptly just shuts himself up with a swig. There's a long pause while he swallows, shuts his eyes and says slowly,* She's been there for me on my worst day, the worst since I crouched behind a book case.

 **Benjamin:** *he scoffs, nodding in agreement.* Certainly glad I wasn't born around in that era. Don't think I would've looked so dashing in tights. *The thought of it was rather alarming really. He watched Al fumble through his words over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, both amused and concerned. He certainly didn't like the sound of "worst day" especially if it was being compared to the day his son died.* Yes...but don't mistake gratitude for affection, m'boy. I'm grateful for painkillers on my worst days, until I don't need them anymore.

 **Alcott:** Oh I don't know, *instantly smirking, playful,* sure we'd have found a way to pull it off. Or I suppose--*he puts on a proper accent, sitting straighter*-- looked a quite fetching chap. *Attitude falling as he chuckles, he averts his eyes and finally lets the tumbler go. He didn't want to drop it.Was that what it was? Was it just because she saved his life, saw him change and didn't judge him worse? But ... it was Swift and Carrado too, and Hawaii, and...he shakes his head.* It's not gratitude. I'm not indebted. *He shrugs his shoulder, eyes flicking back up to his grandfather's gaze.* Though hey, won't deny hell of a painkiller sometimes. *His throat was dry; he'd never even hinted towards what happened in April to his grandfather but with the full moon looming over him...*

 **Benjamin** : *he guffaws at that, the posh tone (if which he had to admit he was guilty of using every now and again in certain company) coming out of Al's mouth was particularly hilarious. He inclined his head after he had stopped laughing* If you're sure then...*he took another sip, licking his lips afterwards before asking "casually"* Don't suppose you'd be willing to share with your grandfather what that worst day was?

 **Alcott:** *He sits for a second, jaw clenched shut as his gaze doesn't move from his grandfathers eyes. He wasn't fazed: it might have been casually phrased, but casual a question it was not. He'd wanted to see his Gramps -- asking himself 'why' was too bloody much already, and trying to examine his motive further was giving him a headache.* Look...Mum can't know. Or Grandmom--anyone, anyone at all. It's fine --*he stresses that, with no nonsense in his tone at all; he believed it.*--honestly, it's all taken care of now, as well as it can be. *He gestures at himself in evidence.* So there's...just no need to worry anyone else. *Yet he left the statement open ended, he wasn't barring him from asking further questions.*

 **Benjamin:** *Imagination was worse, he told himself. A Brackner imagination worser, he knew. So he did not allow his mind to wander, he did not badger further. But he was concerned, as all grandfathers were for his grandchild. His concern only rose with hearing the fact Al didn't feel he could trust his mother or grandmother with this. He pursed his lips, always wary of making promises he knew would be difficult for him to keep.* If it's all fine now as you say...why can't anyone else know? *He certainly did look fine, Alcott had never looked better. He was a strong and still growing boy and he was so proud of him, the way he knew his son would be if he were alive and with them that day.* What happened, Al?

 **Alcott:** *He breathed out.* Because it would just... worry them -- without cause. *He clenched his teeth together. Gramps hadn't said anything about not telling them and honestly he almost felt guilty for asking but -- but Mum wouldn't...she was scared enough of him, there was enough distance and mess in his house already. Yet the casual, direct question couldn't be ignored. He jerked his chin up.* Because they wouldn't understand that I'm still me whatever it seems. *And suddenly  he'd stood, lifted the glass, toasted his grandfather and was downing the rest in a single long swallow. The fire ripping down his throat flooded veins already hot, stomach recoiling on itself he focused inwards to keep himself calm. As he set the glass down, he looked at his whites of knuckles clenched around the rim before he said simply,* Thomas is snogging Margaret right now. *He gestures and releases the tumbler.* I can hear them. And I can hear how fast your heart is -- *That brings him to look back, finally meeting his gaze again,* -- please, Grandmom will kill me if I give you a heart attack, so just -- *His usual flippant smirk appears, hand goes up.* Relax, Gramps. *Dropping his hand to slap his side and tucked fingers in his back pocket.* Last April, I was in the forest -- I mean we were just messing around, Dev was in hell so we were cheering him up -*He shakes his head.* Not important, really. I wanted to see the Centaurs -- we got separated somehow and...I was bitten by a werewolf. *There. He'd said it. Back stiffening, he held up his hand still gesturing to himself, worry in his dark eyes even as he tries to reassure.* But I have Wolfsbane, so I'm tamed -- really all that seems to have stuck is that. *He gestures at the empty glass.*

 **Benjamin:** *If he hadn't been worried before, he'd be worried now. He sat up straighter, half expecting him to cough the liquor back up but he didn't. He didn't seem deterred at all, his eyebrows rose. He wanted to ask precisely why or how Al knew that, or how it was possible for him to know how fast his heart was beating, but instead he forced himself to calm again, forcing himself to sit back in his seat once more.* Then stop with the theatrics, Al. And don't call me Gramps- what happened? *Benjamin was almost relieved to hear of typical Al behavior. He kept listening and then took a sharp intake of breath. He was shocked, surprised, fearful. Not of Al, not of his own grandson, but -for- him. He stood up now, exhaling. Well, fuck.* My grandson...oh my grandson. Why did you keep this from me for so long?

 **Alcott:** *Hitching breath in his chest, he felt oddly as though it was hiss that had just skipped beats in it's hurry to pump blood through veins too hot, making breath harder and harder. He forced himself to see his grandfather's face, hold his gaze -- if there was going to be disappointment, he would bloody face up to it: he was a Brackner dammit. Only he saw wariness, pain, sympathy -- Al tensed.* I don't want you to worry! That's why. *Grinding his teeth, he crosses his arms and tries to lower his voice; Gramps hadn't raised his. Tearing his gaze to the carpet before repeating his earlier promise and looking back at him.* Because there's nothing you can do -- there's no such thing as a cure. I don't want anyone knowing, I'm not going through life labelled monster - who would offer me grants? I'm not even sure I'd be allowed -in- the Ministry--that stigma? I don't give a damn what they think, but why bother even going through it? Nothing's going to change - even Dad never went near the subject! *He paused, not entirely sure where that came from and just falls silent.* ...Sorry.

 **Benjamin:** Well that's too damn bad, Alcott. *it was spoken as a matter of fact, because thats how he felt.* I'm your grandfather, that means I worry. *He didn't move from the spot where he stood and he kept Alcott's gaze even when it fell to the carpet, to everywhere else before it met his eyes again. He shook his head then and exhaled, his expression softening as Alcott brought up his father.* Apology not accepted, Al. I understand keeping it from the world, fuck the world they don't need to know, but -we're- your family. We would, and I will, keep your secret and support you, and offer whatever help we can- you're 15, Alcott, and you're not alone. You think you can stop your mum from worrying? Your mother worries every single day about you, worries every time you leave for Hogwarts that it'll be the last time she sees you. *He exhaled, feeling a pain deep in his very being. He was not adamant for continued communication with his grandchildren for no reason. He learned his lesson a long time ago.* My boy, I know you're strong. You've always been strong and I'm damn proud of you. It's clear you're handling this with a level of maturity beyond your years. That doesn't stop me from being afraid for you, or for cursing in anger that this happened for you, doesn't keep me from imagining what would become of you if the rest of the world knew. But you've told me, and I know you, and just like your father, you have the stubbornness of an ox, and a drive that is unmatched. And that assures me, to know that you won't be beaten by this. And during the low moments, your family -will- be there for you. *he licked his dry lips before standing up straighter, his shoulders back* Now, I'm still waiting to hear a -good- reason why you don't want your mother to know.

 **Alcott:** *This time he had no problem holding his gaze. Chastisement did have a habit of rolling off his ears while he waved fondly at it, but this was his grandfather. So though he bristled, his jaw tight and gaze hard, he listened. Anyone else he might have snapped 'how could you know?' - but instead he felt only shame and a twisted guilt settle in his stomach that quickly melted to warm confusion as he kept...going. Searing heat clenched around his chest at the mention of reminding Gramps of Dad, but there was a brief flare of pride too, a genuine smile quirking his lips. When he spoke it was much quieter,* Mum lost enough, Grandfather. I know -*something yanked on the chain around his heart*- I know how she worries. And I can't ask Uncle Max -- I can't. *The words 'he'd disown me' were on the tip if his tongue again, but Al swallowed the lie his grandfather would know it for. Uncle Max wasn't his father. It was as simple as that.* I'm grateful you know I can handle it. *He said instead, for it was true.* And I can, *interjecting suddenly* I have been. I just don't...-want- to deal with them knowing, Mum...I give her enough reason to worry she won't see me again, it's not...*His voice cracks and he looks down, rubbing at his eyes after he shuts them and hissing through teeth still clenched,* God. *When his eyes opened, he met his gaze again. He wanted to ask, but words stuck in his throat and left them coming out in a low jumbled murmur, harried by quiet, quick breath.* Dad would want me to take care of her too, wouldn't he?

 **Benjamin:** *He was still waiting for the excuse, pardon, the reason, why Alcott couldn't tell his mother, his grandmother, his uncle at the very least. He asked himself how come this girl he had only been dating shortly was allowed to know over his own flesh and blood, but never out loud. He was a kid once, a teenager once-- the ties of friendship could be as tight as that of family's. Still, he wasn't pleased. Though his ire quickly lost its hold over his heart at Alcott's silent question. No, he wanted to answer. Harper would want to be here to take care of you both, he wanted to say. Foolish words, an old codger's foolish statement (and he could almost hear Dalma agreeing pleasantly) so he kept them to himself. Alcott was 15...the same way he was proud of his grandson for being so mature was the same way he lamented he needed to be. His shoulders slumped again, his strength leaving him little by little.* You're not taking care of your mother by keeping this secret from her, my boy...*he sighed* Do you truly intend to keep this from her your entire life?

 **Alcott:** *Honestly, seeing the anger leave his face he felt his muscles crumpling, shoulders folding forward. He didn't want to upset his grandfather - let alone hurt him - at the same time he was glad to see his point land. Hissing at the question, he realized he hadn't thought..about that entirely, though he didn't see why that would be true. Blinking once, he buried his hand deeper in his pocket,* How would it help her to know? *It wasn't angry, and only further softened with a gentle head shake and note of heartbreak as he echoed.* How? *Closing his throat hard, rubbed at his face and said slowly,* I don't ... Grandfather, we only have -just- talked about...what happened, I don't know if I can...*He swallows; he knows it's harsh, but he knows it's how he feels too.* I don't know if I can trust her with this. How am I harming her? *He meant to sound sardonic, but was honestly asking.*

 **Benjamin** : *He knew how it would help- by letting Lyndsi know that she hasn't lost her son, that he trusted her. But that response quickly died off in his mouth because the truth was simple and now plainly stated- Alcott didn't trust his mother. And Benjamin knew he couldn't blame his grandson for feeling that way- Lyndsi pulled away from the world the very same day his son was taken from it. She was never the same.* Because keeping this secret will create even a further distance between the two of you...and neither of you will be able to bear it. *And no matter what his darling wife Elena said, they could not do anything to help. Grandparents meddled, that was true, but only ever to a certain extent. He exhaled* I will not tell your mother.

 **Alcott:** *Something passed across his face the moment he had his answer. Well, Brackners were nothing if not blunt he thought. Leaning suddenly back into the cushioned chair, Alcott pulled sideways from his Grandfather, swooped one shoulder back in a shrug and then swallowed tightly, shifty and sheepish. When his eyes met after he nodded once he said slowly,* I told her I didn't want that distance. *That wasn't what he'd said. Or rather, he clarified wondrously, slow, working it out,* In August. *He bobbed his head again to meet his grandfather's gaze, then looked to the empty glass.* I said I couldn't lose her too. Not both parents. *If he squinted, he could make out Gramps reflection in the glass, blurry edges and oddly disproportionate eyes piercing his own, image watery.* I'm afraid. *That word was bitter, knowing if it wasn't Gramps he wouldn't say it. With distance in his eyes,* I'm afraid that if I tell her, I lose her too. *His gaze darts to his grasping hands in his lap, emotion in his throat.* I'm not lying when I say I...can't do that again. *He clenched his teeth to forestall further emotion, refusing to acknowledge the image was watery because of him. He waited a long heavy moment. When he continued it was wry and wondering - a contradiction as ever - eyes slowly lifting to his grandfather.* But you think...*He swallows, amends and gestures with his hand,* You're saying that...*There was another pause as his hand dropped to clasp his own on his knee,* if I don't tell her then I...already lost her.

 **Benjamin** : *He nodded, swallowing dryly as he heard Alcott said he'd spoken to his mother about it. About damn time, he thought to himself but didn't say out loud and let no one tell him he wasn't sensitive right now. Then he heard his grandson admit he was afraid, and that caused him to sit down as well. Elena would blame Lyndsea for this, she already did, but Benjamin was less black and white about it, funny enough. They all suffered in his family, everyone of them. He pursed his lips and then nods slowly* Yes, my boy. That's exactly what I'm saying. Maybe it won't feel like that now or tomorrow or even next year even, but eventually, after millions of lies and excuses, maybe about how you can't come visit one night, or about your new found hesitance for silver, and after deciding its simply easier to stop seeing her as often as before than to lie to her face, you will lose her. You cannot juggle both keeping this secret and bettering your relationship with your mother. Think about the people that know about this secret- how much different would your life be if they were ignorant of this?

 **Alcott:** *Grateful his grandfather sat again too, Alcott spun to sit properly next to him. He turned his head sideways while he listened, trying not to grimace at the simple reminders of how many little things had already changed -- like he wasn't aware already. Man, Thomas was really going for it -- sly old hypocritical dog. Then he buried his face in his palm. He thought about Sienna first, funnily enough. How long Eliza had yelled at him to tell her, how certain he was - how the secret had only made it clearer what was already true in the end, how much he'd changed, how much his priorities had. He'd been right, he thought bitterly, snapping to himself as he remembered all too clearly how she had reacted - how she'd run away. On the other hand, he thought slower, she'd come around a bit -- and hadn't he learned what it was worth? What everyone in his life was? Devin and Eliza hadn't blinked - Irene had said "'...that's it? you had me worried Al! I was preparing myself for cancer. Or aids. Or erectile dysfunction," followed by, "So once a month you turn into a ravenous animal that wants to tear everything to shreds- so do I! Since I was 12- hey, maybe our cycles will synchronize.'  Hols had actually started respecting him more - Nadia just started asking him to be careful (in Spanish) - even Lynn had just shrugged a shoulder. Quietly,* I hadn't thought of it that way. *He grimaces, sliding his hand against his neck hard, rubbing sweat from skin still burning, struggling to keep his own heart rate down.* I'm not just grateful that Hols is in my life, Grandfather - I'm overjoyed. What I learned more than anything is...*he clenches his teeth together saying drily,* how little blood purity or your goddamn house matters at all to the type of person you are -- Hols hated me, she had every reason to really, but she still determined she'd help. She saved the life of someone she hates - that's...*He unclenches his hands, heart rate slowing and muscles relaxing while he says lightly, as if astonished,* amazing. She's kind of incredible. And you're right, I don't even know what my life would be without her. *His gaze tilts back to his grandfather's.* I don't know how to tell this secret to anyone, honestly. Devin and Eliza - they were there. But Sienna...she freaked. *A pang of guilt reminded him to add,* ...and she came around eventually but...God, everything changed, okay? Everything. *He shook his head, hands clapping together only to wring free, and he leaned back against his knee. Still slowly,* My life isn't exactly what Mum wanted it to be. And I have no idea what Dad would have...*He shakes his head, a spark his chest choking him to silence a moment. When he finally spoke, he was rubbing at his eyes and blaming the latent drink in his eyes.* I hate that I can't ask him. And I hate-*he flings his hand away from his eyes, mingled sweat and tears still on his palm*- that I can't even talk about it without feeling so bloody helpless! I'm _not_ \-- God, in someways, this way I'm stronger!

 **Benjamin:** *No, of course he hadn't. He was still 15, and on top of it all, he was a Brackner. They were people driven to act first, act now, and quickly. Benjamin looked briefly surprised to hear Al bring up his girlfriend with that much fervor, but only for a moment. That was more like it, he sounded more sure of himself, and of his feelings for this girl, much more than earlier. Incredible, was the word being used.* You've sealed it then, she's coming to meet me. *All new friends went through the Grandfather Brackner inspection of approval, Devin had done well, and so did meaningful girlfriends. Speaking of, he frowned to hear how Sienna had taken the news, almost disappointed.* Sienna, always liked her despite what you're mother thought *-and wasn't it ironic Lyndsi was probably wishing for Sienna to still be in his life instead than the daughter of an auror?-* but she's always had a plan, a mold. Change is especially hard for some people. *He nodded, wishing he could be able to understand the full extents of the changes but knowing he could never. The same way he couldn't offer the comfort his grandson so craved, the words of a father.* Talking's never been our strong suit, Al...*he hesitated before he revealed* I miss your father too. But if he was here, believe he'd support you, through anything. You were his pride and his joy. He talked of nothing else more enthusiastically, no one else, except your mother and even then...it's a different love. And your father loved you *his throat was choking up* wherever he is, he still does.

 **Alcott:** *It was like a damn floodgate had burst he thought bitterly in shame and hurt. Years he'd endeavored to act like it didn't hurt him every day his father wasn't there apparently didn't matter. And of course it hurt, he admitted to himself with a truthful little voice. It hurt every time just his mother showed up at the Express platform, every time he got his end of the year test scores and only Eliza told him how well he'd done. Every birthday, every Christmas, every summer trip to visit Ric. When he talked to Ollivander and told the old codger to watch himself. Each was a bitter pang of constant loss, one he'd gotten very good at ignoring -- he was supposed to be stronger, he'd tell himself, his Dad wouldn't be proud of him for falling apart. As his Grandfather continued, it occurred to him quieter his father wouldn't be proud of him for pushing his mother away either - he knew how much they had loved each other. He'd never seen his mother smile as vibrantly as she did in their wedding photo. The pang of guilt did nothing but make him feel worse.

He could remember it too, just barely and from a very small height. How Dad said once about giving her a heart attack being enjoyable (he hadn't gotten why at the time, remembered looking up all forms of heart attacks in the library and stumbled over 'pulmonary') -- but mostly he remembered their expressions, a few blurry smiles so wide and alive in his memory he was sure half the time they were a dream. He could hardly remember his father, but what he did - he was glad suddenly to hear his grandfather affirm his fuzzy memories of smiles, laughs, and proud 'my sons'. Rubbing at tearful eyes still,* I wish he was here. *Pain had a stranglehold on his vocal chords, anger on his lungs.* I wish I could jus--there's just so many things i want to ask him, that I want to say to him... *He jerked his head back up.* I want to make him, proud, I want to just -- be worthy of that, how can I be someone's pride and joy when they never got the chance to know me older than six? I want to believe he'd support this, me, but I'll never get the chance to -know- and I don't--I don't do well with not...knowing. *Benjamin was his father's father though -- he thought if anyone would know...it was him, right? Alcott cleared his throat, his eyes and just hugged his chest, grip firm. Waiting until he could breathe again, he finally mumbled out.* I just wish I knew him.

 **Benjamin:** *That was it, that was the core of the problem. That one wish, that one longing that could never come true. His heavy heart and his aging bones both seemed to groan with the sadness he felt.* I wish he were here too *he admitted quietly, only feeling a bit thrown that the quiet whisper was something Al no longer had to strain his ears to pick up. It was an injustice that Alcott would never know his father.* He was the best of men, your father, Al. His brilliance, sure...he was brilliant, a genius. Sometimes I wondered if he ever did spring from my loins- your grandmother hit me anytime I insinuated that. Harper was also compassionate, though he would firmly deny it to anyone who said so. He healed every animal he could find, he loved being out with the hipogriffs. He could have done anything in the world, and what did he choose to focus on? Restoring memory for trauma victims and Alzheimer's patients. Regenerative potions to grow back limbs, skin, organs. Stronger defensive enchantments for homes and personal use. He never said it, but he always thought it was his duty, his responsibility to make a difference in the world. 

*He licked his lips and then waved over the liquor to him again, holding out the glass for another fill. He offered some to Al as well.* Harper and Max and Sandor...they were always at each other's throats when they were young er. They were each so vastly different at what they were good at, yet at the same time too alike. Every day was a competition between the boys...every day some fight we had to break up. Funny enough they started getting along only after some Roswell boys got on their nerves and they teamed up to kick their arses. *He chuckled and couldn't help a beam* At that moment, I was never more proud. But Harper was the oldest and he tried to take the entire blame at first, despite the fact Max's lip was bleeding. *He chuckled again and took a sip for he was half here, and half with his memories.* My son...my eldest..he was a cheeky little blighter. Always had something smart to say, like you. Sarcasm is your finest weapon sometimes.

 **Alcott:** *Taking the glass even as he massaged his throat preemptively and rubbed more tears from his eyes, Al found himself smiling. It wasn't as though he'd never heard stories of his father, from his mother, his uncles -- but it wasn't a common topic. Mostly he remembered being squished against peoples knees and squeezed and squeezed as if they were pulping an orange while they told him how sad it was, how unfair, how wonderful he'd been and how just so terribly awful they felt. He'd never doubted they felt terribly awful. Just that they knew how he did. Hearing his father talked about this way, with sadness but with sudden laughter and honest smiles made him feel warm, not hot, and he was grateful. He chuckled once.* Grandmother has quite the wallop too. *Not that he knew. Listening over one sip, he smirked.* Well, that's one thing we both did then. Roswell's an arse. *He meant Sam in particular but really the statement stood. He knew his Dad had loved to go with the hippogriffs. Sometimes when he was with them, it felt like he was close to him. He grinned a bit to think his Dad had tried to take credit, defend Uncle Max and Uncle Sandor - knowing he'd do the same, and trying to ignore a slight twinge at what his Dad might say to Uncle Max now. Smile softening as he focused on the last, he thought he just wanted to know everything - all of it.* Well, you can't help but show brilliance. *His lips quirk as he rubs the corners. Eyes still on his grandfather's distant ones, tentative.* What was he like his first day of school?

 **Benjamin:** Brackners rarely get alone well with Roswells. They're pretentious and annoying, so I didn't fault them. I applauded them, secretly. *He didn't think he reprimanded them much, only a few notable experiences. He smirked at the question, replying easily.* Visibly excited...to those who knew him. He wanted to do everything himself- pushed his own cart, walk through the barrier himself, choose a carriage himself, you get the point. When your grandmother went to kiss him I swear I've never seen his face go redder in my life. He wrote to me that night, told me about being sorted into Slytherin, his exploration of the dungeons, his excitement for classes *grins* as well of his dismay of how simple minded his fellow students were.

 **Alcott:** Pretentious, one word for it. *His laugh was full of the evidence that he had less polite ones, but not in front of his Gramps, obviously. Hand dropping as he tried to picture his Dad as a kid in the Slytherin dorm (he looked oddly like a little version of himself with shorter hair in his mind's eye, but with a rounder face he pulled out of the photos he'd seen).* So not much has changed at Hogwarts then. *Pleased by that, pleased to think he'd had such similar thoughts, he grinned sideways,* You got a picture album? I -*he hopped to his feet, not wanting to make his grandfather get up again,* I can get it...?

 **Benjamin:** Not much does in a place like that. Living history. *Yet Harper had been determined to find out every single thing he could about that castle. There was not a single bookshelf left unexplored, not one portrait he did not have a conversation with. Looking up as Alcott stood up, he scoffed, realizing his grandson was "sparing" him.* Boy, how old do you think I am? *He wasn't as stubborn as to get up though so he begrudgingly pointed to the bookshelf behind his work desk* There's a few of them in there, bound in green dragon hide.

 **Alcott** : I try not to ask, *Instantly, he chuckles as he looks over his shoulder, smirking despite the drying tears on his cheek,* not polite of me, see. *One hand slipped into his pocket as he reached the bookcase, hand trailing over the dark green spines and pulling one out when he found it. He refused to think further, the simple act of having to crouch down in front of a bookcase wasn't going to hurt him-it was the drink, okay? He flicked his cheek, stood back up still smirking and presented his grandfather the tome. As he sits, he asks,* Did he ask you as many questions as I do?

 **Benjamin:** Like wine, I only grow finer with age. *A cliche saying but it was nevertheless entirely true. He took a steady sip of the alcohol as he waited for Alcott to come back with the album. Taking it when it was offered, he laughed and shook his head.* Any question he couldn't answer for himself, and he did everything he could to try and answer it without help. *He grinned* It was more that he asked rhetorical questions one after the other and then proceeded to answer them himself. He loathed asking someone else for help- i understand it made him quite impossible as a partner during classes. *He opened the album and then smiled at the opening photo, his sons teenagers, and not one hair on his head was gray yet. They were all waving, except his wife who had whacked Sandor on the top of the head and was gesturing for him to "pay attention" while screwing up the picture herself. Max smirked, Harper smiled. What he would give to have all his boys together again.* This was taken during Christmas one year, before we headed to Barcelona. Coincidentally, this was the year Elena and I first met your mother, well, introduced to I suppose. While she was sneaking into the house. *his lips flicked.*

 **Alcott:** Sometimes it's the only way you know you'll get the truth. *His words were immediate, speaking for himself even though he rarely asked questions of anyone but his grandparents (or perhaps his mother) that weren't rhetorical or sarcastic (and usually both). Yet he spoke like he knew already, had known, with smug pride on his lips to hear his Grandfather talk. Sliding the drink down to the table, his eyes were glued to the album, eager for photos he may not have seen before despite the fact he thought it unlikely. His eyes immediately seemed to go to his father's, a small smile on his lips as he thought how handsome he looked. He wasn't surprised. He glanced up suddenly, pure delight in his grin,* Sneaking in to the house?! How have I never heard this story? *He specifically ignored the voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously quite a lot like Eliza that answered 'You never asked.' It was rhetorical, all right?*

 **Benjamin:** *He looked up then in surprise, the similarity of the words drove a metaphorical knife through his heart. Yet he was smiling* Your father used to say the same. *He wasn't surprised Al didn't know the story, how was a parent surprised to reprimand something they had previously done?* Because Lyndsi would kill me if she found out I told you. *He turned the page.* They were exchanging gifts before we left, apparently. *He shrugged, a small smirk on his lips before he gestured to the pictures, one of them was of a Quidditch game, the boys buzzing in and out of the camera shot before Harper flew towards the camera and grabbed it from him, and then proceeded to toss it around to his brothers like a quaffle.* They nearly broke my camera. You know what though, you're a much better flier than he was. More like your mother that way.

 **Alcott:** *Surprised how fast his Gramps had met his gaze again, Alcott didn't move - even when he'd explained. A warm glow appeared in eyes lightening more with every word, gladdened and still hungry for details, voracious in fact and others of Eliza's eloquent words. He knew he could never be fully satisfied but bloody hell if he wasn't going to try.* Exchanging gifts? *He smirks, knowing what that probably meant before decidedly thinking he...really didn't want more details in that at least. In the slightest. He looks back to the camera, laughing suddenly as his father's younger - much younger face appears in the frame before the box appeared to fly around.* Great photo though,* he said lightly (defending his father more than anything) before looking back up, hesitant, but smiling.* ...yeah? I've never really seen her fly.

 **Benjamin:** *That he agreed with, it was a great picture, one that he thought captured in its brevity the way his family had been. He chuckled and then sighed in sadness. No, for the star that had been his daughter had long faded. Unwilling to think on such things, he instead smirked and with it teased.* I daresay she could have even bested you, my boy. *He laughed and then pointed to another picture* And this is us at a carnival in Barcelona. It's where Sandor met your aunt. And this is when Max forced your father on one of the floats. *he laughed* Those two always bickered the most, I think. Always messing with each other. The way of brothers, really.

 **Alcott:** Oh, now I -have- to challenge her on -that.- *He scoffs, saying it immediately before he rubs at his lips, as if that would get them to stop saying things that get him in trouble. It was odd to picture his mother on a broom even if he had photos of her on the house team. Looking back at the pictures, he smiled off hand - Aunt Rosalia and Uncle Sandor still looked at each other with much the same sappy look. He'd heard Aunt Rosalia (speaking in rapid Spanish) tell how they'd met "cuando estabamos en lo mas alto de la noria" -- as his Uncle rocked the seats back and forth; it was an amusing, frequent story really. He'd never heard the same day that Uncle Max had done that, but he found himself laughing in earnest at the look on his father's face. He wondered only briefly if his grandfather knew what they'd bicker most over now before deciding he both didn't - and wasn't going to tell him.* It sounds it. *He grinned with only a moment's hesitation. Pointing at the page, he wiggled both eyebrows,* How'd Dad get him back?

 **Benjamin:** *he chuckles* I'd love to see that. *He smirks, though really he would just be grateful to have a family day that didn't feel half forced. He loked back at the album and then smirked, turned the other page and then pointed* Turned him into an arse- er, donkey. *He laughed and then shook his head* No longer than an hour though, your grandmother was -livid-. And everybody else was too busy laughing.

 **Alcott:** *Right, see: damn mouth getting him in trouble. Nodding once, he says lightly,* Guy Fawkes day is coming up. *Clapping his hands together with a small shout of laughter as he looked at the picture of Uncle-Max-the-donkey, he squinted, pretending a moment that it was evidence of his father already evening things for later offenses. And oh, the things he could do - *Next time I'm in Barcelona, I'm getting Uncle Max a donkey pinata. *He says it point blank, with a wicked little smirk.* That's classic. *And he was tempted to threaten Roswell with it the next time he was three feet from Eliza. Though he'd never cast full-body transfiguration before....did he care if it went wrong? Not really. Grinning, he leaned closer to the photo, tapping it.* Is that a pink party hat? *Both eyebrows wiggled.* How old were they anyway- that my Dad could already cast that? *Not that he was surprised.*

 **Benjamin:** Yes, the celebration of someone's failure. *his lips twitch and he shakes his head* Poor bloke. *Laughing again at Alcott's tease, he smirked and then nodded* I'm sure he'd find that amusing. *More like smirk about it but that was just a Brackner trait in general. He grinned and then tried to remember* He was 15 I think? Yes, just about your age. *He smirks* It was all out war for a few months. *He flipped a new page and then smiled softer and pointed* And that's his graduation, he's with your ma. Graduated with ten N.E.W.T's. *And given that most people never tried for more than a few.* Only one he didn't bother with was Divination. He didn't believe that branch of magic reliable. He liked logic and facts.

 **Alcott:** Well, any excuse for a drink Grandfather. *Even though he was drinking right now and already well passed buzzed -- if it weren't for the changes in his blood and DNA he knew he'd be sick as a... ..well. Dog. Wasn't he amusing? Smile softening as he nodded -- see, fifteen, he should just give this a try -- and then saw his parents, his gaze suddenly locked on them, trying to ignore a swell of emotion. He'd seen pictures of his father's graduation -but never that particular one, and every new moment he was given felt...he cleared his throat, nodding.* I'm inclined to agree. Though that isn't to say I ... don't think it might be right or useful. *He saw nothing wrong with wanting to wish and hope, after all.* Ten, that's right...*He grinned, looking up and saying cheeky.* I might just try for eleven then. *Granted he'd dropped Divination ages ago but he could wrangle somehow - how it was there was no NEWT for wandlore was beyond him. Looking back to the picture, he said softer,* God they look happy...

 **Benjamin:** My excuses usually begin and end with "I'm alive." *He was smirking but his drink, still mostly full, lay forgotten on top of the table as he looked through the album with his grandson. It was an intoxicating experience of its own, sorting through all of these memories. He didn't often go through them but judging from the fact the book was free of dust, he could tell his wife did.* He'd be insulted if you didn't try to best him. *He wiggled his eyebrows and then he smiled softer, nodding* Yes...their happiness was infectious. Alcott: Good as any. *He meant it to be a joke, but it came out seriously, as their topic was making it all too clear: being alive was no light gift. Clearing his throat again to hold off yet further tears in his eyes (damn drink), he nodded again.* Then I'll just have to try.


	16. The Longest Night

**Nadia:** *Even OWL's students needed a reprieve every now and then. At least, that's what she told Devin who had been studying for these exams since the start of the summer. Just like she made sure he ate lunch during his internship, she made sure he got some rest. Honestly, she didn't understand why he was so worried, he was brilliant. It was all the little people like her who had to work their butt off for an average grade...maybe she could stand paying a little more attention. Spotting him on a bench under the tree they agreed to meet up in, she frowned (fondly) to see him reading anyways. She came up behind him and grabbed his arms, pulling it backwards* Halt! You're under arrest for violation of break time laws. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. *She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, smiling*

 **Devin:** *It was a toss-up which had him more anxious: the impending full moon or the end of the year decide-your-whole-life exams of which the practice exams informed him if they were taken today he would fail miserably. ...well okay he'd pass but not at a level above "Acceptable"-a misnomer if he ever heard one, for the grade was thoroughly unacceptab-* Nadia! *He exclaimed in surprise jerked from the book, but genuinely smiled. Chuckling, he dropped it, binding overturning in the dying grass as mis-colored leaves brushed against pages flapping in the ever present breeze. His palms went up. * I swear Officer, I've never seen her before in my life. Just came up to me and --insisted--I was an innocent victim.  *Teasing, he abruptly cupped her neck to properly kiss her once.* Hello.

 **Nadia:** Yeah, yeah, yeah. *She shook her head but was nevertheless smiling, the gesture turning only brighter as he leaned in to kiss her again.* Hi. *she beamed and then walked around the bench to sit down next to him, dropping the bag at her feet and leaning down to pick up the book for him.* Eww. *she dropped the history book in his lap immediately, barely repressing a shudder.* Dev you promised *she elongated the s and leaned closer to him* I think I might need to take you to studying rehab. And don't try to say "nooo, nooo, noooooo" *the song was playing in her mind at the moment.* You're gonna burn yourself out and it's only October.

 **Devin:** *He chuckles as the book lands on his lap suddenly, his knee pulls in on reflex and hands leap to catch it protectively.* Geesh, Nadia. A little consideration? *Snaking his arm out to wrap around her waist and hug her, even as he shakes his head.* No, I'm not, you're here for me. *He winks, kissing her cheek.* Besides, this is so is so I don't cram at the end? 

 **Nadia:** *She giggles before apologizing* Sorry. *Pats his leg as she grins, not minding at all (understatement) that explanation of being his personal rehabilitation, it was true. And he made sure she did work...in general.* I'll have you know, cramming has always worked for me. *Says the girl with average grades in the majority of her classes. Whoops. She sighed in false suffering* I suppose that's what I get for falling in love with a overachieving, ambitious, and perfectionist genius. *She blows a strand of hair out of her face.* The things I put up with.

 **Devin:** *His good-natured fond smirk was suddenly transformed at her words. Unlike Alcott, he couldn't independently swivel his ears -- but he felt as if they perked up all the same, chin and brows jerking up. His smile softened. Well, it was only fair, he thought: the words had slipped through his lips if they perked up all the same, chin and brows jerking up. His smile softened. Well, it was only fair, he thought: the words had slipped through his lips first. Granted it had been in a terribly different circumstance. He shook his wrist out, balancing against his knee as if he had just punched Sam again, smile wide.* Guess so. And you love it. *He winks, leaning in to kiss her once, lingering before he realized he was (once again) not saying it aloud. Great going, Stuart. Pulling back,* Oh, *He chuckles, hand coming up to play with a strand of hair against her cheek, pressing another quick kiss to her lips. To steady himself, before he pulls back, losing himself in her eyes. His words were quiet.* As I love you, Nadia Francesca Tudor. *After another sweet kiss, he teases* And not just because you think I'm a genius. You're...the most compassionate, forgiving, honest and understanding girl, I know. *Teasing his hand down her neck to toy with the zipper of his leather jacket she wore, he didn't take his eyes from hers.* Did I mention forgiving? *His eyebrows cock and wiggle, but there's a softness in his gaze.* And you're my best friend. *Smile still honest before -- sheepish -- he breaks her gaze, squeezing her side and looking down her again, he does his best imitation of a groan, smirking through it.* And you're -really- hot.

 **Nadia** : Well I don't hate it *she teased back before kissing him back, the sweetness of it filling her up with a bubbling joy that was only furthered by his words. It wasn't the first time she'd heard them, but it was the first time he'd admitted to her privately instead of...shouting it in the Great Hall. And back then she had been wrestling with the probability of having lost him forever. Now it was a quiet reassurance that honestly meant more to her, not that she had minded the utter declaration of his feelings at the top of his lungs, but she was a simple girl, who appreciated simple gestures (and stars named after her, and serenades with a piano). She chuckled once as he gave her reasons, her smile bright.* You did mention...*she leaned in to kiss him once again before breaking out in laughter at his next observation, grinning* Hmm, you're such a sweet talker. *She was still beaming wide, and she think she would be for weeks. Maybe sleep would come tonight after all. She couldn't help him, she kissed him again, parting only to whisper* I'm still not letting you study today.

 **Devin:** *Gathering her hair in one hand as he leaned in to kiss her again and again, his hand on her jacket slipped to her waist. Laughing suddenly at the whisper, he shook his head.* Oh, well damn, there goes the only reason I said that at all. *He wiggled both eyebrows even though truthfully he knew such jokes weren't his best weapon. That was more Alcott's department. Or Eliza's -- but, well hey, sarcasm was still second nature. He was a budding politician. After stealing one more kiss, he pulls back grinning at her.* All right. Fine. No reading for the night. But -- *his eyebrows wiggle* --since we're depriving each other, here you have to promise me no Batman episodes either. 

 **Nadia:** *She gasps, exaggerating how appalled and hurt she was by his statement, pulling back and laying her hand over her heart* Would you part a mother from her child? A rat from his tail? Jedi from their lightsabers? Arwen from Aragorn? How cruel are you, Devin?! *She wiggled her eyebrows and then giggled a little, before sticking her nose up in the air and crossing her arms in front of her chest* I take it back. I no longer love you.

 **Devin:** Oh, cruel, absolutely devious you might say. *Nodding repeatedly at her each every question, he finds himself just laughing out -- unable to remotely take that seriously. His hands slip up and take both her wrists, squeezing as he teases,* Oh good. I'm not sure how I'd feel about being loved by someone who equates a man in a bat costume to a mother and child. *He winks, but continues quite seriously,* I still love you either way. You're stuck with me, Nadia. *He leans in to kiss her, his eyes shutting peacefully.*

 **Lynn:** \--bloody little coc-- oh! *She pulls up short suddenly rounding the corner; across the corridor was the very brother she was looking for. Feeling a bit guilty now to think she had to break them up, she bit her lip - surely, there had to be another way to do this. Only the fact that the sky appeared darker now than it had when she'd set out made her keep walking.  With the oranges and the purples, they were really reaching full-on grab-your-camera sunset here. Actually, she could capture this angle really well - her hand itched for her drawing pencil: the pink sky, the hanging multi-colored leaves, the stone bench and the hulking tree, upon which young lovers sat -- right, she had to focus.* Don't kill me for interrupting.

 **Devin:** *Hearing his sister's unmistakable voice he sighs, pulling back with a tiny groan. It was the first time he'd released Nadia's lips in minutes for more than a few seconds, and he wasn't pleased. He'd just admitted he loved her - for real this time! Why in the world did his sister have to walk up now?* Hi Lynn. Bye Lynn.

 **Nadia** : I'm saying Batman and I's _connection_ is like that. *Was her stubborn response before she melted again, she couldn't help it. Her whispered "I love you too" was stolen away by his own mouth, claiming her lips in a kiss. It had been far too long, she realized at that moment. The year was already a hell hole, her divinations stressing, and she hadn't had nearly enough time with Dev. She might have joked about being clingy over the summer to him but it was a tease based on fact. As if to show the validity of her statements (Eliza's fancy words were creeping up on her), her hands moved to cup his neck holding him there as they kissed...only to be woefully pulled apart in what she felt like had been too soon, though she had no idea of the actual timing. Ignoring her pinking cheeks, and stifling a laugh at Dev's dismissal to her sister (how comforting and joyful it made her that such a thing could be said positively) she poked his side briefly and then smiled up at Lynn.* Hi Lynn. You have 15 seconds to present your case before the court passes judgement. *Maybe she should be a cop for Halloween.*

 **Devin:** *Fondness in his gaze, he wouldn't take his eyes off Nadia for a second even as he laughed. This time when he repeated,* Yes, Officer. *It sounded a great deal ... hmm, darker with intent. He smirked.*

Lynn: Oh I am proud of you two right now. *Hols would be proud too. Look at their babies! She nearly faked a sniffle -- until she remembered the direness of the situation. Hand on her hip, she stood two inches taller than normal but decided quickly,* Fifteen seconds is hardly enough time to unleash my full potential.

 **Devin:** Lynn. *His eyes were still on Nadia.*

 **Lynn:** Well, I put forth for consideration then that Brackner-

 **Devin:** Brackner? *That makes him spin around, rolling his eyes.* You know, there are actually two Brackners now.

 **Lynn:** No, *she shakes her head; tonight she had every reason to be justified she thought. Her hand went up,* No, there's Enrique, *She instantly rolls the 'r' with a practiced accent that makes it too clear to her brother she used such a skill in other ways and reminded her of Nick,* the sexy tan Spaniard and there's Brackner, the ass.

 **Devin:** Poetic. *Rolling his eyes* What's he done now? *Truthfully he was wary to ask: if Lynn was back to calling Alcott by his surname, it was something to do with Hols. He looks back to Nadia worriedly.*

 **Lynn:** Stalked off into the Forest to transform. *promptly*

 **Devin:** ...he's supposed to do that, Lynn. *He clenches his teeth.*

 **Lynn:** Yeah, but Hols claims the idiot forgot to take the last dose with him. 

 **Devin:** *mouth dropping open slightly, he curses under his breath and rolls his eyes to the darkening sky.* Brilliant. *Oh look, the sarcasm was back!* 

 **Nadia:** *As proud as Lynn was, Nadia couldn't help but feel some sort of deep panic set in her bones instead of having any time to be pleased. She didn't frown though, she could still feel Devin's eyes on her even as Nadia's where focused on Lynn. The name "Brackner" gathered their attention more- Devin looked at Lynn, Nadia looked at the sky. It would almost be dark soon. She tried not to panic, but was having a considerably difficult time keeping positive when Lynn was coming up to them with news and news were never good. She turned out to be right, and Nadia felt cold.* What?! Did he take a bludger to the head? *She frowned, looking up at Lynn* Where's Hols? I thought she went with him...

 **Lynn:** Well - *She held up her hand getting a wicked grin,* I think Kracken was about to hit his head if it had been in reach.

 **Devin:** Kra--never mind. *He had remembered it the name for Hols' beaters bat the same moment he determined this was truly not what was important. * I have some on me - *The last of the batch, but he tended to keep it on him just in case. He looked sideways to Nadia, breathing already quicker.*

 **Lynn:** Great. *That's what she was hoping for. It was not ideal; she didn't want her brother in that forest, but he'd be justified in hitting her for saying that. She shrugs a shoulder, face darkening as she said slowly,* I'm not sure. They were arguing...he said something about Uncle Shawn. *Her heel kicks out at a small stone in the ground as Devin started rummaging in his pack for the vial in a hurry. Slowly,* What's he got against Aurors anyways?

 **Devin:** They were the ones who attacked his house the day his father died. *bluntly; irritated by Lynn's blase attitude as ever and then freezing as he realizes he just...said it, and looks back up at her.*

 **Lynn:** *Her eyes had gone perfectly round, mouth matching it.*

Devin: ....Yeah. Though, obviously they weren't actually attacking his house or his father -- rather, the Death Eaters who were there. He was there. *Struck with a pang of momentary guilt (obviously Lynn hadn't known), he said quieter,* Not something he talks about. 

 **Lynn:** *noting that Nadia hadn't seemed surprised by this, then she mutters,* Fuck. *Under her breath and rubs at her lips. Her gaze falls to her own heels, burrowing her toe in the strap as she grinds the pebbles beneath her to dust. That...explained a few things at least. Hell, her stomach hurt.*

 **Devin:** Yeah. *He clears his throat, resuming the frantic search. Lynn said nothing else, though he could see thousands of gears turning in her mind and heard a tiny 'poor Al' mutter he knew she'd deny. Devin ignored this. Alcott was in the woods - he was going to transform - Devin's heart was pounding with concern for his friend, and fear.* Aha! *He'd found the vial. Clearly not willing to elaborate further on the subject, he pops it out and looks back to Nadia, realizing easily what it was she was thinking about and shaking his head, reaching for her hand, squeezing comfortingly. He whispers as assured as he could be, despite his own mounting anxiety,* Hey. Hols' said his eyes are amber, remember? I'll get him this, *He held up the vial,* And it'll all be fine.

 **Nadia** : *So now Hols and Al were fighting, great. She sighed and shook her head, biting on her bottom lip worriedly. Her worries were confirmed as Lynn said what they were talking about, and she winced, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her. What she didn't expect was for Devin to tell Lynn like that. Her head turned to look at him in surprise. He must have been defending Al, she thought. Normally, a perfect opportunity to tease him, but not tonight. She would simply store that for future use and also Lynn's sympathy for Al because Merlin knew that was a miracle. She looked back to Dev as he found the vial, her heart coming back alive again at the thought of him going out there. Nadia didn't say anything out loud, but he seemed to understand her just fine. Squeezing her hands back, she nodded through his assurance even though she found no comfort in them.* Okay. *she swallowed a dry lump in her throat* Then you better get going, there's not much time. I'll see you when you get back? Meet you in the kitchens?

 **Lynn:** *She didn't know why in the world it mattered what color Alcott's eyes were - but she decided, seeing how frightened Nadia was, that she wasn't going to ask. Heart thudding painfully fast in her chest, she picked at her nail if only not to look at her brother. Give them a moment, she thought. She had interrupted them.*

Devin: See you there. *He smiles a moment, bringing both hands up to cup her cheeks and kiss her hard. He lingers; unable to help himself, even with the dying sun. Her lips were warm and pliant, tasting of the chocolate they'd shared earlier and her lip-gloss, which he felt no shame in admitting he was a bit addicted too. It was her he was most addicted too, he thought once, tracing her top lip. If he couldn't reassure her with words he didn't fully trust himself - he could at least make her breathless. Why had he been reassuring her? Forgetting everything except Nadia, Nadia and her perfect lips that jutted out so adorably when she pouted and teased him, her black curls soft against hands rough from different potion burns. Holding on to her until he felt she had his every breath (which he had to admit wasn't that surprising; she had every piece of him already), he pulled back slowly.* I love you. *He promised, holding her gaze. This time he was steady.* 

 **Lynn:** *Hearing those words she couldn't pretend to be intrigued by her nail any longer. Delighted and smiling, she looks over.* What?!

 **Devin:** Oh, Lynn-

 **Lynn:** *Letting out a proper squeal - ignoring the ticking clock and her racing heart she promptly hurries back to both of them, squishing them both into a tight, furious hug.*

 **Devin:** *Squished in a manner particularly uncomfortable as it was his sister, and he didn't fancy his cheek there, he rolled his eyes even as he beamed sheepishly.* Yeah. Lynn? Sis? ... Alcott? Full moon? Problem?

 **Lynn:** Oh shh - *She flaps her hand, squealing again.* I need to take in the moment.

 **Devin:** *There were moments that Lynn drove him nuts. But even with the mounting anxiety, the darkening sky... he had to admit, he was amused and almost grateful for his sister's sudden embrace. To himself, he could admit that anyway. Pleased that she was so thrilled by those simple words, he was reminded she was just defending them - and he couldn't love her more too. Cheeks red even as he thought it, he squeezed back tightly and then pulled back forcibly, shaking his head at her.*

 **Lynn:** Be careful. *Her face grows dark and serious as she says it, hopping back to her heels and finally letting Nadia go.* I love you both - so-

 **Devin:** I'll tell Alcott that when I see him. *smirking*

 **Lynn:** *gesturing furiously quickly that she meant Nadia and Devin she adds,* You're awful-

 **Devin:** And I love you too. *Leaning to kiss his sister's cheek, he finds himself embraced again. He chuckles, but his last look back is to Nadia, even as he tells himself they'll both be fine. Then slips the vial in his pocket, hoists the pack on his shoulder and breaks into an all out sprint towards the forest, pounding the ground hard to race the sky.*  

 **Nadia:** *That helped a little more she thought about his lips against hers, capturing her mouth in a slow but firm kiss. Nadia's cheeks reddened with the small thought of Lynn being right there standing next to them but the thought grew smaller and smaller as the kiss continued. The kiss ended too quickly like the one before it but she smiled wider to hear him speaking. The reply was once again cut off, this time by Lynn's ecstatic exclamation. Startled, Nadia took a moment to stop being so thrown before she realized she was being hugged and then afterward smiled a little and hugged Lynn back despite it aled at him again and watched him leave with abated breath and a pounding heart. Nadia turned to Lynn, her smile had faded by then.* Is Hols alright?

 **Lynn:** *Eyes on Devin until he was out of sight, Lynn suddenly bit her tongue. She didn't know how Hols was. Angry still - upset - and now Lynn understood the hopeless-guilt in her eyes too, but she still wanted to snap 'fine.' If it were anyone but Hols' sister, she would have. Popping her tongue free and going to her pocket to unwrap her half-eaten cherry lollipop and slide it back between her teeth to give her something better to chew, she swallows.* She's...coping. *She rubs her forehead, her own worry clawing at her heart. Oh, clawing - ha, unintended pun.* I guess I didn't get what was going on...but bloody, so what if Uncle Shawn is an Auror? Did -he- kill Alcott's father? *Quickly breathing out and ignoring that she was using his first name again,* And even if -he- had -- well, it must have been an accident! And why should Hols be to bloody blame!? He's still doing it-still blaming us for who our parents are! *A tiny thought was echoing in her mind that sounded bizarrely like Nick in that calm voice of his: rationality from a werewolf on the full moon who watched his father die as a young child... might be too much to ask for. She sighs, forcing a calming breath. Damn Nick. The lollipop cracks in half in her mouth.* But Hols is fine -- just taking...time, I think.

 **Nadia:** *Those were not very comforting words. Upset, yes that was more familiar to Hols but what would have been really familiar and expected would have been words like angry, furious, raging, bitching -excuse her French- and murderous. To hear that Hols was "coping" was just...very odd, very disconcerting.* Lynn you're not exactly an impartial judge...I'm sure they'll work it out. *Maybe. She bit her a lip and looked at the sky again, repressing a shudder and repressing the images she had seen so often on the crystal ball. She looked back to Lynn after picking up her bag.* I should get going, I want to check on the gang before I head for the kitchens. *She stepped forward to hug Lynn again.* I'll see you later- tell Hols I love her for me, hmm?

 **Lynn:** Why does everyone say that? *She couldn't help but ask, exhaling.* Alcott didn't start kissing -me- out of nowhere, didn't start getting me contraband alcohol and mary-jane, I have known him since I was crawling like Eliza has and yet -I'm- the one incapable of being impartial? *She wrinkles her nose.* If anyone is impartial it's you and Nick -- and I know it's gone mostly unnoticed, but I've -been- trying. I don't give a fuck he turns into a wolf, I do give a fuck how he treats my family. And you and Hols and Chace count as family. *Running both hands back through scarlet until she had three new knots in it, she stuck the lollipop stick under her tongue as if to check her temperature. Still boiling.* I think they will work it out. I mean I love Hols with all my heart but she's more than capable of...dishing it right back at him, so they...were probably both irrational. Still.*She folds her arms on her chest.* It's no excuse for being so bloody reckless and endangering. *Her heart was thudding painfully quickly as she turnedback to Nadia. She nods suddenly; thinking she had people to warn too, the most of whom being her boyfriend and his friends.* Right. Quick though, Nadia, talk me out of calling my father. *She held her gaze.* Remind me Hols wouldn't forgive me for spilling his secret.  

 **Nadia:** *Because its true? She couldn't say that out loud, Lynn was visibly upset and getting more upset. She nodded as Lynn said she was trying, it was true she was! Not that anyone who didn't know her would notice but Nadia had practically grown up together with Lynn, and she knew how hard it was for her to bite back some comments, try to be nice. Nadia knew Hols appreciated it immensely too. But Lynn held grudges and was less capable of forgiveness especially when family was involved and she said so herself right then. Surprise crossed her face at Lynn's request, and though some tiny part of her didn't want to stop her, the overwhelming majority knocked that part down to pieces and started a defense immediately.* You can't tell uncle Shane, Lynn. This will get out, the parents or the school board or both will demand Al get pulled from school, he'll never be able to start his career because no one would trust him, he might get disowned, his entire life could be ripped apart all because you told your father, the Minister of Magic to warn him about a danger that might not and will not happen tonight. 

And even if you told him, he couldn't do anything about it tonight. Al trusted you with this secret for Hols' sake, because he didn't want her to keep lying to you and you return that, you betray the first trust he ever placed on you, and he'll never forgive you. You'll also drag down Devin who has been making him the wolfsbane down with you, and your relationship with him which is greater than ever, goes down the drain. And as much as I think Hols and Al can work out this fight over daddy Shawn and the Aurors, they could -never- work out a fight over you. He'd blame you, despite your good intentions of not wanting anyone to get hurt, he'd blame you for ruining his life. And Hols would -not- pick Al over you, but she wouldn't be able to forgive you easily either because this is the first guy she has a real connection to, the first guy she really -really- cares about. She's been helping him transform and go through this for six months, six months she's kept his secret and you'd poison that. Hols loves you, she could not stand hearing Al say anything horrible about you again but neither could she tell him to stop because she'd know in a way he'd be right so they're off. Hols goes to travel around the world at the end of the year, Al's out of school, Devin's furious with you, and while Nick is still there, Hols wont send you postcards or letters from her exotic places because she wouldn't know how to go back to being normal with you, even though it would kill her because as much as she loves you, she'd also resent you. *She exhales and then stands up a bit straighter, not realizing her eyes had watered as she talk. Must she cry about everything? She wiped at them quickly before clearing her throat and asking* How did I do?

 **Lynn:** *A fierce, blazing look had replaced her uncertainty. She didn't say anything - even if her heart seemed to skip another beat every time Nadia spun the tale further. Above all she found herself thinking of how hurt Hols had been over everything that fell out with Keagan and Corey (especially Corey) and she winced. Nadia was right. Of course, that was why she wanted to call her Mum and Dad -- they would understand the situation! Mum wasn't very fond of the justice system either. And Dad...well he -was- the system (she might need to rephrase her hypothesis; Mum loved the system in that case, but...oh how she loved her parents). So he could keep it secret if need be! Though he...would have to inform Hogwarts by the...law...oh bloody hell. Gritting her teeth, she found tears appearing in her own eyes as Nadia continued, and a small smile appeared.* Brilliantly, officer. 

*She kisses Nadia's cheek, rubbing the tear away, hard gaze reappearing.* Alcott and Hols don't deserve that. And I'm not a bloody snitch...nor would I do that to Alcott, when he told me. Good faith, yeah? *She tried a moment to imagine: someone had killed Dad in front of her, then years later she was forced to transform into a mindless animal once a month (and when Alcott told her, she'd looked up the books, that had to be bloody painful), and that on that day, Nick had snapped at her about the people she saw attack...okay she couldn't do this. Now she wanted to call Dad just to bury her face in his chest and refuse to let him go. Taking a second to focus on breathing -- Nick had better be proud of her for taking his advice, or at least stop talking at the back of her mind, she squished Nadia in another brief hug.* The prosecution rests. Go -- I'll see you soon, babe. And I'll tell her. 

 **Nadia:** *She nodded, relieved she had done a good job and reminded Lynn of why she couldn't tattletale. Though she felt slightly guilty for making Lynn cry, so the brief hug they exchanged again was a tight one. Nadia smiled.* Thanks, Lynn. Everything's gonna be okay, you'll see. 

*Nadia was saying that out loud as well to convince herself and then waved before walking off in the direction of the basement, where the Hufflepuff common room and kitchens were located, but not without another look to the fading sun.*

**&.**

 

 **Hols:** *It was a chilly October day, quickly on the way of becoming a chilly October night, and Hols was walking with her hands in the pockets of her hoodie as she made her way to the Quidditch field. Her mind was still abuzz with the information she had learned from her dad, the same way her mind had yet to come up with a single way to bring that up again.

It was probably not going to be tonight, if she was able to control her tongue, because it was the exact definition of 'not the best time'. If there were a dictionary for it, the definition would read only with today's date. That didn't mean she could stop herself from thinking about it. 

Why did she care if Al hated her father or not- no, that question was ridiculous. She cared because if he did then...they had a problem. Again, not something to bring up on the bloody night of the full moon. She neared the Quidditch pitch and she spotted him, knowing he had probably heard her coming long before she had seen him and was momentarily jealous that her animagus abilities didn't transfer over to her as a human. 

Then again, she knew that Al would gladly give those abilities up if he didn't have to go through this anymore. It had only been half a year, half a year of the countless decades to follow. Not for the first time she wondered about the lifespan of werewolves, if theirs was significantly shorter past a certain age because the body could no longer bear the transformation-- fuck, she was morbid tonight. She blamed Nadia and her visions, idiotic things. As if she didn't have more important things to worry about-* Hey. *she smiled as she finally caught up to him. She took her hands out of her pockets and put them around his neck instead, kissing him in greeting.* 

 **Alcott:** *Rubbing his hand on the back of his neck (hard), he was staring at his broom - and had been staring at it for several long minutes now. All he could think now - while he examined each individual grain, picked at the edges with the clippers and snipped, snipped, snipped - was that he had never particularly thought he got much of anything from his Ma. All right, he supposed he knew he had her ears, but Gramps meant something different. All they seemed to have in common sometimes was grief, something he bloody hated dwelling on -- and writing back to her was only marginally easier now they'd talked about it, something he was fairly sure was shot to hell now. Yet as he stared at the grain (his fingers moved down to rub his eye), he knew he was just as proud to have reminded his grandfather of his mother as he usually was when compared to his father. 

 

The photographs were still in his mind's eye (he snorted, thinking he genuinely did want to turn Sam into a donkey -- first available chance!), but hearing Hols across the field without turning around he tried to forget about them. Fuck, he'd thrown enough out today, half of what he said to his grandfather had been bloody difficult to choke out even as it seemed to just spring from an eternal well he thought he'd long since lost the bucket for. He didn't want to think about this - but as his screwed-up eyes were fixed on the distant sun, he realized he didn't want to think about the impending night either. He breathed easier realizing Hols was closer, and turned back to her, smiling briefly before he met her lips, kissing back firmly, his hands dropping from his shoulders to cup her neck. He kissed in earnest, willing himself to forget what he could never erase, pulling back when breathless.* Hey. *He echoed  with a cheeky grin, focusing on her eyes.* Where'd you go today? 

 

 **Hols:** *Oh, Al, why did you have to ask that? The thought resonated through her mind as she looked at him, her smile oddly still in place despite the question but that had more to do with the way he was grinning and looking at her. Time to wipe that away, she thought bitterly, her lips flicking before she answered honestly.* Ministry. To see my dad. Didn't get too bored without me I hope? *He had been grooming his broom but Hols knew not to take that as a sign of boredom because she often did the same thing, whenever she wasn't cleaning her camera lenses...then again, she only did that when she was upset. Could he be too? Beyond the usual gloom that hung over every full moon that was.*

 **Alcott:** *Lips pursing together, his face tightened even as he flicks a smirk up -- honestly trying, despite the sudden twist in his gut.* To see your dad. *He echoes it drily, as if it wasn't echoing around his head on stereo and repeat.  It wasn't her fault - he tried to argue with himself, in fact it had nothing at all to do with her. Jerking his head back as he nodded, once, twice, he slipped his hands free and shrugged a shoulder.* Actually I was. *That was honest too, despite his dry tone. He chuckled, unamused,* As everyone else I hang with seems to be assuming the tests are tomorrow. *He shrugs another shoulder.* So I left too. *His eyes meet hers again,* Went to see my grandfather.

 

 **Hols:** *She nodded slowly, watching his face for any signs of change but there was very little. Man, he was good. Hols' hands slipped from his neck when he pulled back slightly as well, talking about how everyone seemed to be worrying about the OWL's or NEWT's. That was true, and it made Quidditch practices a bitch to plan. She was surprised to hear he had gone off to see family too. The infamous Benjamin Brackner Alcott had told her about during the summer. Al really loved his grandfather, that much was obvious. It brought a more genuine smile to her face.* That's great. How is he? *Even though he didn't ask about her dad, but she let that slide for now.*

 **Alcott:** *He shrugged his shoulder again, honestly thinking about it -- searching and searching for something they'd talked about that hadn't been bloody heartbreaking but his teeth gritted. It seemed he had an option, the same option he'd had all day and apparently would be relegated to the rest of his life: tell her that he'd told his grandfather about being a werewolf, and all the ensuing tell-your-mother-now or his father. And all the ensuing Uncle-Max-issues that had _she_ not spent the day with those responsible in the first place that he'd actually want to tell her. How hard it had been to hear Gramps remark time and time again how much his father loved his brother, his brother his father -- yeah, apparently not as much as he wanted to 'love' his mother -- when his grandfather had no idea exactly how much they'd fight now. But then they couldn't fight now, he would have to be _here_ for that and -- he cleared his throat, struggling to keep his eyes on hers.* He's all right. 

 

*It was casual.* And acts better than he is. I know - *he smirks suddenly* - shocking. *Hand falling to slide into his pocket he looked over her shoulder at the sun again, eyes screwed up before he chose,* Well, he's angry with me now - because I, told him what...happened in April - *his gaze darts back to Hols,* what I am, now. *Was that ever going to not sound bitter? He didn't actually _want_ to sound bitter. It _was_ what he was now...and even in his own thoughts his gut twisted with it.* He swore not to tell, but. *Hand slipping free to rub his forehead again and then slap his leg, he snorts through an exhale,* He sure still managed to make me feel hell-ass guilty about not telling Ma.  

 

 **Hols:** *She got the distinct feeling he didn't want to share much, though she could hardly blame him- awkward from him having told her about his father or not, Al wasn't exactly the kind of guy to share much about his family (proven by the fact of course he hadn't told her about his dad until she had been shouting at him).* The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then. *Brackners, she thought to herself. What really threw her off was the fact she was now thinking that fondly instead of vehemently as she would have last year. Some things change, while some things didn't. Her eyebrows rose in surprise to hear Alcott had told him grandfather (he was on one hell of a spree).* But he took it pretty well then right? If he's not telling anyone...that's good. *she nodded repeatedly, the movement slowing before she added* are you reconsidering telling your mother?

 **Alcott:** Not far at all. *He smirked, despite what felt like a sudden arrow to the chest -- for he still couldn't know no matter how many people told him he was like him, what his father would have thought -- God, when had he become so fucking sensitive? He needed to bury this, stop it, all she meant was to compliment him, and he was. Well, and tease him but - he focused on the complimentary side of things. Exhaling at the question again, his eyes trailing over her face as he fidgeting with a belt loop, he paused a moment looking back at the broomstick before responding,* I don't know. Maybe. I gu--he just, *He lifted his gaze to Hols,* he made a good point. We only just started getting on decent speaking terms, if I pull away even further... *Maybe there really was no way of disconnecting these things. Maybe he really couldn't just focus on the telling and moving on, when it was so bloody tangled up with everything else. His throat unstuck, and he smirked, brows cocking and hand lifting to flick at his ear irritably,* Well, it doesn't exactly seem like something my Dad would have wanted. 

 

 **Hols:** Grandparents tend to be the voice of reason, yeah...*Not her mother's parents, of course not, she had only met them once or twice but she didn't mind because Grandpapa and Nana made up for it- they were worth five sets of grandparents in her opinion. Still, she knew Al had plenty of enough reason to distrust his mother (Hols couldn't say much about it personally but the woman already disliked her just because she caught Hols sneaking- what kind of person was awake at four in the morning anyways?). It seemed grandpa Brackner had laid down some heavily convincing arguments. She was almost surprised a Brackner didn't try to avoid a problem until it went away. She sighed at the mention of his dad, knowing she should have expected it to end up there.* No...I suppose not. *She pursed her lips before clearing her throat deciding, fuck, this might be the only chance she got to bring it up.* Al, there's something I need to tell you, regarding your father that I don't...feel comfortable keeping to myself- something you probably haven't realized already.

 **Alcott:** *Eyes widening he couldn't help but think ruefully: really? When he'd been working bloody overtime not to go there or mention it, at least not today? Well granted, he had just mentioned but fuck all he'd said was "my Dad" - was he not supposed to be able to say that? Pressing his lips together harder as brows furrowed, he opened his mouth, then shut it, thinking nope: he couldn't say anything. Not yet. He had to wait for what she had to say, and well when Hols was determined to say something, pity the person who tried to stop her. That made him laugh the tiniest bit. Eyes darting to her (fabulous) shoes, and then back to her gaze, he nodded once more. A smirk disappeared as soon as it had appeared, his hand lifted from his pocket, gestured 'Go ahead', and slapped his thigh again.* 

 

 **Hols:** *Fuck, was it too late to take it back? Yeah, it pretty much was. She just couldn't introduce something so epically and be like 'never mind' about it, otherwise it would just loom over them like...well, like the full moon would literally soon enough. She bit her lip for a moment before standing up a little straighter. Pulling off the band-aid, it was better this way. Because otherwise one day her dad and Al would see each other and an epiphany might happen and Al would be even more furious than he could possibly be at this moment (she hoped) for keeping it as a secret (though it was hardly that) for so long. No, it was just better to say it now.* I went to go see my dad to ask more about what happened that day...I was curious and I didn't want to bring it up to you again because I know what a difficult topic that is for you. I figured he might...get me some files or, he'd know someone who was there. But, Al...*she hesitated a moment before she continued* my father, Shawn Graft...he was the one who was in charge of the raid at your house that day. 

 **Alcott:** *Difficult topic's seemed to be his bread and butter lately, he almost said, if his tongue would cooperate. It turned to lead in his mouth and he tasted ash, cast off (he assumed) the flames consuming his limbs and searing around his heart. Just because he was a bloody werewolf, he told himself; that was why he felt so bleeding hot. That was why his limbs were tense. They were anticipating the pain, for apparently muscles remembered it better than he could, anticipating snapping and stretching and bending all unnatural way that the human figure was just not _supposed_ to bend -- but then of course, he wasn't human. 

 

Then he heard her. A buzzing in his ear (he flicked the flesh again and dropped his hand to hang uselessly at his side), he was stunned. Bloody fucki--she was serious? Of course she was, he thought angrily, head jerking around and ripping his tongue across his bottom lip; why would she lie about something like that? And besides. Hols didn't lie, period. It was something he loved about her.

 

They said ice could burn the worst. Until that moment when he felt dunked in the Arctic water, enflamed limbs suddenly encased in the berg like cement, Alcott hadn't believed it. His eyes narrowed, widened; his lips split, pursed, then split again; his gaze darted over her shoulder and back to her eyes, down her front to the broom on the ground and back up again. 

 

Shawn Graft. How had he never bloody made that connection? _Because he didn't want to_ , that damn Eliza voice reminded him before a hundred of his demons shouted her down. An unmistakable growl in a dead voice, he spoke in a daze.* The leader. *Oh, he remembered that one: remembered it like it was yesterday. Was it a wolf thing, that made that memory so sharp? Or was it a damn trauma thing? Ma had taken him to a Healer for it once. He'd spat at them, then refused to say a word until she'd grabbed his wrist and hauled him out - declaring the Healer had insulted them both and wasn't worth their time. 

 

That memory near made him smile. Except even _that_ memory was blurred where the other was sharp; discolored where he knew every vivid shade of the other. Green leather books, oak colored parchment, shiny black shoes, that gold watch and bloody burgundy horned glasses. And the leader, Shawn; the shiny purple badge on his navy robes, flashing at him like his wand had - lighting his father's study with spells like fireworks, mocking his father's life's work if not catching it on fire. As if he couldn't bloody just be allowed to die without first seeing his whole body of work on fire, torn, stepped on -- his life ripped apart. 

 

Not all of it, he protested internally instantly, he'd saved a lot of it. Alcott wanted to say this aloud, proud of it, but for the damn lead in his mouth. But for the damn fact there was no one there to tell. Swallowing hard as he shook his head, rocked back, hand lifting and then hitting his side again hard he finally bit out sarcastically,* Ah, well, I remember him, then. No need to meet him. *Frown etching into every line of his face to erase any evidence of his urge to sudden tears, he jerked both hands up to fold across his chest. Thudding wrists against his chest, squeezing, choking, he laughed under his breath, just once.* Gramps said I had an ironic knack. Guess they really are the font of wisdom. *He spun back away from her, lungs rejecting breath again and unsteady on his feet. He wanted to punch something. He wanted a drink. He wanted to fucking run, right now. He wanted his fa--*

 

He stayed. *He spun back to her suddenly, water in his eyes -- he wasn't blinking, he refused to blink,* Your Dad, he's the one that stayed. He's the one that told me. I didn't understand, see, I might have been a precocious six year old - *It was dry,* -- but _dead_ was a word I still only understood in the stories. Dad was supposed to get up. Story's over? You flip back to chapter one and voila, there they are again, nothing's wrong! I didn't get it. I was angry, even, couldn't understand why he was making me bloody wait so long -- why he wouldn't just wake up. *Forced finally to blink, a tear gets half way down his cheek before he slaps it away, rubs his hand off on his chest in one, two, three quick flaps and angry -- angry at himself, angry at the whole goddamn fucking thing, he just snapped, heat in his shaking voice, tremors snaking up his stiff hand as he cuts the air with vitriolic words,* But he couldn't get up, that's what dead meant, that was why, your Dad made sure I understood that! _Fuck_ , Hols. 

 

 **Hols:** Al. *She breathed out, the sarcasm should have been expected of course but it was not damn appreciated. Couldn't he be just a little more...or a little less...oh bloody hell, she didn't. He spun away from her after another sarcastic comment. She was almost thankful, because it gave her a chance to roll her eyes for what felt like the first time in an eternity. Just once, quickly, to last her the rest of the conversation, however long that was going to be. She raised his gaze up to his again when he spat to her, saying something she didn't quite comprehend the meaning and bloody hell, were those tears in his eyes? Was she imagining them? 

She visibly winced, unprepared for the vivid retelling, or the details- she hadn't even wanted them from her father, no, they went out and had veggie pizza and talked about NEWTs and mountain climbing and Elle and Phoebe and everything and anything except that, except more details. Ironic, given that she had gone to the Ministry to learn more of them. She had taken a hesitant step forward before she thought twice about it- no, he probably didn't want her to lay a finger on him and she would not give him the opportunity to just slap her hand away the same way he was doing to himself in an attempt to hide the evidence of his anger and rage and grief. Most of all grief.* It's not my dad's fault that your father's dead, Al! Okay? God, you're just so angry, and you have every reason to be but you do -not- get to place the blame on him, and yell at him, especially in front of me okay? You don't need to yell at me! *she exhaled* I wanted, want, to help that's why I went to the aurors, I wanted to understand. Because, fuck, they're not the bad guys here, Al! They're not. A trainee died that day. Her name was Dana, and Jonathan Arlette killed her.

And he was the same Death Eater that broke into our house, and took my mother and dragged her off to be tortured and beaten and abused and God knows what else. My dad had been tracking Jonathan for years and he tracked him to your house, and he killed him there, but he did not kill your father! You have no evidence that any of the aurors killed your father! It could have just as likely been the Death Eaters, but no you're choosing to be this angry at them, because being angry at them is easy because they're here and you can identify them! You're seriously yelling at me because he was just fucking there?! He didn't cast the spell, Al! You don't know who did, no one knows! Why do you need to blame somebody?!

 **Alcott:** Angry?! *Sick and blissful vindication swept through him as she snapped back, bit into the air and he scoffed -- or choked -- or chuckled -- or _something_ visceral that scratched at his throat, maybe all three.* You're damn right I'm fucking angry -- and I don't need your _permission_ to be! *A snap in his jaw cracked his tooth, and he shook with it, startled to realize the force of his own bite. Oh for God's sakes - the last thing he wanted to think about was his bloody bite. Taking a step forward himself, and raising his hand to point at that goddamn sky that doubled as a ticking clock,* Wouldn't you want to know? If it was you - *his hand jerks down and then pats his own heaving chest, sticking in his instant sweat, a touch of desperation in his voice and expression,* - and you were the sole bloody witness, forced to stay behind a bookcase while the air implodes and vials explode and _your_ father collapses and suddenly you can move again, but of all the bloody things you can't remember, you can't remember the face of the one fucking guy who was there and got away and-- you can't tell your mother who did it, you can't give her that! You can't ever know!

 

 *His voice cracked and he seized with breath, pulling back and dropping his hands.* Fuck, Hols, I'm not blaming them - I'm not blaming him - for being the one that fired the spell, because that's the only part of it I don't bloody know. They _chose_ to come to my house. *His gaze narrows.* They chose to attack. Who asked them there?! Who asked _any_ of them there?! Dad was just showing me his research - they ambushed him, and _he's_ killed because the _Aurors_ can't be bothered to fucking check who they're firing at? Don't think I'm not bloody _furious_ at the Death Eaters too -- but as you just pointed out, most of them are dead! And good riddance. Even the one my Dad blinded, he died in prison. One got away - *he holds up his finger* - the one I already told you I have every intention of finding,  *his eyes narrow further,* and the _Aurors_ walked away rewarded at every turn. That's what I know. 

 

And I know that your Dad is the one that chose to come to my goddamn house in the first place, it was his responsibility. He was tracking Arlette? Well, you just said he was tracking him for years -- would following him out of my front door and killing him on the lawn have been any less of a victory from him? _That_ is why I'm furious at them, Hols -- because they waltz into -my- life, my family's life and stride away with my father's corpse, sanctimonious hypocrites, like they had any right at all to be there! Nobody asked them to come, my father had it handled! *His hand cuts through the air again and he shakes his head furious and too breathless to continue.*

 **Hols:** Well heaven fucking forbid I try to actually explain that I understand on some level if you're just going to take it like I'm ordering you around! *And she knew he had a point too, she got bossy as she tended to do when frustrated but she wasn't angry at him! Not at that moment at least, but rather the way he was acting. Her breathing became a little easier when he said he wasn't blaming them, but it sure as hell didn't seem that way the longer he kept talking.* Who asked them- they were doing their job! Ridding the world of death eaters who hurt my family, who've hurt countless of other people and broke apart families too, Al this isn't just about you! It's not just about your loss- my father was doing his job and he did it the best way he could. And he still doesn't think it was good enough, he doesn't even care that you blame him, he told me that himself. He said as long as it gives you some sort of peace- you think is fucking peace?! *She gestured at him, at how angry he was, how devastated he was, how 9 years had passed and it was still paining him as much as that first day.* Yeah, they were rewarded. Dana was rewarded with an early grave, Hassan with the loss of a girl I'm pretty sure he was falling in love with, Boyd -the one who jumped the gun and started firing first by the way- he was fired and my dad blames himself for all of it. Rewarded?! When people piss on their names and bad mouth them and insult them at every turn and yet they still work their asses off, they work until they die to save these fucking people. *How could he even think for the slightest bloody second that the aurors had it -easy-?!*

Your father had it handled against five death eaters? Fine, I'll believe that. I'll believe he could have gotten them out of the house- you think that would have stopped them from coming back?! The first time they ask nicely, the next time they take a family member. Or a friend. And they threaten them, and hurt them, and if they would have found you behind that bookcase Al, they would have used you to get to your father- these bastards are evil! They are depraved and sick and horrible, and every time somebody goes against the aurors, they just give these pathetic pieces of shit more ammo, more reason to keep doing these horrible things! Your father might've had it handled, but he was in the middle of being recruited! And here's usually what plays out- you either join or you die.You say the aurors had no right- they did! As impossible as it is for this to get through your thick skull, they were trying to help you and your family! They were! This wasn't about victory, this was about making the country safer, for everybody, for you. *She exhaled*...it turned out wrong. And I'm sorry. But that doesn't _fucking_ mean you can yell at me about my father! He's a good man, the best man, I love him and I will -not- stand around and listen to you try to diminish him in any way because he doesn't fucking deserve this! And I certainly don't -fucking- deserve it when all I've been trying to do is help and understand you! 

 **Alcott:** *Shaken with a sudden, visceral shock, he snaps,* He wouldn't have helped them! *Join or die -- yeah, he got it, he did, they were terrible people - why did that exonerate those who actually attacked? Pleased as he was that one had been fired - and as much a tragedy as Dana would have been (and fuck he did not want these names) - _she_ had at least signed up for that fight. What the hell had his father done, except all Gramps had just told him -- dedicated his life to medicinal research and conservation?! He bit his tongue and bled.* I was safe; they couldn't have found me, just as they _didn't_ find me - because my _Dad_ was there! *And he knew it now as he'd known it then: his father wouldn't have let anything happen to him. Insulted genuinely,* Are you insinuating that had he not been murdered, he would have fucking helped those monsters? Because see, *His hand flaps around his head,* my thick skull just doesn't get your subtlety here. *He rolled his eyes and  then snapped again, because he couldn't help it, he couldn't help his sarcasm and his anger just as much as he couldn't admit she had a point.*

 

This,*he gestured incredulously, mouth gaping - purely beyond reason, beyond himself* _this_ is fucking understanding me, is it? *How could she  stand there and say they were helping his family when his Dad would be alive today if they'd just left them alone?* Well halleluigh, they won, Voldemort's gone, the Death Eaters are either dead or on the run and soon-to-be-dead -- the country's safer, gold star! I didn't tell you not to respect or love your father -- I just don't see why you see the need to tell _me_ how to feel about this! *He punches thin air. Had something besides Hols been nearby, he had a feeling his fist would have been through it. Bluntly,*

 

Stop trying. I was perfectly fine, I don't need you to "fix" me. *He snaps it, heart skipping a beat as he does and taking a step back -- limbs shaking, head pounding and vision blurring. The fuck was -- a shot of fear snaked up his spine as he realized what it felt like: like he was preparing to transform. Feverish, his limbs were stretching, his eyes were darkening until they shone amber -- he could hardly see her anymore. All he could feel was fury, burying everything else and yes, he wanted to fucking snap, yes that did bring him a kind of peace.*  Just stop then, Hols. I didn't ask for your help, I don't need your pity, and I don't want your fucking understanding. *He was only surprised there weren't literal flames in his words; his exhale was so heated. Focused on that, it was easy to ignore the fact that he knew bloody well he was lying, that he did want her to understand - that it hurt that she would choose to tell him and leap on him for bloody _reacting_ to the news in the first place. It hurt. Fuck, just, everything hurt - his limbs were still shaking, his vision still seemed to be going in and out; rage had him in it's thrall and clung like a lover.* Just leave me be, Hols. *He leaned down to get his broom, gripping it tight in his fist and suddenly confronted with the fear he'd break it. * I don't need your help. *And he couldn't stay there, he couldn't - he finally just gave in to the shaking limbs and spun furiously away from her (he couldn't look in her eyes anymore, couldn't stand the fact that some part of him wanted to take everything back and move towards her instead, couldn't stand that she'd push him away -- couldn't take that). Instead he just headed straight to the forest, furiously afraid suddenly -- for the sun wasn't near setting yet, and he already felt like the wolf.*

 **Hols:** They couldn't have known that!*If he was just determined to find every single minute flaw from her details then they wouldn't get anywhere. Pausing suddenly, her mouth actually dropping in surprise at his question about her insinuations.* Of course not, you bleeding dickwad! You really think me capable of saying that to you, do you really think me that much of a raging bitch?! *Don't answer that she was all but pleading out to him right at that moment. What she had been insinuating was the Death Eaters would have come back either way and- oh why did it even bloody matter if he was going to yell at her condescendingly and refuse to see reason?*

I said I was -trying-! And maybe it wouldn't be so god fucking hard if you didn't -make- it that way, Alcott! But I get I expected too much from a 15 year old, didn't I? *The words didn't feel right as she continued. No, stop talking she told herself, but she didn't. She wouldn't until she had rebutted every fucking thing because she was Hols fucking Graft and he "didn't need her."*

Yes! *she scoffed* Perfectly fine is the absolute word to describe you Al! It's not like you're a werewolf, not like you hate your uncle or don't trust your mother- actually, you don't really fucking trust anybody else! *She breathed out, undeterred by the wolf so visible in his eyes. In a way she was glad to see it, it gave her something else to focus on rather than how her words were making him feel at the moment.* I don't pity you, fuck Al! You think I do all of this out of -pity-?! I'm sorry I give a fuck, I'm sorry I give more than just one fuck, I'm sorry that I turned out to be nothing more than just another girl out there, worried about her boyfriend -call the fucking press!-. Worried because you're not fucking fine, and you do need help, the difference is that you don't seem to want my help! It doesn't even have to fucking be me, talk to Eliza about this, talk to Devin, talk to Irene, for bloody hell's sake, but don't pretend like you're fine! *Her lips pursed out of fear of having her jaw tremble, she realized then her eyes were watered with tears. Oh fucking hell- gritting her teeth, she leaned down and picked up rocks, following him though he seemed to take five step for every one of hers, so she began throwing the rocks at his retreating back with all her might because no, he didn't get to just leave and have the last word. If she focused on her anger over petty things, she didn't have to feel hurt or guilty.* If you're so determined to be alone, fine! Keep walking! Go through this fucking full moon yourself, you'll have to get used to it anyways! Stupid-fucking-BRACKNER! *She stopped and threw the rest of the stones on the ground, yelling out in frustration before turning back around and stomping up towards the castle. She wished she could have said the Slytherin first years she knocked down while moving through the crowds had been an accident but it really wasn't.

She had somehow managed to reach her common room without anybody stopping her to ask what was wrong. Or maybe she hadn't heard them, or maybe she looked like too much of the raging, bitching, lunatic the school knew her as for anybody to bother. What she did realize after she was leaning against the portrait hole inside of the common room was that she hadn't seen Al take the last dose. Bleeding cunt.

She needed Lynn.*

**&.**

 

Devin's backpack hits the ground with a slam as he reaches the clearing and bends to pant with a grip on his knee-caps. Hell, he needed to start running every day again. He'd have to fit that into the schedule. Somewhere between studying to pass the decide-your-life exams, meeting with Nadia, his usual classwork, and brewing the potion to ensure his friend didn't go on a murder spree once a month when he transformed into a wolf. Oh, and Slughorn wanted him to tutor that second year. 

Only when he arrived did he realize the size of the forest and that he had no idea if Alcott had any intention of using this clearing again. What was he supposed to do -- cup his cheeks and howl to the darkening sky and hope the wolf mistook him for a fellow? 

"And of course, no bloody cellphones in Hogwarts." 

Had he just said that? Devin Stuart, notorious for his rejection of all things muggle, wishing for a mobile? Oh, wouldn't Lynn be proud. Shutting his eyes and rubbing them, he didn't hear his approach - just the bitter remark. 

"You shouldn't be here."

Devin's eyes snapped open, hand dropping to his side. His friend looked like hell: his shirt was off, scarlet tracks down his chest, eyes already amber. Fear seared a flame in his chest at that. He knew well that attitude, but he narrowed his eyes at his friend,

"Alcott-"

"I'm serious, you should go." Alcott jerked the silver flask, a few drops splashing the ground. Devin's frown deepens, seeing the leather-jerkin slip around the silver, the angry red skin on his thumb. 

"I'm _worried,_ Alcott." Hand cutting the air, he took a step towards his friend, angry himself.

"About me?" The question was high-pitched and dry. Devin's gut twisted with sick familiarity. 

"On a full moon? Whatever for?"

Alcott wasn't looking at him. His eyes were on the dark sky, golden eyes tracking across it. Devin jerks his head.

"Alcott, you can't just run into the forest an-"

"Ahh." To Devin's amazement, Alcott cut over him with a sudden laugh that sounded anything but amused. " _That_ makes more sense. Hols sent you?" 

Amber eyes flashed back at his friend. Devin tensed seeing the anger, but after a breath, he took another step to him. 

"I can't be trusted to handle this on my own, right?"

"Stop it." Heart stopping at the last bitter remark, Devin felt a chill cross the nape of his neck. He didn't know from where. The air was stiff with nary a breeze, dead. Amber eyes notwithstanding, every word leaving his friend's mouth made Devin more convinced that Nadia's vision was destined to come true this night. And his friend was going to choose to be a dick to him too? Really?

"You don't need to _worry_ ; I have this handled. I better - it's my goddamn problem in the first place." 

"Forgive your girlfriend for caring about you then. Forgive any of us." Devin snapped.

Alcott scoffed, but he jerked his head away from his gaze as Devin took another step closer to him, encouraged by the lack of response. 

"Look. I'm sorry, what happened to your father."

"I don't ne-" 

"My pity, I got it." 

Alcott's inhale was a hiss, and he breathed in flames.

Devin shook his head, "It's not pity, Alcott; it's acknowledging I genuinely feel for your loss and it still doesn't give you the right to be a dick. Especially not about Hols' _father_ -"

He ignored Alcott curling his hand into a fist as he snapped, "I didn't ask to be taught some bullshit less--especially not about Aurors."

"Yes, call the presses, Uncle Shawn is an Auror. Why do you give a fuck? Hols isn't to blame!"

"He's not just a bloody Auror, as Hols just informed me." Alcott snapped, stopping dead in front of him. "He's the one that _lead_ the attack, Devin!"

Devin winced: wishing he'd known that detail before now, hating to have it thrown at him, to be attacked with something so brutal. But that too he recognized; that unfair attack, lashing out just to be right. 

"That's awful. But again, how is this Hols' fault?!"

"I didn't say it was! But sorry, I have the damn right to feel how I want to fucking feel about the sanctimonious prick of a man who waltzed into my house and as good as murdered my father!"

"And if she said that about your father how would you feel? What would _you_ want to do?"

To that Alcott said nothing. Heavy silence fell in the dead air as the two boys glared at each other. Then Alcott jerked away and shook his head, a scoff under his breath and dismissive shrug making it clear to Devin he'd won. 

"We want to _help,_ Al. You don't have to be alone with this - any of it."

"You can't be here. You shouldn't - you can't be here." Alcott repeated himself, shaking his head again and again, breathing harsh. Devin just moved closer to him. 

"I get it, you think I don't get it - after all the shit I pulled last year?" The challenging remark twisted Alcott back to glare at him again, a murderous glint in his eyes as he spat poison with his words. 

"No, Devin, you don't get it - and I don't need you or anyone else to."

"I don't mean the fucking transformation, Al. And I don't mean your father - obviously, I can't empathize, for all my sympathy." 

"You really should leave now, Stuart." Alcott bit out. Devin only took another step forward. 

"Snapping at those who care about you when you want their help, saying you don't need the person you need most,, yelling at the person you care about most even when you know she's right, running off to sit alone in a dark forest?"

"Wow, please continue to psychoanalyze, Stuart. It isn't condescending and infuriating in the slightest." 

His sarcasm tasted poisonous. Struggling to keep his breath steady, ears swiveling as they picked up Devin's frantic heart rate, Alcott realized suddenly: he was afraid. 

Devin rolled his eyes. "You'll succeed, you know. Of course you will, you're fucking brilliant. You'll push and snap and snipe and snark until you're all alone - and that's when you get to say you were right."

"Yeah all right, you've got it all fucking figured out then, because you went through a little dark period. And look at you now!" Alcott's voice reached a new octave with his mocking cheeriness, embittered. Expression set with scarlet, hard lines around his eyes and jaw pronounced,"Big man, popular, empowered, and charitable too; sharing your wisdom! Congratulations, you made it through your dark ages! Welcome to the renaissance!"

"Yeah--" Devin snapped, vindicated despite the sudden clench in the center of his chest, "--and you, just quoted Hols."

There was dead quiet for a heartbeat. It was Hols' quote, Hols who had told Lynn they'd gone through the dark ages and they'd hit the renaissance now - who'd had them toast to it at the beginning of the year. As his friend seemed to realize he had, rage and guilt twisted across his face -- and then Alcott's fist met Devin's jaw.

Crack echoing in his ringing ear, Devin tasted blood. Rubbing at his lip as he staggered back, his heart skipped another beat: Alcott had hit him before, but never with full werewolf strength behind it. Half certain he'd broken bones in his jaw, Devin spat, 

"The _hell_ is your problem, man?"

Alcott's eyes were dark, he realized, dark-golden but his mouth had formed a perfect 'o' in shock and fear. Heart racing, Devin held his friend's gaze with his own, but he was too winded and frankly a little terrified to say anything else. As Alcott paced back from him, looking towards the sky and then back down, he seemed to catch himself. When he had, he met Devin's gaze again, arm and voice suddenly dropping a ton.

"I don't know." Alcott's voice was quiet, "Honestly -- you shouldn't be here. Devin, I don't know what the fuck is - you're right, okay? And Jesus was Hols' right -- I don't need the world to shout that at me, she was right and you're right and my grandfather was right. I should tell my mother, I clearly do need to find actual peace with the fact I won't ever get to know my father, I bloody _get_ all of that -- but I can't -- I'm just so _angry_ and it's fucking with my head as much as that rising moon." 

His breathing labored, his words suddenly broke into a cry of anguish as Alcott's face twisted. Devin scrambled a few steps back, reminded very suddenly why he had been there in the first place. _Oh nice going Dev_ , he thought to himself for the second time that day, _the psycho-analysis couldn't have waited until the morning?_

"You have to get out of here." Alcott didn't speak until he'd caught his breath, his hand lifting to the nearest tree. Nails dug into the bark, and he rubbed more blood from his lip. "I swear to God, Dev, the last thing I want to do is hurt you. Or anyone."

Devin paused a long moment, panic-stricken and sorrowful for his friend. He'd never seen the beginning of the transformation, only the end results; the torn limbs, the twisted maroon scar still down Sam's neck, the ripped out fur and animal carcasses, the blood. He'd read a lot about it, but suddenly seeing his friend's pain dissolved his anger even as it increased his fear. Holding his breath and Alcott's gaze, incredibly: he smiled. 

"Well. My jaw kind of hurts." 

Alcott stared at him incredulously and then starts to laugh. They both do: their relief fills the air with good-natured chuckles and for an instant they forgot everything that had happened - and what was about to. Then an owl's hoot reminds them the sun had set.

"Kind of proves my point though, doesn't it?" Alcott asked in amused disbelief, dropping his hand off the tree. 

"Yeah, and you really would hurt me or anyone if you don't take this." 

Devin fished for the vial of Wolfsbane in his pocket, and held it up with a little smirk. Alcott's dark eyes suddenly widen and then his face breaks in relief as he realizes what it is.

"Shit -- you're a lifesaver Devin, thank you." 

"Well, I'd prefer not to have to be you know." Devin shrugs both shoulders as Alcott nears him. "So if you just could refrain from attacking people trying to help you -- at least long enough to remember to take the damn potion, it would be nice." 

"I thought I had it on me." Alcott protests, rubbing sweat from his neck and coming to a stop. There's hesitance in his lighter eyes, confusion and fear. Devin tries not to shudder, not wanting to hurt his friend further. Well, the part of him closest to his throbbing jaw did but - he knew nothing he could do would hurt as much as what was about to happen. 

"Dev, you don't understand." He pauses, staring at his feet, teeth clenched. Then he can't help himself: remembering how he'd felt around Hols, and he asks, "Can...Can I...is it possible to transform without the moon?"

Devin froze, blinking at him, unsure suddenly. His instinct was to reassure him 'of course not' -- as nothing he'd ever read had allowed for it. But then, he was hardly an expert: he'd been reading as much as Alcott had, and didn't it kind of just have to do with ... what happens? Why did he transform on a first moon in the first place? How had he been changed precisely? 

Alcott's DNA had certainly been altered. He could hear across rooms, smell different individual ingredients in a mixture of hundreds, he ran a constant low temperature. As the flask he'd tossed onto his bag proved, he could drink a case of whiskey and not be sick, damn near even see in the dark with eyes that turned color - and weren't they turned now, despite not having transformed yet? And when a full moon rose he became another creature entirely -- was it out of the question he could transform without the full moon? No.

What he didn't understand was why someone would want to: it was a curse, a terrible one. Why would someone _want_ to go through it more than they had too? Breaking every bone in his body, sprouting fur and nose reshaping into a snout, losing his mind and becoming slave to murderous  ra -- oh. Now he got the question.

"I don't know." Devin answered honestly, which just made Alcott's eyes darker even as he jerked his head in a nod. "Why?"

Alcott smirked. 

"It started to feel like I was going too-right there on the field. I just had to -- I was so _angry_ , I had to get away, I wasn't sure - I didn't just run off into the forest Devin, I wanted to get away in case I hurt someone, hurt Hols!"

"Right...and not because you weren't willing to admit she might have been right?" 

Another silence fell, but this time Alcott smirked instead of threw a fist. Devin was grateful. His throbbing jaw more so. Amusement and fondness in his gaze, Alcott held a hand up in protest.

"Might have been. She threw rocks at me, mate!"

That made Devin laugh too; he didn't hear the tell-tale cracking of twigs that Alcott did. "Hols is formidable -- would you fucking take this?" 

He held up the Wolfsbane again. That moon wasn't sinking in the sky and he truly _did_ want to be out of there by the time he was transformed. Even if he could just curl up tame once he'd taken it. Though part of him...part of him wanted to stay if only so his friend wouldn't be alone. Alcott eyed the vial and smirked.

"Sure," as if he was doing Devin a great favor, "But can it be followed by liquor and copious amounts of it at that if you're going to keep asking me about my feelings? I mean bloody hell, buy me a drink first."

"I _made_ you a drink." Devin snarked him self as Alcott took the vial. "And let's leave the soul-bearing to Eliza tomorrow. And Hols, when you apologize to her."

Alcott chuckled once - but his eyes told Devin he was going to do just that.

"But I'll toast with you, mate." He gesticulated at the flask on the ground, staying still as he saw hesitance appear on Alcott's face. It disappeared as soon as it appeared, and he nodded - so Devin bent down to take the flask, holding it up and clinking it against the vial.

Only the moment the rim was to his lips, there was a flash of a spell, followed quickly by the tinkle-smash of glass hitting a rock. Jerked away from each other, Devin spins around furiously, beat of his heart racing.

"What th--oi!" 

With his own wand out in a flash and a spell jutting into the trees before Alcott had moved, fury had rewritten Devin's amusement. He smashed his way through the clearing  two steps before revealing a stunned Victoria. Her breath was jittery with fear, but her smirk told all. 

Though he let her get up, releasing the spell, he didn't  lower his wand. 

"The _fuck_ are you playing at, Victoria?!" If Devin was not only too aware of what that meant, he might have been concerned with how frequent and easy his curses were today. He kept his wand pointed at Victoria. 

"Hello Devin. Charming way to greet me but -- I suppose I can give you a break here, as you can't be happy to be interrupted." She mocks, eyes flashing with annoyance. "And my my, Al shirtless -- what _have_ you two been up to? I should have gotten here sooner. Seems I missed the show."

After a single scoff, all of this he ignores to ask instead incredulous, "How did you even -- you followed me?" 

Victoria shrugged, smile bitter and laugh cold -- but she eyed the wand wary. 

"You're not the center of the universe, Devin."

"No, just the center of yours apparently."

"I heard your shouting. Lover's spat?"

Fuming, Devin took a step closer, his wand lifting higher. Victoria only raised her chin, continuing, "Do you want to add attacking me to the list of wrongs, Devin?" 

Her eyes were as wild as her hair was, Devin realized suddenly: flyaway, loose brunette strands were tangled and shoved in thick clumps behind her ears as if someone had just been running their hands through it. Oh, he could guess. She was drunk too - that was easy to surmise.

" _My_ wrongs?" Devin snaps enraged, ignoring the twisted pang of guilt in his stomach, "Do you have any idea what you just did?!"

"A favor. Maybe you shouldn't take illegal drugs."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. Alcott joined him with a harsh, single bark.

"Oh I knew you were dumb, Victoria, but Merlin- I had no idea how much!" 

Another anguished cry and grunt seemed to make his point for him better than words might have. Swiveling back to his friend, he realized Alcott was staring at the dark, thick liquid splashed on a rock - the one thing that would have made him tame. At least, he'd been staring -- now he was bent over and gripping his own knees, which were starting to shake. 

For a moment there was no other movement in the clearing. Nothing but a tremor-wracked Alcott, panting and with his face contorted in pain. Devin stared in sympathy; Victoria in sudden fear. No one could breathe.  When he seemed to stop, Alcott met Devin's eyes once more. The latter was horrified to realize how dark his gaze. There would be no control. No restraint. In a few minutes - half an hour at best - his friend would be a mindless monster, and he'd attack anyone in his path. As if the pain of transforming wasn't enough. 

Guilt stuck his throat until there was another hiss and moan - and Alcott dropped to his knees only to lean back on hunched legs, back arching as his spine rippled unnaturally. Devin took a frightened step back, lowering his wand from Victoria in the shock. Holy hell.

"What's wrong with him?" Victoria asked breathless, and Devin was pleased to hear terror in her own voice. Both of them ignored the question. Alcott lands in the dirt on his hands and knees panting, shaking his head. When he recovers enough breath, he looks up at Devin furiously to snap, 

"Get Hols." It was growled through a mouth full of teeth that looked too big to fit. Victoria slapped her hand to her mouth, eyes wide in fear.

Shook from his shock, Devin nods at once. Blood seems to pump twice as quickly through his veins. He knew he was in the thrall of adrenaline; his jaw had ceased to hurt though he could still feel blood on his lip. It tasted like a warning of death. 

There's fear in Alcott's yellow eyes, like he wasn't sure she'd come -- and a desperation in his tone that he needed her. Devin held his gaze knowingly; exchanging everything wordless and as fast as possible. Hols might be furious, he tries to tell himself as he nods again to reassure his friend, and with every good reason but she wouldn't endanger anyone -- she wouldn't abandon Alcott. Hols never abandoned anyone. 

" _Run_ , Alcott." Devin snapped, knowing they were out of time. Alcott groaned--and it quickly turned to a growl.

"What's going on?" Victoria's voice had leaped an octave, tone colored with that tell-tale irritation she got when she felt left out. 

"Shut up, Victoria." Too damn bad you don't know, Devin thought. Of course, she didn't listen. Furious, Devin jerked his pack onto his back and took a few steps backwards, stilling as Alcott yelled again -- and this time he face-planted the dirt.  

"What's happening?! Alcott, what's wrong with you?" 

Victoria yelped again. Trembling as she watches, unable to tear her eyes away now, Devin's eyes stay locked on hers as well. Though every logical thought screamed at Devin now was the time to run himself - run as fast and as far from the animal that would like nothing more than to attack them, taste the fear in their blood, kill them - he stood frozen. Muscles paralyzed, it was a cruel contrast to watching Alcott. 

His were stretching, bending, throbbing, shoving dirt and twigs away from him while rolling as if searching for comfort, searching for a better place on the forest bed to sleep. Yell dying off when his throat and lungs compress, an echoing -- _crack_ \-- accompanies in sick harmony his arm breaking behind him, bone jutting out through pallid skin. Rolling on his back and leaving his arm behind, his hazy eyes peer up at the bone-white moon as he fights for breath, stills -- and whimpers.

"Al..."

Victoria couldn't hear Devin's murmur, but Alcott could. He snapped himself back to his knees, leaning on the unbroken arm to glare murder at his friend. 

"Get _out_ of here!" After locking yellow eyes to Devin's brown, he jerks his head between him and Victoria. Rubbing under his fearful wide-eyes, Devin nodded once and yanks Victoria's hand, who slaps him away.

Desperation and fury gave way to a simple growl as the fifteen-year old shook his head at Devin, back and forth, back and forth with the fervor of an animal. Reverberating from the back of his throat, the growl deepened with the effort it took to lean back on crouched legs and hurl himself forward to run. In a blink, Alcott was out of sight. 

His hand yanks Victoria's again. 

"Come _on_ ," Devin bites out with his heart pounding wild as her hair. Much as he wanted to leave her at that moment Alcott wouldn't forgive himself. He didn't try a third time. He turned, running for his life. Branches crackling, rustling and branches snapping as if it's a twig tell him she's following. "Devin!" Victoria calls over his shoulder, panic evident. He ignores her. He breathes, not stopping his desperate sprint a moment with his eyes stuck on the rising moon overhead. "Devin!" She calls again, voice leaping to a range that made soprano sound bass. He ignores her. It was getting high in the sky. Hols was in the castle. There was flatly no way without a broom he could reach her before Alcott had transformed, no way she could get there in the forest, fast as she might run, and flatly no way he would be able to outrun a werewolf. "Devin," she calls again and this time it's gasped, her hand reaching for his. 

He pulls to a stop and frees his hand, throwing hers away so hard she stumbles back as he spins around to snap, " _What,_ Victoria?"

Devin echoes Alcott's murderous stare. The casual fury in her dies as she asks quietly,

"Devin, I'm so--sorry."

"You're _sorry_? Did you _see_ what he's going through?"

Victoria whimpers again, and he thinks her knees might give way. He wonders if he should care and promptly decides he doesn't.  

It was so quiet a hiss, so pitiful a moan that Devin almost felt sorry for her. There was genuine terror in her eyes with confusion, and he knew that whatever was going on here -- Sam had not told her anything. A tear glistens on her cheek, before she rubs it away.  She clearly hadn't meant to unleash a werewolf - but she hadn't fucking cared what she did either. Had he done that to her? Victoria had been kind to him once, he thought bitterly -- had trusted him, and however she used her him, he had used her. He shakes his head quietly, asking sadly,

"What happened to you Victoria? I honestly thought we were friends once."

"So did I." Her trembling seems to cease at once, knees steadying. Victoria's head snaps back and forth, glaring at him. "Hell, I thought we were more." 

Devin falls away from her and starts moving again, breath harsh as fury spills through his veins. She could follow. As he stalks through the dark forest, a sense of trepidation crawls under his skin. Hols is too far away. They wouldn't get away. He had to find another way -- and takes his wand out. Bloody - he'd never done this before but to practice, and it had never _worked_ properly in practice. Latching on to his dire need, trying to harness that survival instinct he was told was innate, he takes a calming breath and forces Nadia's face to mind. 

It's absurdly easy to picture her entirely; wearing his leather jacket, the charm bracelet dangling off her wrist and jangling a percussion duet while she blows her harmonica - that high pitched breathy whine she could somehow make sound good. He thinks of her gorgeous blue eyes, so wide sometimes he swore he could drown - only he could never say that aloud, for the cliche alone would kill him. He thinks of that smile she had, his heart racing for a new reason, the smile that could light up her whole body and breathe life back into the room -- her high, bubbly laugh moments after she tries to be stern with him. He thinks of her and Chace playing Nintendo that summer, and her hopping up on the couch whenever her assassin got it's target. How Chace would constantly try and put him nearer and nearer to her until she'd shriek she couldn't concentrate and order him to sit on the other couch. He thinks how much he loves her.

And the patronus, a silvery crow, burst from his wand's tip, and takes off into the night. Devin blinks in surprise at the corporeal shape, thinking all he truly knew of a crow was the aggravating caw - but that now he'd have to look it up. 

He hears Victoria stop behind him again and he shakes his head, frowning instantly -- irritated by the simple fact he's forced to return to the present and look at her instead of Nadia. The fear is only deadened by his ire, outstripped by his worry. He snaps, 

"We weren't ever more, Victoria -- and god even if we had been, there would have been nothing to justify this!"

He thinks -- if he'd meant to comfort her by asking honestly, then he succeeded by reminding her of her own anger. 

"I told you, Devin -- you stole my friends. You took _everyone_ from me, turned the entire _school_ against me --"

"And what did Alcott do to you?!" He challenged with a wince, voice raising and jaw set. She cuts off breathless, and his voice only raises as he cuts the air with his open hand.

"Did you _see_ what he's going through?!" 

"I didn't know that would happen!" It was earnest, as much a bullet of a sentence as his. 

"What did I smash?"

A loud, echoing howl answers her. She jolts, hair spinning over her shoulder as she whips around. Devin just stiffens, chill snaking up his spine and tightens his sweating palm around his wand. It had never felt more like just a stick in his life. Eyes darting to the high ivory moon, he thinks in bitter irony how much it looked like a crystal ball. Where she'd seen this coming. Of course she had. Devin tensed with fury -- he should have had Alcott take it right away, but would it have bloody mattered? Victoria had lied: he knew she was following, he knew she would have stopped him taking anything -- because of course, _if Sam said too_...Devin glared at her back, teeth clenched. Victoria's head is flicking this way and that, her breath shaky -- so when she snaps back to his gaze, he sees nothing but terror. 

At least she gets what she did, he thinks as he bites out a response, "You better pray you don't find out." 

**&.**

 

 **Nadia:** *She wouldn’t think about it, she wouldn’t think about it, that was her mantra. Everything was fine and Devin would give the potion to Alcott and come back and they’d share some ice cream and then maybe steal away to one of the Prefect’s study room. It felt good to have privileges. But first, she needed to come see her friends, make sure they were okay, not up to anything stupid-* Trent?  
 **Trent:** *He and Nadia almost knocked heads together as she came in to the common room and he was headed out. Grinning hesitantly, he waved at her. His prefect badge was stuck on his belt instead of on his chest, and he was wearing dark jeans and a blue plaid shirt, clearly out of robes.* Hey Nadia. I was just-  
 **Nadia:** Going somewhere? Yeah, I see that. *Her smile was nearly genuine, or rather as genuine as it could be with such an overwhelming feeling of worry on her mind.* Are you meeting up with someone?  
 **Trent:** *he cleared his throat, feeling a little guilty from keeping this from Nadia but she was supposed to have spent the evening with Devin, and Irene and Alisha had made him swear…* Not, exactly.  
 **Nadia:** *Okay, now that was weird. Her eyebrows rose and stayed high as he saw Trent fiddle with the buttons on his shirt. She gasped before she poked him hard.* You’re lying to me!  
 **Trent:** *He winced, more at being caught in the lie than at the actual poke but it was pretty mighty.* Nadia-  
 **Nadia:** Traitor! *she grabbed his ear and dragged him away from the entrance, yanking on it to make her point, before tapping on the painted gold badge that sported a very elegantly carved P* You’re supposed to be an example for others! Prefect, remember? And you’re lying to a fellow prefect!  
 **Trent:** Oww! Bloody fuck, Nadia. *He rubbed his ear and then explained* Sweetie, they made me.  
 **Nadia:** You’re a prefect! Don’t take that from anyone! Threaten to take away points!  
 **Trent:** From our own house?!  
 **Nadia:** Trent, baby, grow a pair. *She frowned, shaking her head, knowing she was acting a little unlike her.*  
 **Trent:** What crawled up your knickers and bit you in the arse, Nadi? *his eyebrow rise, concerned but also a little bit annoyed—his ear was throbbing and he did have a pair, thank you very much.* It certainly wasn’t Devin, you’d be in a much better mood.  
 **Nadia:** *She stepped on his toes and then looked toward the direction of the girls’ dormitory, half expecting Alisha and Irene to walk through the huge circle barrel doors* Where’s Alisha and Irene?  
 **Trent:** *She should really stop hitting him so often- he could bruise and the only thing he had going for him was his flawless skin-* Ah…they’re not here.  
 **Nadia:** *She frowned and looked back to him, asking curiously* Then where are they?  
 **Trent:** Promise not to hurt me anymore?  
 **Nadia:** No promises.  
 **Trent:** Okay promise not to yell at me?  
 **Nadia:** I will keep my tone to a dull roar depending on the severity of the offense.  
 **Trent:** *he repeated that, amused* Severity of the offense?  
 **Nadia:** I’m gonna be a cop for Halloween, I’ve decided, so I’m practicing.  
 **Trent:** *He chuckled* Figures. You had one taste of power from being a prefect and now nothing will satisfy you.  
 **Nadia:** Trent. *she called him back to attention rather patiently in her opinion* Alisha and Irene?  
 **Trent:** *He swallowed, looking to the ground before he admitted silently* They’re in the Forbidden Forest-  
 **Nadia:** _THEY’RE WHERE?!  
_ **Trent:** With a couple of other people for a party.  
 **Nadia:** _IN THE BLEEDING FORBIDDEN FOREST?!_  
 **Trent:** You said you wouldn’t shout!  
 **Nadia:** That’s before I realized my friends are stupid in the head and have a psychotic death wish! It’s a fucking full moon!  
 **Trent:** *surprised* Is it?  
 **Nadia:** _YOU BRAINLESS MORON! HAVE YOU BOTHERED TO DO THE ASTRONOMY HOMEWORK AT ALL?!_  
 **Trent:** There’s a brain up here-  
 **Nadia:** I can only imagine this was Rene’s idea- *she stomped her foot, frowning, her eyes crowding with tears and bloody hell why did she always to cry?! It was exhausting!* Do they think they’re invincible or on top of the world or immortal, because they’re not! It’s the bloody full moon and they’re out in the Forbidden Forest, a well-known hiding place for them just getting plastered and pissed over cheap alcohol?!  
 **Trent:** *he spoke hesitantly, unsure of what to make of her friend as her hands started shaking, and a few tears spilled down her eye.* Well, knowing Irene it’s probably not cheap-  
 **Nadia:** Trent! *her voice was rising, and choking with emotion. She couldn’t risk it, she realized. Even when, when not if she repeated again, Devin got the potion to Al, there could still be other werewolves out there! One with red eyes, and the blond hair matted with blood could be Irene’s or Justin’s or whoever was there.* You’re missing the point, they’re in danger!  
 **Trent:** Nadia *he put a hand on her shoulder but she quickly shrugged it away; Trent tried not to take it personally* there’ more than a few of them out there, and they won’t be that deep in the forest-  
 **Nadia** : Deep enough not to get caught by the Professors and that’s all it takes! How could you let them do this?! How could you be heading on your way out to meet them?! Trent! You can fucking drink anywhere you want-  
 **Trent:** Whoa, Nadi, baby, honey, calm down-  
 **Nadia:** 10 points from Hufflepuff! *she breathed out suddenly, in a screech. The people around them that had been trying not to listen in to the conversation to no avail given Nadia’s raised and now high pitched voice, but now they certainly paid attention to her now, to groan and boo and hiss.*  
 **Trent:** Nadia!  
 **Nadia:** That’s what you do, Trent! When your friends tell you they’re about to go do something stupid, that’s what you do! Use anything you can to keep them from doing it! Now you stay here, I’m going to go bring them back here and God have mercy on their souls if they put up a fight because I’ll keep docking points I swear-  
 **Trent:** You don’t even know where to look, let me come with you- *in an attempt to calm her down and remind her that the chances of them being killed was pretty slim, he had no idea, not the slightest clue what had gotten Nadia so worked up about this*  
 **Nadia:** No! Absolutely not! You’re there, all three of you will gang up on me and tell me to relax and offer me drinks and tell me I’m out of my mind and the witless oafs that follow them around like love-struck puppies would only be too happy to agree as long as they can keep drinking alcohol and snogging their girls.  
 **Trent:** Nadia, you’re acting like a crazy person.  
 **Nadia** : I’m acting like the only goddamn sane person at this school! Damnit, why does no one believe me? Why does no one –ever- take anything that I say seriously?! *she wiped at her eyes again.* **  
Trent:** *he blanched, shaking his head immediately, trying to take another step closer to her.* Nadia, that’s not true-  
 **Nadia:** I warn and I warn and for what? Only to be dismissed about everything I’ve seen! Even Justin, even after last year he still doesn’t place any faith on my visions!  
 **Trent:** *This was news to him. He frowned.* What vision, Nadia, what did you see?  
 **Nadia:** I can’t possibly explain right now- just tell me where they are.  
 **Trent:** *he hesitated, not thinking Nadia should walk out of the common room and into the forest by herself in this state, she needed to calm down.* Nadia-  
 **Nadia:** _Tell me where they are!!_  
 **Trent:** *he winced, his ears ringing painfully by now to accompany the twisting she had given them earlier, the poke to this chest, and the heeled boot to his little toes.* They’ll be in the forest by the lake, the eastern shore.  
 **Nadia:** *She nodded, taking the backpack off her shoulders and pushing it onto Trent’s chest, causing him to stumble back a bit and grab it.* I’ll be back with dumb and dumber. Stay here!  
 **Trent** : Nadia, I really think I should come with you-  
 **Nadia:** Stay, Trent Daniel Stone or so help me, I will march my way over to Enrique and tell him you want his adopted babies.  
 **Trent** : *his mouth drops open in surprise, his lips moving but nothing comes out until he composes himself, frowning* That was a joke!  
 **Nadia:** Based on the very serious fact you fancy him, and I –will- tell him, don’t think for a minute I won’t!  
 **Trent:** *he frowned and then scoffed, taking Nadia’s backpack and marching off to the boys’ dormitories.*  
 **Nadia:** *Almost instantly regretting having said anything, her eyes go wide again from the narrowed glare they had been focused on, and she follows after him for a few short seconds.* Trent, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- *she winced as the door swung close, blocking her access. She kicked it, and then muttered an oww while wiping her eyes before going right back out of the common room, after asking everyone if they didn’t have better things to look at. They probably didn’t. She managed to keep her strides to a fast-paced walk, that is, until she hits outside and then she starts running down the sloping green hills, her gaze going up to the setting sun- the set sun. Her heart drops into her stomach, her stomach nearly drops right out of her as she stumbles but she catches herself again before she just keeps going. And going, trying to reach them with enough time. She didn’t care, she wanted them all out of there. All of her stupid, dumb, idiotic friends that she cared about most in the world, she couldn’t have them getting hurt because she couldn’t stop it again. What good was it having this aptitude at Divination if she couldn’t do any _good_ with it? And if anything happened, anything at all, she would only have herself to blame. Nadia wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt, not for a single moment, so better safe than sorry, until she stopped seeing devilish red eyes staring at her with dark intent, until she knew for a fact nothing bad was going to happen. She breathed heavily and pounded her feet on the ground harder, determined to get there soon, as long as she didn’t get lost.*

 

**&.**

Irene: Not to be insulting or whatever- but, eww! *Well, she really had no specific reason why, it just felt wrong. She had even given Ari advice on her crush because it was obvious the girl was crushing, she just didn't know she was crushing on...him.* I mean not aesthetically-eww, you're both really good looking but...eww-

Justin: Alright, Irene, we got it. *he rolls his eyes, doing his very best to avoid eye contact with Dillon as much as possible, that was awkward enough. He never liked the guy, liked him less every day, especially now for interrupting.* I don't see how it's any of your business.

Irene:*Raises her eyebrows, looking at him with a "duh" look coupled with a "how stupid can you be" look thrown in there.* He's her brother, idiot.

Justin: Still, doesn't explain how that's -your- business, Rene.

Irene: Girlfriend privileges *answering immediately before adding* And you're my friend so- I give my input.

Justin: *rolls his eyes* Which is "eww."

Irene: At least it's not "I will cut off your balls if you touch my sister again." *Thats what Dillon had said in Italian hadn't he? Something like that? Her Italian was very limited, but it had been enough to make Ari mad enough.*

Ari: Che ne so!? Magari!

Dillon: *At that, he wanted to slam his hands on his ears.* Basta! Porca puttanaccia!

Ari: *mocking, eyes narrowing* Non te la prendare. *Rapidfire Italian snapped back and forth between the siblings, her breath (and chest, which goddammit she had picked this dress for a reason!) just as quick.* --God, you are such a hypocrite--I'm the same age you were when y--

Dillon: You switch back into English -now-?

Ari: Si! *snaps* I thought your girlfriend might be interested what you've done with--*she gestures, flipping back to Italian as simply: it sounded less crass.*

Dillon: Oh --marone a mi! *His free hand flew up to his neck and he turned around if only from the need to breathe. Still enraged- was Justin fucking kidding him? Look, he knew they were never going to be best of friends (he didn't even blame the guy; it was hard to lose. Not that he even really thought of it that way -- he was the lucky one. Rene could come to her senses any day now. But this wasn't the point-- he'd been civil, he'd been polite and now he had his hands on his little sister?!* 

Ari: *She wrinkles her nose, her hand going to her hip as she takes another step closer to her brother. She was more worried for his sake really: someone had to teach her brother he wasn't Dom, and Justin was a full head taller. For some reason, he'd been insulted when she snapped stage-fighting wasn't the same. She was a little more awkward to look at Irene; Ari hadn't realized until that instant that Rene hadn't put together who she was crushing on. At least that was genuinely awkward -- unlike her bloody brother. She presses her lips together, looking back at Justin and praying her cheeks weren't pink. God, he'd hardly touched her. Brothers. Why did she have so many of them?! She needed to buy her parents a Shakespeare guide...* 

I'm sorry, I didn't realize my brother was a--

 **Dillon:** *clenching his teeth* I'm anticipating any remark you could make and not finding them amusing in the slightest, Ari.

 **Ari:** *rephrases* A psychic. 

 **Dillon:** *Damn her. Now he was clenching his teeth for an entirely new reason: he wanted to laugh.* Look--

 **Ari:** Look, it's awkward. We get that. *Her brother was not going to ruin the fact that Justin Hall had asked her out, she swore on the Madonna.* I should have mentioned-- for-some- reason, I thought you'd freak out. 

 **Dillon** : *He presses his lips together, still glaring over her shoulder at Justin - but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a high howl. He shivers once; his gaze darting back to Ari and over his shoulder. It died off and he shook his head the moment it did.* You're honestly something else. *It was bitter and exasperated, but his flash of rage was dying as quick as it came on: Dillon wasn't an angry guy. He still had half a mind to hit him - but he tried to swallow that instinct to say instead, a bit of a proud, smug smile of Irene in place as he added,* And I think you summarized it up brilliantly, really.

**Wri:** .....imissmyitalianfam. ahem. XD ok so the beginning started with: "How should I know?! If only/I wish!(in a...intensely strong way, commonly what my aunts say with the lottery xD)"/"Enough! (Exclamation of no English translation. Has to do with - well  'a bad whore is a pig 'xD... ...he's exasperated.)/"So don't think about it." (I'm rather curious what exactly Dillon asked but I'm gathering it was along 'if you've had sex I swear--" xD) And then "Marone a mi" is just like, oh holy god xD cept it's Madonna literally; and i can't read it and-not-hear my aunt angie and grandmother xD....aaahem. 

**Irene:** *blinks suddenly distracted, turning to Dillon a moment* Wait, when what? *Oh, maybe she should ask that at a later time, as it was clearly not the best time- God, Italian was so sexy, but again, not the best time for that.*

 **Justin:** *As annoyed as he was with Dillon and Irene, he was equally as amused and attracted to Ari at that moment- it made looking displeased rather difficult. He had to remember to compliment her dress again- it was really quite magnificent.* It should be past awkward. I thought we resolved everything-

 **Irene:** *Quickly* We did. *Obviously, that's not why she found it "eww" it was because it was Dillon's little sister! Who was fourteen (Irene tried not to linger on what she had already done at 14--a year and a half, maybe a little more-- ago).* Ari, I thought we were bonding. You could have told me that...*she gestured in Justin's direction.*

 **Justin:** I was the one who invited her here. *So unless Ari had already been thinking about him weeks ago...had she? He looked at her briefly, curious, and he couldn't help but to feel rather pleased. They might have actually gotten to talk about that, if you know, they hadn't been so rudely interrupted. He was back to annoyed.*

 **Irene:** *rolls her eyes* Still as thick as ever, I see. *Was that a howl? She wondered if it was Al, or just a normal wolf, what kind of moon was it tonight again? She was brought back to the case in point.*

 **Justin:** *he waves his hand along* Can we get to the part where you threaten bodily injury *he held back a scoff because that was highly unlikely* so we can get on with our evening?

 **Irene:** I can't believe I provided alcohol for you! *she kicked dirt in Justin's direction because he was too far away for her to poke.* You didn't tell me you were bringing Ari here.

 **Justin:** I didn't feel like it was necessary to forewarn on that. *he shook his head.* It's a party! You know, have fun and all that. *He heard a howl, his brows furrowed and he looked upward, trying to see if he could glance up to the sky through the trees here but they were tall and their leaves hadn't entirely fallen due to the changing of the seasons just yet.*

 **Irene:** Of all the girls in the school- *no, she turned to Ari instead, Justin gave her a headache* of all the boys in the school, Ari! Justin? He's subpar.

 **Justin** : *dry* thanks, friend.

 **Irene:** I'm being kind. *she could have said worse, but they had buried the hatchet, remember? She did.* I -am- your friend, and as your friend I declare this unnatural.

 **Justin:** *He scoffed* You must be bloody joking.

 **Irene:** Um, *points at her face* is this my joking face? *She turned to look at Dillon a moment* Dillon, is this my joking face? *The answer was clear, so she turned back* No, don't believe it is. This is so weird!

 **Justin:** We were talking. Talk-ing. From the verb to talk. It means to converse by spoken word.

 **Irene:** Oh, please. You were flirting. *Mocking* Flirt-ing. From the verb to flirt. It means to foreplay with words. And *back to Ari, her head was doing a lot of swiveling today* I -taught- you that pat-chest-linger-fiddle-with-top-button-coy-smile move! Girl!

 **Dillon:** *momentarily sidetracked at Irene's last words, he's yanked from glaring at Justin to look sideways now,* You taught her what now? 

 **Ari:** *Painted-nails releasing her half-sweaters button immediately, she assures Irene instead,* We are -- I just...didn't know what to say, but--*She looks back briefly wary between Irene and Justin.* Since you're all good then. *She smiles, not realizing her hand naturally goes to undo the button again and leave her dress open.*

 **Dillon:** Boh! Madone. *He mutters it; he had bloody loved watching Rene toy with her own buttons and now--this is his sister! Hand wiping hard over his mouth to swallow the disgust, he snaps* Arianna!

 **Ari:** Dillon Riccardo! *Irritated, she snapped it back.*

 **Dillon:** *He blinks.* I didn't use your middle name

 **Ari:** I had no other way to add syllables. *Was that too childish? She lets her hand fall from her hip. Justin -was- older (and thank the Lord, there wasn't a single guy in her ear who wasn't an illiterate immature moron). She shrugs a shoulder, tucking a blond strand of hair back and catching her breath: amazed that it appeared news to Justin she...kind of fancied him. So that wasn't why he'd asked? He'd just like--oh her brother needed to leave immediately, this was the part the flutes took over and she would go faint and fluttery before that first kiss-- a kiss that wasn't staged, hallelujah. Saying flatly but  she hoped politely* Well, I disagree. *Glory to the virgin did she-- just look at him. But it was more than that; he was kind, charitable, hilarious and clueless in that adorable way and she really would prefer to skip back to their conversation.*

 **Dillon:** *smug as he considers Irene's words to be her flatly saying he was better endowed and talented than Justin--of course he was, but it was always nice to hear-- and then he felt his stomach squelch again -- his sister! His fourteen year old sister!* Oh happy to oblige, *He scoffs, glare snapping back to Justin's.*

 **Ari:** *pre-emptive, and mocking though now she steps a bit closer to Justin again.* Do you bite your thumb at us sir?

 **Dillon:** *A snort becomes a laugh, but he found all of them cut off at another howl-- this one louder. This one's closer. He swallows suddenly, looking each way and moving closer to Irene, wary and-- sue him, a bit protective of his girl.*  ...That's never coming closer? *He pre-empts sarcastically as well.*

 **Ari:** *Narrowing her eyes as shivers snake up her spine, she beams suddenly feeling the pebbled consequences of her sudden chill beneath the dress halter. Only hearing the music from other milling partiers die down not-too-far off, she knows her brother is right. Bloody hell, she didn't like that sentence right now. So she said sarcastically instead,* No, it's not--your hearing improved randomly. Ti voglio bene, mi caro. 

 **Dillon:** *He laughs at the phrase and merely returns it genuinely, his hand hovering near Irene's now, trying to ignore that his sister was nearing Justin too--it made all four of them uncomfortably close in this suffocating square. Offhand,* Think someone's celebrating Halloween a little early? 

 **Irene:** *She shot Dillon an apologetic look, knowing that he most definitely would not like the fact that she was teaching his little sister how to better work up her sex appeal to turn men into putty in her hands. Now it was time for a new move, judging by Dillon's expression. Thankfully, she had plenty of them up her fictional sleeve because she was in strapless- yeah, in October, at night- but she was wearing jeans! Very tight jeans that hugged every curve but she was getting off track.*

 **Justin** : *Licking his lips once and looking down at the ground for a second, he refrained from smirking in smug amusement only by some sort of new found self restraint.*

 **Irene:** *Of course you disagree, she wanted to tell Ari. Those dreamy eyes fool anybody, but Irene reluctantly supposed that she was biased. And even more importantly, they were okay now and friends and she couldn't say something like that without the word "jealousy" being tossed around and that would just be wholly untrue. Wholly.*

 **Justin:** *His eyebrows rose, and he only shrugged, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He wasn't intimidated, not in the slightest, but he would obviously much rather prefer not to have to deck Ari's brother. He had enough of being attacked without fighting back for one lifetime. Smiling a little at Ari's quoting Romeo and Juliet, he chuckled as well.*

 **Irene:** I don't...get it, what-- *It was probably Shakespeare but Irene hadn't really paid much attention to the Bard before last year...last semester really. But she was quickly cut off by the howl, and fuck what a howl it was. She chewed on her bottom lip, peering through the trees, as if she expected to see a pair of glowing eyes looking back at her. That seemed silly. Either way, she knew they were safe. If it was the full moon, then that was just Al, and he wouldn't hurt anybody.* Wouldn't surprise me *she said immediately, assuring* Longinus's gotten to the gin, and he has the tolerance of a twelve year old. *She smiles* So unless Longinus becomes a cannibal, I think we're safe.

 **Justin:** *His eyebrows rise, honestly not believing Irene could be that...purposefully ignorant of the fact that that was a very -real- howl and there had been no wolves in England since the 17th century. It was werewolves and they were near.* Longinus is right over there, Rene. *She took a step closer to Ari, really hating Dillon being there even more.*

 **Irene:** Oh *she shrugs then* Somebody else then. *She didn't know how to go about assuring them they had nothing to fear. She wasn't scared, that was Al, one of her best friends, and she might have joked once that he always dreamed of tasting her but he wouldn't make a meal out of her or any of them, he prepared himself. She'd have to remember to get him some more absinthe tomorrow.* I'd say the fact we can hear it means we are too sober. And by we, I mean Dillon and I, you two should remain sober get him some more absinthe tomorrow.* I'd say the fact we can hear it means we are too sober. And by we, I mean Dillon and I, you two should remain sober. *nodding*

 **Ari:** I don't think alcohol is to blame. *She protests warily; rolling her eyes just once: she hadn't had more than a few sips.* It-is- the full moon, isn't it? 

 **Dillon:** *curious as Irene continued to be utterly nonchalant- he recognized the dismissive attitude as one that said there was something else going on, something he was missing he stiffened at Ari's words. Was it full moon? Gritting his teeth and looking around him, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up just as another gust of wind rustled the trees.* Maybe we should move. *casting his gaze back to Justin, his words were wry and smirk wide with the offhand,* I'm sure I can resume threatening you in the morning. 

 **Ari:** *mutters under her breath, irritated.* Not if a werewolf bites you first.

 **Dillon:** *narrows eyes at his sister, but speaks simply.* Not even that would stop me.

 **Ari:** *a bit louder* Oh, I'm so lucky to have a protective brother like you.

 **Dillon:** *He shrugs his shoulder.* Can't help it, mi caro. 

 **Ari:** *trying to ignore her mounting anxiety warring annoyance she reaches for Justin's hand as he takes a step nearer-- and this time as she re-buttons her sweater, it was for warmth in the chilly October air. She doesn't bother looking at her brother, but looks only up at Justin's gorgeous eyes and realizes she feels a bit better that he only seemed encouraged by the encounter. Shivering with her tiny smile, she tilted her head to say they should leave.* 

 **Dillon:** *If his sister genuinely thought he'd just let her go off...she was drinking more than she'd said. Only he was cut off speaking and forced to swivel hearing loud rustling, snapping; something large was bloody close. His hand slipped to his wand; anger and frustration replaced with simple fear both for Ari and Rene. This wasn't fair. He'd hardly gotten to enjoy how drop-dead gorgeous Irene's outfit was-- oh, words not to use right now, fear in his throat.*

 **Irene:** I think you might be overreacting, just a tad. We're fine, all awkwardness aside. *she nodded* 

 **Justin:** Irene, are you deaf? That was a howl, as in werewolf. As in killer monster. *he took Ari's hand and gave it a squeeze, nodding and starting to walk.*

 **Irene:** Shame on you, Justin Hall! They're not -monsters-! You want to see a monster, because I'll show you a monster! Hold my heels, Dillon, hold- *she turned around suddenly as she heard a snap, the hair on the back of her head standing on edge. She swallowed, and took a step forward, away from the rest.* ...Hello?

**&.**

**Devin:** *Once he put the patronus in the air, he put the thought from his mind, turned and resumed his sprint. There was nothing else he could do, he told himself as many times as he could, forced himself to organize his mind and ignore that his best friend right now was a murderous monster. He'd run from Victoria. At the back of his mind, he thought it was just as much for her sake as his; this was her fault. Coming to a sudden halt hearing music, he bit down hard and then spun that way instead. Oh, fabulous-- a party in the Forbidden Forest on a full moon! What a bloody bright idea!* -- Nadia! *What was she doing here?! Heart stammering as much as his mouth, he breathed in - out- and then took both her hands.* Nadia, he didn't take it in time -- we have to get out of the forest. -Now-.

 **Nadia:** Devin! *She breathed out, her mind had been racing as fast as her heart the moment she heard the howling, tried to convince herself that everything was alright, that everything was okay. That despite her being in the forbidden forest, at night, by herself, on a full moon, that everything was going to be fine, that she would twist Irene and Alisha's ears off (and in that same regard, Dillon's and Reid's and probably Justin's too if he was there) and they could just leave unharmed because everything was okay. 

But now as she saw his face she knew that things were catastrophically not okay, the relief to see him unharmed short-lived, as was the guilt she felt for allowing herself to think Al would hurt his best friend. Her mouth opened into an "O" of shock and fear. She knew it, she knew it, bloody hell why didn't any of them listen to her?! She breathed out suddenly, nodding in agreement before quickly adding.* Rene and Alisha- I came to get them! They're at some stupid party here near the lake but I went in so the professors wouldn't see me running and *she was breathing heavily, panting, out of being nervous more than being out of breath because she was a fucking star athlete, excuse her French* and I know I was going in the right direction but now I'm not sure. God, Dev, we have to get to them!

 **Devin** : *It was curious, his two immediate instincts: to pull her into his arms and reassure her, versus the need to grab her hand and run as far and as fast as they could. Whoever had decided that there was no apparition on the grounds needed to be fired. Not that he could apparate, so it was a bit beside the point, but dear God - if ever a time existed that he thought he could just squeeze himself into thin air and evaporate to keep Nadia safe, it was right then. Looking first over her shoulder with the briefest hesitation, he gritted his teeth and nodded, dropping her hands.* Okay. We'll get to them. I sent a patronus to Hols too - she'll contain Al. And rip him apart in the morning for it, yeah? 

 

*Then he winced at his choice of words. Well, wasn't that clever of him. With another squeeze of her hands and the briefest kiss to her lips, he let her go. Jerking his head to say  'Okay, yeah. Yeah- run.' -- with a hasty breath more than actual words, his eyes dark were with worry as he heard another long, low howl....close. Heart aching as he thought of his friend, pounding, he knew they should start running. But he looked back. As if he could see where the howl was coming from, as he could seeing it would make it better -- even though when he did see it, it only got infinitely worse. There, across the little clearing was a large black wolf, a tail thumping in the dirt excitedly, blood already dripping from his lips.* 

 

Nadia...*He spoke slowly, very slowly as if whispering could prevent the attack.* I love you -- * He didn't know why he said that, but he felt he should; if there was anything he needed to say it was that. Stepping in front of her, with his wand hand up, to move towards the wolf baring his teeth, he added hurriedly,* You need to find the others, tell them to get out of here. *When the wolf took another step forward, he added quickly,* -Now-! 

 

 **Victoria:** *She was going to murder Sam herself in the morning, a dim part of her thought -- but as Devin took off again on her, apparently more than happy to leave her to die, her hatred seared in her gut and engulfed her furiously beating heart. Whatever was going on with Alcott was going to have to wait - she didn't truly give a fuck anymore anyway - and there were two people who had to be dealt with first. Shadowing Devin had been easy to do again; and she didn't have to wait long before the wolf appeared in front of both of them. Oh, wasn't that sweet -- last embrace, last kiss. She might vomit. In fact she already had, and there still was some of it on her shoes, the stench wafting up her nose. 

 

But, that was the fine-scotch reserve of Sam's that she desperately wanted to continue drinking. All she had to do now was grab her, take her there and well -- then they both could. So as Devin stepped towards the lunging wolf, she appeared in the trees behind Nadia - her wand flashing to paralyze her, her hand slamming over the girls mouth. Moving or screaming would have been a problem -- but Sam hadn't said she had to knock her out entirely. Victoria wanted her to be awake.* Evening, doll. I -did- warn you not to try me. *She drawled triumphantly near her ear, yanking her backwards into the trees with her - keeping Nadia's eyes faced towards the clearing they retreated from. From here they could see only flashes of claw, tooth and bright spells in the gloom, hear only growls, snarls -- and howls of pain.* 

 **Nadia:** *Rip him apart. The phrase made her shudder, and she pulled her jacket closer around her but she nevertheless nodded. Hols would do just that, keep him controlled that was. And she could only hope both of them made it through the night well enough. She chewed on her upper lip after kissing him once and nodded again only to feel her hairs rise as she heard a howl again, unbelievably close, too close. Nadia turned, her eyes widening as she saw a nightmare come to life. A black beast, unbelievably large, blood dripping around pitch black fur. But that wasn't what held her to the spot, leaving her unable to move. It was his eyes, round and shining, as bright crimson as the blood that coated his fangs. She had been right.* Devin...

*Her eyes began tearing up just to hear him repeat that to her again, the expression feeling too much like a goodbye for her to he okay with it. And she was not okay. She shook her head, tears falling on the ground as they flew from her eyes, even as her gaze remained petrified on the wolf in front of them. Not Al, but at that moment, it didn't really matter.* I can't- *she couldn't leave him, that was what she had been saying but she was cut off mid sentence as she felt her entire body paralyze. She thought she had been frozen by fear before, she was so wrong. A hand pressed onto her mouth, digging painfully up into her nose as well. She tried to speak but whatever sound she could get out without moving her mouth were drowned out into Victoria's palm. Vic.torr.ria. 

If her eyes could narrow, they would have. If her feet could move, they'd be kicking backwards. Hands would close around the bitch's dull brown hair and yanking with all her might. She'd throw her head back and break her ugly nose and then after Nadia was free she would turn around and punch her in the face again. If she could move, if it was a fair fight, that's what she would have done and Devin would have finally gotten the show he always wanted- Nadia embracing the hot fury she had inherited from her parents. But she couldn't.

She had to endure the cruel taunt whispered in her ear, she had to allow herself to be dragged backwards, her eyes wide and tearing as she was witnessed to another nightmare come alive. She wanted so badly to cry out, to run towards Devin and grab him and pull him to safety. Tears ran down her face, unrelenting even through the spell. Victoria gathered Nadia's choked sobs in the palm of her hand. No, no, no! Devin! God, please, no! No, nonono! Every snarl, every howl, every yell seemed to tear into her chest. Every sound sounded to her exactly the same in the end: it was the sound of her heart breaking. _Please....please_.

 She couldn't even beg for his life, and she would have. She would have told Victoria she could do whatever she wanted with her as long as the girl helped Devin out. They couldn't leave him, they just couldn't leave him there! As brilliant as he was, as amazing as he was, he couldn't do this alone. Please....please....please. Every teardrop was a silent plead from her for this to stop, and every one of them went unanswered. 

She was so wrapped in her worry for Devin that she had no fear for what would become of her, why she was grabbed and paralyzed. It didn't matter to her as much. Everyone she loved was in danger. The boy she was in love with was being attacked, was hurting...was dying. And she was helpless to stop it. Any of it. Stop this...please, let it stop.*

Devin: *The wolf was favoring one leg where Devin had cut at it, but favor did not fortune him again. Ripping his arm back as the wolf snapped at it, he felt as if time had slowed: there was a flash from the stick he held, a gasp from his own mouth and an echoing gulp and snarl from the wolf's as it contracted on air and spit. Thank god. His spell had landed. The wolf's mouth was glued shut. So, as he couldn't be bitten, now he only had to deal with the massive claws that had just sunk into his chest, and painted his skin red. 

 

A crack rang out. It took Devin a moment to realize it was his own head colliding with a branch. He grabbed at the beast as it hit him, spitting rapidly and struggling to breath. Tufts of fur greeted his narrowing, hazy gaze and fruitless efforts. He realized suddenly, and exclaimed,*  Nadia?! *Praying desperately that it meant he'd gotten her the time she needed to book it, he slid to the ground as he became prey himself. Anything else was too painful to consider, when his head snapping around informed him of the empty clearing. Tears slipping down his cheeks as he struggled for breath, he kicked and met the middle of the animal, gratified to hear a moan if nothing else. 

 

Hit with the stench of the savage beast's breath as it hissed, Devin recoiled into the ground, panicked and frightened. Pink, wet snout shoving in his face, it nudged and nosed at his cheek again and again, the creature's tail thumping excitedly at his ankles. Held to the forest floor with paws thick and heavy, he realized the animal was still trying to bite him, or he'd be dead already. It wasn't Alcott, he thought dimly, he'd seen those golden eyes before his friend began to transform, and those glaring murder at him now were dark, vivid scarlet. He took comfort from that: it wasn't his friend who had sunk claws into his chest above his heart, and sliced his arm; veins still open were spray-painting the dirt with his life's paint as he struggled to lift both hands around the neck of the beast. Saliva and blood alike dripped from lips still glued shut, gagging him even as he squeezed, desperate now to just get the bloody thing off. 

 

He couldn't breathe. One paw had shifted to his throat, pressing down as if to mock Devin's attempt to break off his own breath. As his world spun, hazy with tears and pain, he hoped that Nadia had gotten away. He thought oddly that it turned out those end-of-the-year-decide-your-life-exams hadn't been quite as brutally necessary after all, that Alcott had been right and Eliza would smack them both for the thought. Then he thought that his mother would murder someone when they found out, while his father fired half the school and pretended he didn't see anything, went on ruling the country. He thought how he'd already bought both of them their Christmas presents, and hoped Lynn - oh God, Lynn - would give it to them (if that was she could stop snogging Nick long enough -- Devin laughs briefly through tears sticking to his cheeks), for Devin was nothing if he was not planning ahead. Then he doesn't think anything. He just sees black.*

**&.**

Night alive, the wolf became Orion as the anathema had taken all that made the man and made a hunter fueled by rage, built of desperation. It was tantalizing: the display of humanity he neared. Teenagers laughing, drinking light beer and bad wine, unaware of the thrill of their veins. Bodies were dancing to a deafening-loud techno, cheap costumes putting hard muscle and soft flesh on display. Predatory howl answered only by laughs, the wolf shook a heavy head and quieted to pant, his frenzied pink tongue yearning to taste red. 

 

To say he was shocked when thudded into would be a lie; the triangle tip of his ear pointed to the sky, and he smelt the sweat-thick fur before he saw the gold. Weren't they always destined for this? Wolf and lioness entangled in the dirt, the beast snarled up at his captor, snapping towards her jaw. Smoky, dark charcoal speared around her eyes, warning him. A strange urge struck him, to brush aside the silken fur holding him down and seek porcelain skin. He knew her. Oh, the things he would do to her. For her. Stain you, taste you, tear you, kiss you --  stab you until you bleed. Snarl erupting from his throat, he heaved her flying. Humans forgotten, he crouched like a runner before a lunge regarding her with eyes darkening. He was just trying to be holy. They all were, yet saints bowed to the moon, like Orion slain by the hands of the moon-goddess who loved him. Anger flashed through his amber eyes and he lunged for her.* 

 

He could not harm her with his curse, that much she knew, she was well aware of. Immunity from becoming a howling beast of the night, a slave to the waxing and waning of the moon, was but a minor relief. For his fangs and claws were every bit as lethal without the curse. She was sent back through the air, his strength stemming from the supernatural for a normal wolf he was not. She rose again, her claws bared and digging into the ground underneath her. Her chestnut brown eyes surveyed his golden ones, striking against the entirety of his black fur. 

Alcott, please, she supplicated as she tried again. The man was in there somewhere, and he knew her. Her attempt was again to no avail. He lunged, for he always did. The smaller wolf, the more agile of the two, impulsive as always, more so. Normally she would evade him, taunt him, goad him make him chase her but she could not risk it. The humans were safe only as long as she kept his attention. A quickly fleeing predator was not as tempting as helpless prey, standing, waiting. She rolled as he crashed into her with a force previously unaccustomed, growling as claws sank into tan fur, scratching. Her mouth clamped around his ear, biting and yanking hard before kicking him off. 

Rearing up, she roared again, towering over him momentarily before her front paws once again made contact with the ground and she snapped at his snout. She was between the wolf and the humans and she would allow neither of them to get hurt. Neither. The wolf was hers, hers, and she protected what was her own, even from themselves.

*Growls of pain and want slipped through snapping teeth -- unrelenting in attempts to bite as with the want to do so even as his ear tore. He relished it. Pain was his friend, an old friend, pushing him toward instinct. Rage unbound, unrestrained, the beast remained unbowed as the larger animal stood over him. A hiss, a taste of blood and then he's free, sliding through her back paws and yanking the whipping tail with his teeth as he springs up and backs away. 

 

Claws painted dark scarlet burrow deeper into the ground as he snarls, jugular pumping in his neck. Amber eyes are dark with the blood dripping from a scowl, a mouth messy and urgent with the instinct to tear the heart from her tender flesh. Yet even as the wolf regards the lioness there seems something familiar that stalls him. There's something in her presence; her golden fur and charcoal eyes were like a beacon in the night to him, unholy and necessary. 

 

They'd done this before...a few times. It's amusing; she was a playmate, a mirror image to his malady, and more...more. Always more. Hey, playmate, let me lay waste to you -- he was already burning alive.*

 

Another roar, this time in pain as he returned the bite to his ear in full, drawing blood from her tail, the crimson ran down the fair and splattered the ground in almost perfectly round drops, her sense of smell ablaze with the copper scent. She bared her fangs but guilt overwhelmed her heart, a feeling she knew not to be animal but rather of the human she was underneath. He hesitated. She saw an opening and the predator in her, the night huntress so used to stalking prey in the middle of night, took it. 

She lunged at him again, mouth grabbing the thick fur, avoiding sinking her fangs with all her willpower as they rolled again. This time, she kicked him away with her hind legs, sending him flying back. Further away from the humans, further away from danger. She would do so all night, as she knew was necessary. Until the rage and madness gave way to reason, until the night sky and mistress moon released their hold over the man she knew the wolf to be. But judging by the scratches that stung across her belly, and her bleeding tail, it would be a long night. She crunched down and growled under her breath before she lunged again.

 **Wolf!Alcott:** *High-pitched whine screeching out of a dry throat, the wolf landed on his back, staring hazy and dizzy up at a moon round and full. It mocked them with the purity, as if the night was protesting it's darkness by lighting the sky with the ivory color of angels. He howled again to it, driven to mock it back, as if to mock what it made him be; this creature of murder and devastation. Why not enjoy it? He welcomed it, thanked it for taking his pain, repurposing a rage he no longer had the consciousness to understand. The jest of his song was only deafened by bloodlust roaring in his ears, a welcoming to this darkness, a rejection of faith as he turned to thank the salvation that hellfire could bring. 

 

Buried was the hurt of humanity, even as it struggled to tell him to hold on. Hold on to his heart.  A devilish glint in his dark gaze as his offering died away into the night, the animal seemed to grin in the dark as he rose slowly again to look at the lioness. He was glad she was there. The birds had all left, a screaming owl warning the animals around him as he'd woken under a million stars. Smaller animals had run from his storm, leaving him alone with the wind stirring up leaves irritating him as they struck his skin, alone with his lust, alone with his need. Hunting was an obsession, his purpose of being, his craving slated by her appearance.  He burrowed as she lunged, snout digging in the warmth of her neck as if intoxicated. Trouble spirits beating out a rhythm in the staccato beat of his heart, he snapped again, lunged, bit, attacked -- it was all he knew to do.*

 

**&.**

 

Reid had gone to get them more drinks and right on cue, Trish had found herself near him, talking him up. Alisha, previously amused by the girl's antics was nearing closer to annoyance though that might have something to do with the beer she was drinking. She said might because Alisha was no amateur at this. In Alisha's family, if there was a party going on with lots of booze, lots of people, and lots of gambling, then it was probably just a Tuesday.

A howl turned her around, her eyes peering through the trees. In truth, she had told Irene that going out tonight by not have been the best idea but her best friend was confident that they were going to be safe. Not that Irene was particularly talented in keeping safe while intoxicated, but Alisha had wanted to believe her so badly that she actually did. Now, she couldn't be quite sure.

She heard another howl, this time from the other direction and nearer, and she heard a shout, a very human shout that reached her ears in the form of a whisper by the time it got to her. Her curious feet took her closer and closer to the noise, and farther and farther away from the party, getting lost in the mess of trees. She stiffened, heard the growling better as the music no longer thumped regular beats inside her head. And there it was again, a human growl of pain. Somebody was hurt!

Logic gave away, she had no time to think this through enough to realize that whatever was hurting the person could probably hurt her too. She just took her wand out of her pocket and ran.

It didn't take her long to reach the clearing, her sneakers sliding in the dirt as she came to a stop, her mouth was wide open as she surveyed a dark wolf, standing over a body.* Get away from him! *A bright red spell left her wand like a gunshot, colliding with the wolf's side, sending him flying through the air, through the tears, to land somewhere in the bushes. Fear and concern made a nervous wreck out of her body, adrenaline pumping through it as fast as if she were in the middle of a dance routine, her face blanched as she saw who it was laid on the ground. Even through the blood and the scratches, she could see it was Devin.* Oh fuck- *she stepped over him immediately, her wand firmly grasped in her hand as she fired another spell in the direction of the animal, the werewolf she reminded herself after a heavy breath, before kneeling quickly to shake Devin's shoulder* Devin! Devin, wake up! *That was a lot of blood. She swallowed a lump in her throat and then looked up again, somehow able to restrain a whimper as she looked around, feeling like she was being stalked. She set her jaw, eyes narrowing before whispering to herself.* Fine, you wanna play hardball, alright, i'll play...*She rose to her feet again, wand still grasped in her left hand. She waited, and waited, hardly breathing and then swiveled as she saw it lunging forward, unable to keep a scream from her leaving her mouth but it was paired with the necessary spell. Liquid silver shot out of her wand in a spray, aimed at the creature's fearsome eyes. A yelp and a whine that couldn't quite get out from a mouth that was half open and half shut irritated her ears, and Alisha depulso'ed the wolf from them again.

This time when it landed away from them, it didn't come back in the clearing. She breathed out, the cold from the air finally seeping into her skin as she knelt down to Devin again. It was then that Alisha realized, she might not have caused the wolf to run off. She just as easily could have just made it angry.

Another howl pierced the night.


	17. The Sun's Hit Your Face; Hush Baby Speak Softly...

**Nick:** *When Professor McGonagall was walking towards him (or he thought she was), he ignored the customary "Good morning, Professor" to say instead "I have it on good authority that you have no proof." As it turned out, their Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House was in less of a mood than usual. She was looking for Lynn, her wrinkled face panicked even as her jaw was hard. He tried covering for her, saying that whatever she thought Lynn did was really Sam Roswell (he thought Lynn would enjoy that) but McGonagall exasperatedly recounted that Lynn wasn't in trouble. That left only of course worse news to pass on.

Nick had spent the night with Lynn after she had come to him worried. She couldn't tell him why, specifically, said something about Hols and Alcott  and Devin and the forest but before Lynn could actually spill the beans on whatever secret she was keeping for Hols' sake, he was calming her down, telling her everything would be fine. Now he hated himself for the fact he had lied to her.

He walked to Lynn's first class after convincing McGonagall to allow him to talk to her first. He had a free period so there was no need to worry about missing class though, really, studies suddenly felt very meaningless. He entered the class with a knock, and a pardon for disturbing and headed to the professor, explaining to him as much as he could under hushed breath. The professor nodded quickly, his expression momentarily sullen as he informed "Miss Rivers if you would be so kind as to accompany Mr. Callaway outside- gather your things." 

His gaze finally found Lynn's, her bouncy scarlet curls looked as if he hadn't passed his fingers through it a mere half hour ago. Stomach dropping, he stepped outside again and waited until she was with him and the door closed before he spoke, indeed before he breathed* Lynn...something's happened.

 **Lynn:** *When Nick first appeared at the door, Lynn had brightened. Oh, thank God. She didn't know what Nick was telling the professor, but anything to get her out of this class. Barely having had time to grab a shower before hurrying to her first period (she envied Nick his absence), she hoped he meant to include breakfast in whatever these hooky plans were. Her stomach growled in agreement. 

 

Hols had left a worrisome note for her to find back at their room and likely was still with Alcott -- 'Wolfsbane smashed, gone to contain'. Whoever smashed that damn Wolfsbane (for the phrasing made her think this wasn't an accident) was going to have a piece of her mind that day. Her notes on the anatomy of the charm had quickly given way to finely-tuning her rant, and scribbles of flowers in the corners of her parchment. Nick was a much better distraction. His expression on the other hand -- she knew he wasn't that good of an actor, even for being from LA. B-movie extra was generous to describe his skills. If he genuinely was worried...her heart skipped a beat. 

 

Eyebrows scrunching as she rapped the tip of her quill on the desk, tap-tap-tap, a bright breathless smile forced it's own appearance.* Yeah, sure. Sorry professor. *Immediately thrusting loose scraps and sparkly sketchbook back into her bag, she hoisted it on her shoulder to nod to the professor.* Thank you. 

 

*Her hand squeezing the strap as she clacked her way out the door, she tossed a curl back - startled he seemed to stop them right in the hall. His words did nothing to make her feel better - and what a new thought that was for her! After Nick had kept her calm (or all right not exactly calm, but thoroughly distracted and delighted) all night too. Trying not to guess what might have happened, breath catching in her throat and stiffening, she spoke bluntly.* Tell me. 

 **Nick:** *He breathed again as she cut straight past any bullshit he might have offered (though he wouldn't have, as he knew her better than that and loved her for it) so he just nodded but not before taking her hand.* I've just heard from McGonagall. Devin was attacked last night, by a werewolf. Alisha brought him in apparently and he's in the hospital wing, in a coma. 

*Never had words left his mouth so quickly. The news seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders, yet sharing them did nothing to alleviate the burden. The very opposite was true, putting this on Lynn contorted his face and heart with a deep sadness and a loss for what to do, and what to say. More facts were easier.* Your mother and father are on their way-- maybe, probably, already here.

 **Lynn:** *She'd heard it said a hundred times, seen it in movies and television - or ironically, even from Devin and his psychology books. Lynn did so hate to be cliche. The first stage of grief was denial - then anger, than bargaining. So her heart was skipping beats, her breath quickening, her eyes widening as a flare of rage, the word werewolf piercing her gut -- but she said nothing. She did nothing. 

 

Least of all breathe. 

 

Her hands lifted from her strap to curl fingertips over half parted lips. Blinking rapidly as if to clear the tears she hadn't asked for, her head shake was a jerk - awkward and rapid. Her eyes didn't leave Nick's. He wasn't lying: there'd be no point to exclaim 'No-no--" even though it seemed to her all she could hear in her every heartbeat. Echoing clacks told her that she was moving her feet - or shaking on the heels, teetering as her hand fell from her lips, lifted to slam over them again and then fell. With her. She fell into his side. Her legs suddenly simply refuse to hold her up on those ridiculous heels Nick loved and Devin would shake his head at her for. Fingers scraping at the buttons on his shirt, clutching, searching for something to hold on to.* 

 

 **Nick:** *He took a step closer to him as he saw her knees buckle, her eyes tearing up, lip quivering under a hand that was perfectly manicured, not a nail that was chipped or broken. She fell into him, his arms gathering her up in his embrace, holding her against him, to his chest. Ironically, the position was one not unfamiliar to them, yet at that moment so different. 

Her ran a hand through her hair, muttering words he hoped would offer comfort, knowing that until her brother woke, that was not likely to come.* He wasn't bitten. They've brought some Healers from Mungo's to look at him. *Facts, just facts spewing as if he'd learn them from a book and was reciting them for points on a test. He sighed, held her to him tighter, kept her from falling.* I'm sorry baby.

 **Lynn:** *If it wasn't Nick, she'd have been ashamed. Ashamed of her weak knees, her quivering lips and hazy eyes, despite not a tear falling from them. Her brother needed her to be strong, she thought dimly, but her breath was short and hard, and she clutched at Nick's chest harder, burying her face in his shirt and wishing she was pressed against him for an entirely different reason. She was going to have to tell him, she realized; he deserved to know what was going on when he was in the middle of it through her. 

 

And Lynn knew plainly that it was an excuse, but she didn't care. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell -someone- what really was happen- God, her parents, they were going to be so angry! Gritting her teeth, she muttered into his jacket, _That's good...he won't turn... I- I still -should- have owled Dad..._ And then seizes as she remembers why she hadn't, breath hitching and she stands up ram rod straight, yet only holds him tighter.* Nadia. What about Nadia? Where is she? Does she know? *Her eyes were wide with fear. Of those she wanted to tell, Nadia was bottom of the list, paradoxically thus she thought the most important. She didn't want to hurt her and have to tell her this. And yet...considering how entirely the pair loved one another -- they'd been practically married since they were three! -- she suddenly wanted to throw her arms around Nadia too.* 

&.

 

"So, what exactly is this thing?"

"It's a shower scrunchie! Al, you've never used a a shower scrunchie?"

Oh, all he bloody wanted to do was take a shower. Shower, then bed. There was a blasted pillow with his name on it -- and an apology he was desperate to make (and there was a phrase Alcott never thought he'd utter).Only the bandages - stuck there by a tentative, unspeaking Hols - covered lines of angry red and it wouldn't do to get them wet. Now he was in Eliza's capable, manicured hands pretending she didn't have tears in her eyes. 

"Oh give me that." 

Eliza hopped from her bed and ripped her green, fluffy sponge thing from his hands. He relinquished it amused, holding up both hands as if to say "It wasn't me, I swear." She took one next, rubbing scarlet from his palm and dunking the scrunch-thing in his bowl. 

"Honestly, what do you use in the shower usually?"

"Soap?"

Eliza rolled her eyes.

"Besides that."

"You really want me to answer?"

There was a pause as he hissed with his inhale, the edge of her scrunchie patting over top a bruise he knew would fade in a few days and wished it would hurry up already. 

"Because I mean, it depends who is in the shower wi--"

"Oh shut up Al." And he chuckled, greatly relieved to have his friend there and a reason to do so. Eliza worked steadily, dabbing around the cuts and bruises across his face, chest and back, every now and then exhaling with a soft 'Oh Al' managing to be both sympathetic and exasperated in a single sigh. He was never more grateful for the talent. 

Eliza had greeted him with a desperately, furiously hard hug and muttered in his ear not to scare her like that again. She didn't ask for further details, spoke of nonsense issues - like the vast array of scrunchies and where he could purchase one in the Bed, Bath and Beyond for her - or for Hols, if that was what he wanted. Matters of unimportance filled the mindless chatter and dulled the buzz in his ears and it was glorious. 

Then, shoving the thing back in his hand and flatly saying he owed her a new scrunchie, she left the bathroom to leave him to finish washing. Hating the sudden silence he did so quickly, grabbing his red tee and jeans, not bothering with the uniform yet.

When he exited he had only one question, the first words he'd uttered in a few hours. 

"Where's Dev?"

Eliza had frozen, tears reappearing in her eyes instantly. It answered the question for him even before her half-hearted, "Al, I'm so sorry-" and "You should sleep fir-"

He was only ten feet into the courtyard before he was sick. 

 

&.

 

 **Jana:** *Twice now she had noticed her husband's hands: how they hovered near her shoulder, her back and then slipped away, as if unsure what they should be holding, but certain there should be something. Something they could be doing right now, something they were searching for, something they wanted desperately and couldn't name. Each time Jana had wondered if he meant to ask if she needed him to lean on, but didn't know how to find the words. And each time Jana had leaned against him she'd only begun wondering who he had to lean on if not her and stood back up. 

Falling apart wasn't in her. It never had never been, not even when she'd been made a toy and puppet. Aching, choking, sobbing and shaken -- they were all things she'd been before, but helpless? Until she'd been awoken with the news their son was lying comatose in the school hospital wing, she'd never been that. Now she was. It was a brutal paralytic to her frantic desperation, to her lungs, her heart.

Anger had come quickly as it always did, her most basic, fundamental recourse for the tragedies in her life. Jana had been stepping out of the shower when Shane had appeared. They needed a new soap dish. Oh, and the silver ring that had formerly held their his-and-hers' towels. They would have to go on the list that hung on their fridge. A list of things she'd broken, she thought bitterly, as if she couldn't summarize it: 'everything'? 

Her heart didn't seem to beat as she stood outside the hospital wing. Forgoing food and too often breath, Jana didn't remember how she'd gotten to the school. She remembered shouting, remembered asking her husband as if he could know why everything she'd gone through wasn't enough tragedy for one life. She remembered breaking three hair-ties attempting to snap a ponytail, remembered giving up. Her hair hung in still-damp blond ringlets now, heavy on her shoulders, another weight. She knew she wore her husband's jacket, as he'd wrapped it around her when he realized she'd forgotten to grab one herself and had been shivering on the grounds. He took too good care of her, she thought miserably. She didn't deserve it. Not when she couldn't even keep their son safe. 

He reached for her hand again and she took it anyway, needing it, needing him there. That terrified her to think--she couldn't have dependency on a husband in her most vulnerable state, not again. After a hasty breath, she thought flatly it had been nearly two decades, and as much as she felt she would suddenly go back if only her son would wake she knew her folly. It was her oldest curse, Jana thought bitterly, she always knew. Her mind always worked. No matter how viciously she tried to turn it off, she always, always knew. So she only squeezed his fingers until the wedding band and sapphire gems bit into her own, hard enough to prick porcelain skin. Blood and shouts she could spill, not tears. Admitting the helplessness would break her, and Jana felt it was already hard enough to walk. 

She was shouting something, but she couldn't remember what; snapping a threat to the woman who tried to tell her she couldn't go in. Smacking her hand against the door as they reached it, it swung away to reveal a room of beeping, a smell too clean --and scarlet. Lynn's hair was a maelstrom of fire in the infirmary of silver and white. Her eyes swept the room to settle abruptly, stuck on her daughter. She was resting her chin against Nick's shoulder. At least her daughter didn't feel uncomfortable leaning on someone, Jana thought bitterly, feeling only more broken. 

Everything was frantic getting her there; her pounding heart, the brisk autumn wind, the wrecking of their bathroom as she struggled to dress...but it stopped the moment she reached his bedside. Her little boy -- and whatever Devin would say, that was what he was to her, no matter how many muscles he gained lifting those massive books of his -- was laying in a hospital bed. Thick bandages of stark ivory wrapped around his head to hide where he'd smacked the ground. A silver brace kept his neck straight now. He had streaks of remarkable scarlet across his chest, where the wolf had attempted to rip out his heart. Couldn't they have taken hers instead? Or had they?*

 **Lynn:** _"-incompetence, now get out of my way!"_ *Lynn's head had snapped up, gaze wrenched from Devin's peaceful face. That was her mother's voice. Only her mother could manage to sound as if she swore when she uttered no curses, could be as forceful in tone as with words. Cheek squashed to Nick's shoulder, her gaze fluttered between her parents as they appeared, a breathless little gasp of,* Mom, Dad-- *,leaving lips too dry to speak. She stood suddenly, wincing at how loud the chair scraped against marble, rubbing under her eyes, trying to erase the thin streaks of mascara as she thought: her Dad told her every day that summer she was too young to wear make-up.  

Gapping at her waist, the loose sweater was Nick's too; she'd swapped her heels for the flats in her purse, the purse that lay at the bottom of his hospital bed. By the time her parents crossed the room she had her face against her Dad's chest instead, arms locked tight around him, muttering how sorry she was before she'd realized she'd spoken aloud.* Dad -- *She shook her head again, and burrowed her nose further. Nope. Guilt was sticking her throat, her tongue felt too heavy. She should have told him, told both of them of the danger last night -- but it was too late now, and she couldn't stand to have them mad at her. She needed them. She needed them both.*

 **Shane:** *It's no easy thing to have your world ripped apart. Shane had gone through a variety of crises ranging from homicidal terrorist groups to a shortage on pixie dust. He had more gray in his hair that he was willing to admit given the fact the weight of Wizarding Britain was on his shoulders. He could almost hear the words of his most vivid opposers now "How can this man longer be a fit to protect our country when he can't even protect his own son?" It was at times like that, when he had to act unfazed and as if he didn't want to hex the legs off every single one of them, that he truly hated the fact he became a politician.

That man, sitting in the Headmaster's office now, apologizing himself profusely to Amaris and her family, he was going to be fired. The push for his resignation would be so subtle, so thoroughly incapable of being traced back to his direct urging, that it would be poetic. It didn't make him feel any better, maybe a little, but he was still going to do it anyways because until they found the person responsible for this, someone had to suffer like he had.

It was a good thing he had left the running of the country in the more stable hands of his good friend Chris. Shane wasn't thinking like a politician anymore, nor as the leader of the entire wizarding population in the United Kingdom, he was thinking as a father. A father whose son now lay in a coma, unsure of whether he'd wake up.

His hand sought his wife's and squeezed it tightly. Words came more easily to her when she was angry, that was an understatement, so he had no objections on listening to her shout and insult at the incompetence of anyone who stood in her way. He had spoken out lines already well practiced to him: they would conduct a full investigation, he would contact the Board of Governors, all of the legalities and the procedures because that was memorized; he didn't have to think. The hand clutching hers sought as much comfort as it wanted to offer.

They were through the doors of the Hospital Wing, and he vaguely remembered when the room had actually been located on the first floor, and the first sight was his daughter. Lynn's state was cause for alarm: the sweater had long sleeves and she had taken off her heels. Normally, it would have been cause for celebration but now it only serve to sever the last remaining working arteries to his heart. Did his heart beat beneath his chest any longer? He wasn't certain. Lynn would be the one to know, for he quickly pulled her into a deep hug, holding her tightly and kissing that wild red hair she was so proud of. Lynn was safe, Lynn was in his arms...he couldn't say the same of his son, not yet.* Shhhh, darling, please...*She was apologizing but he wasn't entirely sure why. None of this was her fault, and yet didn't they all feel the brunt of some guilt at that moment?*

 **Nick:** *He had stood up as Lynn's parents had walked in, looking scarier than they had the first time he had met them, when they had weighed and measured him. Mr. Stuart had found him wanting on the grounds of "no one will ever be good enough for his daughter." Though he had urged Nick to keep trying anyways, that she should have someone to dote and wait at her as if she were the most important person in the world because she was. Nick didn't need much convincing.

By the time they had left Hawaii, Nick had thought Lynn's dad was warming up to him (but then again that was after Hols and Al had disappeared for a night so Nick suspected the man was just feeling lucky that he didn't have that to deal with.) The next time I see them again, he had told Lynn with a teasing smile, I'll make them love me. This was not the ocassion he had in mind.* Ms. Rivers, Mr. Stuart...*The greeting felt inappropriate, lacking, but what else was he going to say?* I'll leave if you wish some privacy as a family-

 **Shane:** No, that won't be necessary. *He was rubbing his daughter's shoulders now and though he had glanced at Nick briefly, his eyes were fixed on his son, his boy, lying in that hospital bed. His gaze didn't want to lower.* Of course you can stay. *For Lynn's sake. He pressed a final kiss to her forehead before stepping closer to Devin, every step against the floor felt like he was driving a knife in his heart.

He almost looked sleeping, almost, save for the blood. His jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides as well. Shane was notorious for being able to handle anything, absolutely anything at all, that was thrown at him but this? He couldn't force his son to wake up. He could only assign people to help this condition, and assign people to work on finding Nadia, but it still wasn't enough. He was the most powerful man in England, but at that moment he felt none of that.* 

 **Lynn:** *Her nose nudged something cold and she realized abruptly: it was his badge, the shiny purple M. Her mother wore her father's jacket, she realized eying her, giving her that look of a professional, and both of them looked so determined and furious...it was stately, their appearance. She was almost surprised that no cameras and reporters followed her parents in, when she remembered the edict of her father's that none be allowed a hundred yards within the Hogwarts grounds the moment he was sworn in. It had been followed by a week-long fight about security -- her heart ached as she thought how it was Devin who'd spoken sense on that matter, that armed guards couldn't accompany them to every class, that Hogwarts already was the safest place in the world. Bloody hell, didn't irony love their family? First Devin wished he was pureblood, now this. 

Lynn choked, pressing dry lips harder against her father and screwing her eyes up. She felt better he was there, that her mother was -- even as she couldn't bring herself to look long. Maybe if she didn't bring the security question up. Lynn truly didn't fancy the idea of the same stern-faced Auror following her along as they shadowed her when home (or in Cali, though they'd had the decency to stay out of the way then). This was easier to focus on. The gentle nudging of her father to quiet had stifled her for once, squeezing him tightly before she stepped back. Grateful she murmured,* Thanks Daddy. *Nick was the only reason she was upright.

Lynn knew the papers that would come now; Minister's son attacked, questions on his mental state, their country's state...more ridiculous slander. Her heart skipped a beat. Usually, the thought of the press made her smirk -- let no one say Lynn was shy, she thought briefly, amused as she thought how the man at her side would put that. Thank heavens they weren't there; she didn't want to know how she looked, and bloody hell was this not a moment to intrude on. Not that that ever stopped them before. Heart pounding as she stepped back to take Nick's hand again, her gaze flicked to Devin and jaw clenched.* 

 **Jana:** *Truthfully, it hadn't even registered that Nick was there for more than a second; she only shook her head to agree with her husband as he waved the polite offer off. No, she thought miserably, Lynn hadn't ever been so serious about anyone; she wasn't going to deny her daughter...well anything, not at that moment. 

Horror-struck as she kept her gaze on Devin, she raised a shaking hand to his forehead and brushed a few strands of hair off the bandage.* Dev. *It was a whisper, hardly that - a broken little word she cut off as she realized the hoarseness in her voice. Gently, so gently, slipped her hand into his, almost grateful to feel sweat as their palms stuck together. A fever was good. A fever meant Devin's body was fighting. His cheek was warm too, as her hand slid from the bandages to cup, leaning forward to brush a soft kiss. Heat spread across her lips and she cherished that thought: he was fighting. 

He was still there, somehow. The steady beep of a monitor told her his heart rate was steady too, steadier than her own she imagined - but she stopped her thoughts there. She had spent an entire month stuck in a hospital once - another few weeks herself a patient. Waiting would be interminable. Whispering against his cheek,* It's Mum. We're all here. And we love you so much, Devin, please. *She couldn't say anything else- and she didn't know if anyone had heard her, she just spoke honestly and pulled back suddenly. Stepping back with a sniff, thumbs brushing uselessly beneath her eyes as if to rub away the bags, she gathered up damp hair and took a deep breath. She moved back to let Shane pass her, and pulled her daughter into a hug too.*

 **Lynn:** *Letting her Mum engulf her, she clung to her a long moment before finally muttering,* I can't breathe, Mum. *Then she winced. That wasn't something she should say, she thought, it was too literal -- too much like Devin where they were.* I'm all right. *She promised desperately, holding on. Heart skipping a beat, she squeezed her mother tighter and then pulled back, brushing her hair away from her face. Nodding repeatedly, she echoed,* Really, I'm right here, I'm fine. *Breathless, as she shoved her hands into her pockets, she jerked her head to gesture suddenly at her boyfriend,* Thanks to Nick, really. *Because he'd been the one to take care of her both last night and this morning -- and shouldn't they know that, if her father was going to give him such a hard time? Even if that was 'because that's what father's do'?*

 **Jana:** *Now she looked at Nick, a little surprised by Lynn's interjection - astonished to feel amusement. Blinking and managing a tiny sorrowful smile beneath watery hazel eyes, she said quietly,* Oh, well then, thank you Nick. 

 **Lynn:** *She nods a few times insistent, slipping to stand next to him again and take his hand, gritting her teeth as she looked at Devin and her father. Her heart was heavy, her voice low, but she still needed to ask.* What did...what did they tell you? Dad? *He was Minister, for Christ's sakes, if there was anything the Aurors would keep to themselves for the sake of security -- they'd still tell him, they'd have to. If they knew something about Nadia, if there was anyone who would know, it was her father. Followed quickly by her mother as she stole his papers, and he'd pretend to mind. The thought of their common routine made her momentarily smile, proud.*

 **Nick:** Thank you, sir. *He added as well after Lynn's own spoken gratitude, nodding and stepping sideways, away from the hospital bed he hadn't realized he had been so close to before. Just because he could stay, didn't mean he could intrude. As soon as Lynn and her father had broken away from their hug, he stepped towards Lynn, taking her hand and lacing her fingers with his.*

 **Shane:** *He moved closer to the bed, silently marveling at the fact his hands didn't shake. His mother would be proud when she got here, to see him upholding the name Stuart. The thought was a bitter one, so he cast it from his mind. If only he could so easily cast the rest of them out with it.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching his wife with his son. His mind retreated back to a safer memory, the one of Jana putting their newborn son down in his cradle to sleep for what might have been a good hour or two if they were lucky. The memory was as vivid as if it had been yesterday. In contrast, his reality was dulled by the lack of working senses.He stepped closer to Devin when Jay moved back, though he didn't remember making the conscious decision to do so. His feet moved on their own accord, just as his hand did when it drew a chair for him to sit on. The bed seemed so far away when he was standing, too tall. It was his height, previously an advantage in all regards, but not in this one.

He sat down, thinking that not having to support his weight on his legs anymore would come as a relief, but it did little to alleviate it. His face level with Devin, he breathed out.* My son...my boy. *He licked dry lips, finding it difficult to breathe, let alone speak but speak he would.* I know you can hear me, son. Hearing is the last of the senses to be affected, all findings are conclusive that you are able to hear, especially this early on. *He breathed out again, his voice no louder than a whisper, for that's all he needed.* I don't think I've told you enough...how proud I am of you, of the man you're growing to be. Better than me, better than I ever will be...*he bit down on his bottom, leaning closer to him and sitting on the edge of his seat.* You're going to get through this, I know you will. You'll wake up, and you'll refuse to rest- *he knew the real reason why, Nadia's disappearance, but hell if he was going to reveal that to his son right at this moment, because he knew Devin could hear, he knew it-* and you'll insist for the homework to be brought to you, after your mother puts her foot down to keep you recovering.*He nodded slowly, breathing out, his gaze falling on the white sheets.* And then I will thoroughly enjoy revisiting the argument on bodyguards, because no appeals to my reason are going to change my mind this time. *He dropped his hands from holding up his head, and grabbed Devin's hand instead.*

 **Nick:** *He turned away from Mr. Stuart and Devin, feeling as if looking at them intruded on privacy. He let go of Lynn's hand as her mother pulled her in for a hug this time. He had always liked Lynn's family, liked how close they were because it was familiar to his own. Not his father though, because out of his siblings, he was the only one still close to his father. Yet Nick harbored no doubt that if some similar tragedy were to befall his family, Merlin forbid it, they would be congregated just as similarly. Hearing his name again, he looked up, realizing only a second later why that was. He smiled before shaking his head slowly.* I didn't do much...wish I could do more, really. *He took Lynn's hand again and squeezed.*

 **Shane:** *Another voice broke through, and if it hadn't been his daughter he wasn't sure if he would have heard it through his haze. He looked over his shoulder at Lynn, her eyes wide with the question and the expectancy of an answer. He stood from the chair slowly, and walked closer to them, away from his son for the moment, knowing very well he would return as soon as possible, knowing he didn't want to be away for too long. This was sensitive information, but he could trust his wife and his daughter. And Nicholas, he supposed, if his daughter did.* They found four different sets footprints where Alisha Stone informed them she found Devin. One Alisha's, one Devin's, the other two were magically erased, but the presence of the other two was easily confirmed with a spell, but because there's no way to make them appear again as they were, they can't use it to help track. They only know a set of them was dragged backwards, they are reporting no signs of a struggle. It's safe to assume they were Nadia's, and her captor's. *He swallowed tightly, knowing he would have to explain the same thing to Amaris and Brad.* Ms. Stone also reported to the aurors that the werewolf's mouth was half shut when she got there, that it was the reason Devin wasn't bit. The last spells out of Devin's wand confirm it, he glued the werewolf's mouth shut but he was unconscious when Ms. Stone arrived, the wolf clawing at him. *He swallowed another lump in his throat before he sighed, speaking softly.* I think we owe her our deepest gratitude. I've already talked to the Headmaster and her Head of House, to urge against any disciplinary action for being out of bounds and past curfew. For now, the aurors know little else. Shawn will let us know if more information turns up.

 **Lynn:** *She had always tried to protect her little brother. Lynn was the older sibling, the loud-mouth, the obnoxiously protective one. It was her job. Only last year she had begun to realize how badly she miscalculated - that in looking out for him, or so she'd believed, she had made him feel inadequate to protect himself, to _be_ himself. Or largely contributed to it, anyway. The other reason...she could see Alcott hovering outside the door and she looked away. Her gaze fell back to the sheets, to her brother's face. 

She didn't try to listen to her father as he spoke to Devin- knowing it was private. Honestly she wished she could think of something better to say to him, something poignant and inspiring. Lynn Rivers, at a lost for words? What had happened? The sun must have imploded -- quick, everyone, eight minutes to live. And in some ways, she thought quietly, it had. Devin was the baby of the family, her mother's "sonshine" (as she'd put it once). Her heart ached. 

Grateful to her father as he answered her, she squeezed Nick's hand and stepped away with him, a shiver trailing up her spine. She stayed locked on her father's gaze until he finished speaking. Breathing in and out, her words were quiet but stubborn, in awe.* He would think of that. Gluing the wolves mouth shut...*Her eyes trailed over her brother again, lying so peacefully in the bed, the bandages almost making her forget. Rueful, as she leaned against Nick's forearm, she muttered truthfully under her breath,* That's Dev, always so clever. I'd probably have been too busy trying to light it on fire. 

 **Jana:** *Hearing her daughter's words seemed to bring the tears to the forefront more easily than ever, her heart pounding to try and keep some semblance of useful beat. Oh Lynn,* Honey ... *But where was she going with that, what could she say? Her heart skipped another beat. Devin needed to wake up, she thought bitterly, blunt - that was all that bloody mattered anymore to her, she'd give anything, anything. Only catching that Shane had included 'bodyguards argument' she straightened and nodded in agreement. Of course she had wanted to know why Devin would go into the forest - but she could guess the reasons included "Nadia" and "Alcott and Eliza" - so she didn't say more. 

Instead she focused on her husband, though her gaze was incapable of not quickly, briefly flitting back to Devin. Nodding slowly,* We'll have to thank her. *And just as Lynn had, she murmured under her breath,* As if we could ever thank her enough. *What a folly, what a brutally flawed folly. Was it awful of her to wish Alisha could have just gotten there a few minutes earlier? If he'd glued the werewolf's mouth shut -- clever boy, her brilliant baby boy -- wouldn't a few spells from two have been enough, couldn't they both have been safe? Still, she swallows, knowing it was pointless to try and dwell on the what-if scenarios...even as dwell she did.*

 **Lynn:** *quietly, eyes blazing with sudden necessity.* Daddy...tell Uncle Shawn to look at Victoria Stenrosa and Sam Roswell first. They...they blame us for last year, for what happened to Sam. *Her heart was skipping beats again as she knew in some ways she was talking about his family - for it had never felt like hers. Still, this at least she could tell, at least admit to when so much else had not been said.* We don't know why really, *Besides the fact that Alcott is a wolf, she thought to herself before clearing her throat.* We do know they declared war - especially on Devin and Nadia - if there was _anyone_ in that forest who wanted to hurt them, whose footsteps that other pair was...I'd bet a month of wearing heels it was Victoria. 

 **Jana:** *Her eyes narrow, thinking briefly that Sam was the boy Dev had beaten up - her husband's cousin too, but she tried usually not to think about that - and lift both hands to gather her drying curls again. Nodding stiffly, she looked back at her husband and said softly to him,* We'll find them, love. *She'd swear that on anything; she would not rest, she hardly thought she could breathe...until they had found them, found justice, until Devin woke up.*  

 **Nick:** *He hadn't meant to be amused. This was not an amusing situation, it was the exact opposite of the very word. Yet the picture of Lynn setting a werewolf on fire was so easy to picture, so vivid in his mind, that if he focused on ignoring the fact that it was a human being suffering the excruciating burns, it was almost comical. Maybe his sense of humor was a tad askew.* That does sound like you. 

*It was endearing. Yes, he did realize that he had just admitted to finding the thought of his girlfriend setting someone on fire endearing, but he never claimed to be fully sane. He imagined none of them were sane at that moment, but out of all of them he was probably the most.*

 **Shane:** *His lips twitched briefly at his daughter's words, though he refrained from a comment. It was just fortunate that Lynn had not been in the forest last night, otherwise he was sure he couldn't have been able to handle it. He was worried enough for his son, and that was without adding in his responsibilities as Minister and how they tied in to this crisis. He reached for Jana's hand again. 

Looking to Lynn again, he was surprised to hear her mention names. He knew very well about Sam Roswell's attack last year, how he had appeared in the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. Why he would believe his children, or Nadia, had anything to do with it he wasn't sure...he would need to ask her more privately later.* Shawn's interviewing all the students that were out there last night. I'll tell him. *Though without much proof, that was little to go on. He sighed, nodding in agreement with his wife. They would find her, and Devin would wake up, because there was no other alternative.* I just can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt Nadia. 

 **Nick:** *He agreed. Nadia was a sweet girl, genuinely so, and that was very uncommon. She was as kind and polite to First Years as she was to Professors and everyone in between. But Victoria? Victoria was a nasty piece of work, according to Lynn, and Hols, and even Nadia herself. She had gotten quite murderous about the girl last year, though even that had been in the heat of the moment. The second Lynn contemplated actual revenge, Nadia had balked and put her foot down against it. Nick couldn't imagine the type of monster capable of harboring hate and cruel intentions for such a girl. Or rather, he didn't want to.*

&.

 **Alcott:** *Bending over with hands planted firmly on his knees, his eyes were shut. Devin was in the hospital. Eliza had let him go after affirming it - explained about Nadia briefly - another splitting arrow to his heart. After everything. Was it him? Had that been why Hols was so silent? He'd thought it was because they both understood the simple truth: there were things they needed to talk about, but not yet, not this morning. He'd needed her. Yet maybe it was this; maybe she'd meant to spare him guilt. After all, if anyone in the world would know what he'd done last night -- that brutally long night -- it was the lioness who'd dared to stay by his side during it. 

There were no words to capture his frustration, his anger, his guilt: nothing to explain his disconnection as he looked back up. People were milling about, and Alcott knew suddenly it was early. It was desperately early, for there were too many people there talking about those unimportant matters: upcoming Quidditch matches and Halloween costumes. Hogwarts would have hold of the story soon enough. Would they know it was him? Should he tell, though it wouldn't change a damn thing? Another kick to his gut. He rubbed the side of his lips, then slid through the sweat on his neck. 

Disconnection wasn't the right word either he thought, looking at them. None of them understood. He passed by almost without seeing them; he couldn't hear them. He walked by classrooms and chattering paintings, going somewhere or maybe not going anywhere in particular, but feeling he needed to move even as he was isolated; alone when surrounded by those who never would know. 

Coming to a sudden halt, he grimaced for a new reason - how many fucking heart attacks did he need to have in one morning? For there he was. Like conjured out of his nightmares stood the ghoul of his worst memory -- the man he long hated and now knew as his girlfriend's (for she was still his girlfriend, or else he'd implode) father. Clenching the back of his teeth, and violently wishing the man just go away - the second Alcott realized he was thinking that, Alcott approached him. He wasn't a scared little boy, he told himself. And even anger seemed far away to his relief.*

 **Shawn:** *Tyler was still with Hassan and Marina in the forest, sweeping the area for any trace of Nadia. It left Shawn feeling sick. How could she just have disappeared? _You can't disapparate inside Hogwarts grounds_ , he'd heard that -- how many bloody times did he have to hear that? And yet apparently someone still managed to grab and force Nadia to disappear entirely. 

Tyler would have snapped at him for that comment, pointed out as of yet there was no evidence she had not left under her own steam and yadda-yadda-danger-of-jumping-to-conclusions-and-seeing-what-you-wanted-to-see-thus. Shawn didn't give a damn. This was why Abi partnered them. Tyler reigned him in. Shawn dared to have an imagination. 

And there was plenty of evidence that Nadia had not left on her own -- starting with the fact that she would have told someone and ending with her boyfriend lying comatose in the hospital wing. Shawn didn't need his goddaughter's psychic abilities  to know something foul had happened. Tyler could deal with it. 

He took the stairs two-three at a time, intending on questioning those who had been at the party in the forest. Before anyone had the time to get their story straight, before he had to face Shane. It was eerie to him. The last time he had felt like this - horrified and wary of approaching the Minister who was his friend, the Minister who he felt he'd failed ... it had been what he and Hols were discussing not twenty-four hours ago, despite the fact that it had been nearly a decade.

He stopped dead in the hallway. Speak of the devil, he thought, stomach plummeting. He recognized the boy from pictures Hols had in her room from Hawaii--but for an instant all Shawn saw was the six year old. The little boy who had hit him, and then fallen atop his father's corpse. Throat choked for saliva, Shawn swallowed nothing, stiffening as he realized he was being approached. 

The hall was mercifully clear; the students were in class now, or else in the room he'd been headed too - the few he meant to interrogate. He stood straighter, wondering how he could possibly express all he felt towards Alcott. It started with that horrific memory of him at six, but it didn't preclude the fact for Shawn that he was dating his daughter - that he'd been the reason Hols was so upset not twenty-four hours ago.* Alcott-

 **Alcott:** *The name was hardly out of his mouth before the boy was shaking his head, without dropping his gaze.* I take it you're here to investigate?

 **Shawn:** *His brows furrow, irritated at being cut off but nodding curtly.* Yes. 

 **Alcott:** *He nods, sliding his hand into his jeans, thinking bitterly he could tell him now - tell him he thought it was him. That wouldn't help them find Nadia though, he thought simply. Hols wouldn't have been so calm when they parted a little over half an hour if she'd known that. He couldn't have a thing to do with Nadia. 

Regarding him, this man who for so long conjured nothing but anger and hatred, now he felt he was stuck between bullet wounds: one faded, a shadow of a scar and one stark, still bleeding. He breathed out. His words were firm.* Devin -- *He had to pause as Shawn took out a notebook suddenly, and he started over.* Dev came in to the forest after your daughter and I had a disagreement. 

*At 'your daughter,' Shawn had looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him and apparently forgetting to continue recording his words. At least the quill took care of it for him. Alcott continued, utterly non-deterred getting a perverse kind of pleasure for the way he phrased things.* 

I'd gone mostly just aimlessly walking in an attempt to calm down. Devin brought me a drink, bitched me out, set me straight - whatever you want to call it. *That wasn't the important part, he thought despite the odd feeling he'd just been struck again.* He left with Victoria Stenrosa, who had smashed the drink he'd made me all across rocks and the ground. He left to get Hols, she was the next person I saw. 

*The next morning, he added mentally, as 'person' was a bit of a stretch to speaking honestly.* She and I spent the night...fighting and then...mending. *He cocks an eyebrow, getting even more perverse enjoyment from his euphemism to see a vein pop in Shawn's forehead. Oh, Alcott knew damn well what he was insinuating, but he didn't listen to the dull twist in his heart of guilt; there wasn't any room in his heart for anything else. And it was heavy, so heavy as it beat slowly. He wasn't lying, was he?* I didn't see Devin again, I didn't see Nadia at all. Do you need me to sign that? *He jerked his thumb to the pad, despite the fact that Shawn hadn't taken his eyes from his.*

 **Shawn:** *There was a click in Shawn's jaw. Then he nodded, extending the tiny notebook and letting Alcott sign a loopy affirmation of his statement. A statement he knew quite well had been worded that way to bother him but - oh, it had. If only because his daughter did not deserve to be turned into this punchline to make his head implode. Eyes narrow, he gritted out the platitude while he took the notebook back.* Thank you for your cooperation.

 **Alcott:** Always nice to see Auror competence. *The bitter remark was stated before he'd thought. Muscles aching in protest as he suddenly tensed, the sly little smirk on his lips twitched in an effort to hide his pain.*

 **Shawn:** *Frowning,* That's enough, Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *He cocks an eyebrow and he goes to move past him suddenly, thinking he couldn't do this--he truly couldn't, he remembered those eyes, he'd seen that look before and the sudden storm in his heart told him to move. To run. Only he was cut off, for Shawn had stepped sideways directly into his path.*

 **Shawn:** Look. *His hand was up, hovering near Alcott's chest. Alcott looked at it without a word, as if he was daring him to touch him. Shawn shook his head once.* I understand if you hate me, I do. 

 **Alcott:** *His gaze flickers to hold Shawn's gaze instead. He searched for words, thinking he needed to try and express this bone-deep exhaustion. Only there was no word for this kind of defeat, watching the fragile Jenga tower of his life tumble down. Twice.* 

 **Shawn:** And I am sorry - I am so sorry, for what happened, even though I know me saying that doesn't help. 

 **Alcott:** *He chuckles once, a dry, twisted thing and drops his gaze to the Auror's shoes before looking back up. He wasn't a coward, he told himself firmly again.*

 **Shawn:** What happened that day was a terrible tragedy - an accident. I do hold myself responsible. It never should have happened, I never meant for it to. God only knows I'm not perfect.

 **Alcott:** *Only now Alcott was closing his eyes, aware there was a 'but' coming - a 'yet' and chastisement and he didn't want it, he didn't want bloody any of it, why did no-one understand that? Why couldn't someone realize that anger he felt -- had felt -- the rage, the blame, that was what he needed to survive, to get through the day without bloody screaming that what he really wanted was his father? He'd break if he didn't have it - and yet as he stood there listening to the words Shawn said wouldn't help, he searched miserably for that anger and found only pain.* 

Stop. *He held up his hand, and his eyes fluttered back open.* I don't hate you, Shawn. *He pauses, and his teeth clench as he corrects,* Mr. Graft. 

 **Shawn:** *He fell silent, astonished and guilt broke over his own stoic face. He was tired of it; recognizing all the bad things and how he'd done wrong didn't help. He got that.*

 **Alcott:** *Breathing hard, heavy he shakes his head again, repeatedly,* I don't think I can do this now-

 **Shawn:** Alc--

 **Alcott:** My best friend is lying in a hospital bed- he's refusing to wake up-I haven't slept, I-

 **Shawn:** And my goddaughter is missing, I'm terrified for her, for them both -- and your _alibi_ for the evening is that you were screwing my daughter, so _yes_ we're going to do this now!

 **Alcott:** *snaps* I wasn't screwing her. I _care_ about your daughter, more than I think I cared about anyone in my life! She's the _only_ person who ever has been there, I wouldn't treat her that way - I'm sick over what I said, I want to apologize - *harsh exhale* It's why I'm standing here - it's why I'm trying to damn hard to forgive you! *He rubs at his forehead hard as he sees Shawn's face break again. He knew he was acting selfishly. He knew he was doing it try and run, and he hated that as he hated realizing he wasn't over it at all. 

He wasn't over anything- any bit of it, he still had some tiny sliver of hope and want that he could get it back, repair the damage and it was being crushed again. With a gaping hole still in his chest - and oh how poetic, how obvious, there were ironically literal rips from claws across his breast - he shook his head heavily. He was just so tired. So tired of being lonely and angry, and he didn't know how to stop it. He kept his gaze back on Shawn, thinking how much he missed and lost, and he couldn't turn it off. Quietly, he muttered in defeat,* I'm not even angry with you - not anymore. I just. ...Shawn, you were there, you were the one who made the call. You're the reason my father's dead. 

*He choked on it mentally, but the words left him instantly. Perfectly honestly,* I don't know how to forgive you.

 **Shawn:** *He was impressed against his will, and he thought it was that more than anything that calmed him down paradoxically, even as he saw the guilt and loss in Alcott's eyes. Looking over his shoulder as he thought furiously he did understand, but Lord was he tired of being upset for doing his job. Short on words himself, he finally said,* I can't tell you how to forgive me. I don't regret going there, you know. I'd do it again. I'd do it differently, I'd never have hired that blasted trainee in the first place let along brought him -- but that was my job, and in the end it might not have changed a blasted thing. We aren't perfect. I'm not. And I get that it doesn't help you do so to tell you what else happened that day - the Death Eater's we killed, what they'd done. I get that doesn't change a damn thing to you-

 **Alcott:** *His breath had been quickening, but he felt almost better to hear that: to think that Shawn at least bloody stuck by the action, at least he admitted the responsibility as well as why guilt and apology couldn't change anything. And why it didn't matter to him who else died that day - when his father had been taken from him, why the fuck should he care about anything else? Hesitantly interjecting, though he felt lighter hearing the man admit that,* Except one. What--what did Jonathan Arlette do to Hols' mother?

 **Shawn:** *Fury had crossed his fact suddenly, that name was one he usually endeavored not to think about with every bit of him. Even a decade later - even two - there was a glint of anger over what Amaris had lived through. He narrowed eyes full of surprise, but said quietly,* He was a sick bastard. All of them were. 

 **Alcott:** *That wasn't truly an answer - but in someways it was, he thought briefly. That bastard might have taken Hols' mother from her - she might have had to go through what he had. That mattered to him. That made him glad he was dead, glad she didn't have to know how it felt to lose their parent. It spun oddly in his stomach, forced his heart to beat even slower: did that mean he was glad Shawn had been there too? Oh for fuck's sakes --* You spoke to him...didn't you? About your daughter...that was Hols, wasn't it?

 **Shawn:** *Now utterly surprised, he nodded just once while his eyebrows knit together,* I did. You remember that?

 **Alcott:** I remember more than I wish I did. *It was a quiet bullet of an exhale.* You told him...she was better off, I didn't really-

 **Shawn:** She is better off. *Flatly, swallowing tightly.* Everyone is, with him gone.

 **Alcott:** *He just nods, thinking more how ironic it was that he agreed. Rubbing more at his forehead tiredly, he nods again, and then again, gaze dropping to the ground.* I don't blame you, Shawn. *He bites down hard on his own lip, breathing easier and wishing harder than ever for a pillow.* 

 **Shawn:** *He nods once, but says flatly,* Hols, is what matters Alcott. She's my daughter. *His voice broke slightly with emotion, heart heavy,* More than that - she's my world. She has been since I first heard her heart beat on that weird-ass machine they hooked Amaris up too - there's not a damn thing I wouldn't do, for her, and if you hurt her again-

 **Alcott:** I understand. *simply, with a soft little smile despite pain in his eyes.*  

 **Shawn:** SoI couldn't really care how you think about me--

 **Alcott:** But Hols does. *Calmly.* And I get it. I don't want her to think that about my father either. I understand. You're her father. You love her - you protect her. *His heart was skipping heavy, echoing beats as he smiled sadly.* She's lucky to have you. 

 **Shawn:** *His breath cut out, and he nods softly, just once. Hearing the brutally simple words seemed to tear at his heart, but Alcott was smiling and he felt better - at least better than he had. Even as he thought bitterly the boy should have had that too - should have had his father there to love him - protect him, as he did. Quietly exhaling,* Alcott--

 **Alcott:** *Hissing in a brief sniffle, he cut him off and jerks his head up.* Nadia needs you. Go do your job, Auror. *He smirks suddenly, heart lifted with his cocked brows,* Don't make me reevaluate your competence _again_. 

 **Shawn:** *He just nodded with a tiny laugh.* 

&.

It was chaos.

 

It seemed freaky to her that the only person that was quiet in that room was currently her. Hols Graft, for the first time in a lifetime, didn’t have anything to say. She had a short memory, another version of herself would have reminded her, because Al had recently shared with her things that equally left her speechless. She had remarked on it before, but that had been a lie. Hols knew what she wanted to say in those scenarios, she just bit down on her tongue to stop them from leaving her mouth in the hopes of maybe sparing his feelings. Right at that moment, right then, as the good majority of her family crowded in front of an elegant wooden desk behind which the Headmaster stood, thinking himself protected perhaps, Hols didn’t have any clue on what to say.

 

Her little sister was missing. Nadia was actually the baby of the family. Belle was twenty years old, nearly twenty one, Hols was seventeen, the triplets were sixteen, Chace was fifteen, and Nadia was fifteen minus three minutes. Belle had always been an adult, even as a toddler she was the protector, the responsible and mature one, the one the smaller kids always called mum and she reveled in it. Hols had spent a good deal of her childhood in resentment of all the siblings she had, and had actively avoided being coddled. The triplets were big macho men, and her mom never tried to trespass as their mother until they were old enough to decide for themselves and by then they were hardly babies. Chace was her mother’s little man, her only biological son, destined to pass on the name Tudor. Nadia though, sweet and innocent Nadia, kind and thoughtful Nadia (Hols almost laughed), was her mother’s baby. Not only her mother’s, but Brad’s, his little baby girl.

 

Hols thought that Nadia wouldn’t have liked her family being this mean and offensive. Blake joked that Nadia had enough kindness and compassion for the whole family, that it left them with just the fun bits to explore so that they didn’t have to deal with pesky things such as feelings and consequences. Blake had been joking (Chace had hit him) but there was some truth in what he said. Their kindness wasn’t with them, and none of them bothered to speak on the Headmaster’s behalf, or on the behalf of reason, of calm. Shouts rang throughout the room filled with rage, hurt, anxiety, curses.

 

“What kind of a fucking school are you running here?!”

 

“I hope you have a damn good reason for your incompetence, your lackluster performance, your disregard for the safety of these kids! Wait, no, of course you don’t-“

 

“Anyone can just come up and grab a girl out of her school?!”

 

“You should be bleeding sending the whole damn army to go out and look for her!”

 

“You have spells for this! Clearly delineated in article 5, section b, subsection iii of the school charter-“

 

“You might as well expel me now, Professor, because as soon as I find out who did this, I’m going to kill them. I’ll leave their head at your door, you can put it on a spike, go medieval, as a warning for anybody else who fucking tries to do this again-“

 

“I don’t think my friend, the Minister of Magic, the one who’s downstairs with his wife standing over their comatose son!!, is very happy with you professor. In fact, if I were you, I might start packing my things. Here, let me help you!”

 

Books and belongings flew around their heads, picture frames were closing, and clothes were folding. It was a fucking zoo in here. It wasn’t though because zoos were a lot more enjoyable. And while the shit might have hit the fan, it still didn’t smell as bad so as to be considered a zoo. All she could think about were little signs placed intermittently across cages and preserves and habitats- please do not feed or pet the animals. Hols surely felt a great deal of pain for the first person to try and calm her mother down.

 

It was hard to believe that only half an hour ago she had been, for lack of a better phrase, licking at her wounds with Al. For a split second that had been entirely too literal for Hols as she swiped at a deep scratch down her front leg with a large rough tongue before morphing back. She was all bandaged up, most of it easily hidden by clothing, though a few bruises were still visible. They would all go away, she would heal (not as quickly as Al) and that would be the end of that night. She didn’t think things could go worse, so horribly worse.

 

Chace moved forward and pounded his fist so hard on the desk that Hols heard a loud crack. She hoped it was a pencil, or something material on the desk and not his hand. “You’re doing everything you can? That’s not good enough! You get my sister back, and you get her back right now!”

 

Out of everyone else, he looked the most panicked. The rest of the men there besides the Headmaster had their face contorted by rage, and not a sliver of worry was visible in their expression, though Hols knew perfectly well it was there. Chace’s was not a face of anger, but rather of fear. His hysterics came from fear, his shouts from anxiety, his hands visibly shook and his jaw twitched every time he swallowed on a dry throat. Hols wasn’t the only one to notice; Belle had put an arm around him and squeezed.

 

“The aurors are conducting a full investigation and search-“

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Blake scoffed and for once neither parent, nor sibling, nor fellow triplet shut him up for his mouth.

 

“Do you know how many school Governors I’m acquainted with professor?” Her mom asked, hands on her hips, and tear marks down her cheeks she would soon notice and wipe away and claim that they were never there. “All of them! I’m going to tear your ass so hard with scandal and parent complaints and investigations that by the time I’m done with you, you’ll need a new prostrate.”

 

Hols smirked briefly, Brad was less subtle about his and Julian out right laughed. The Headmaster was horrified, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He wasn’t made of the toughest material, quite the opposite. Hols remembers a few years ago, something similar happened and a wanted Death Eater and criminal manage to find his way inside the grounds and kidnap a girl out of her bed. Clearly, security had not gotten any better since then.

 

But at the same time, it really wasn’t the Headmaster’s fault that kids at this school had no regards for the rules. They were having a party in the Forbidden Forest for Merlin’s sake, and she had been turning into a lioness every full moon since April to run with her werewolf boyfriend. It wasn’t entirely the Headmaster’s fault…but it was easier to blame him. Otherwise she might have to start looking elsewhere and found someone she didn’t want to.

 

Nadia had warned her, she had warned her of the vision, that something bad was going to happen and all Hols had done was shrug it off and send her out with a condescending pat on the head about her visions. Hols should have paid more attention to her, she was the older sister. She had a responsibility and she failed. Now Nadia was missing, Devin was comatose downstairs, and everybody was going apeshit.

 

The Headmaster had managed to make them all shut up for a few minutes, how he had managed that she was unsure, but she didn’t want to hear his excuses and his false promises. If anybody was going to find Nadia, it was her dad, Nadia’s godfather, because Hols’ daddy actually gave a fuck about what could happen to Nadia instead of this Headmaster who was more worried about his job.

 

Clenching her jaw, Hols stood up from the chair she had been sitting calmly at since the moment she walked in after McGonagall explained the situation to her. She winced briefly, her tail bone protesting (for it was bearing the blunt of the bite to her actual tail last night) and her arms and neck stiff. No one except her mother had noticed there was actually anything wrong because they were all so scared for Nadia. She preferred it that way, but she also knew the same way her mom noticed would be the same way that her dad would notice and she didn’t think the half-ass excuse she gave her mom of rough sex would be appropriate to share with her father.

 

“Fuck this,” she said out loud, unwilling to quiet her words before she walked out of the office, wishing so badly it had a door instead of the fucking rotating gargoyle. Boots clacking against stone just didn’t have the same effect of a good slammed door. The Hospital Wing was on the Third Floor and she was on the Seventh- she had some walking to do.

 

Lynn had to be worried sick, Aunt Jay and Uncle Shane equally furious as they would be worried. Minister of Magic or not, she knew Uncle Shane would be terribly eclipsed by Aunt Jay’s fury. Jay and her mom must not have gotten here together; otherwise the entire school would be on fire by now. The thought made her smile a bit.

 

She got the entrance of the Hospital Wing, not having expected to see so many people; Pomfrey must have been reluctant about that. She didn’t see Devin from where she stood, but neither could she see Aunt Jay or Uncle Shane, and there were curtains up so she had to assume that’s where they would be. Lynn was close by, as close as she could be. Al and Eliza and Rory and Irene and Sienna (unfortunately) and Trevor and Alexa Stuart, Devin and Lynn’s cousins, they were all there. Soon enough, her huge mass of a family could come down to join them. Hols took a step back before anyone noticed she was there and leaned against the wall right outside the Hospital Wing, feeling overwhelmed.

 

She closed her eyes for a moment, her foot tapping against the stone floor, her anxiety taking over. She couldn’t stay still, she wouldn’t stay still! There had to be something, anything she could do! She could talk to her dad, tell him about being an animagus, go to the spot where Alisha had found Devin and sniff around, try to pick up a distinctive scent. She had to do something. And it was going to start with her tracking that little bitch that smashed Al’s wolfsbane to the ground. According to him, she didn’t know what it was, or didn’t seem to know; she didn’t fucking care. Hols rarely believed in coincidences. She had let the bitch live out of the kindness of her heart after Hols found out it was her that stole her negatives, but now Hols was starting to regret that. And it was Sam too, it had to be Sam, so whichever one she found first would taste her fist.

 

She opened her eyes again and started walking away, feet pounding on the floor in a rhythm much steadier than her own heart, for that was all over the place. She was barely on the third floor landing when she met face to face with Nick.

 

“Hols, hey, ho-“ he frowned as he moved out of the way to let her keep walking but soon he was walking up to her again, grabbing her elbow to stop her from walking. “Where are you going?”

 

“Get out of my way, Nick!” she snapped, having turned around to snatch her arm back. “It’s none of your business.”

 

“Actually, given the fact that my girlfriend’s brother is in a coma and your sister is missing, a sister I tutored for the good part of half a year, yeah. I would say it’s my business, and you’re about to do something stupid.”

 

“Fuck off, Nick” she gritted her teeth as she tried to turn around again only to have him hold her elbow firmly.

 

“You think I don’t know what that look means? You look like you’re about to kill someone-“

 

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet but I’ve been seriously contemplating it-“

 

Nick interjected. “You really want to give your parents something else to worry about now while this is going on? Worry Lynn like that?! Or Al?”

 

“Oh they’d fucking join me if I’d ask them to.” Hols snapped back, it was easy to snap back, this was easy and this was normal. She could almost hear Nadia telling her how stupid she was, and all the trouble she was bound to get in. 

 

“But you didn’t. Why?”

 

Hols hadn’t really thought about it. They were there, distraught; she couldn’t interrupt or bother them. Lynn wouldn’t want to leave her brother’s side, Al was feeling guilty she was sure of it, but neither did she think getting into any more violence and encouraging anger was the right way to go. Hols though, Hols was efficient and she was more than capable of getting information from a couple of twat-fucks with shit for brains.

 

“Because those assholes are mine, I’m going to get them.”

 

Nick looked at her like she was crazy, and maybe she was. There was a good genetic chance that she had gotten her mother’s fucked up gene but she didn’t really care. If it got shit done, then that was perfect. “Who are you talking about?”

 

“Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about? Sam and Victoria!”

 

“You think they had something to do with this?”

 

“I –know- they had something to do with this, and Victoria was in the Forest last night so she has some major fucking explaining to do-“

 

“Yeah, well so do you.” That sentence made Hols stop trying to pull away from him or leave him behind. It wasn’t until now that she realized that Nick was entirely out of the loop on this. He didn’t know about Al, didn’t know about her, and didn’t know about Nadia’s visions or any of it. Overcome with guilt, the silence was enough for Nick to take advantage of it.

 

“How do you know that Victoria was at the forest last night, Alisha?” He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head. “Come on, Hols. Just because I’m disinterested in gossip, doesn’t mean I’m stupid. And in this case, I’m very interested to know what the fuck is going on. You have some solid proof on Sam and Victoria? Share it. And not with me, with your father, you know, the senior Auror.”

 

Hols felt chastised, and she hated being chastised. Shaking her head from side to side, she tried to ignore the first part of his comment to instead answer the last, knowing he would notice that too. “It’s not solid, not solid enough for the aurors.”

 

“But solid enough to beat someone up.”

 

“Yes,” she raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. “I know Victoria had something to do with it, she’s been after Nadia ever since my perfect little sister punched that twat in the face, probably earlier than that. And Sam?! I won’t even get into the fucked up mess he calls a brain. You know what he thinks happened last year? He thinks that attack was me and Devin, that we tried to kill him but Nadia stopped them, or Eliza, I don’t even know what fucking version we’re on now but he said he was coming to get us after I fucking saved his life and look what’s happened! Devin was attacked-“

 

“Yeah by a werewolf. Are you saying Sam is a werewolf?”

 

“No, but a werewolf didn’t fucking take Nadia!” She put her hands over her face then, rubbing it hard as she realized her eyes were tearing up. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath before raising her head again. Nick exhaled and stepped closer to her, muttering her name under his breath. Hols shook her head, looking up at him after her bottom lip had stopped trembling.

 

“I just can’t stand around without doing anything, Nick. I can’t sit by a bed for Devin to wake up or wait in my room for Nadia to show up. That’s helpless, I’m not helpless. If there’s something I can do, that’s exactly what I will do. “Nadia tried to warn me, okay, she was so worried and I pushed her away, and I just want her to be okay-,“ her words died out again, as her breath became faint and her eyes welled up with the tears she had been so damn sure she’d cast away for good. Nick stepped forward again, one step and he was there, his arms around her and pulling her in for a hug. She found herself unable to push him away and instead held on to him tighter, despite her protesting muscles. Her head shook back and forth in constant denial as tears slid down her face.

 

“I’ll kill them, I’ll kill whoever took her,” she admitted into his shoulder, not all too willing to let go just yet. Nick and her had become close friends…she didn’t have many of those anymore.

 

“Hols,” he started quietly, rubbing her back, “you’re angry, and you’re scared. Now isn’t the time to do anything.” He was the one to pull away from the hug, and put his hands on her shoulders. “If you want to confront Sam and Victoria, fine,” her surprise and eagerness must have shown on her face because he quickly countered with his conditions. “After you talk to Lynn and Al at the very least? Eliza too? They’re part of it, whatever it is.”

 

For a moment she was contemplating answering that she didn’t need anyone’s help, but the statement would have been too close to what she had heard yesterday with Al, and she didn’t want to think about. “But then I would lose dibs and who would I kick in the face?” She sniffed, and Nick’s honest chuckle elicited a smile of her own. She exhaled and groaned before nodding reluctantly, barely identifiably to show she begrudgingly agreed.

 

“I’m going to find her, Nick.” Her eyes were steely even through her tears. “I’m going to find my little sister, and then I’m going to start cutting balls.”

 

“As long as you stay away from mine.”

&.

 **Lynn:** *Walking out of the infirmary to wait down the row, the curtains drawn around it hiding her parents. She's breathing quickly, hardly registering she's standing next to Alcott, who'd been hesitant about approaching Devin's bed. Irritated when she realizes, she folds her arms over her chest. Then she rubs her forehead and casts her gaze back at him.* Mum and Dad are with him right now. But...I want to talk to you, Al-.

 **Alcott:** *startles out of thoughts as he was frowning at the curtain, his hand curling and uncurling around the silver rail of one of the beds, apparently not noticing the blisters appearing on his palm.* Did you just call me Al?

 **Lynn:** *Flicks her gaze back to Alcott.* Would you be serious a moment?

 **Alcott:** *He rolls his eyes.* I wasn't aware I'd been so frivolous hitherto now-

 **Lynn:** Frivolous hitherto-

 **Alcott:** *groans under his breath* I'm going to strangle Eliza-

 **Lynn:** *holding up her own hand and flicking hair over her shoulder* Okay, that's not important! *She breathes out quickly and then in.*

 **Alcott:** *Both eyebrows arch, and he lets the railing go to raise his hand at her.* 

 **Lynn:** *His expression was such 'Okay, Officer Rivers--' she winced, and gripped her arms tighter. Just a moment ago it seemed Nadia had been laughing about that to her -- said she was going to be a cop for Halloween and-- distracting herself, Lynn's gaze darts to the blisters on his hand. Her own eyebrow arches.*

 **Alcott:** *Following her gaze, he rolls his eyes and drops the palm quickly, patting it off on his shirt, then jeans.* It's nothing -

 **Lynn:** Silver isn't nothing, from what I understand. 

 **Alcott** : It'll heal. *just as bluntly.* 

 **Lynn:** Silver poisoning can kill you--

 **Alcott:** Well then Lynn, congratulations. Isn't that what you want? *sardonic, even as he still whispers. As his hand lifts again to mock, his gaze darts around the room, praying no one had noticed.* 

 **Lynn:** *Her eyes back on the raised palm, her brows snap together. Lips feeling curiously naked as they were bare of paint formed an astonished 'oh'; the burn was fading before her eyes. She figured that was only because the railing was hardly pure silver, just metal and silver alloy -- but she'd never seen a burn actually _heal_ like that either.*

 **Alcott:** *The more she was silent, the less he felt he could breathe. He was curious of her heart. What was usually an irritated jackhammer beat around him was hardly present. A pit of guilt twisted in his stomach. There was another set of scars he wore he knew, and would for at least few the next few weeks. One deep scratch down his thigh, a set of three angry red lines across his left breast and a nick in his ear he was pretty sure still was missing skin. Could he even grow that back? An--* Is this what you want to talk seriously about? *He hisses it as she keeps watching his hand. His gaze darts over her shoulder to the screen.* You want to tell them?

 **Lynn:** *Her eyes snap back up to his.* Tell them-

 **Alcott:** That it was me. Right? You think it was me. Hell - *He slides his hand into his pocket after slapping his thigh.* - so do I.

 **Lynn:** *Arching an eyebrow higher over angry eyes, she's breathless.* You do.

 **Alcott** : Yes, I do. *clenches his teeth, averting his gaze from the anger in her eyes and looking at the closed screen hiding Devin from him. For the best, he thought.*

 **Lynn:** *slowly* Hols said--

 **Alcott:** Hols wasn't with me the whole night. *He jerks his gaze back to hers.* Your brother was there for the start. *And abruptly he shifts, looking away again, unable to keep the gaze.*

 **Lynn:** *Every muscle tensing, she shakes her head slowly again without looking away from him. There was a flash in his eyes as he'd snapped 'your brother' - and it was one she recognized.* It wasn't you.

 **Alcott:** *Shaking his head with a tiny incredulous laugh,* I didn't think it would be you defending me--

Lynn: I'm stating a fact. *simply* You're many things Brackner, but capable of being in two places at once, you're not. It sounds like where Alisha found Devin was on the other side of the lake away from the party -- by that time you clearly were across it, nearer the party, as that's where Hols found you. 

 **Alcott:** Do you have any idea how fast a werewolf can run?

 **Lynn:** Do you have any idea how fast Hols was considering how eager she was to kick your ass for all you'd said?

 **Alcott:** *He rolls his eyes, but his jaw twitches as if to admit it was a good rebuttal. He says nothing, gaze flicking back to the closed curtain.*

 **Lynn:** Okay? Okay - good, stop making me defend you. I don't like it. 

 **Alcott:** *He just snorts.*

 **Lynn:** *Clenching her teeth a moment and still holding his gaze even as he's not looking back at her, she says a bit quieter,* And this wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about.

 **Alcott:** Oh? *Still not looking back.*

 **Lynn:** I didn't know.

 **Alcott:** Didn't know what?

 **Lynn:** *quietly* What happened. 

 **Alcott:** No one knows--

 **Lynn:** I don't mean last night. I mean--with your...father.

 **Alcott:** *He instantly looks back, jaw clenching and eyes widening in astonishment. After rapidly blinking a few times, he exhales, seeing there's nothing accusatory or hateful in her eyes. It's an unusual look for Lynn to have when holding his gaze so determinedly, and it throws him.*

 **Lynn:** *Undeterred as he looks back, she continues quietly,* I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

 **Alcott:** *She meant it. He could see she did; bloody hell when had he started spending enough time with Lynn Rivers to understand when she was being sarcastic or totally honest? He almost reached for his drink -- then remembered he was in a hospital. As she said nothing else, he nods just once, jerking his gaze to the ceiling. He speaks calmly, if abrupt.* Thanks.

 **Lynn:** I -- look, Uncle Shawn is a great guy. *She's grateful she can't see his eyes as they're looking to the ceiling.* And it is blatant hypocrisy to blame all of them for one person. *She presses her lips together.* Which I...may be guilty of.

 **Alcott:** *There was no anger left, he thought in astonishment -- just exhaustion, brutally devastating exhaustion. He was relieved as she continued.* May.

 **Lynn:** *continuing in the same dry voice* In regards to you.

 **Alcott** : I understood what you meant.

 **Lynn:** *flatly* I apologize for anything I've said over the years that insinuated your parents were blood-thirsty, prejudiced, elitist, in-league-with-murderers' bastards.

 **Alcott:** *Suddenly smirking despite his total astonishment, he looks back down to hold her gaze now, more at ease.* And by insinuate you mean-

 **Lynn:** I mean out right stating, yes. *nodding along without remorse*

 **Alcott:** *He snorts, but an honest grin spreads across his lips now.*

 **Lynn:** *A small smile on her own lips.* I didn't know. I was wrong. I'm sorry.

 **Alcott:** Lynn, I think you should stop - you admitted you didn't know, were wrong and apologize in the same sentence? There's only so many miracles in a day-- I don't think Dev would appreciate you taking all them up.

 **Lynn:** *Freezing, but her eyes narrow for a moment despite her wry tone remaining* ...if that was a joke, you aren't funny.

 **Alcott:** *He chuckles just once, more at ease now.* Matter of opinion.

 **Lynn:** *There's a pause.* Devin would have laughed. *She realized Alcott meant, simultaneously as she realized she knew he _would_ have -- Devin _would_ have found that hilarious. Men. A pang echoing in her heart, like a single strike against a gong still barely vibrating in an empty chamber--she nods. 

 **Alcott:** *Swallowing tightly, he only finds the strength to nod. Whatever she'd said, he wasn't convinced he wasn't responsible for this -- and was a bit shocked she wasn't cussing him out and hitting him. It occurred to him he might not be the only one feeling too exhausted for murderous urges. But he'd been blaming that on the twelve hours he'd just spent in hell...* Right, well. I'm sorry for the things I've said about your mother too then. 

 **Lynn:** *She smiles. Then she frowns.* What did you sa--

 **Alcott:** Really want to hear?

 **Lynn:** Oh, for bloody--

 **Alcott:** Sure you want to swear with her right over there? *he gestures with his head, and cocks an eyebrow at her*

 **Lynn:** She'd understand. *She smiles.* Dad too. Anyway--they get it.

 **Alcott:** *Cocking an eyebrow even higher* Get what?

 **Lynn:** Blaming the Ministry.

 **Alcott:** *He blinks. With a slow smirk,* ...Lynn, are you sure _you're_ not the one with the head wound?

 **Lynn:** Quite, thank you Brac--

 **Alcott:** Your Father is the _Minister of Magic_.

 **Lynn:** Which means he's blamed when things go wrong and everyone else get's the credit when it goes right. *flatly, her hand going to her hip.* And I didn't say you should blame _him_ , just that they would understand being upset. *They were probably there too, she realized suddenly -- the day his father died. Putting the thought from her mind tiredly, she just shrugs a shoulder at Alcott, looking back at the curtains now, saying quietly.* I get it. Being upset because of what your parent went through. 

 **Alcott:** *easily guessing* Your mother?

 **Lynn:** *nods, not wanting to think about it. She had enough ache in her heart right now; tears were still dried on her cheeks, and for heaven's sakes she was wearing flats. So she smiles slowly instead and says,* Hey, Hols would be proud. We found something in common.

 **Alcott:** Yeah. *He snorts, bringing both hands up and flicking irritated at the flap of skin on his ear.* In...both of us being judgmental hypocritical assholes?

 **Lynn:** Precisely. *nodding, leaning against the nearest bed and sitting down finally. Her knees just weren't up to the test anymore. She pulls her sweater around her closer, then flicks her eyes back up to him.* As for telling them? That's your choice. It won't change last night.

 **Alcott:** *Easy smile instantly fades, and he tenses, shaking his head* Lynn. I think they deserve to know, so if you wan-- 

 **Lynn:** No, see, you don't get to do that. *flatly, her hand saluting the air.* You don't get to make that my choice now after six months of making everyone basically swear in blood not to tell. *Honestly, her chin lifting.* I wanted to tell last night - when I realized you were likely going to be out of control. Only I asked Nadia to talk me out of it. She was right then, she's still right now. It's your choice. Your secret. Don't you _dare_ put that on me.

 **Alcott:** *Hearing Nadia's name he'd stiffened, but he smiled a bit as she continues, realizing she was right: he was looking to take the choice out of his hands, take at least some of this responsibility and guilt away. And why the hell was he doing that? He could handle this. He...had, to handle this.* 

 **Lynn:** *As he doesn't say anything, she nods once and then jerks her gaze away, twirling a strand of hair that escaped her pony tail, and tucking it back.* Long as you're asking for my input though, you should tell your mother and your uncle.

 **Alcott:** *His gaze hardens, bristling.* My uncle isn't my father.

 **Lynn:** *She seems to realize why he bristled a second later, and looks back up at him.* That wasn't what I meant. *Soft, not without sympathy but blunt all the same.* He is a guardian though -- Devin said he moved in when you were ten? Eleven?  Five years of him living with you -- you don't do that for someone you don't love, Al. You just don't. 

 **Alcott:** *He clenches his teeth, but he feels a bit of his anger and resolve ebbing away as she continues, and then he just shakes his head and looks back away from them both towards Devin.* Yeah, all right.

 **Lynn:** *quietly* You want to know why I don't think it was you?

 **Alcott:** *He just nods once.*

 **Lynn** : I mean don't get me wrong - *Her gaze flicks to him,* It was bloody, fucking irresponsible to make him get into that forest to give you that potion because you were having a temper tantrum--

 **Alcott:** *easily, almost thankful* That is more what I was expecting to hear from you, Rivers--

 **Lynn:** \--It was stupid. *Without question.* But you didn't hurt Nadia, you didn't take her. *She shakes her head, suspicious, but without the usual burning ache to get this mystery solved; the excitement of putting her general hat on. She just wanted her brother to wake up. She just wanted him back. As another tear began to trail from the corner of her eyes she sniffed and rubbed it away angrily.* There was something else going on in that forest last night

 **Alcott:** *He agrees privately -- astonished to think he did and then just nods. There's nothing else he can think to add to that, so he lets an oddly comfortable silence fall.*

 **Lynn:** *Something angry and hot flashes behind her eyes.* And I bet it starts with Victoria smashing your potion. Even if she didn't know what she did. We knew we were at war. They fucked with the wrong people. *Tiniest pause, and looks back to Alcott, saying with a tiny smile.* And yes, I did just insinuate we're on the same side --

 **Alcott:** Again by flatly stating. *Easily, astonished that his laugh was so honest,*

 **Lynn:** For heaven's sake, don't tell my mother. I hate when she's right. And when Dev wakes, don't tell him either, a'ight? I'll never hear the end of it.

 **Alcott:** *grins* I swear. 

&.

 

She awoke with a start, a pair of heavy brown eyes staring deep into her with a curiosity that frightened her. She sat up, backed away on a thin mattress until her back hit the cold, stone walls at a corner. Curling up into a ball, her wide eyes peered above the top of her knees which were pressed against her chest. She breathed in and breathed out, rapidly and erratically, a shout of “leave me alone!” mingled among the rough exhales. The man stayed standing, his hands raised and palms facing her as if to say he meant her no harm. The girl was not inclined to believe him, because-  
  
Her eyes widened further as she took in her surroundings. Black walls made of black stone, a gated door, and the only light that was to be found floated above them in the form of a glowing orb, casting a shiny blue hue on both of them. Her breath was visible in the air, a white frosty mist that floated away from her mouth and up towards the ceiling before disappearing entirely not even halfway through its journey. It was cold here, wherever ‘here’ was.  
  
Tears sprang up into her eyes suddenly, and a sob raked her chest, heaving it back and forth with short little bursts of air. The sudden despair had taken her, overwhelmed her, made claim to her very soul and yet she was none the wiser for why that was, save for a very important detail. Her eyes made contact with the other man’s again. He seemed tall from where she was standing, and slender. Daunting shadows haunted his eyes, giving him the appearance of someone who hadn’t been able to fall asleep in years. Her tears did not stop falling even as she continued to look at him, as if such a thing would enable answers to leap off the man’s grey shirt and jacket so she could stop being so confused. Her observation must have passed off as acceptance of him to the man for he took another step forward, causing her to stand. The thin mattress creaked underneath her, springs worn out and rusty as she sought to sink herself further into the wall. The cold and oddly smooth texture left goosebumps wherever her flesh made contact with it, causing her to shiver further in something more than fear.  
  
“D-don’t come any closer! Who are you?! Where am I?! Why am I…” her high-pitched inquiring voice died down as she realized she was not asking the right questions. She swallowed a dry lump in her throat, as her nose sniffed and her chest rose up and down rapidly like a hummingbird in mid-flight. Lip quivering, all her strength seemed to fail her at that moment and she slid down the length of the wall to lie oddly still once again on the mattress. Eyes wide and unseeing of the man any longer, her fingers lingered above her mouth as if they could keep her breaths contained, her strength unveiled, the little warmth she had from leaving.  
  
Looking up again, she realized what question she should have asked first, the most important question in the world. “Who am I?”  
  
The man appeared unfazed by her reactions, simply seeking to sit down again on the chair next to the cot she was laying in. This time she didn’t protest, though she did press her back further into the corner, her body shivering. It was so very cold.  
  
“Take this,” the man extended a stoppered vial towards her, the liquid inside seemed viscous and as orange as boiling lava. She kept her hand exactly where it was, eyeing the potion with suspicion and hesitance. She raised her question once more, for the man hadn’t answered her, even when she commanded his entire attention. There was not much left to examine in a room like this, she figured. After a minute in silence, she began again, ignoring the outstretched potion.  
  
“Do you know who I am?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter right now.”  
  
His voice was hoarse and yet oddly soothing to her, but his tone revealed nothing for her to decipher about him. His hand simply remained outstretched and still, like a statue. It was only now that she was noticing the marks on the back of his hands and wrist, up his forearms before disappearing into the rolled up sleeve. There were angry lines, some red, some a most terrifying color of black, others barely noticeable past the slight rise on his skin. Her wide eyes returned to him again, before asking hesitantly.  
  
“How did you get those?”  
  
“Girl,” she found she recognized that tone suddenly as he spoke it; it was of chastisement. Her cheeks flushed, her gaze falling on the moth-eaten cover of the thin mattress that was now strewn about her feet. She almost considered putting it around her shoulders to try and alleviate her freezing arms but immediately rejected the idea. She didn’t want to accommodate herself any further, and she didn’t want to be comfortable here for a second. She didn’t belong here. She might have not have known where exactly it was that she called home, but she knew it wasn’t this place, with the strange man bearing strange scars. He spoke again. “Take the potion. You’ll feel a lot warmer.”  
  
Eyes snapped upwards as she regarded the potion again. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to be just a little more comfortable, before the chill set in her bones and froze her in that very spot. Her hand extended slowly, hesitantly, before the other joined it. Together, they grasped the vial in her palms, holding it gingerly. It even felt warm to the touch. Maybe her earlier description of lava hadn’t been too far-stretched. She uncapped the thin vial, unable to restrain another glance at her single companion.  
  
“It’s not poison,” he said, as if he read her thoughts. Maybe, he actually _could._  
  
“Would you say if it was?” Her voice was quieter than before, less manic but less sure as well. Fear blanketed her as thoroughly as the cold did, as much as she wished to be wrapped in warmth instead. Fear and uncertainty made for her a mask of terror that was too difficult to do away with.  
  
“No.” That was it that was the response, that single denying syllable on which she was betting her life and her safety. If he wanted to hurt her, she thought to herself, bringing the glass tube to her dry lips, he would have done so already. She gulped it all down quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterwards, her eyes tearing and smoke coming out of her ears and nostrils. Giving back the vial, she coughed repeatedly, rubbing her chest and throat but it was working, and she was decidedly warmer.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t thank me quite yet, girl.” He waved a hand over the vial and it disappeared into thin air. The display of effortless skill made her shiver despite the sudden warmth that was coursing through her veins.  
  
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you know who I am?”  
  
“A prisoner.”  
  
The blunt, straightforward answer caught her off guard. The heat, previously spreading across her body, stopped dead in its tracks and turned into pure ice. Frozen, she surveyed the room she was in again, only now noticing it was no room at all. It was a cell, a prison, a cage. Somewhere deep underground she expected if the cold had anything to say about it, or maybe high above, she couldn’t be too sure. There were no windows, no openings except the space between the metal bars that kept her captured. Horrified eyes turned towards the man, towards her captor.  
  
“What do you want with me?”  
  
He seemed to bide his time, watching her, examining her as if she were an animal on display. That’s what he must think of her, to have her locked up. Her panic rose and rose as she began to wonder what had happened to her, who she was, why they would want her there and what they wanted from her. It couldn’t have been something she’d willingly give, if they had to hold her prisoner to get it. So distraught was she as her thoughts ran rampart and her imagination constructed scenarios each as equally possible and unlikely as the next, that she hadn’t been aware that the man had spoken. She cleared her throat. “Pardon?”  
  
The polite expression seemed to amuse him briefly, his lips flicking up for the briefest of seconds, his gaze darting downwards before he repeated himself, no angrier for having had to repeat himself. “I don’t want anything from you, girl. I won’t hurt you.”  
  
She caught the distinction in his voice, almost immediately. A pit seemed to form in her stomach as the truth of the words hit her in the face. She couldn’t say how she knew, couldn’t explain it with words or logic that anyone would find satisfactory, it was a simply a deep knowledge. To her, it was the most real thing she could recall, the most certain aspect of herself that she could remember. Watery eyes met stoic ones. “You, won’t hurt me,” she swallowed a lump in the back of her throat. It scratched as it made its way down, her mouth dry like a desert, one devoid of an oasis for miles and leagues. “Who will?”  
  
At that moment, eerily on cue, a blood curling scream echoed into the cell distantly. The sound was so unexpected, so _loud_ , that the girl could not restraint a scream of her own. She clapped her hands over her mouth quickly, closing her eyes. It was a nightmare, she told herself. It was a nightmare and she was just going to wake up and it would all be over. She would have a nice life, one she could remember and it would be warm, and the sun would hit her face and illuminate it in a warm glow and she would never have to see this man again.  
  
She opened her eyes, and almost began crying anew when she found herself still trapped. Black tendrils of tangled hair peeked around her eyes like tentacles, black walls enclosed her, and black iron bars caged her inside. The man slid his chair closer to her after casting a glance at the bars, his eyes narrowed in what she hoped was disdain and anger rather than apathy. This man, who said he would not harm her, and that she quickly believed, was the only human she remembered having contact with. She prayed she wouldn’t meet anyone else.   
  
“Don’t scream again.”  
  
Gladly, she thought to herself, molding herself slowly into a curled up ball as much as she could. If it was something that she could control, she would have, but she was so scared. She hadn’t realized until he was responding to her, that she had said those exact words out loud.  
  
“Then try your very best. Because once you start screaming, they won’t let you stop.” The continued blunt honesty of his answers was catching her off guard. Nothing was being sugar coated; nothing was twisted with false hope or misinformation. She wasn’t used to it. For having only been in this world for ten minutes, because that’s how she felt like she was born again, she already knew blunt honesty was something that both scared her, but that she was thankful for. He had looked so calm while saying it too. Her eyes fell to the scars on his forearms again, and began noticing other scars: one down his eyebrow that stopped in the middle of his cheek, another across his neck that left almost no doubt of the wound he had suffered to have acquired it, and one that twisted one corner of his mouth up permanently. He was a damaged man, and suddenly she feared going through his same fate.  
  
“What did they do to you?”  
  
He visibly stiffened, surprised by her question, and she was relieved to see a fault, a break, a human even if it was for the briefest of seconds, vanishing so quickly that she doubted she had truly seen it with her own eyes and had not just imagined it, her own mind providing her with the images that she wanted to see.  
  
“What makes you think I’m not one of them?”  
  
“Are you?” Her voice remained quiet, remained a whisper. His warning to her about not screaming had settled into the most basic belief of her system. She had nothing else to believe at the moment.  
  
“I am now, or else I am nothing.”  
  
Was that what awaited her as well? Becoming nothing? She already had no idea of who she was, where she had been, where she was going. If that wasn’t ceasing to exist, if that wasn’t a total loss of identity, of purpose, of being, she didn’t know what was. The only that she could define herself by was the fear she felt, the cold that seeped inside her skin, the anxiety and the uncertainty of what awaited her next. He seemed sympathetic –no, that wasn’t right—he was empathetic. He didn’t give himself those marks, again she knew not how she knew that only that she did, and cruelty was not something that radiated from him. Though, if that was all a ruse to deceive her and gain her trust…it was working.  
  
Her knees slowly slid down against the mattress once more, uncurling from her ball, her protective cocoon. “Who are you?”  
  
He chuckled, and the sound was warm, and safe. He must have been a very nice man…once. Now, it seemed more like a shadow, fleeting and incorporeal. “I’m a dead man.”  
  
That confused her. “But you’re…here, you’re alive. Or am I dead?”  
  
“No, girl.” He shook his head at her, his expression empathetic again, less harsh than before. “You’re not dead. Not yet.”  
  
She shivered again. He really had to stop doing that. Every truth struck her body as sharp blades, piercing soft flesh and remaining heavily imbedded as life pulsed around the intruding object, protesting against the invasive presence but also becoming more alive because of it. She hated it, and she needed it. She chewed on her bottom lip, her questions never ceasing. “Am I going to die?”  
  
“Everyone dies, child. What you want to ask is, are they going to kill you before you’ve had a chance to really live your life.”  
  
The girl nodded, feeling as much like the child that he said her to be. Yes, that’s what she was wanted to ask, that’s what she was afraid of. Death.  
  
“Don’t think about it.”  
  
She frowned again, having expected more direct an answer instead of one that was so dismissive. How could she not think about it in the midst of all this darkness? How could she not wonder of her fate, when she could not wonder about her past, when there was nothing in her present but him and a cot? How was she supposed to control herself that well? It seemed impossible to her. Frustration crept in, slowly and surely, until she was glaring at the man.  
  
“Don’t think about it? That’s it? What else am I supposed to think about when I recall nothing else but this _prison_ and your scars and that scream-,” her voice died off, the strength that had been allowed to her by her anger quelled down. Anger, she realized, was not something she knew how to harness; it did not come naturally to her.  She tore her eyes away and looked at the wall instead, expecting to fine lines of mortar. She was disappointed. The walls were smooth, as if the rock had always been there and it was simply carved to turn it into something more unnatural. She knew nothing of rocks, knew not what this type was, nor did she care. But it was something else to think about, and wasn’t that what he wanted her to do?  
  
“You don’t want to think about it,” he started again, undeterred by her frustration, “because soon you’d reach the same conclusion I did so many years ago.”  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, a defiance in her voice she didn’t know whether to attribute to her situation or her age, for while she didn’t know a specific number, she certainly felt young. “And what’s that?”  
  
“That death would be a kindness.”  
  
There went another knife, this time close to her heart, scraping an artery, and landing in her lungs. On cue, breath became more difficult, panic set in again, her heart raced and blood pumped in her ears loud enough for her to be able to hear it. Was he able to hear her heart as well? There was no other noise around them. The scream that had invaded the cell before was a solitary sound, and no other accompanied it. The girl feared for what that might have been. Her imagination set off again, taking the black around her and using it as blank tapestries instead that needed to be painted with the colors of her imaginings. Maybe her tongue had been cut off, maybe she had been gagged, or maybe that was the last scream the girl that must have been no more than fifty feet away from her had ever taken.  
  
“What’s your name?” She asked him suddenly, unwilling to continue thinking of him as just a dead man, a shadow, a captor, a stranger. Names were important, and she was without one. Maybe hearing a name would jog hers back into her memory. It was a stretch, a long stretch, but she had to try.  
  
“Angel.”  
  
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Is that your real name?”  
  
“Names aren’t real, people are real. I am myself, or I am nothing.” He inclined his head, adding a little more softly, “But you can call me Angel.”  
  
She pursed her lips, deciding she wasn’t going to get any better than and reluctantly nodded her head. Angel, she thought to herself. Heavily ironic given that she had woken up with him standing over her, looking down at her. Even more heavily ironic given his scars, for angels were supposed to be beautiful and pure, flying around heaven, playing the harp.  
  
“You’re not calling yourself that because you think yourself my savior, do you?”  
  
He chuckled again, and the tension lessened, the air became less cold. “No, if that were the case I’d ask you to call me Jesus.”  
  
“That would be quite pretentious of you.”  
  
“I used to be quite the pretentious fuck.”  
  
She chuckled, smiling suddenly. She realized then how much more she preferred to smile, and how much easier it was to do. The difficult part was finding a reason to do so. Maybe that was a reason in of itself. The man in front of her also seemed as inexperienced to amusement as she was. That made her sad. He kept talking about himself in two forms: the person he used to be, and the person he was now. The person he was now was gloomy, realistic, empathetic but blunt. The person he used to be…he didn’t want to talk about the person he used to be. He didn’t give her his name, what had happened to him, anything at all.  
  
“I would give you my name,” she told him, genuinely honest, “if I knew it.”  
  
He nodded, showing her he understood before simply shrugging and suggesting, “Pick one.”  
  
The concept seemed a bit strange to the girl. Give herself a name, just like he had given himself the name Angel for her to use? It just seemed inappropriate to do. If she gave herself a name now, she would be accepting her life as a different person from the one she had been before. She wasn’t ready to give up on that person quite yet.  
  
“You’re not going to tell me I shouldn’t make an identity for myself, so that I have less to lose?” her question was dry, and she fully expected him to ignore but instead he smiled again, kinder lines appeared on his face because of the expression, making the corner of his eyes look like crows’ feet.  
  
“Good advice. I’ll tell that to the next prisoner.”  
  
The sudden fear must have shown on her face because not two seconds afterward, Angel was raising his hand, adding calmingly, “That was a joke.”  
  
Oh. She shifted, rolling her shoulders before remarking, “Wasn’t very funny.”  
  
“A person loses their social graces in isolation,” that wasn’t funny either but it seemed to make him chuckle either way. “Or in the company of lawless monsters.”  
  
That was sad, that was really sad. She wondered about all that he had gone through, why he was here, the person he used to be before. She wanted to know more, she wanted him to tell her more. Mostly, she didn’t want him to leave. “Why are you here? Not,” she elaborated quickly, “here among these people but rather here…in this cell.”  
  
“I was sent here. To make sure you were alive, unharmed.”  
  
That seemed to surprise her. Someone wanted her unharmed. “Why?”  
  
He shook his head. “I may live here, but I’m not privy to every single detail. I’m sorry, I do not know what they intend to do with you.” He seemed genuinely apologetic, so she believed him, to a point.  
  
“But you do have theories.”  
  
Angel smiled, a genuine smile, she mirrored it so she could see what it felt like again, despite their grim topic of conversation: her fate.   
  
“Always and dozens.”  
  
“Care to share?”  
  
“I’d rather not plague you with nightmares, young girl.” He ascertained her youth again, momentarily feeling as if he was being condescending towards her. It was her future. She thought that meant she had a right to know what he thought that was going to be.  
  
“So you have absolutely no idea who I am, or where I came from?”  
  
“You certainly ask a lot of questions…”  
  
She tilted her head as a confusing emotion passed his eyes and his facial expression. Something reminiscent of affection and caring had crossed his visage, leaving her more confused to the man he was, had been, would be, than before. “What’s so funny?”  
  
“Nothing.” Whatever emotion had overcome him was gone with a shake of his head. “You just reminded me of someone.”  
  
Memories. They must be such a treasure. She wished she had some, nicer ones that she could focus on the moment he left. Instead, she’d only have this conversation, this small room, and the scream that came from outside for her thoughts to linger on. She shivered again.  
  
“Help me,” she pleaded in a quiet voice, moving closer to him. Her eyes were wide again, her shoulders dropping with the renewed vigor of her terror and fear. “Get me out of here.”  
  
He looked pained as he shook his head slowly, erasing whatever hope she had of appealing to his selfless and caring nature, if he had one with each shake of his head from left to right and right to left. “I can’t, girl. They’d kill us both.”  
  
“You said death would be a kindness,” her eyes were swimming with tears she couldn’t hold back. “They’ll hurt me, like they hurt you, I know it.”  
  
“No, not like me…they had no inclination to keep me pretty you see.” All breath left her body in a sudden exhale and yet he continued before gesturing to his face. “They won’t do this to you.” He gestured now to his arms. “Or that. No matter how pretty I told them I was.”  
  
“Is that supposed to be another joke?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re awful at this.”  
  
He smiled sadly, looking down at the ground and nodding his head. “Yes.” He paused a moment before rubbing a hand over his mouth in a nervous gesture. Again she was catching a glimpse of his humanity and she was reveling in it. “I’ll keep an eye on you. I’ve earned myself decent enough free reign of the grounds. I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”  
  
She breathed again, thankful, relieved. “Thank you-“  
  
“Don’t thank me yet, child. If you were brought here as a toy…I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”  
  
A toy?! Her chest rose up and down on the implications of that word. Toy, an object, something to be played with and enjoyed before being tossed away by an angry child with a tantrum and a need to have the latest model.  
  
“But they’ve had me take a look at you…I don’t expect that to be the case.”  
  
“And if you’re wrong?”  
  
The silence that came after her question stretched on for what seemed like eternity to her. She could say nothing to fill, do nothing to relieve the uneasiness that had suddenly occupied every available space in the already cramped dark cell.  
  
“Then I am sorry.”  
  
He stood up, waved his hand again to make the chair he was sitting on disappear and started for the bars. He turned around again. “Girl,” he began softly. “You’re magic. Do you know that?”  
  
She frowned before nodding hesitantly. She knew what magic was, she recognized him performing it, recognized the liquid he gave her was a potion and was not frightened as steam had exited out of her nostrils and ears before. “But not the kind of magic they approve of. I don’t know how much you can do without a wand...but don’t try. These cells are spelled to cause immense pain on anyone practices magic inside.  
  
That confused her, and she looked up at him. “But you just did. You made the chair disappear, and the vial from before, that disappeared too. You didn’t get hurt.”  
  
He nodded; the sad smile was back on his face. “It hurt like a mother-fucker.”  
  
She was awed, amazed, and also very scared.  
  
“Don’t scream,” he reminded her before he turned around and walked through the bars without opening them, passing as if he were a ghost, or the bars simply smoke.  
  
“Will you come back?” she asked suddenly, standing from the cot that protested the movement with a creak. Her legs were unstable and she caught herself before she fell against the side of the wall. “Will you come back to see me? Please?”  
  
He lingered outside the bars, unsure of himself, his gaze darting left and right as if he expected someone to suddenly walk in and overhear. Afterwards he just gave a curt nod, and the girl once again breathed in the small relief that offered. He began walking then, his shoes echoing down the dark hallway.  
  
She looked up at the small light, the magic ball that kept the cell illuminated. Wondering if that was normal, or if he had simply left it there for her, she crawled back onto the mattress. Head tilting, she only just noticed a lump at the end of the bed for it was as dark as everything else around her. Reaching forward, she picked up what turned out to be a leather jacket. It was incredibly warm to the touch and she instantly shrugged it on before curling in a ball again, trying her best to heed Angel’s advice and not think about anything. She never knew leather could feel so warm.


	18. I Am Titanium

**Alcott:** Ma? *The shocked, sudden call made even Eliza lift her head. She was wrapped around Rory like vine on a tree, needing him for the support, tears still on her cheeks. Devin was through the doors, a few specialists from St. Mungos' expressing the fact he "shouldn't be moved until more tests were ran" with his parents now. The nurse had promptly kicked all of them out. 

Lynn was sitting with Hols' family, Nick beside both of them. It amazed Alcott quietly how ramrod straight her back was: Hols' quiet strength had always impressed him, but never so stark a show had he been privy too. He'd been on his way to her when his mother's frantic face had appeared, stalling him cold. A cursory, hasty glance around the waiting room and he started towards her again, thinking to avoid a scene, to avoid her seeing Shawn. Alcott was embarrassed, anxious and his hand lifted.* What are you... 

*Lyndsea's eyes had scanned only a second before locking on him. It seemed an instant later he was in her arms. Bloody -- when had she learned how to grip so tightly? Eyes widening, blinking as he felt wet eyes bury in her neck, his bewilderment didn't preclude a small smile.* Ma, I'm all right, really. *That only made her grip tighter. He thought it would be bad form to point out that she was actually aggravating the scratches on his chest. The scratches she could know nothing about. Pulling back stubbornly, he kept one hand tight on her shoulder to reassure, looking in her eyes.* I'm fine. I swear. 

 **Lyndsea:** *It didn't matter that he said he was fine. Until she had her arms around her son, she couldn't be convinced. She could see in his shock he didn't understand that - and another pain of guilt went through her. The call from Chris had been horribly familiar to her even as it was vague on the details. Her son had been involved in x traumatic event in which y person might never recover. A full investigation was of course underway to discover the depth, and would have results for her soon. Frantic and angered, she had marched out of the house instantly, not realizing until she was halfway through Hogsmeade that one of her shoes was blue, the other black. She'd fixed it in a single hand wave; she couldn't allow herself to walk into the school like that. 

Now she held her son's gaze, a little surprised to realize he still had no idea what she was doing there. His hand reassured her even as his eyes unnerved her.* Are you? *Her voice quivers even as she nods, a loose blond strand falling in her eyes. Every other piece of her was put together: her coat pressed and lint-less, her make-up spotless and invisible save shiny lips, the diamond ever on her finger. Lyndsea's question was stern, her gaze on Alcott stubborn. Her son was known to dodge when things bothered him, ever his father's son. She'd let him get away with it too long.* 

 **Alcott:** *There was a glint in his mother's eyes, and he nods breathlessly at her. Then he shuts his mouth, realizing she had to be an instant from telling him to close it. Her heart a jackhammer in his ear, he realized suddenly: his mother was terrified. Oh, Lord she was never going to want to let him out of her sight. A tiny smile on his lips, he nodded again,* Yeah, really. I wasn't even at the party, I swear. *No, I was just a savage, furry four-legged animal running around loose, mindless and blood-thirsty.* I was with Hols. *His ear hurt.* What are y--

 **Lyndsea:** Alcott. *Now it was her voice that was stern, her eyes flashing with fury Alcott realized he mimicked too often.* Of course I came as soon as I heard. What do you think went through my head when I f--*The sharp tone dies out as she sees the numerous people a dozen feet or so away. Her eyes narrow.*

 **Alcott:**   *Oh. He hadn't thought of that. Even as he looks over his shoulder, takes in the crowd, he knew what his prim and proper mother had just cut herself off from saying. It astonishes him as much as it makes him smile. There was a pause as he looks back at her reaching to take her hand and squeezes her shoulder again. Half-smirk still on his lips and he says quietly,* I'm sorry. 

 **Lyndsea:** *If she had surprised him by showing up...her heart ached. She knew they weren't going to have fixed things through a few letters, a few conversations...but she also had never thought his depth of distrust included thinking she wouldn't be there when a friend of his was hospitalized and a loose monster could just as easily have attacked him. Hadn't their tiny family been through enough? Locking her gaze with him, her voice choked,* Alcott, when I got that call...

 **Alcott** : You thought it had happened again. *His stomach bottoms out, hating that he'd worried her as relieved as he was to see her come running. Fear sparks in his gut, wondering again when he was going to be able to stop thinking of that awful night. It seemed seared in his memory, a nightmarish history that seemed to cast every subsequent terrible event worse. The reason was simple. Alcott didn't believe in coincidences. And every long night, of pain and loss that followed made it seem that far from being that...sympathetic backstory, that character-building moment in his past that he could tell teary-eyed at a party over a beer to a pretty girl: this seemed to be a pattern. 

He squeezes her shoulder again. Holding her gaze, he promises firmly with fire in his own eyes,* Ma. You aren't going to lose me too. Nothing is going to happen to me. *He leans forward to kiss his mother's forehead, then slips into spanish for a moment, adding other breathless reassurances. His eyes shut as he realizes how untrue his own words were. Devin lay fighting for his life -- Nadia missing -- Shawn there, with Hols...oh, he was anything but fine. If he told her now though, wouldn't he just scare her more? He was hugging her again before realizing it.*

 **Lyndsea:**   *Half convinced she must be dreaming as her son's arms close around her, she shuts her eyes again and lets out a long exhale. As comforting as his words were, she shook her head as she listened; the look in his eyes made it only too clear she had every reason to worry. If his hugging her wasn't enough of an indicator already.* I won't let it. *An uncommon anger in her voice, she snaps. Her heart had skipped another beat just to hear him voice aloud that deep, all-consuming worry that she'd had since the first ultrasound. 

Over his shoulder, she cast her glance around the room again warily; those old worries of appearance were coming back. It wasn't an issue of vanity. Falling apart again would give them something, give away a part of her she wasn't willing to give. The world had taken enough from her family already. As she pulled back, she was halfway through starting to ask them to move, saying,* Max-,* when her son cut her off, sudden aggravation in his voice.*

 **Alcott:** It's all right. *Whatever excuse was about to pass his mother's lips, he didn't want to hear it. Though he half prepared to ask; which was it going to be? He had to work? Such a lame excuse. Uncle Max was more creative than that, Brackners were.* Let me guess, *A bitter, wry smirk appeared,* another escaped tiger in Surrey's zoo? You know, if they didn't bloody try to keep animals in cages --

 **Lyndsea:** What? *Bewildered, she's too confused to frown. It only takes her a few moments to realize that her son thinks he isn't coming. Her gut twists. How many excuses had she made over the years? Hundred's and thousands. For Max's absence, for Harper's, for her own. She shakes her head quickly, quietly.* No, I was just going to say we should fin--

 **Alcott:** Uncle Max? *For the second time, his expression clouds, voice and breath stolen by happy confusion.*

 **Max:** *Appearing at the door, he doesn't give the room a second glance. The moment he lays eyes on his nephew and Lyndsea, a wide-eyed relief takes him and then he's by their side.* Oh thank God- 

 **Lyndsea:** There you are. *Turning to him, she smiles. It's brief, but genuine.* What did--

 **Max:** The Headmaster is apparently setting up the meeting with the governors for the afternoon. *He reports to Lyndsea quickly, kissing her cheek in greeting and pretending he doesn't see Alcott look away and clear his throat when he does so. His eyes stay on his nephew, hand lifting, * Al, are you okay?

 **Alcott:** *A lump appeared in his throat. He chokes on it. Clearing it again comically, rubbing over and over a revolving Adam's apple, he nods.* Yeah, yeah I'm fine, I swear.

 **Max:** What happened?

 **Alcott:** What are you doing here? *They ask at the same time, and Alcott pretends he doesn't see his mother wince again.*

 **Max:** *His brows furrow.* What do you mean? *He rubs his hand off on his chest, providing the barest of excuses for the extended hand to his nephew's shoulder.*

 **Alcott:** I mean, *And it was suddenly that wry explanatory tone, as if he thought his uncle two years old,* neither of you are on the board of governors, Grandfather is. He can get his own mail. 

 **Max:** You mean, *His own voice hardens in that parental 'how-dare-you' that he usually avoids,* what are we doing worrying about you, when we've never cared before.

Lyndsea: Max. *She flinches, her gaze darting around the room.*

 **Alcott:** *He did so love that their family was so blunt: it made so many things easier. Despite the sudden knife to his chest, a flare of vindicated flames rears up in defense,* Yes, that's exactly what I meant, actually. *Was everyone in his life taking Devin's course in psychology?*

 **Max:** Alcott. *flatly, despite his eyes widening further in guilt.* Of course we're going to worry about you! We're your family. Whatever mistakes have been made, that doesn't change. 

 **Alcott:** I've had this lecture from Gramps already. *He snaps, his hand coming up to rub his forehead. Lord, he wanted his bed, his pillow, his-- no. No, he knew what he wanted. His eyes flutter over his uncle's shoulder to look at her, gaze stuck on Hols' from across the room. Only Max wasn't done.*

 **Max:** *In a screaming whisper, blunt,* You think we're not going to bloody drop -everything- when we hear a friend of yours is missing, another hospitalized, that there was a wolf loose on the bloody school grounds? *His hand came up, as Alcott swivels back around astonished and tense. He missed the flash in his nephew's eyes.* I went to the Headmaster to get the information, not because I'm my father's owl or whatever smart alec remark you want to come up with, but because we're not going to let this go unanswered, we aren't just going to act like this is bloody okay! 

 **Lyndsea:** Max. *Her eyes are on the room stretching behind them, seeing that anger reflected in the other occupants eyes. Most were trying to give them privacy, or already wrapped up in their own quiet conversations -- but as his voice got louder, it wasn't just Holly-Rae (and Devin's sister) who was looking around.*

 **Max:** *He cuts himself off, rubbing at his own forehead and looks to the floor. That wouldn't help. He knew neither of them were embarrassed, had long understood the reasons behind Lyndsea wanting to keep things quiet as a family, but truthfully? He couldn't think of a better way to correct Alcott's apparent misconception that neither one of them gave a fuck, than to passionately point out it was the opposite.

It had always been the opposite, even more for Lyndsea than him. His brother would be proud to see the defiance in Alcott, the fearless fire that roared up against any slight, percieved or real. It cut his throat, constricted his chest. Didn't Alcott understand, he was all their family had left of Harper? How terrified they were that they wouldn't let him live his life, that they would just lock him in a protective bubble to protect him from the world? If they had it there way, his nephew wouldn't be allowed out of the house, let alone in a dark forest on a full-fucking-moon. And they knew -- both of them, Sandor and Rosalia did, his parents did (his mother in particular), Lyndsea's parents did -- that they couldn't do that. They had to let him live as he would. He wasn't some trumped up glass-replica of his father, however alike they were. Alcott was his own person, a screwed-up, sarcastic genius in his own way.

Breath harsh and forceful, by the time he looked back to meet his nephew's eyes again, both of their expressions had softened. Holding his gaze steadily, his voice was back to an actual whisper,* Alcott. *It was firm.* I know I'm not your father. I never wanted to be -- anyone's, in fact, really. *There was a tiny chuckle in his voice, and he heard it echo in Alcott's snort.* And if I could bring him back, if I could somehow by sheer force of angry will yank that sarcastic, pain in my ass older brother of an angel out of the clouds -- I would in a heartbeat. Okay? I'd give anything.

 **Alcott:** Okay. *Incredulous, amused, wrong-footed and still resentful, the quick retort was defensive. His exhale is heavy, his eyes as wide as his uncle's. Something is swelling in his chest, and he rubs at it, painful.* 

 **Max:** Okay, good. *He's nodding, nodding frantic with the desperation he understand that. It wasn't like it was a mystery to him why his nephew would have thought he sought to replace his brother, but he ignores the guilty thought angered.* It doesn't have a damn thing to do with how much I care about you. It doesn't change that we're going to worry.

 **Alcott:** I got it. *He's quieted, and his gaze distant. His uncle stops, seeming to realize he'd gotten through. For that he was grateful. It was still heavily on his mind, that snapped 'a blood wolf loose on the grounds' -- the phrasing he was shocked to realize he was thankful for. He would have thought Uncle Max more partial to 'monster,' or 'animal' at least.* Thanks. For coming. 

Words stick in his throat, his gaze trapping itself across the room. Quietly focusing on scant breath, he tries to quiet a flash of fear. The deep-set knowledge that it was time was only reinforced by her look. If he had cast his gaze an inch to the side, he would have seen the challenge of an arched eyebrow from Lynn, or perhaps the desperate agreeing, sympathetic nod from Eliza who still clung to Rory. Alcott didn't. His gaze was locked on Hols. Every word that left his uncle's mouth, the fact his mother was clinging to his shoulder -- it was obvious. None of them needed to tell him what he already knew. What he needed in that instant was strength. Feverish with the slow curl in his heart of the flame that flickered in response to her knowing eyes, Alcott swallowed heavily.

Then he looks to his mother and takes both of her hands, gaze flicking between those who'd run to the hospital-wing when it was his friend laying there.* Listen, I need to tell you something. *He clears his throat.* Both of you. *Honestly, was his throat going to stick the entire time? Looking between them and the room warily, he gestured to the door.* Just...not here.  

There was quiet agreement from them both, and Al pretended he didn't hear his mother's heart skip a beat. Walking out of the room with them was harder than he thought it would be; each step heavy as he prayed his tired feet remember how to work. His lungs supporting words would be a nice addition too, but he wasn't much for miracles. Besides, Lynn had taken so many of them up already. Devin deserved better than that. 

Looking back only once, he nodded to Hols before the door closed, a thankful smile on his lips. The heavy infirmary door's swing made the decision final. Thought breathing new life into him, Alcott stuck his hand in his pocket and walked briskly. He thought about an abandoned classroom, thought about spells that he could cast, before realizing with an abrupt stop they were on the fourth floor. 

With a single glance back to his mother, asking, she seemed to know instinctively in the questioning gaze what he meant as he remarks, "We can't be overheard."

She nods steely-eyed, appearing to catch her breath. Uncle Max blissfully doesn't protest or question what either of them meant. By the time they rounded the corner and stopped in front of the painting, Alcott was wondering if he wanted to let his uncle in the room after all -- but it was too late. His mother had stepped in front of it. The smile on her face made it worth it.   

"You?!" The grumpy little man threw both hands up, a cup tipping over on his table and spilling painted-wine all over him. Alcott found himself chuckling with his uncle; his mother's smile only widened. 

"I'm so pleased you remember me." Her words were crisp. Eyes trailing over his ruined doublet, judgement clear, she asks with thinly-veiled disapproval, "Do I have t--"

"Oh, for bloody's sake, just go in!" Flustered, the man darted sideways into the next painting as his swung open. 

"Thank you." Lyndsea smiled, bright. She was through the door with more agility than either Max or Alcott expected, not waiting for them. Alcott giggled, saluting the portraiture before hurrying in after them. It wasn't until they were in the mural room that his apprehension was back. His mother was examining the lamp, curious while his Uncle had begun pacing, apparently feeling just as comfortable as she. Alcott didn't think twice of it; it was a Brackner family secret. He wouldn't be surprised if it went back to Gramps first. 

"This broke, didn't it?" His mother asks, looking up as she taps the shade. Alcott grins guiltily, relieved by the brief question as he thinks suddenly of how he and Hols had broken it. 

"It...might have fallen over."

Uncle Max winks at him, and Alcott just chuckles through his mother's disapproving headshake. It was hypocrisy at it's finest, he thought amused, knowing full-well what his father and mother had done in there too. 

"Listen." Rubbing at the back of his neck, awkward, he decides abruptly to rip the band-aid. Let the wound fester if it would. It wouldn't heal in the dark. No, just the scratches on his chest would do that. 

"This isn't the first time a few of us were in the forest, messing around. Last April. We just...were cheering up Devin, being stupid, it doesn't matter -- what matters is that night was a full moon too. Eliza, Devin...they helped me fight it, so I was mostly fine but...I was bitten."

Uncle Max stopped pacing. Bewildered hurt on his face, he just seems to continuously swallow air as he looks at his nephew. His mother shuts her eyes, letting out a long, heavy exhale. It confuses Alcott as silence stretches. He's not used to it, he realizes in shock, hair raising on the back of his neck. Their heart-rates were steady despite fighting for breath. There was no shout, no bullet, no blood. 

He clears his throat, but he wouldn't let his gaze lower. The sun on the wall was lifting higher, a pink and gold sky turning blue. It was out, he thought. It was done. They knew. If he was about to be disowned, it was better they do that now than continue to keep this secret. There was enough to deal with. Closing his eyes briefly, he feels a drop of blood from the bandage wrapped around his thigh. Good, he thought bitterly. Count his sins, they were many, and there was no bloody sunrise coming for him if he didn't bleed it out first. Nadia was more important, Devin's well-being was. Hols' was entirely, and Hols was right. 

"Al." 

He'd opened his eyes, and suddenly realized his mother was in front of him. Amazed, Alcott wondered briefly how he'd missed her moving. How had he not heard her? How deafening was this silence? 

"It's okay." Throat constricted, his eyes had tears pearling in them as he heard her, he was once again sure he was mistaken. How many hits could he take in one morning? Lightning didn't fucking strike the same place twice, let alone twelve times. He rubbed at his throat, face breaking, 

"Ma..."

"It's okay." Lyndsea repeats herself, pulling him into a hug that shouldn't have been possible, considering her smaller height and lack of werewolf strength. Alcott folds. Tears still shining in his eyes, he's bewildered and choked, even as he grips on to her. He looks sideways, looking for Uncle Max. He was shaking his head, rubbing at furrowed brows. But they were over understanding eyes, sorrowful eyes.

"I don't unde-- I don't understand, you're not...?"

"Not what?" Lyndsea's question was quiet. It made him guilty for what he'd thought: thinking he'd scare her, thinking he'd hurt her. Bloody hell, though. He'd never been so grateful to be so blasted wrong. 

"You're not scared of me?" The quiet question was  a knife that cut through the glass silence, ravaging his throat on that way out. Max seemed to crumple across the room, muttering his name and his mother gripped him harder. 

"Oh, Al." She murmurs it, tears in her own crinkled eyes and she turns to kiss the top of his head. "I could never be. " 

"Never. For you, yes." Uncle Max cuts in, seeming at last to be breathing steadily. He's closer too. When the hell had he moved? Maybe he wasn't a blasted wolf after all, the abilities weren't apparently there. Shadows in his eyes, Alcott pulls back and rubs the tears away. It appeared there was nothing else he could do. 

"Did you --" His uncle starts, but Alcott shakes his head instantly, even as he still wonders.

"No. No, Devin--"

"Was making Wolfsbane." Lyndsea interjects to his utter shock. Alcott's mouth gapes with the sudden speechlessness. This only makes his mother smile.

"You really think after fourteen years with your father I can't tell what some ingredients are for?" It's a quiet nudge of a question, but it makes Alcott smile too. He chokes on his chuckle. Then he starts nodding. Uncle Max seems to catch it a second later, and rubs at his own throat.

"Now, after last night, are you --"

"I'm fine." Alcott's defensive tone is back for a heartbeat, before he softens. "I--Eliza, Hols, they helped bandage me this morning. I took Pepper-Up, not that I really...needed it. It's just a few scratches. I'll heal. That's...one of the things."

He wondered briefly how much they knew of wolves. Then again, no matter how much reading one did...he knew flatly there was no way to really know. Let alone separate fact from fiction. He wasn't convinced that nothing could kill him but that silver bullet to the heart -- but then, he'd sliced himself up pretty damn good and healed perfect well. Stabbing himself wasn't an experiment he was keen on trying. 

"Hols?" Lyndsea's question was pointed. Alcott narrows his eyes instantly, snapping just as pointedly, "Ma, Hols' saved my life."

That, as nothing else seemed to have, shocked her. His glare was met with a quiet acceptance, a sudden nod, and she smiles again.

"Then I need to thank her." 

Apparently, Alcott thought briefly, he wasn't done being surprised. Even as he says bluntly, "Yes, you should." 

"Al." Max cut into him, reprimanding with an arched eyebrow. Alcott didn't care. He had been furious his mother had been cold when she met Hols'. Granted, she had tried to sneak out at four in the morning. The situation...may not have been ideal.

"Sorry." 

"Don't." Lyndsea chuckles the tiniest bit. Her own look to Max was scolding; one her son knew only too well. Another silence stretches, but Max finally asks,

"What happened last night?"

Alcott clenches his teeth. He tells them briefly of the argument with Hols, of Victoria smashing the potion, skipping over the lioness to insinuate that Hols comes and knocks him out before he could have hurt someone. It wasn't the important part, and that wasn't his secret to tell. They listened quietly, interjecting to assert only mild admonishments, and that he would arrange to turn from then on the mornings before. It was more than he could have asked for. Rubbing at a dry throat, he looks at the ground and says quietly, 

"There was... something else. When we were arguing...I, I was furious." Lord, was he terrified of his rage right now. He could remember it too well, how hard his heart had pounded, how heavy his head felt; the look in Hols' eyes as his own turned amber-gold.  Throat constricted, he cuts out, "And I--I don't know, it felt like I could have turned right then, even though the moon wasn't up yet. I was out of control."

"Oh, Al." His Uncle Max shakes a sympathetic head at him. Alcott holds his gaze stubbornly, voice shaking with emotion and certainty. 

"I never want to feel that way again." 

"We'll figure it out." Lyndsea says softly, casting the briefest glance back to his uncle. Max smiles too in agreement. Alcott can't find the words for his gratitude. He looks down to his shoes, relieved and relaxed for the first time in...months if he's honest, he thinks. It left the path forward simple: find Nadia. That was what mattered now. And they would, he fucking knew that, because they had to. And Devin would wake for the same reason. 

Letting out a long low breath, he finally thinks of another way to thank them both and reaches into his back pocket. When he pulls out the flask, his mother throws her hand up and exclaims, "Oh for heaven's sakes." It makes them all laugh. They only laugh harder when it's his mother who finishes it in one, long burning gulp after snapping out her hand, determined to prove the boys up.

 _Brackners_ , Alcott thinks. He smiles.

&.

Her skirt was halfway up and blouse undone when she heard. Rory stilled too, his hand slipping through tangled strands to fall to his side dumbfounded. Color draining from her feverish cheeks, Eliza turned to bury her face in his chest again. Her cheek stuck. That almost made her laugh. His arms came around her in an instant, enveloping her in a warm embrace and patting her hair down. Thank God he understood her, didn’t complain as she again changes their mood.

Rory had found her only a few minutes after Sam had; he’d been in the middle of offering condolences and she’d been in the middle of figuring out if she wanted to hug him or smack him. The moment Rory appeared, she decided, and he’d had to grab her hand before telling Sam to beat it. That he was ‘sure that his family would need him now,’ Rory was always so polite. Too polite. Eliza had burst into tears, which spilled freely for the better part of a half hour until she couldn’t find anymore to give him.

Then she’d sat talking, and talking, and talking as was her custom while he looked at her fondly. She talked about how angry Devin’s father had looked and how frightening a combination his mother and Nadia’s mother were (Lynn had never exaggerated, and that was as shocking as anything).  How startled Alcott was when his mother appeared (She loved Lyndsea’s shoes) -- and then his uncle (Max made the best bewildered faces; Rory said it was like he was perpetually on Candid Camera and then had to tell her what that was). How Sam’s mother had greeted her, kissed her cheek and she felt guilty for not telling Mrs. Roswell the truth again of how he’d been hurt -- before cutting off startled, realizing how close to the truth she was. His thumb brushed her cheek, his wide blue-eyes empty of judgement. She told him about Alcott in a daze, only to be told through a guilty smile he already had guessed; he kissed her cheek and pointed out it was a bit easy to put together when he was the one with her on every full moon.

Eliza blushed, and went on talking. It made it easy to forget that Devin was lying in a hospital bed, that no one could find Nadia, that Alcott was with his mother and uncle -- no, she just couldn’t think about this. She talked about the fact that the hospital wing should let her put up brighter colors, and wondered if they could steal every copy of the evening Prophet before Alcott, or Lynn, or Hols saw them (and then wondered why she had never subscribed). She talked so fast she asked how he kept up, and whacked his shoulder when he said he was “well-compensated.” She asked if Rory knew what a shower scrunchie was and he answered her by taking the scrunchie out of hair. He’d still been toying with the loose strands when she had run out of breath and decided to kiss him to cut herself off. 

He’d been startled when she reached to loosen his belt, and she’d been startled when he pulled away. That had never happened before. He was flattening a mess of blonde curls to her cheeks and tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, recatching his breath. Hasty questions of ‘are you sure this is a good idea?’ and just plain ‘are you sure?’ had fallen on ears out-of-sync, like she heard him through a radio.

 The emotion in his eyes made her silent heart skip a phantom beat in her chest. It occurred to Eliza she could drown in those bright blue eyes. Then she realized that was exactly her intention. It wasn’t like it would be her first time, or even their first time, she said quietly that when surrounded by pain, finding pleasure wasn’t disrespectful. It was necessary for life, for sanity, for carrying on. 

And well, to his credit, he had met her lips hungrily an instant later. Boys never needed to be convinced too badly, Eliza thought amused. As she plucked his mouth as if he provided her breath, she undid the belt and let actions hide the fact that she knew why he hadn’t objected further. Rory knew her. He’d never make her feel as if she had to beg. The quiet knowledge -- that instinctual understanding -- makes her feel more alive than anything. 

It occurs to her she’d never said those three little words, and wonders if she should, when her back met a wall. He knew why she hadn’t, she thought, fumbling for the silver handle. Eliza had said those words once. When he said them back she believed him (of course she believed him, she was fifteen and no one had ever said them to her before and so she was sure that no one could say them and not mean them, because why else would you say them?), and so now she couldn’t say them, but he got that. He understood. Rory seemed determined to make it up to her right now. He pressed her into the wall in the darkened alcove, his lips earnest against hers as their mouths moved together, and finds the handle to push it open. He even let her go in first, teasingly with his lips bright maroon, saying ‘Ladies’ first’ and winking. Eliza lets him after her.

She shuts the door. Giggles replace tears as with a kick her heels skirt beneath a Slippery-When-Wet sign and his elbow litters the marble with unused syringes. She slams her hand over his swollen lips as he laughs: why couldn’t boys ever be quiet? Tapping her own lips with an index finger, Rory looks abashed, sheepish, grinning against her palm. Lipgloss glitters from her skin as she pulls her hand back. He was on her mouth again in an instant. 

Were zippers always that loud? The rip echoes in the tiny chamber as he lifts her onto a shelf.  A wireframe shudders beneath the flurry of movement more than her (for she’s light, she swears, and her legs are wrapped around him as a monkey might). The top is stark white, and she thinks for an instant what they were doing was entirely the opposite of sterile. Pointing it out was forgotten as his hand slipped under the bunched skirt. She even forgot to be upset the fabric was wrinkled. 

It was heaven to drown in his kisses, to fall beneath his hand and talented fingers -- a more perfect death than she could ever invent, and she could feel herself whispering prayers into his mouth, his skin: don’t let go, she pleaded, don’t let me go. He grips her tighter in response, moving faster, breathless. His hands paint her skin as they move, leaving pink strokes on delicate porcelain. He stills suddenly, and she whimpers. But he only unclips the hoop earrings (experience, he mutters in her ear through teeth toying with the tip), and sets them atop his jacket. 

She gives over to the sensation of heady warmth, for a little while anyway, when she heard the high-pitched voice only too familiar for her and startles. 

“--to leave now, you can’t be-- ” 

“You’re not doing that to me again, not now -- she’s my daughter, Mary!”

“That didn’t matter to you before!” 

Rory stills as she does, too much a gentlemen, for he couldn’t have recognized the voices (she thinks briefly). But she did. She recognized them both. Oh God. He lets out a ragged breath as her forehead sticks to his bare chest. The open flaps of his shirt dance across her cheeks. 

There were more shouts:

“You walked out that door and you haven’t,” 

“You told me to go! In fact you threw a hairbrush at me!”

“Because I was scared! I was nineteen!”

Eliza whimpers into Rory’s chest, trying not to think this was the first time she’d heard her parents talk to each other since she was still in the womb. They had spoken of each other (her father more than her mother, and she’d met him three months ago), but never had they been in the same room. Willing them to stop mentally as Rory pets her hair, he leans forward. 

“You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to,” Rory murmurs, his voice husky.

“I should,” she whispers, stricken. The pain on her face hardens Rory’s. Oh no, she thinks. What predicament did she leave him in? Actually that wasn’t a question; she had evidence of it, hard against her leg. Maybe there was a way she could finish him quickly, she thinks quickly, looking down; she didn’t want him to hate her. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so...” 

It’s clear she surprises Rory, and he tries to quickly recover from his confusion by shaking his head at her. Slipping both hands back up to cup his cheek, he smiles at her, reassuring. 

 “Shh. We’ll have all the time in the world after.” 

Rory locks his gaze on hers until she smiles back at him -- only to whimper hearing the smash. Her mother had thrown something. She misses her father’s exclamation as Rory presses his lips to hers again, fast and harsh. Grateful, she meets the kiss until she has no breath, then whimpers and pulls herself off the counter. 

Redressing takes only a minute, even as she sees him muttering something about “grandmother working on the farm in the summer with the piglets,” and looking skywards taking deep breaths. That makes her smile. The continuing shouts take it away an instant later. 

“--a photograph on her fifth birthday, you weren’t nineteen then!”

“And you could have fucking come found her on that birthday! Excuse my french!”

“For Go--“ He went into actual French at that point, too fast for her rudimentary skills to pick up the individual words. It appears her mother doesn’t have that problem. 

Only then does it occur to her, walking out of this closet right now would make it very bloody clear what she had been doing...especially, with Rory. Maybe she should go first, distract them and let him slip away. Eliza rejects that only because she doesn’t want him to leave. She wonders if they’d care. As her mother had just pointed out: she’d had her at nineteen. Couldn’t they be proud of her as her parent’s daughter? Or were they going to be disappointed -- would they think she was just going to repeat their mistake? 

She’d always known both of them thought it was, after all. It was her Grandmother’s religion who had insured she was born. Eliza had always wondered about that. She was glad to be there, glad to be alive and having been born obviously was what made that possible. Yet it was also her Grandmother’s religion that meant she threatened her father -- that meant she had lived without him the first sixteen years of her life and by the sounds of it, if her mother had it her way, would have been her entire life. 

“--Oh, but if it was Mari who talked to you, of course--!”

“She’s my agent, for bloody,--”

“Agent, don’t make me laugh, with those high-white heels and scarlet plumped lips -- how many injections did those take anyway?” 

“You do realize you’re wearing white heels right now don’t you?”

“You always do this, you always fixate on these irrelevant little,-- ” 

“Or wait, I’m sorry, are they ‘ivory? Maybe--’”

“For God’s sakes, stop!”

Eliza was through the door before she realized it, screeching. The sudden appearance of their daughter made Mary Culpeper and Claude Simmons stop cold. Mary’s purse was open; it was remarkable as she swivels that nothing else litters the ground, even though it was clear several of the contents had already bounced off Claude. Further words fail her as they both swivel around. 

“Eliza, baby...”

Mary was wearing a proper dress of printed flowers, a bright blue scarf dangling beneath perked-up sprayed curls. Her hair looked almost blond today (she must have been to the stylist that week), twenty-galleon sunglasses pushing it back. 

“Honey...”

Claude wore a sweater with a hole in it, over a silver and black band shirt. There was paint on the skinny jeans, and a stick of gum visible in the leather jacket’s pocket. His hair was mussed by wind and apparent haste, his shoes looked like they’d been bought in 1983 and worn ever since. 

They couldn’t look more different, she thought, and yet their expressions were one and the same.  Shock was quickly replaced with apology, pain to realize they’d been overheard. Terror, fury, anguish, hurt -- it made her wince, as she fumbles for words. 

“Can’t you just...just...” 

“We didn’t know you were there.” Mary’s voice is small, looking more horrified. Eliza hates that she hears the ‘we’ and feels the urge to smile. Her parents, regarded as a ‘we’...that fifth birthday they mentioned felt a lot closer. Wasn’t that what she’d always wished for when she blew out the candles?  In fact, speaking of birthdays -- her father had only met Devin and Nadia for a few hours at her birthday that year. Why would he be there? Why would her mother? 

Claude only had looked at her a second, his face clouding over as he spots the sheepish Rory. He waves half-hearted from behind her, his gaze one of caught defiance. Mary sees him too and immediately shakes her head, looking down those ivory heels. Eliza’s name half falls from her lips, and that’s enough to drive Eliza to words. 

“Oh no, don’t. Please, it’s not -- honestly -- ” She said it breathlessly, trying not to pay attention to the tears in her eyes. “Rory has been --,” 

“We know what.” Claude interjects, breathing harsh. He’s glaring at Rory. Rory stiffens, looking between them both, and then seems to come to a decision. Eliza’s gaze flickers in confusion, but she’s grateful to realize he was stepping closer to her. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Rory says, even as he reaches for her hand. “But I’m not going to apologize for actually being there for her.” 

If she was a moment from words, this cuts her off. It cuts off all three of them. 

“What?” Claude straightens, taken aback. 

“Excuse me?” Mary stiffens, unmoved as if those skinny heels were stuck in cement. 

Their gazes mutually to Rory. He squeezes her hand, looking sideways at her, a question in his gaze. She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to when she nods, but there’s something in his gaze that makes her do so anyway. Rory had never looked fierce to her. And it’s clear from his demeanor it’s not a look that’s he’s used to anymore than she: his jaw twitches, his lungs seem to struggle for breath and she realizes his palm is sticking to hers with sweat.

But his words, oh his words they were calm and fervent, his eyes locked on both of them. 

“Oh, you’re excused.” Rory smiles briefly, continuing without pause, “And I’m not trying to interject into your -- private, argument here. I mean, what do I know? I wasn’t there all those years ago,  I’m not part of this -- I’m just some sixteen year old kid who cares about your daughter. And well, this isn’t exactly how I pictured meeting you, Ms. Culpeper, and er - it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Simmons - but this isn’t about me, and shockingly enough to both of you it seems, this isn’t about you either. This is about your daughter.”

They look to Eliza instantly, who swallows. She tries not to cry. 

“I mean, that is why you’re here right? Because you heard what happened, you heard about last night and both of you were worried about Eliza, and well -- I can imagine that might have been a shock to you, Ms. Culpeper, as I don’t believe Eliza had told you she found him, -- ” 

Mary shakes her head with the look of one who doesn’t notice her own action. Eliza screws her eyes up to prevent a tear from falling. 

“Right, I didn’t think so, and well clearly, you both have a lot to deal with and you should, I think -- but not now. For God’s sakes, not now.”

“Look, ” Claude attempts to start, but Rory won’t let him. Eliza brushes a free hand under her eye. 

“No, I’m not going to look. I’ll go, I’ll leave you three be -- but if you’re not going to talk about Eliza, then I think she should come with me. She’s your daughter, sir, ma’am. Your daughter. I don’t know why that means so little to you. Look, maybe, maybe when she wasn’t even born yet you couldn’t do this -- but you know what you could do now? You could ask what she wants!” Rory’s blue eyes flash. “You think she needs this right now? One of her best friends is in a hospital bed right now, apparently unable to wake for no currently discernible medical reason -- her other friend blaming himself for it -- her other friend fucking missing, so maybe! Maybe put aside continuing an argument that sounds like you were in the middle of it sixteen years ago, and for once actually ask her what is best for her. ”

Claude and Mary look at each other, sideways, ashamed and properly cowed by the sixteen-year old. The pregnant pause is heavy with only breathless gasps and the sound of a lipstick tube rolling away. Eliza stares at her boyfriend, feeling she might keel over on her own teetering, white heels. She wishes for a moment her mother could have taught her to stand as she did. Then she realizes she wishes her parents had done a lot of things.

“You’re right.” Mary says, and it sounds as if Claude says the same in French, for weak teary-smiles appear on both of their lips. As her mother rubs tears from her own eyes, and starts muttering another apology, Eliza smiles weakly herself. Rory cuts himself off, saying nothing further and leaning to kiss her cheek. Then he pulls back, and lets them pull her into a tight, firm hug. A warm embrace from both of her parents.

Eliza finds she’s too breathless with pride, hurt and gratitude to cry. 

&.

 

 **Sam:**  You should have listened to me. *Shaking his head from side to side heavily, he was standing over Devin’s bed. The room had been emptied out mercifully, finally. Fact was, he shouldn’t have had to wait. It was ridiculous; how long could one family stand motionless, unspeaking in front of a bloody comatose patient? Devin hadn’t stirred, he wasn’t going to stir, and they were truly wasting their time—and his time. He counted that worst. If their intent was to help his dear cousin wake, they should have left the room ages ago. It was his time that would matter to Devin’s well being, after all. Well, his time and his generosity. He had to admit. He didn’t feel that generous.

He took a step forward, curling his hand on the guard rail. It was as close as he dare get, disparaging of the remarkable amount of bandages on his cousin’s chest. A pain he had to get nearer for a second, his hand swiping over the medicine bag, before he pulls back, finished and satisfied.* This is a shame. *His words were a quiet whisper.* I didn’t want to hurt you, cousin. I just want to show you. You need to understand. 

*It was eerie, actually, to stand over the same bed he’d laid in when ravaged by a similar beast. Disquieted and discomforted, his eyes flicked to the ring on Devin’s finger. A glint of the gold and emerald ’S’ seem to wink up at him. Sam wasn’t lying. Devin had been his friend, his protégée (to use his uncle’s french). And he’d decided to damn any sense because of one girl? Then he’d nearly died. They tried to kill him, with a fucking werewolf. Oh, it had been a glorious moment that summer, to learn of a pack of wolves he had a direct line too. Wasn’t poetic justice the sweetest? Though, Sam enjoyed the other half of this more. He couldn’t remember anything of the night he nearly died but a blurry Holly-Rae. Devin had suffered the wolf attack, and Nadia… *

Senseless, really. *He shakes his head bitterly. Before another breath leaves him, he’s stalled by a chilling, blunt order. Sam smiles, and doesn’t look around.*

 **Jana:**  Step away from my son. *The St. Mungo’s papers were nearly ready to be signed, Shane was simply going over final contractual details. Lynn had said she was going to change, lest they run into any press at the hospital. As if that was an ‘if’ at all; the press had followed her like she was a harbinger of horrific entertainment since she’d been at the trial to condemn the bastard who stole so many years of her life - let alone the equivalent of a U.S. First Lady to Shane. Her entire life she felt sometimes could be found on page eight. 

If she gave a damn, she might change as well. Instead she had changed her expression. In place of her tear-struck sadness, Jana was wearing a cold frown.* Now.

 **Sam** : Aunt Jay. *The inhale thin to hide his chuckle, he had a passable look of apology on his lips by the time he turned around. A hand went up in feigned regret.* I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was merely paying my respects.

 **Jana:** *Her steps seems to echo in the otherwise empty ward. As she comes to rest closer to him, Sam finally steps back from the bed. Her eyebrow etches high, arms folding on her chest. Her remark is blunt.* Why?

 **Sam:** Why? *Feigning surprise, his own eyebrows furrow.* Devin’s not merely a cousin, Aunt Jay, he’s—

 **Jana:** —the boy whose life you made miserable last year.  After you beat some other poor kid up and blamed it on him.

 **Sam:** Ah, *his jawline hardens, a bit surprised to hear her bring up Justin,* I never blamed it on—

 **Jana:** No, you were too much of a coward to do that. *Flatly,* Instead you let others jump to conclusions and smirked your way to sniveling apologies from other rats like you. I also - *her heart skips a beat, but a smile appears on her lips, saying lightly,* happen to know you’re the one who bought him illegal drugs. 

 **Sam:** *Well, now wasn’t this interesting? A slow smirk spreads on his lips too, even as he swallows at that.* I understand you’re upset, Aunt Jay, this is a—

 **Jana:** Upset? *She takes another step forward, eyes narrowing, incredulous and angered.* I am enraged. Let’s make one thing clear. Flattered as I’m sure he’d be by your touching concern, you aren’t to enter even the ward, that he’s placed in. I don’t want you within ten feet of my son.

 **Sam:** *Stiffening as she takes a step forward, his breath catches in his throat.* 

 **Jana:** *With another step,* I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, I don’t care. You hurt my son. That is all I give a damn about. You might have your parents fooled, the professors? But you don’t fool me, Sam. 

 **Sam:** *He’s shaking his head, though a trickle of fear goes up his spine and leaves him to snap,* I’m so sorry, for this situation, of course you’re on edge right now. I perfectly understand.

 **Jana:** Oh, you understand? *She hisses again, angered, stepping protectively nearer the bed, frantic to check the chart and ensure that Sam hadn’t messed with anything. She looks back at him.* Excellent. I understand too. Whatever petty school-boy grudge you have? You should have left it be last year. You have, as I understand it, a pretty girl on your arm and all the wealth in the world — but unfortunately, it seems God forgot to gift you with the brain He gives ants. I know this was you. I’ve dealt with your kind all my life and — *her smile widens* — you’ll notice, I’m the one still standing. *In a tiny hiss,* I’m not as bound by the law as my husband.

&.

**Ingrid:** Miss Rivers, I need you step away from my son this instant. *Her dark navy heels clacked on the stone floor as she stepped closer. She did not raise her voice, because this was in fact a Hospital Wing, and it would not help young Devin's condition. Despite everything, specifically concerning the way she felt about Jana, her priority as not just a family member but as a member of the Board of Governors, was the boy's well being. It was far more that had been awarded from the other woman when her son had been in a similar situation the previous semester.* I understand how upset you are, but addressing my son with hostility is not appropriate of you as either an adult or a family member. Frankly, it's downright insulting and I won't tolerate it. Samuel *she turned to her only boy and then motioned to the door* return to class, please. Thank you for coming to check on your cousin. *She hadn't recalled Devin or Lynn stepping foot in the Hospital Wing when her son was the one lying on the bed. It just went to show the difference in upbringing and class.*

 **Sam:** *He was cut off from his retort by the crisp, clean voice of his mother. A note of relief flickered through him, but he kept himself from smiling as his gaze was still locked with his aunts. If she even really could be called that, it was Shane who was related to his mother; the girl in front of him was only a mudblood. Apparently a murderous one at that - he supposed the violence was to be expected by one of her standing, but he was displeased to realize a trickle of fear go through him.  He spoke calmly himself, despite the fact his heart was still a bit jittery.* Of course, Mother. As I said I just was paying my respects. 

 **Jana:** *Her hands had gone to her waist as she heard Ingrid enter. Furiously in a tiny voice under her breath so only Sam could hear her,* Or to gloat.

 **Sam:** *There's an uptick in his lips, but he says cordially,* I pray Devin wakes up soon. That's what matters. *He would. When Sam wanted him too. After a quick sidestep when he realizes Jana's truly not moving he walks out quickly, pausing to kiss his mother's cheek. It was what he was expected to do.*

 **Jana:** *She didn't spin at first, only stepping forward to check on the monitors, insure that Devin was...well, unchanged. Her heart pounding in her ear, blood hot, she turns now, her hands still on her hips as she looks at Ingrid.* I a pologize, Ingrid. After all, I wouldn't want you to think me inappropriate. *Her teeth clenched, before she raises her hand as if having an epiphany,* Oh, wait. You always thought me such. You and your son. *Her eyes narrow.* I wasn't being hostile, Miss Roswell, I was giving him the warning he didn't give my son.

 **Ingrid:** *She was glad Jana had not chosen to turn around immediately else she might have witnessed Ingrid's professional expression drop for a brief moment as her son stopped to kiss her before departing as asked. She had been worried after all, the moment she heard of a werewolf attack again, she felt as she had that morning last year: helpless, angry, fearful. Ingrid had been relieved to hear that her son was unharmed, that he hadn't even been in the forest with the rest of the students. Her expression was clear again as she took a step forward and Jana turned around.* And you continue to prove me right by behaving so uncivilized. Does it please you to harass a 15 year old boy that wanted nothing more than to check on the well being of his cousin? Certainly a lot more than your son offered him last term. If I remember correctly, your own concern was limited, the entire story, covered up against my vehement disapproval. *She shrugged and then pulled on her sleeves to straighten though they were of course impeccable.* I'm sorry it had to come to your family's doorstep for action to finally be taken.

 **Jana:** Please me? *A high-pitched incredulity took her voice a moment as she immediately looked back to Devin, her son, in that bloody hospital bed. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she shut them until she was certain she could look back without fear or watery-eyes.* My family, as I was just reminded, includes yours. *Holding her chin steady, her eyes only continue to narrow over an implacable cold smile.* Of course I was relieved Sam was all right last term. My concern for Sam's wasn't limited. *She shook her head, incredulous. Even though it hardly surprised her. Most thought the worst of her: especially, those purebloods who disdained of her bloodline. Her words tremble with the fire fanning them, anger in place of fear.* It was tempered by his treatment of my son, -my- fifteen year old boy who is lying behind both of us, *her hand comes down to gesture, without breaking eye contact,* in a hospital bed, because of the actions of your son, and *Flatly, as she takes another step forward.* I won't have him covering up what happened with false concern beneath that smarmy attitude. Quite frankly, it makes me sick. *Her chin lifts again.* Now you're going to ask me for proof now so I'll admit; there isn't any yet. *Sweetly* You taught your boy well. But I trust my daughter, and her instincts. Especially when they match up with mine. I don't know how Sam got ahold of a werewolf, but rest assured I will find out. In the meantime, all I _asked_ him to do was not to intrude. I wasn't aware that was uncivilized.

 **Ingrid:** His treatment of your son was to open his arms in acceptance. To include him into the life where he rightfully belongs, the life that you and your husband chose to keep him from. It was your son who spit on his offer and who attacked him. 

*Her words were sharp and poignant but she did not raise them. This was a Hospital Wing, this was a school, and she was a member of the Board of Governors. Things were expected of her, something this woman would never understand. She was in rags, filthy, the wife of the Minister of Magic. Ingrid would have never allowed herself to look so disheveled in public. She understood leaving the house in a panic, but it had been hours since then, hours since she had been informed her son's condition was stable and unchanging. She couldn't spare ten seconds to wave her wand and take care of her appearance? Those same ten seconds she had used to disrespect her son. 

But her thoughts of keeping composure immediately left her as she heard the woman _accuse_ Sam of having something to do with this. She snapped.* His actions?! I would take care of throwing around such horrible accusations! My son was nowhere near the forest last night. *She took a step forward as well, her teeth gritting, her eyes narrowing.* Here in the real world, Miss Rivers, we rely on evidence and facts before passing judgment, not instincts. I will not let you use you and your daughter's grudge against me and my son to make him suffer for something he did not do. 

*Associate with _werewolves_?! As if her son would stoop so low; Kevan and her had taught him better than that, to act with more class than that.* No, that was not uncivilized, just rude. What was uncivilized, was your declaration that you are not bound by the law. *That might have been the only moment of the conversation she caught, but it was enough, because the woman's body language was enough.* Don't insult me or yourself, Miss Rivers, I know exactly what you were implying. *She leaned in.* Don't threaten my son ever again.

 **Jana:** I didn't choose to keep Devin from anything. *It was perhaps with a flash of guilt, a latent remnant of all she had felt the previous spring.* It was you and that 'life' that refuse to accept me. My husband and I, *she snaps it, irritated by the flagrant tone of disrespect to Shane on top of everything,* would not allow the likes of you to split our family up for the sake of something like attending some lame-ass party -- *and seeing as how Ingrid had clearly just checked her outfit out* -- in some trumped up fluffy gown whose silk would be better spent feeding an entire third-world country, and weak alcohol. *She might be off topic, but dammit, she was angry. She was furious. And she was only glad to see a crack in the woman's reserve in response; it was much easier to deal with Ingrid that way.* 

Yes, his actions. Maybe he wasn't in the forest last night, but you -do- know what your son's policy on open-arm acceptance was in the first place, don't you? *She takes a step right up next to her, non-deterred.* To begin with he beat Justin Hall up, put him in this very same hospital, *incredulous* didn't even have the courage to face him head on. And what he _offered_ was a hefty amount of the illegal drugs that he deals, that he has that hussy on his arm hooked on, so yes, I would say I'm flatly proud of Devin spitting on that offer. *Her voice is hard, and drops to a whisper, furious,* If you want to talk about unfounded horrible accusations though, you should ask Sam for his evidence that it was my son and Hols' fault the night he was hurt. *She snaps,* He has none. 

*There obviously wasn't any to find. Though she didn't believe in a hundred million years Lynn and Hols weren't keeping part of that particular story from her and Amaris -- the notion of them attacking Sam was absurd. She breathes out as Ingrid leans into her, and a tiny smirk appears on her lips too,* As for grudges, my daughter -- for that matter, any one else -- has no idea what it is you and I know about each other -- there's no need to bring it up. 

*She breathes out, a little flustered that she had been overheard with that particular line and -- okay, maybe she shouldn't have said that, but she was certain. She was certain, because if anyone in this goddamn school had a grudge, it was Sam against her son and goddaughter. Her heart skipped another beat with the pang of sudden heartache and worry. Eyes narrow still she retorts instantly,* Keep your son away from mine and I won't ever talk to him again. 

 **Ingrid** : *How remarkably socialist of Jana. And by remarkably she meant the exact opposite, as it didn't surprise her in the slightest. The gall of this woman, honestly. But she had long been finished with paying any attention to that woman's criticism of their lifestyle. Some people could never be made to see to reason. Blaming an entire society for the actions of one man, how incredibly hypocritical. Their children might have had a real opportunity to grow, to be taught the graces and the tradition. No, Ingrid never welcomed her, but many others, some whom she considers friends, had. No, if they had truly wished to raise their children in pureblood tradition they would have, despite everyone else. The simple fact was that Miss Rivers didn't want to, because she thought the lifestyle disgusting. It was that, the judgment of the way she lived her life, that Ingrid wouldn't tolerate. Again, it was a tired argument, so she didn't even bother to tend the flames of it.* If there would have been any evidence on who attacked Mr. Hall, disciplinary action would have been taken. *She scoffed at the other accusation, based on nothing but lies. The woman was so blinded by her distaste of her, her son, and their lifestyle to see that she spoke nothing but lies.* More insults to 15 year olds, Miss Rivers, really? This is frankly, disgusting. *It was no wonder her children behaved so abominably. Theirs was not the fault, when they had such a role model in their home: a crass and vulgar woman, with no respect for anyone, who didn't flinch away from insulting and threatening children. And she wondered why Ingrid had never welcomed her.* He has the memory of seeing Holly Rae Graft that night. No further evidence and because of it, no disciplinary action was taken. We do not take the law into our own hands, and I suggest you refrain from doing so yourself. *She couldn't stand one more second of this insufferable woman. Swallowing a retort and unwilling to bring up that memory, she draws herself back up again and pulls on the edges of her jacket.* Gladly.

*She was only sorry that the family ties remained, no matter what. Ingrid looked to Devin lying on the bed and felt her anger dissipate. For all the trouble he caused her son, she would not wish this upon the boy. That was the difference between her and Miss Rivers, it seemed; her heart was not so twisted with spite. All of the children in Hogwarts were Ingrid's concern, all of them. Even those whose mother she couldn't stand.* I hope your son returns to you soon, Miss Rivers. *She brought her gaze back to the woman's, her jaw stern again, her voice cool.* While you wait, I would suggest refining your vocabulary. Surely there's plenty of undiscovered derogatory words for you to use against teenage girls. *She departed only to stop at the entrance of the Hospital Wing, remembering why she had come here in the first place; an everlasting reminder of their association. She turned around and informed coolly* Aunt Dalma asked me to tell you she'll be along shortly. She was caught in the middle of argument with Mr. Brackner after the Board meeting. *There, now she was off; she had more things to worry about. But if Jana Rivers thought she was going to forget the slights and accusations against Sam, and that Ingrid would let them sit idly, she was wrong.*

Jana: There was evidence. *Bitterly,* Nadia saw the attacker. If more people would listen to her, I believe a great deal more hurt could have been avoided. *Honestly,* For both of us, and both of our families. *She bites down on her bottom lip, aggravated by the remark and more hurt than she was willing to admit. It seemed a lifetime ago she had first met Ingrid; during that first campaign of Shane's, admittedly against Ingrid's own husband. That campaign..well, she could see she wasn't the only one that wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, so Jana let it fall, forgot the only tie they would ever have beyond her being Shane's family and looked back to Devin.* 

Then you should inform your son that if he saw Hols', there might be a reason beyond blame. *Jana's eyes flicker back to Ingrid sideways, words pointed and raised,* There was someone who brought him to the hospital wing anonymously, wasn't there? Perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to threats himself. But it was Sam, Miss Roswell, who stated quite plainly this summer on more than one occasion that both my children as well as Amaris's should have cause to fear a "coming war" -- those were his words, not mine. And if you're going to tell me that boys will be boys, I would only say that it is the lessons we learn young that are the hardest to discard. 

*Her gaze returns to Devin. As grateful as she was to see his chest still rising and falling, more tears were threatening to fall instantly as she heard his heart-monitor register a slight fluctuation. As if even asleep, even wherever he was, he wanted to wake and reign her in, was being hurt by her insinuations (or, okay, flat statements) against a lifestyle that he so respected. It was that more than the briefly spoken wish of him waking from Ingrid that calmed her. _I'm sorry, honey_ , she heard herself thinking hard, wishing he could hear her as she took another step towards him, sliding her fingers into his. It seemed she was destined to be a poor mother to him; never saying the right thing, always quick to anger, quick to blame, quick to hurt. 

Momentarily ashamed of how she had described Victoria, she remembers quickly how the girl had treated Devin as a plaything, what she had called Nadia -- and an angry red flare in her heart keeps her from taking any of it back. It was not only Sam who was making his decisions on who he would be so young. She chuckles just once, squeezing Devin's hand again, as it occurs to her and her words are suddenly light.* I'm sure I would only have to ask Victoria herself for one. There are few more ruthless than a teenage girl. I'm sure we both know that though, *her gaze casts back and holds Ingrid's for a moment as she states plainly,* After all, we both were one once. 

*And apparently still were. Sometimes Jana wondered if she could ever grow up. And then if it were possible, after everything she had lived through, for her to still be that teenage girl. She felt like a different person, someone who had never known fear and loss, whose biggest problems had been if a boy smiled at her and next week's Astrology test. It seemed to be a pattern doomed to repeat, and earlier now she thought miserably, looking back to Devin's peacefully sleeping form, scratches still angry-scarlet on his lip and cheek. Didn't he even get that? Didn't he get to live through petty issues and small problems--the days of worry about his and Nadia's first anniversary, and who was whose secret santa? No, instead there were werewolves and smashed potions, kidnappings and comas and threats, so many threats, some coming from her own lips...* 

I'm sorry. *She spoke abruptly, looking up as Ingrid was paused at the door. Her face was ravaged, but her eyes were clear and narrowed.* Those remarks were unkind. I'm sure you can understand Ingrid, having been in a similar situation. *She bit her tongue hard, not blinking.* And if our children have continued a war of ours, our generation, from half a century ago, then I would argue we both were at fault. And that we should be better, so, I'm sorry. *She exhales, heavily, but forces herself to continue, still gripping Devin's palm.* I am sure however, that Devin would be grateful that you came as well. He always has looked up to you. 

*There's a flash in her eyes as she forces herself to say those poisonous words, a twist in her heart. But it was true. And if she could at least pass her son's wishes along, then she...felt better. The cool information caused her only to nod.* Thank you for the information. I will tell Shane. *And keep your son the hell away from mine, her eyes said, but she didn't want to repeat herself or undermine the minute but honest apology. Ingrid was already gone. She was not truly surprised that Dalma (fantastic woman, for all her thoughts) would have gotten in an argument with Benjamin. That was common. Jana almost laughed as she looked back to Devin, rubbing under her eyes and sitting on the edge of his bed.* 

See that honey? I know it's common for Stuarts and Brackners to argue. I guess I am more part of this world than anyone cares to admit. *quieter still* Least of all me. *Taking his hand with both of hers now, she clasps tightly, and is silent only a few moments.* I need you, Dev. I need you to tell me what is going on here, where I went too far, and...and where I haven't gone far enough, where I failed to protect you. I'm listening, I swear I am, I swear. I'll do anything. Please, please just...come back to us. Come back home, and let your father and I do our job, let us help---whatever it is, whatever happened, we won't blame or disavow you, I swear, whatever it is, all we want to do is protect you from whatever it is, to help. Just come back. *Her voice broke, but she dared not closer her eyes for all the water in them. for it would mean looking away from her boy.* Please.

&.

 

 **Hols:** *In the middle of the horror that had been today, Hols kept finding small things to find relief in, and others well not so small. For instance, Al and her father had apparently spoken and no blood had been shed...yet. Truthfully, Hols hadn't asked much details from her dad and she didn't want to keep him from investigating. But the simple fact that no punches had been thrown was news enough. Also, apparently Al and Lynn had buried the hatchet. And in the midst of all of this, Al's mother and uncle had shown up. Hols had sat by with wide but pleased eyes as she looked on and said nothing, but offered a brief smile, as Al took them away to tell them. So even though she was bruised and scratched and aching, and even though...everything seemed like it was falling to pieces around her, a brief reminder of the positives of this day kept her back ramrod straight.

At least, it did for a while. Until she had to leave the Hospital Wing and meet up with her family again. Brad and her mother had been wrapped tightly around each other. The pair of them were married in everything but ceremony and now they seemed as one entity. Hols had rarely seen her mother cry (Amaris preferred shout over tears and that was something Hols took from her) but seeing her now, covering Brad's shirt in salty moisture, caused Hols' iron expression to start to crumble. Nadia was her baby, she was all of their babies and Chace...

Chace had left to go outside. Just, sit outside. His expression was blank, as if he weren't here with them, as if going to Nadia's favorite tree was somehow going to give them a clue as to where she was.

The triplets had conversed slowly with Belle. Julian was the most visibly worried, while Aaron reviewed facts over and over to himself; Blake was more like Brad: quiet, hardened jaw, toughened shoulders. Hols didn't catch much from their conversation, admittedly she didn't want to. What use was there sitting around and talking about it? They should be doing something, anything at all. It frustrated her, to be an adult and yet still be treated as a child. She wanted...to do something. She slipped away from her family, her destination unknown for a several moments; Hols just knew it couldn't be there anymore.

 Once she'd finally decided to stop walking, she realized what, or rather who, she had been subconsciously looking for. Hols had seen Al first thing this morning, as they both made it through a horrid night. They were both in bad shape, and she had to remind him quietly once he saw the bite marks that she'd been an animal when they'd happen; she was safe. They had patched each other up in silence. That was before either of them knew what had happened not even three miles away from them last night. Now as he stood at the end of the hallway, a dozen feet away from her, she completely forgot about everything else.

Hols could have sworn for a moment it had been her with the superhuman power, because in what felt like less than a second she had crossed the distance and had her arms around him. Her shoulders, arms, neck, there was not single muscle in her body that didn't protest the movement but she paid it no attention. She was finally able to breathe again, despite what her tender ribs tried to tell her. Less than a year ago if someone had tried to tell her she would be standing here in this position, finding comfort in just Alcott Brackner's presence and touch if nothing else, she would have probably hit them. No, she would have definitely hit them.

But she wasn't the same person she had been last year, and neither was he. They'd both grown up, a good part of that had been together. Hols did want him around, as often as possible, and while normally the thought filled her with wariness and hesitance, right at that moment, she didn't fight it because she couldn't fight it and didn't want to. * 

 **Alcott:** *He wasn’t sure if it was him or her, who tapped into that innate animal to hurry across the hall, just that she was in his arms in an instant. All other thoughts disappeared as the world did: he just gathered her up, lifted, and let her cling. Cuts and scrapes protest. Her heart beat drowns out his as it hammers. Ignoring the fact he was clinging too, that his nose disappeared in her hair as he breathed in and out, Alcott focused on two things. He couldn’t squeeze too tightly. And she was there, present, and that was what he needed. For however determinedly he had told her father they were yet together - had said the same to his mother and uncle - an insistent, shrill little voice had not disappeared, lingering with the fear he had lost her for good. 

After all, wasn’t that what everyone in the world and their mother was waiting for? Didn’t they both, with some part of them at least, believe that there was really very little chance they could last when they had hated each other so viscerally for so long, when her father was present the day his had died, when her best friend seemed to loathe and love him equally, when they were equally blunt and forward and so unapologetic about their views? It was two sides after all. Devin had laughed when he said he’d kissed Hols: said “he’d known.” Eliza had rolled her eyes when last year, the first time he exclaimed he didn’t understand Sienna’s jealousy of ‘Graft.’Even Gramps had assumed he was only grateful to her -- even Lynn (!), for all her vibrant protests had only cocked an eyebrow when he admitted to being a werewolf, let out a heavy sigh and snorted that it figured.

When two people hate each other that much, they’re bound to have sex. That’s what society taught you. That’s what was true on all those weird box things that he’d watched over the summer.  And Alcott was tired, he was so tired, of this assumed perpetual stereotype that he and Hols were doomed to implode in some fiery rage and loathe each other anew for the end of all time. It was bullshit. Pay no attention to their explosions only twenty-four hours previous (nor the fact they’d spent the night tearing each other apart in an all too real fashion), because dear God. No one tested him this much, no one challenged him, and no one, not one person he could think of, had ever been there for him. Not the way she had, that she was. He couldn’t imagine ever not needing her again. 

Last night, he’d lost control, and he knew he had. He also knew that it was only Hols who understood: he didn’t mean the hours he spent furry and four-legged. In fact, for the first time, the moment of transformation and the hazy images he had of the night itself reminded him it had been blissful. It had been horrific, painful to be lost in that darkness as ever -- and wonderful, absolutely mindbending-ly fucking wonderful. That beast had been raring long before the moon started to rise, ripping through his throat, ready to contaminate everything in his path. Giving over to it had felt like heaven. It was waking up, those rays of sunlight striking his dirty, human face to snatch him from Nirvana -- that he first remembered his pain. 

He’d spent nine years now (and four months) angry, and denying it. Denying everything. That wasn’t to say he had never been happy (for oh, oh he had been). It was simply that he had been much too young -- when six and falling atop his father’s body -- to understand loss. Now he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have someone there to catch you. 

Not until Hols. 

He didn’t blame his mother -- or all right, he didn’t anymore -- because he understood. She was just as at a loss as he was how to be a parent on her own. It had astonished him, to think she was so dreadfully terrified of smothering him, of not letting him live his life that she had pulled away. It still hadn’t processed for him that both of them were there, that his mother and uncle had come and knew now and talked to him for hours about how to control it, what methods they would use, peppering the speeches with mentions of their pride and worry equally. He knew he was grateful, so grateful. But he also knew it would take time, a lot longer than an afternoon, before he felt he could rely on them. Hols was the first to be there for him, and she’d done so when she hated him, when she had no godly reason to give a fuck anymore than he did -- but she did anyway. That was who she was.

So as he pulled back, relaxed his grip, and leaned down to brush a soft, reassuring kiss to her lips, he said only those two words he was so unused to uttering,* I am so sorry.  

*Another brief kiss before he cups her cheek, he’s steady for the first time that day. Or perhaps the first time in years, he couldn’t tell anymore.* I’m sorry for what I said yesterday, though to be quite honest I...used a lot of words and I don’t remember all of them, I just know that it...I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t fair of me to attack you for something you didn’t know, it wasn’t right of me and I shouldn’t have turned my back on you after everything to run off to the forest, I’m not six years old. I spoke to your father, and I understand, I do. I also told my mother and my uncle what I am, which I should have done ages ago honestly, you were right. You were always right.  I know I am usually quite bloody proud of being perfect truth is Hols, I know I’m far, far from it. 

*His eyes hold hers firmly, gaze stubborn as ever even in apology, quiet yearning behind the glance of a fifteen-year old that seemed twice his age at least. Was that the wolf? Or was that his father? He couldn’t distinguish anymore. Both just seemed to be him. And in that moment, whatever he’d gone through last night, this really wasn’t fucking about him.* 

Hols, *His words are fervent even in a whisper, thumb brushing under her eyes,* You will find her. We will. I’ll do anything, anything you need me too, anything you want -- I don’t care how dangerous, how illegal, how immoral it might be to that hypocrite in the big white hat: anything. 

 **Hols:** *Hols had never been one for tears, ever. She frequently substituted tears with shouting, but she felt them well up in her eyes now upon realizing how nervous she had been, and didn't even notice, about the possibility that Al hated her. Well, hated her again that was. The possibility that he might have pushed her away only became obvious to her when he didn't. And fuck, did that feel like a sudden breath after having been drowning in ice cold water for so long.

But the pain in her lungs was still there, despite them no longer being filled with water, it was still there, an icy pang of a reminder with every breath. And so she held on to him a little tighter, despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her to be gentle, that she wasn't the only bruised. But when had she and Al ever been gentle?

Actually, quite a number of times. They were more than capable of it: of soft touches instead of dragging nails and whispers instead of shouts. They were both, they could be both. And right now, after everything, and in the middle of what was still going on, softness was exactly what was right.

She forced her limbs to relax, to stop gripping him tightly as if they were afraid Al was going to disappear from her too. As her arms relaxed and her palms slid to just rest against his chest, he kissed her. She nodded against it, in equal parts of accepting his apology and of showing her approval for the gesture.

She finally looked in his eyes as he cupped her cheek and blinked away the tears that prevented her from seeing him better. The argument was a blur to her as well after everything, she just remembered throwing rocks at his back in frustration, a frustration that stemmed from fear that she had royally fucked up. She had said some mean things too, defensively because that's who she was. Turning the other cheek was never an option. She just wished she had been more sensitive about it, and with him.*

I know, I know. *She nodded again, exhaling, licking her lips. She meant she knew about Al talking to her father, and that she had guessed that's why he had taken his mother and uncle away from the hospital wing for, but it also was far more than that. Yesterday she had told him she was trying to understand, and only now did she feel she could.* Oh, I know that too. *she chuckled breathlessly, licking her lips.* Never perfect, never. *And by God if that wasn't one of the reasons she was so into him. As maddeningly frustrating as he was, as stubborn and proud as he was- she never liked perfect. Perfect was boring. Though, truthfully, right at that moment, she could stand a little more boring. Boring people didn't have kidnapped sisters or comatose friends.

He reminded her of her tears by his thumb brushing them away, and then reminded her how to smile with his thorough assurance. She nodded again, finally looking away from his eyes a moment to look at ceiling with her exhale.* Merlin, I just...I just keep thinking that if I had listened to her when she came to me so scared, maybe none of this would have happened. She was so frightened about last night, and I told her nothing bad would happen, Al. I lied to her, and now she's somewhere in god knows what condition, and I just keep thinking to myself all that I could have done to keep this from happening. *She closed her eyes and shook her head quickly, a few loose tears flying off as she did before she opened them again with another exhale.* 

They're not letting anyone out on the grounds and I just want to see that place where Alisha found Dev- maybe I could pick up a scent and try and track it, something, anything. It's not that I don't trust my dad to find Nadia, but he just wants me to sit here. I can't just -sit- here, Al. So yes, prepare yourself to break more than a few school rules and federal laws because *she breathed again, forcing air into her lungs* I can't rest, I won't rest, until she's safe again.

 **Alcott:** You had no way of knowing. *The words are abrupt, his chin coming up as something flashes through his eyes. It’s unfamiliar. If he were to look in a mirror, he would be forced to admit he didn’t recognize it himself: anger, morbid amusement, even the wolf appeared now but this was a deeper, empathy and reassurance. It was an understanding, a knowledge that he knew what made her say such and still felt a pain that she would. 

The calm realization that she had accepted far more than just the apology almost put a smile on his face. If he were capable of sustaining happiness more than relief, he might even have beamed and made a joke -- he had apologized? She had let something go? Something about the world ending would have echoed through a defensive smirk, he’d have chuckled and pushed it away -- but he couldn’t find the words. He was simply grateful. Exhaling, he continued just as fervently,* That’s not a lie, Hols, it was optimism. Born of the fact that you wanted to comfort your little sister. 

*He quiets only to listen to her and then nods his head again, slowly so that his unblinking eyes never waver from hers.* Then you won’t just sit here, *He said. It’s firm.* I think checking the forest is a good idea. Between us, *He meant his own abilities as a wolf, and her as an actual lioness, and for a second found himself wishing he could actually transform at will. As if he hadn’t been frightened of the same less than a day ago,* We can track better than they can. Unless your father hired a wolf and lioness and you’ve not told me. 

*A small smile cracks over his lips, realizing what he’d just done after he spoke. He could do something better than the Aurors could? How novel a concept. But saying her father, bloody Shawn Graft, might have been more competent was...well that was making his stomach twist in odd ways, so he just shrugs a shoulder. Now he could smile, even though his words were serious.*  All we’d need is a sweet - if manipulative - distraction. A job for Rene and Liza if I ever heard one. *He winks, and then adds a bit more reluctantly.* ...I suppose Lynn too. But you know, *He gestures over his shoulder hastily, grin guilty,* we probably shouldn’t bother her, not now. 

 **Hols:** *His words were logical even to her own ears but when had she ever let something as trivial as logic get in the way of something she believed in? A part of her, and it was a very strong part, believed that there was something she could have done to stop this, and there was no way to make that feeling go away. She knew he understood.* Optimism *she repeated, blinking repeatedly again before she spoke under her breath* last time I try that.

*She was glad to hear him agree on that, to check the forest by themselves. They had an advantage, and it wasn't an advantage she would share with the aurors...or her father, not yet. He had enough on his plate without him having to worry even more about her and what she got up to as massive (unregistered) animagus predator. Let them do it their way, she and Al would do it their own way. Hols just wanted to get Nadia back, preferably before Devin woke up (because he would, he would).* Damn straight we can. *She nodded after a sniffle, and then chuckled genuinely at his joke. The amusement came easily, followed closely by simple happiness that this time the words 'your father' weren't uttered with any kind of anger.*

No, not now. *God, no. She brought her own hands up to her eyes to wipe away the stray tears before she leaned up to kiss him again, pressing her lips against him to try and convey every single and overwhelming emotions she had for him in one gesture. How thankful she was, how relieved, how much she needed him and wanted him around; fear crept up in there too, for him but it was minimal compared to the hope and trust she placed on him. She followed that kiss with a smaller one, almost like a little cap to tie it all down. One day soon, she would say it out loud, but it wouldn't be on a day where she felt so torn up and decimated.* By the way, *she started, words soft* the cover up that I told my mom was that we were having really rough sex. 

 

&

 

 **Lynn:** *Her gripping fear for Devin had her even less patient than usual; though that didn't seem possible. Every bone in her ached to be doing something, anything, to find Nadia - to wake her brother up. Sticking the lollipop between her teeth to give herself something to bite, it was blue; when she'd realized cherry was painting her lips the same eerie color as Devin's scars. Lynn kept her eyes on her boyfriend stubbornly. The permission from both Alcott and Hols had come tumbling with the admission that Brackner had (finally) told his mother and uncle -- and she'd hastened to Nick's side at once to tell him everything. It came out as quickly as she thought she'd ever said anything in her life. She kept herself as still as she could, knowing everything she'd told him could reasonably take some time to process. Like...a minute, thirty...two seconds, that was fair right?* I wanted to tell you, love, they just...well they made some decent..points. *She was fidgeting. At the time, it had been because frankly: no boyfriend of hers had lasted longer than three weeks, let alone six months. By now she and Hols were usually planning revenge. How simple the world had been then.*   

 **Nick:** Wow. *That was his solitary response as Lynn had finished him informing of what exactly had been going on here. For having grown up in California, not an hour's drive from LA, and for having spent every Saturday night until Jesse moved out as a movie night, he was still caught off-guard by the amount of underlying plot that had been happening right under his nose. It was with a groan that he realized, he was a typecast.* I can't believe I was the unknowing clueless friend in the situation. Not that I blame you, or them, for not telling me but still...thought I was smarter than that. 

*Nick Callaway, doomed to never be a protagonist. Rosamaria had said so years ago when he and his friends had gotten their fortunes read at a carnival by the beach when they were 14. Nadia had said that was silly, that every one was the protagonist of their own story and then proceeded to tell him he had a very odd age line which meant he could be immortal. He hoped the little tyke was okay.* Wow. *He said again, as if that was any better.* When I told Hols that she and Al were animals I didn't...*he chuckled and shook his head though it was only a small source of amusement in an otherwise grim time.* But how...are you convinced that Sam and Victoria had anything to do with this? I had to stop Hols from killing that girl myself, and I'm not sure how much longer she'll hold off.

 **Lynn:** Aw, babe. *Surprised how relieved she was that he only groaned, she stopped the curt walk to the study room, turned and slipped her arm around his neck, going on her toes to kiss him once. For a second, she could just focus on him.* You weren't the clueless friend. You were the trusting boyfriend, *kiss* the breath of fresh air, *kiss*... the normalcy needed to my utter insanity. *She kisses him again, long and hard, and pulls back to says softer, free-hand tangling with the sapphires she still wore,.* And now you're the understanding necessary other half of me who needs to know everything. *Her nose brushes his, she kisses him again and then she pulls back, resuming the curt walk, hand in hand. At the brief little 'wow' she laughs herself, tiny and bitter, wishing she could still just focus on him. Later. It was easier to be his girlfriend, than Lynn Rivers at that moment.* 

I know. It makes more sense though. Hols learns he's a wolf, he starts being less of a dick, and wham! If anything, I was the clueless one. Though if we're going to typecast, I prefer to think I'm the bitchy best friend, the queen B. *She looks sideways, wiggles both eyebrows and then exhales aggravated.* Well, Alcott saw Victoria yesterday. *Anger flashes across her eyes.* Besides that though -- Sam remembers seeing Hols that night in April...he thinks Devin was involved. *Her heart skips a beat as anger clenches in the center of her chest.* Which is...my way of saying you may have to hold me off them too, honey. *She squeezes his hand again.*

 **Nick:** *Who could help but be convinced with that kind of treatment? He smiled briefly as she kissed him every time and then nodded slowly as their kiss turned into a deeper more deliberate one, tightening his grip around her waist, happy to have her close.* Well, when you put it that way...*he grins and nods again before continuing to walk. They were headed to the "meeting" he had expressively told Hols to have before going off and doing anything stupid.* Queen Bee, yes, that suits you perfectly. All you need is a crown. *He nods then, realizing what Hols meant when she had slipped in the fact she had saved Sam's life during her rant to him. He didn't think she noticed the slip and he didn't question it then because he had been honestly tired of being lied to. He nods and squeezes her hand again.* I'll do my best...but you know how shitty my self control is, especially if it involves you in a position of power.

 **Lynn:** Well now. *Her eyebrow cocks up at him, even as she continues walking.* That sounds like something my king should give me. *She winks at him, even as she thinks she's holding on to his hand for dear life. They couldn't show weakness, she reminds herself. The clatter of her heels was comforting to hear, if only because it would be a beacon to Sam if they saw him: they hadn't broken her.* Mm, what if we make a deal, you restrain me and I'll come up with other powerful positio-- oh, hello, Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *As false brightly as her,* Oh, hello, Lynn! *Honestly, he'd only gotten off the couch to help himself to some of the study-snacks that were on the long table near the door. He knew perfectly well the word she'd been in the middle of and,* Really didn't need that image though, thanks.

 **Lynn:** *Cocks an eyebrow at him innocently,* Why Nick, did you hear that? He was picturing me.

 **Alcott:** Really, Rivers?

 **Eliza:** *From the couch, where she was buffering her nails to give her jittery hands something to do,* If you two are like this the entire time, I'm taking -- *she pauses, then looks to Hols,* asking for permission, to borrow your Kracken and hitting you both with it. May I? 

 **Alcott:** *quickly* Let's refrain; I remember how that smarts.

 **Lynn:** *She opens her mouth, then looks at Hols, looks back at Nick, and shuts it again. Fine. Even though every normal action felt weighted, the familiar and the comfortable necessary for breath -- she'd swallow the smart remarks. For now. In it's place Lynn offered a bright smile, and resumed licking her lollipop.*

 **Nick:** It'll match your necklace. *The necklace only brought along much more pleasant memories of the night of her birthday; a train of thought that she had seemed to adopt as well. His smirk was not easy to restrain.*

 **Irene:** I did! I appreciated it. *she waved her fingers from her place on the couch next to Eliza. She winked at Lynn and smiled at both of them because she had to and was determined before. Besides, frowns caused wrinkles. She told Nadia that constantly. Her mouth twitched with the want to frown as she thought of her missing best friend, but she was in charge of her body. Mostly.*

 **Nick:** *he chuckled and then cleared his throat* Al, bro code.

 **Hols:** You may. The Kraken will be happy to get reacquainted with an old friend. *It was mostly joking, but given the fact that she found everything unfunny right at that moment, it didn't come off as one. The relief and happiness on Alcott's behalf for coming clean to his mother and uncle was short-lived as her worry over her sister and Devin who was as much a brother to her as Nadia was a sister to Lynn.* One question though, *she pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning against, ignoring her protesting limbs and muscles* what are we doing here?

 **Irene:** Obviously, figuring out a plan of action. *She turned from looking at Hols to address everyone else.* I would like to submit my name for consideration as "head bitch in charge".

 **Hols:** *She ignores that, knowing that snapping at Irene wouldn't do any good.* I already have a plan: action. Funnily enough Eliza, now that you mention it, it does involve the Kraken. And Victoria's face. Like I should have done last year after I found out the little bitch put out my pictures. So! My forgiving mood has decidedly ended.

 **Alcott:** *His hands go up with a tiny smirk and head jerk of agreement to Nick. Sometimes he didn't understand how Rivers had attracted such a decent, agreeable bloke -- but mostly, he couldn't say he cared.*

 **Lynn:** *Wiggling a wave back to Irene (and ignoring both Nick and Alcott for a moment), she perched on the edge of the couch. Her gaze was on Hols. She agrees easily,* My forgiving mood too. 

 **Eliza:** *warily, her hand pausing.* Not to be the voice of reason but-

 **Alcott:** Well that makes a nice change. *The moment the sarcasm had left his lips, he was reminded of his grandfather's words: always a smart remark, just like his father. It stuck his throat together.*

 **Eliza:** *Oh, Al. Ignoring,* How exactly wi--

 **Lynn:** *Over them with a head shake, though her eyes hadn't left Hols.* I was going to add that with my forgiving mood's death there was the birth of a-

 **Alcott:** Murder-planning mood? *Off-hand.*

 **Lynn:** Something like. *A tiny smirk was on her lips.* 

 **Eliza:** *With a heavy exhale,* That won't get us answers.

 **Lynn:** No, but it will sure feel damn good.

 **Eliza:** Not if if hurts the chan--

 **Alcott:** There is no chance. *Flatly, his hands curling around the back of the couch, eyes dropping to the carpet beneath them. When he lifts it, he's locked on Hols' gaze again, wishing vividly they were still in the room alone.* We're finding Nadia, and Devin is waking up. Period.

 **Eliza:** *She unsticks her throat, face broken in sympathy even as she agrees.* Obviously. Still, Victoria is the best lead. Smashing her face in with a bat might 'feel damn good' *Lord, how was it Lynn and her brother could be such polar opposites, and still so similar?*, but it won't make her inclined to answer questions.*

 **Alcott:** *False brightly.* But that's where you come in, isn't it?

 **Eliza:** Me.

 **Alcott:** *Shrugs a shoulder, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.* Of the people in this room, who do you think she'd believe would feel sorry for her, that she'd open up to?

 **Eliza:** *Her mouth founds a tiny 'oh', she clears her throat, and sits up.* You're serious? She's dating my--

 **Alcott:** Abusive.

 **Lynn:** Psychotic.

 **Eliza:** -ex. *Pauses, hearing their added adjectives, and look sideways to Lynn, a questioning eyebrow arched.*

 **Lynn:** *Shrugs a shoulder, a 'crack' echoing from the bitten lollipop.* Maybe she's upset with Roswell; you relate with his psychosis, and voila. *She uses the lollipop as a magic wand a moment.* Benefits of this plan being we hurt her first. *Her eyes narrow, and she looks at Alcott.* You saw her. 

 **Alcott:** I'm not like to forget. *His heart would skip beats over it though. The back of his teeth clench together.* She was drunk. So what I'm curious of is - *He turns to Irene, raising a hand as he asks,* Was she at the party? 

 **Nick** : Glad to know I'm not the only voice of reason among us. It's a tiring job.

 **Hols:** You should quit. *she suggested with false cheer.* Don't listen to you much anyways.

 **Nick:** Love you too, Rae.

 **Irene:** She doesn't mean that, Nick. *raises an eyebrow in Hols' direction, not wanting to tell her off because that wasn't who she was...actually, that's more what Nadia would do. She missed her little hot Spanish mamisita. Irene rubbed at her eyes really quickly.*

 **Hols:** *Murder planning mood, she liked that the sound of that but not more than murder committing mood. That was her point: no talking, more doing.* It will get us answers. *simply* I'll hit her until she talks.

 **Nick:** *He snorted and shook his head, keeping a comment to himself. He didn't know if Al and Hols had talked it out yet but he didn't wanna risk antagonizing a touchy subject by reminding Hols her father would definitely not approve.*

 **Irene:** Exactly. *she nods, agreeing with Al even though she wasn't the one he was looking at.* It's gonna happen, and the moment Devin's awake and Nadia's back, I'm going to smother them in my bosom.

 **Hols:** *Her lips twitched briefly at Irene's description before she exhales and shakes her head, not a fan of stealth and deceit and manipulation; that was always more of Lynn's cup of tea. Hols was more blunt, straightforward, in-your-face.* I prefer my plan. Smashing skulls, crushing testicles.

 **Irene:** Definitely not my favorite thing to do with testicles *she adds simply, even as a part of her could practically hear the high pitched squeak of shock even now* but given that they're Roswells, I'll make an exception. I have these new pumps I've been itching to try out. 

 **Nick:** *He had been wincing, brows furrowing and now he was just shaking his head insistently as the disgusting image.* Horrible topic, next.

 **Hols:** *Victoria was there, that was the point. She was there and she had smashed Alcott's wolfsbane on purpose. She was focusing all her rage on the other girl because if she didn't, Hols would feel guilty that it was half her fault Al had stormed off in the first place. Bite and scratch marks pulsed in reminder of the night that had occurred because of it. A night that Nadia had warned her about and she had ignored and now her baby sister was paying the price for it.*

 **Irene:** Oh my skank radar was going off like crazy the whole time, but Victoria didn't even register a blip. *she shook her head* I would have spotted her and frankly, I would have kicked her bony ass into the lake and snogged my boyfriend at the same time without missing a beat. *Unfortunately she didn't get to do either, but the latter was because they had been dealing with unpleasant things.*

 **Lynn:** Damn. *She'd been hoping Victoria was there, that someone had seen her with Sam. Nick had just asked her why she was so certain it was them...and Lynn didn't know. Was it ridiculous to say she just felt it, deep in her bones? Nadia would have believed her, she thought briefly with a pang in the center of her chest. Ducking her gaze to the floor, her hand slipped to tangle fingers with Nick's.*

 **Alcott:** New pumps? *It was wry, amused -- he couldn't help the remark. He thought in some ways it was more important to be himself now more than ever. It was a way to feel human. Then his gaze darts back to Hols, saying slowly,* Well, that is an appealing image. ...Though luv, I think you'd knock her out with one blow. I have faith, anyways. *He would. His fist curled just thinking about it.* ...and she can't answer much then.

 **Lynn:** *Over them, shaking her head slightly,* Look, we know it was them, but at the same time -- they're both here, obviously, still at school. What connections do they have?

 **Alcott:** *He looks at Lynn with an incredulous 'really?' obvious in his face.*

 **Lynn:** *Her eyes narrow at him.* Besides a cousin whose Minister of Magic, thanks Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *He shrugs a shoulder, amused.* I wasn't accus--

 **Eliza:** *Suddenly,* You said she was drunk?

 **Alcott:** *His gaze snaps back to her, arching an eyebrow, wondering how it could take her so long and then wondering why it could possibly be important.* Yes?

 **Eliza:** *slowly* Sam...he imports the liquor, imports...

 **Alcott:** Everything. *nods, generally wishing to skip over that point. Rivers was still glaring in memory; as if it was his fault that Sam had  been dealer for her brother?* 

 **Eliza:** Well, clearly he has some criminal connection there. *She speaks with obvious distaste, eyes flicking to Irene with a tiny smile.* And since she wasn't at the party...well, I know where he liked to go to drink, we could start there. 

 **Lynn:** *immediately* Where?

 **Eliza:** On campus? There's a room behind the boathouse, it's usually abandoned, has comfortabl--

 **Lynn/Alcott:** *same time* I know.

 **Lynn:** *looks at Alcott* Oh gros-- really?

 **Alcott:** *had instantly looked at Hols, brows arching as if to say 'You got that place from -her-?" with a shocked little gasp.*

 **Eliza:** Oh good God. *She shakes her head, then looks to Irene and Nick for sympathy. At least they understood. Not that she didn't get why Lynn and Alcott were touchy - why Hols was murderous -- god, she couldn't even imagine how they had to be feeling. Heart pounding, she says a bit louder,* We can see if there are any clues there.

 **Alcott:** *nods, but he's taken a few steps closer to Hols now, arms folded on his chest to force himself to relax as he asks in as reassuring a voice as he can manage,* Is there anything else I should..know, about what I did? 

 **Hols:** *Yes, she probably could. She was the daughter of an auror after all, her dad had made her take countless of self defense classes after her mom had taught her how to throw her first punch. Hols packed a wallop. And if even Nadia could break Victoria's nose, Hols remembered being so proud, Hols would make quick work of the girl and that wouldn't help.* I still want to hit something. *She muttered under her breath.*

 **Irene:** I import *she said defensively, crossing her legs again and laying her hands on her lap.* Don't make it sound so dirty. *Granted she didn't import drugs or anything else like that. She might be a party animal but she was pure of heart and intent. Mostly. She didn't like drugs except alcohol was the point she was trying to make. Pills made her think of her mother.*

 **Nick:** *With his hand firmly grabbing Lynn's, he turn to Irene with a soft smile and shook his head.* I'm sure it's not the same, Rene.

 **Hols:** *She prayed and wished and hoped that Sam's contact wasn't anyone working for her uncle Jandro. That man practically runs the world black market, the wizarding one at least. He got her Carrado when he was just an egg as a present, and those never came cheap. Maybe she would have to write a letter to her dear uncle to see if he knew anything.*

 **Irene:** Now that sounds like a plan! *She wraps an arm around her equally-golden-bestie.* Blondes do it better. *She winked at Eliza before addressing everyone again* And we finally have a destination! You know, last year, I went as "Sheila Holmes" for Halloween so I already know about being a detective. And besides, out of all of us here I'm the only Hufflepuff and the legends are true, we're exceptionally good finders. Fantastic even. Extraordinary. 

 **Nick:** *He chuckled because he couldn't help it. It was good news that he still could, that they could continue to act like themselves even in this moment of crisis, and that they could continue moving forward. Nick nodded, liking the idea of checking that out for starters.* I'm in...though if we all go, won't it seem suspicious?

 **Hols:** *She pursed her lips apologetically at Al as he and Lynn realized they had both effectively snogged at the same spot. For Lynn it was probably a sacred place come to die, but hopefully more so because of Sam than Al. According to Irene, who had been witness to the whole thing, Lynn and Al had actually gotten along and chuckled through a conversation without drawing blood; she'd focus on that. Hols raised her head as Al stepped closer and she shook her head, letting her arms fall from in front of her chest to her sides.* No, nothing else. *He had already seen the essential beating-up her body had gotten and she wasn't about to remind him. Hols had told him what she knew already, that she got him away from the party and kept driving him further into the forest; they made enough noise not to be bothered by any other potentially dangerous animals. She met her gaze before she admitted.* You might have eaten a squirrel.

 **Alcott:** *Muttering equally under his breath, relieved to see a tiny smirk of pride cross her lips,* You hit me quite a few times. *Sheepish and smirking at once, he cocked his eyebrow saying flatly,* With rocks too, I seem to remember. *It was almost, almost playful. The situation at the back of his mind -- but then there seemed to be tens of hundreds of terrible situations, or okay four or five -- it only made him more determined to keep that smirk in place. Besides, he truly wanted Hols' to know he didn't blame her for any of it last night. His hand lifted to toy with the dragon-ring he had on a chain around his neck, chuckling under his breath and turning back to Irene,* Yeah, but you actually get the good stuff.

 **Eliza:** Oh no- nono, that's not wha-- *Her breathless covering was cut off by Nick and Al, so she just shook her head.* Right. 

Lynn: *curious, she looks at Irene with a head tilt* No, it's probably not, but maybe....I mean Hogwarts has to be wild territory, a real goldmine, anyone who sells here probably knows the competition right? Maybe you could ask where you import from? *It was just alcohol, she thought lightly even as she tangles herself a little closer to Nick.*

 **Alcott:** *That made sense, he thought (decidedly ignoring now what else he'd just bloody learned about that boathouse spot and thinking that really, there were lots of rooms in that area, it probably wasn't the same one), and then just finds himself grinning back at Irene. Lord, did he love her sometimes. All times, actually, but most especially sometimes.* All right Sheila, what should we know? *He could play along. Besides, now he was thinking about role-playing, and for a few brief moments picturing Hols in --well, he'd say costumes but that would be generous...*

 **Eliza:** Oh damn straight. *She chuckles, putting her arm around Irene too and squeezing.* And that bodes well. 

 **Lynn:** Good point. *She says in pride, looking back at Nick, happy to see the strategic mind that made him such an impossible opponent in chess. They were more alike than most in that room thought.* We should make sure they're distracted too, while we do look.

 **Eliza:** *Holds up her hand preemptively,* I'm not-

 **Alcott:** *near angrily* No, you're not going near Sam.

 **Eliza:** *A bit mollified by the protective anger, and she smiles briefly, looking down. Slowly, she tilts her head and then looks up again,* I think we should ask Sie too.

 **Lynn:** *Her gaze darts to Hols even as she says slowly, warily,* Ask her--

 **Eliza:** *rephrasing instantly, seeing the narrower brow on Alcott's face and the look flash through Hols' eyes,* I, can ask her -- if she knows anything that's happened between Sam and Victoria lately. If anyone does...

 **Lynn:** Oh, they were fighting. Didn't I say?

 **Alcott** : Apparently not just Sienna. *He's grateful for that, looking at Eliza and then Lynn incredulously.*

 **Lynn:** *She'd thought she'd mentioned that Eliza could pretend to relate--oh well. Seeing the glee in Alcott's eyes, she rolled her own and then waves her hand,* I don't know much, just they had a brief argument few days back. 

 **Eliza:** *Her throat tightens, eyes narrowing a bit.* 

 **Alcott:** Okay. Wonderful, now we've had the gossip -- *He didn't care if they'd argued* -- I'm, going to the boat house. *flatly, looking at Nick with an upturn in his smirk, wanting to think of something else* Hey, you still have the 'skis there?

 **Lynn:** *And he knows about those. Wonderful. Men. Even still, she had slid herself closer to her boyfriend suddenly, glad to think they were getting along for Hols sake. Lynn did so love being contrary.*

 **Hols:** *Yes, and a few times a bit harder than she should have but she was trying to keep him restrained, and it wasn't her fault her lionness was more fierce about wanting to subdue her pray than she. The rocks though, that there was no excuse for because it was deliberate even in a moment of rage. Looking back at it though, the entire situation set aside for only a brief moment, it was quite comical.* Hitting you isn't quite satisfactory anymore. *She was satisfied however to see Al reach a hand to the ring she had given him. It warmed her more than anything so far had.*

 **Irene:** *She beamed.* I do get good shit, don't I? *She was pleased to hear so. Irene had a reputation to uphold, after all. If she was going to open up her own bar, then she couldn't go around providing liquor that tasted like Merlin's saggy ass. She looked back at Lynn and answered easily.* Frances Montero fulfills all my alcohol desires and her father is Castor Montero, owner of the Earth.

 **Nick:** *He chuckles and then arches his eyebrow* The Earth? Irene, I don't think it's possible to own an entire planet.

 **Irene:** No, silly, The Earth! *She looked around thinking that at least one of them would know what she meant.* Oh come on Nick, you're from L.A.- it's a series of clubs all over the world! Well, anyways I put in my orders -I have very particular tastes- and when Frances, poor girl by the way what a horrible name, is all ready we meet up in Hogsmeade. I got to the bathroom in The Three Broomsticks, there's a purse waiting for me with all my bottles shrunk and then I leave my purse, an exact copy, with the money. Easy, clean.

 **Nick:** *he whistles* Sounds like quite the transaction. Why the big secret? It's just alcohol.

Irene: I'm 15, I want to be careful. *she shrugs, flipping her hair over her shoulder before admitting with a smile.* Plus, it's fun. But the point is, it's a rather personal deal, I met Frances at the Queen's birthday party two years ago and she does this as a favor for me. I don't think she would know who else dealt near Hogwarts, though I could ask.

 **Hols:** *The queen's birthday party? Oh for Merlin's sake, did she hear correctly? Does that actually happen? Invitations to birthday parties from royalty? And she thought having to dress up for Christmas dinner was fancy. No longer.*

 **Irene:** Location, location, location! Main part, but I mean, we already know the location so that's set. And follow your gut. It's always good to have a magnifying glass with you for us without supernatural senses, question everything, and always look cute.

 **Nick:** Always look cute is what we should know about being detectives?

Irene: No, but that's an Irene rule to a more prosperous living so you should all follow it. *nods importantly.*

Hols: *Leave it to Nick to play it safe. If she was going to be cut from this 'detective' playing, she would bite someone's head off and she wouldn't need to morph into a lioness to do it. And Sienna's nick name just seemed to increase that desire for violence. Her head snapped to Eliza the moment she heard it before realizing what she had done and decidedly looked away, attempting to push down that annoyance.* Don't really care about their couple drama unless it was a falling out about the best way to exact their revenge.

 **Nick:** *He laughed more out of surprise than actual amusement to hear Alcott bring them up before he nodded.* Oh yeah, still there. *He turned to look at Lynn, remembering the afternoon they had spent together as a first date with those. He squeezed her hand.*

 **Irene:** Hold up, I'm coming too! *She stands up and pats down the wrinkles in her skirt.* You are not leaving me behind, sir! I'm the best finder in this room. The moment I walk out, I'll be the best finder in the hallway! And so on, and so forth.

 **Hols:** *On second though, she brightened and then stood straighter.* Okay, you go check the boathouse. I'll go distract the bitch.

 **Nick:** *he sighed* Hols-

 **Hols:** She's much more likely to talk to Sienna *oh look, she could say the name without spitting or rolling her eyes! It was a better day than she thought it was-* after being verbally abused by me. 

&.

**Hols:** *Everyone had pretty much come to the conclusion that there was no way they were going to stop her from approaching Victoria and had "allowed" Hols to go find her. Pah. And on the condition she didn't punch Victoria in the face. Well, she would try her very best but just seeing the back of that head made her furious, livid. She would have roared if she could. Oh, now she had the image of her lioness form lunging and attacking Victoria. What a sweet revenge that would be.* Hey, bitch! *Was that not her name? It had practically been made for her. Hols sped up her steps to catch up with her; the hallway was deserted but for the two of them at the moment and really she wouldn't mind an audience.* Yeah, I'm talking to you, putrid ass skank. *Hols stopped walking when another step would have made her crash into the other girl* You have ten seconds to explain what the fuck you think you're doing.

 **Victoria:** *Was she serious? Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped walking, desperately wishing she'd already reached Danica. Folding her arms on her chest, she spun around finally as she realized she was about to be barreled into. Frown replaced with a smirk, smarm that failed to pass for charm dripped from her words,* Afternoon, Holly. So glad to see you haven't lost your...unique charms, but I have frankly no idea what you're referring to.

 

 **Hols:** *Let me re-jog your memory by punching you in the face. She refrained however, as Nick's damn yankee accent creeped up in her mind reminding her that her parents really didn't need to be worried about another child. Damn Nick.* Last night. You were following Devin and then you smashed the vial in Al's hand. Oh, here's when you tell me a piece of shit excuse for why you did it, I really don't care. But how convenient that the last person that Devin sees before he was attacked is you, and then two sets of footprints walking away from the spot where Devin was attacked. I'm sorry, one was walking, the other was being dragged. *She snapped the last part out, taking a step closer to the bitch, her anger seething.* So I'll ask again, what the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you think you're safe, that you're getting away with this? I know it was you and you're psychotic abusive piece of dragon shit you call boyfriend. You must have some huge balls to think you can -fuck- with us like this. 

 **Victoria:** *She's cut off from the prepared retort four times, and each time her jaw only gets tighter. Graft really thought she was safe, didn't she? It was amusing. For a moment she considered telling Sam they could easily offer another recruit (after all, Graft was nearly pureblood herself), before she chided herself too many would be suspicious and warrant looking into. So instead she took a step forward and snapped,* Oh, you know everything, don't you Graft? You've got everything figured out, and you already know everything that's going to happen! Congratulations on the psychic gift...oh wait. *She taps the edge of her lips, mocking,* That's Nadia, isn't it?

 **Hols:** *She gritted her teeth.* You don't even -try- to tell me that I'm crazy, that you have nothing to do with it, that I'm wasting my time because you know everything I said is true and you're proud of it even! Proud of this little plot! *Her eyes narrowed further as the bitch said her sister's name, mocked her and Hols could barely stand it. Don't punch her in the face, don't kick her in the gut, don't do any combinations or alterations of either. Her fists were shaking with the effort of keeping them at her side.* Listen here you cock-sucking arse-licker, you say her name again and that punch my sister gave you in the face last year is gonna be a little pat compared with the beating I'll give you. And I'll have the decency to do so in broad daylight, without a werewolf attacking to distract you. *Breathe in, breathe out, arms at her side.* _Where. is. she?_

 **Victoria:** *Her self-satisfied smirk only widens. Well, there was an added benefit here. Dear Holly-Rae was going to get herself institutionalized, and that would save them time. Of course she was proud, she thought bitterly, hadn't anyone in that perfect little group heard of karma? How fucking hypocritical was that last line anyway?* That would be a first. *She says it pleasantly, brimming with pride.* I haven't forgotten - though this school seems to, that Devin is not the first to have nearly been killed by that wolf. *Her stomach clenches, a flutter of discontent on her face. It was Sam's idea, she thought briefly, a good one...but Devin wasn't waking. That worried her. If it was tit-for-tat...she cleared her throat, straightens again and says perfectly honestly,* I have no idea where she is. 

*And she didn't. Sam had been right (of course he had)--they'd come after her first, since Devin saw her. There's another twist in her stomach at the hazy memory--lord had she been glad to get away from that bloodthirsty wolf and hand the unconscious Nadia over to Sam and....whoever that other man was. She hadn't seen his face ever; "to protect her" and frankly, Victoria was fine with that.* 

I haven't seen her, have no idea where she went -- but you are right in one thing Graft, I don't care. And I don't see why I should. If it weren't for your dear sister, I wouldn't have lost everyone in my life that mattered. I'm not hiding that. *Her eyes narrow.* I suggest you look for the enemy of yours that pretends presently to be your friend. Could one be more suspicious than I? Haven't you read your mystery novels Nancy, the most obvious is never the culprit? Oh. *She taps the side of her lips.* I was about to ask if you've checked with your butler...but obviously, you don't have one.

 **Hols:** *Wrong wolf, Hols thought eyes narrowing. And the reason that Sam was alive was because of her. She almost wished she had let him remember but why bother?! He would surely twist that in his mind as well no matter the facts. One thing was certain, she was never lifting a finger or claw to help either of them again.* I remember, I remember him actually being in pretty worse conditions but he managed to wake up. *And the fact that Devin hadn't still seemed strange, apart from nerve wracking- Lynn and aunt Jay and uncle Shane were a mess. And it was all because of this bitch and Roswell. She raised an eyebrow, and then had to scoff at that.* 

You lost everyone because you're a piece of shit human being. You betrayed Eliza, and in that same moment lost Al's respect forever, not that he had much for you to begin with because you're a skank who he barely tolerated. You moved in on Devin when he was at his lowest, when he clearly wasn't interested in your bony ass, and then insulted the person he cares about most in the world. The only person who even cares about you anymore is Sienna and newsflash, she still prefers Eliza over you. You know who also prefers Eliza over you? Your lunatic boyfriend, who uses you as a cum dumpster, and whose arse I'll kick if he gets even five feet within her perimeter. So tell me, Victoria, how is it exactly Nadia's fault that you're a pathetic excuse for a human being that no one gives a shit about? Oh wait *she claps her hands together* I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed, does your butler like you, or is he just paid to?

 **Victoria:** *Her eyes narrowing, and jawline thinning she glares back at her, her heart seems to skip beats as she's having trouble breathing. But she couldn't let that show, she couldn't let this bitch know she gave a damn what she said or heard the truth in her words-- that was weakness, a weakness she couldn't tolerate. Her mother wouldn't. Sam wouldn't. So heart pounding blood through her veins twice as quickly, she only exhales in a fierce struggle for calm.* I've known Al half his life, and you think because he's decided to fuck you a few times you know him better? I got news for you honey, Alcott's first wasn't Sienna. *She bites it out, feeling like she cracked her back teeth. Sure, she and Al had never been together either.* But oh that's right. *Her voice went screechy.* I kissed Devin, I kissed Al, and my boyfriend makes the poor decision to seduce me be-fore- breaking up with Eliza, and -I'm- obviously the one to blame here for how they acted after? *Her eyes narrow as she snapped finally, hand going to her heart incredulously,* Nadia's the perfect one so she gets the apology and I'm just the whore. 

 **Hols:** *She laughed, she actually laughed and for a moment was actually grateful for Victoria for being able to provide her some amusement but that was before she went back to hating her guts.* Wow, that's a pathetic attempt to hurt me. First, because I wouldn't give a fuck, only lament his poor taste before me, and secondly, it's particularly hilarious that you're trying to pass off a drunken hand-job for a fuck. *She couldn't keep listening to that pathetic wailing.* No, you kissed Devin and then bragged about it to Nadia, you kissed Al and now manipulated it into something it wasn't. You valued your own selfish need for attention before your friendship with Eliza, over that slimy git who I'm sure makes you feel worse about yourself than you already do. You're not a whore, Victoria- no, sorry, you are but not a good one, you can't even do that right- you're a traitor. *She hissed it out, with a step forward.* But now you've finally gone too far; kidnapping is actual crime. *She narrowed her eyes* You're going to regret crossing us with every fiber of your being. And if anything's happened to my baby sister, I won't hand you in to the Ministry, I'll take care of you myself.

 **Victoria** : *Shocked disgust appeared on her face too fast for her to hide it as she realized--Alcott had told her. He'd fucking told her--couldn't even leave her with the dignity to use the encounter. As if she didn't feel dirty enough the next day -- or now even, as Hols kept going. And going. Disgusted, angry, even a bit hurt she shakes her head vibrantly, quickly. It was half an excuse to avert her eyes. Then she bit out,* I won't regret a damn thing. *Did that insinuate she knew? Well, screw it: they had no bloody evidence to make a legal move, and nothing was stopping her from being attacked illegally--as Graft just said!* And  you better watch your own damn words. Won't Daddy Auror be ashamed to hear a threat like that?

 **Hols:** *She was glad she had gotten to Victoria; Hols saw it plainly on the other girl's face. The sick satisfaction that came from it didn't feel so sick to her right now. It was nothing, nothing compared to what she and her family were going through, what Lynn and her family was going through. And that was it, the admission of guilt that was totally unnecessary for her because she knew her stupidly manicured nails were all over this.* If there's something my "Daddy Auror" understands is retaliation against those that fuck with family. You've been warned. *She was about to turn around and then thought twice about it. The bell rang, students were getting out of class and the hallway was filling up. Perfect. She pulled her fist back and punched her across the face.* And that's for leaking my negatives, bitch. *There, now she could go.*


	19. He Was a Genius, Wasn't He?

“Good morning, Angel,” a voice drawled right in his ear as arms situated themselves on his shoulders. “Have you caught a glimpse of heaven today?”

“Allison,” he greeted much more curtly, unfazed as he kept stirring the potion inside the cauldron. He managed to flinch only because he forced himself to. It wasn’t something entirely theatrical, but it was subtle nuances that were captured in the subconscious mind and which made a more lasting impression. Truthfully, Allison greeted him the same way every week since he had met her and it was hardly a surprise by now, but it’d be considered normal of him to appear a little jumpy, so he played along. “Have you killed anybody today?”

“Not yet,” she responded truthfully, her lips turning into a smirk against his ear; his sarcasm had completely avoided her. “But it’s only ten in the morning.” 

He didn’t doubt the truth of her words, because if she was here, he knew exactly what she wanted. Angel shrugged off her hands off his shoulders and then outstretched a hand and waited for a vial to float its way from the cabinet to his hand. He poured the silver colored potion (a most ironic color for its purpose) and stoppered it before holding it out to her.

“I take it you’re here for this?”

She snatched it out of his hand with a wide grin, and a nod. “Clever boy.” She put the vial in her back pocket, the grin turning into a smirk again as she stepped forward. “Always knowing exactly what I want, and giving it to me.” Angel shook his head, tired of her constant games and in no mood to play them this day.

“I haven’t been a boy for decades.”

“You haven’t been a man for almost as long,” she countered easily, sliding between him and the table where his cauldron sat. Not a very smart move, he wanted to counter verbally. Given that a simple push forward from him which she could easily mistake as an act of passion, would have her over the hot burning flames, which were especially hot as was necessary to make a potion this complicated, this unheard of before. But she would only heal and it would only serve to anger her, and an angry werewolf that he had given the ability to change at will was not something he wanted to deal with.

“I keep telling you, Angel,” she drawled his name again in a way that might have boiled the blood of any normal man, though for him it held no sway, “You’d be far less grumpy if you’d let me reward you…show you my gratitude for what you’ve done for me, for the pack.” Her hands traveled down his chest but Angel took her wrists in his hands before they reached their intended destination. Angel knew that if Allison really wished so, she would have kept going; she was after all physically stronger. But Allison was a creature of pride, believing that any man who didn’t want to bed her after she had turned on her charms was either mental or stupid; she never wanted to appear as if she were begging. Too late, he thought as he moved her hands away.

“I’ve told you before, Allison. You’re not my type.” She was as stubborn as a man when it came to her advances, though he knew it was mostly because this was a game to her; that’s why she came back. He amused her, like a toy, like an object. It was something everyone in this organization had in common; their regard for people as materials instead of real people.

Her eyebrows sky-rocketed before she questioned coolly, intending to wound him, “As in female?”

An insinuation that he was homosexual: how creative and unique, totally unexpected of her. He exhaled under his breath, his patience wearing thin (a problem recently a very serious one for someone like him) before he adopted a small smirk. “No, but let me put it in terms you’d understand.” He waited a moment, taking a step away from her and then dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’d rather wank.”

Her distaste and anger were practically palpable in the air. That insult seemed to be enough for her, today, so he simply raised his eyebrows and then pointed at the door before turning back to his work. “See you around, Allison. Do try to make this batch last?” The only response was the clicking of heels as they strode across the room and the slammed door behind her. “Touchy,” he spoke out again, knowing her supernatural hearing could pick up on it outside of the door and turned the white gold ring on his left hand out of habit.

The reason he had no time for such foolishness, more than usual he meant, was that the days were drawing near until the exchange was to take place and he could afford no slips. His plan, four almost five years in the making, would almost come to fruition. Never before had he ample opportunity such as this. Generously, he didn’t believe he would have the means to do anything for another five years but now a chance had presented itself in the form of a 15 year old girl.

Nadia Tudor had been taken from Hogwarts, her memory wiped. The potion that had caused it had been one of his own making. But the effects were not irreversible, and that’s what he would be taking advantage of. In that same regard, he was using the teenage girl and lying to her. He knew perfectly well who she was and had lied to her when she asked. Angel had to, because it was safer if she didn’t know. Not usually a believer of the saying ‘ignorance is bliss’, in this case he would have to make an exception. The girl, the entrance to the dungeons rather, was guarded by people specialized in legilimency so no thought of hers was safe at this moment. He, in contrast, had been able to fool these people for a long amount of time due to his high skills in occlumency and counter-legilimency (though granted the second wasn’t an official term, for he had invented it.) 

They were not going to kill her, no matter how the boy who had ensured she be brought here wished otherwise. She was more use to them alive than dead, and for that Nadia was lucky. Just because she had to be kept alive, however, didn’t mean they’d have to keep her safe, unhurt, whole. Angel had made sure to warn her of that, but he didn’t how else to help, except check on her as often as he could. He wished they didn’t have to keep her in those dungeons along with the rest of their prisoners but given that she meant so little to them, an invisible speck flying in the air, he wasn’t surprised. His jaw clenched briefly as he passed his hand over his bearded mouth, lowering the heat on the cauldron.

Angel still remembered her asking him to help her, to get her out, and how it had killed him to say no. Surely, she thought him a coward, unwilling to help out a girl after being so terribly abused, after becoming a man scared of his own shadow and clinging to fear and preparing for the worst. Preparing for the worst was not untrue, but the rest were just facts about the false identity he had built himself around here. He could not help her escape, because he needed her to be there and because she would soon become the most important person in the world. Nadia held important connections, connections that would have surely been noticed by Gustav as well. Angel was fully planning to take advantage of said connections by sending messages retrievable only by a few familiar with the way his memory potion worked. It was a gamble, but he knew of the people Nadia called friends, and one of them…

He closed his eyes, holding the edges of the table and leaning forward as he supported himself. There were too many ifs in his plan, if Nadia got home safely, if the Death Eaters noticed nothing astray, if someone recognized the memory loss as his research, if his research was still on hand, if someone happened to say the right words, if someone realized the pattern…it was risky. Not only that but someone, someone was not the correct word. Angel knew who in specific he was hoping would figure it out. He opened his eyes and stepped away from the table and walked to his desk, picking up a picture, the latest one. Nine years had passed. The people in the picture wouldn’t be able to recognize him. He did them, though. In his own little twisted way, he had watched them grow. He put the picture frame down and then exhaled, gathering himself again before leaving his room, closing the door behind him and locking it; he had received the privilege of a lock three years ago.

The grounds were vast, an old French mansion whose colors were black, more black, and a little grey. He was in the East Wing, crowded with gargoyles and suits of armor and portraits that constantly bickered over which hex in their lifetimes had been the nastiest. Some of the new recruits got said spells from the portraits and were eager to try it out in their training. Such a thought caused him to quicken his steps and descend into the dungeons.

The dungeons were deep underground, the first couple of levels without use at this point in time for they kept the prisoners in the deepest level, the one that was carved from the cavern that was already there. The air was cold and still; it was always freezing down there. No matter how hard you tried, there was no way to get warm. No fabric pushed back that insisting force. And when you bled, when the blood rushed out of your veins, it only made you colder.

“Back again, I see,” a hiss left the big man standing in front of the entrance. Even if he wasn’t taking a potion that warmed him, courtesy of Angel of course, the sheer mass of the man would have kept him warm all through winter. It reminded him of a walrus with blubber; he was the right color too. All he needed now was some tusks and whiskers and he’d be ready for the North Pole.

“What’s so funny, Angel?” His voice was disgruntled, as it always was when he had to talk to Angel. Normally, the walrus could simply look into a person’s head and see the cause of amusement. If it was himself, he had the tendency to knock out teeth with his big and meaty hands. He was rather sensitive about his weight, as it was.

“Absolutely nothing, Maurice,” he replied with a smile before he gestured to the door behind the man though he couldn’t see it, Angel knew it was there. Maurice was just very effective at blocking the entire entryway. “I’ve come to see the girl.”

“Obviously,” he replied, snorting. “She’s a pretty little thing, for a mudblood.” His wide grin showed teeth too small for his enormous mouth; no fangs, no tusks. “A shame we can’t touch her really. The things I would do-“

“Are you going to let me pass or not?” Angel was no longer amused by the man in front of him at his expense; he was once more back to being disgusted. The one good quality about Maurice, for Angel’s benefit at least, was that he had no idea who he really was, most of the Death Eaters didn’t. They had no need to be wary of him, all except Gustav and his right hand men. They knew his true identity, and they made sure to keep a watchful eye over him at all times, though even that was steadily decreasing. In their minds, he was broken. For a little over a year, he had believed it too.

Maurice grunted and then stepped aside, and Angel walked past him and started down the narrow hallway. _Good luck trying to get to her if you can’t even fit through the door, walrus._ He got to the cell where Nadia was being held and was surprised to find her sitting in a corner, hunched, crying. The last time he had visited, she had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling; she had said she was imagining the night sky, that she remembered the stars, and that gave her comfort.

Walking through the bars, he stepped inside the cell and crouched down next to her. “Shhh. It’s okay girl, it’s okay-“

“How do you do that?!” she screamed out, her head snapped up and she glared at him. Angel was able to see why she was crying. There were lines where she was burned down her face, and now he could see they went down her arms, and her clothing was singed, the cloth melted into the skin underneath. She was crying out of pain, and the tears hitting the oozing burns would have only made the pain worse. He exhaled, realizing what she had attempted to do.

“You tried to walk through the bars,” her eyes loss some of their fervor and she nodded repeatedly. “Why did you think that would work, child?”

“I had to try!” her lip quivered as she sobbed through her words, “I didn’t think…it hurts.” She dropped her head again to hide it in arms that were equally scarred by the burning touch of the metal. Looking back he saw some of her skin sticking to the metal of the bars that made her door. His eyes narrowing momentarily, he took out his wand and grabbed her wrist gently. Her head snapped up again, her eyes wide with sudden fear.

“You can’t do that!”

He was confused, “Girl, I’m going to help you.”

“You’ll get hurt,” she choked out in half stutters. “You said so yourself, doing magic in here causes unbelievable pain,” she shook her head from side to side and Angel saw white pus dripping out from a burn in her shoulder. “I won’t let you get hurt because of me.”

Was this girl a saint or something? Angel was confused, but he was insistent. “If I don’t heal these, apart from being immensely painful, they could get infected. I’ll be fine.”

“I said no!” She was equally as adamant. “I won’t be the reason you get hurt again.”

Kindness, compassion, that’s what she was offering. She thought of him, of keeping him from being hurt again, first before her own safety. He chuckled, surprised and partially disbelieving. “You’re stupid, girl.”

“Better than cruel,” she sniffed, “Better than selfish.” She licked her lips and then winced immediately, the pain too much. “Put away your wand, I’ll be fine. Bacteria don’t grow in this cold.”

Angel sighed and shook his head and waved his wand anyways despite her shout of no and on top of the bed appeared a few potions, a bowl of hot water, and a towel. Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the objects before looking at him.

“Well if you won’t let me heal you the easy way, we’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“I didn’t realize potions were the old fashioned way,” she sniffed, and he saw her hand hesitate before reaching up to wipe tears from her face. She whimpered but relented and then stood up, though Angel had to help her and sat on the bed. They sat there in mostly silence for a long time as Angel pried out clothes from the wounds, disinfected them, gave her the potion to regrow skin he had finally gotten right after all these years, and soothed the burns as best as he could.

“You could have tried to simply pass a hand through it, to check,” he murmured after bandaging her forearms to keep the topical salve on, to help with the pain. He looked up before beginning to apply it gingerly to her face, his eyes focused on his work despite talking to her. “Why didn’t you?”

Nadia, or rather the girl trying her very best to get back to being Nadia, was quiet for a few more seconds before she answered. “Why do some people cannonball into a pool to get in instead of dipping a toe in?” she shrugged, though the gesture still made her wince, her shoulder and the rest of her would be sore for a few days. “I guess it’s just…all or nothing, really.” She paused again; her eyes were fixed on his. “Do you think I was like that, before? Or that maybe this place is…making someone else out of me.”

“What do you believe?” he asked after dropping his hand from her face.

“I would like to think I’ve always been brave.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is foolish,” he countered, lips flicking.

“You said stupid, earlier,” she replied back a small smile on her face as she sat back more comfortably on the bed and reached for the leather jacket she had been wearing when she was delivered here and draping it carefully over herself. It wasn’t hers, that much was certain, the shoulder length was much too big for it to be originally hers. And the buttons were on the opposite side of where they were supposed to be; it belonged to a boy. Angel wondered if there was some part of her subconscious that knew the jacket was a source of comfort not for the warmth, but because of the person it represented to her. It was not unheard of. He fingered the ring on his left hand again.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” he allowed a smile of his own.

“You don’t say that very often, do you?” Her lips were curled in amusement. “I can tell it bothers you.”

He chuckled and inclined his head. “You could say that. Guess I’m not very used to it…not very used to someone who wasn’t entirely selfish either.”

“Thank God I’m here then,” Nadia joked but the bitterness crept in. Angel was overcome with guilt again, knowing that if he wanted to, if he had dedicated himself to finding a way to get her out of this place, he might have been able to but he was choosing to let the events play out, for a greater cause. “To remind you decent people still exist. I make good company, don’t I?”

He chuckled again, and nodded, thinking of all the company that had been denied to him all these years. The people he would rather be with at the moment, that he dreamed about, that he never seemed to be able to forget about, or hope that one day, someday even soon, he could return to.

He smiled. “You do.”

Hospital waiting rooms have a terrible likeness to them. White walls (these were light blue) decorated with the scans of some famous watercolor paintings (these were landscape still photographs), uncomfortable metal chairs (these were plastic), rows and rows of “do you have these symptoms - what to do” pamphlets (these were highlighted with demonstrating old Healers all arguing with one another), and stacks of outdated magazines (that was true). She would know. She’d been in dozens.

Long-term patient wards were different. Less full of people awaiting news in a frenzy of foot-tapping, direction-less pacing and endless tea-room runs, but no less free of anxiety. In place of harried residents competing for top-notch procedures, eager to prove, were older nurses who spoke kindly, tender, and reminded Sienna of her grandmother. There was a stillness here. A lone visitor hovering over a motionless patient, with murmurs quiet through lips that forced smiles yet bespoke no happiness. Shades drawn open to tempt light to fill the dismal quiet, dead flowers replaced with the dying. 

No, Sienna corrected herself as her heels echoed clacks on a waxed floor, it wasn’t still. It was empty here. There was a worse anxiety, the interminable waiting of a few hours through a procedure multiplied a thousand-fold as Healers parroted their lack. They lacked ideas, were void of answers and offered crumbs for the worst kind of hunger. That she remembered more than anything.

Tucking an ebony strand back behind her ear, she asked the wrinkled nurse the way in a whisper, lest she disturb quiet. She’d learned that from her mother at her grandfather’s funeral. Standing beside wilted flowers laying on marble stone, her nine-year old self had been concerned with itchy tights more than mother’s lessons, but causing a fuss would have been worse, and ever after knew to be calm, collected, and whisper beside a grave.

The room wasn’t far. The nurse told her he wasn’t alone at the moment. That didn’t surprise her. She expected his mother wasn’t far from the bed at most hours, or his sister, or his father (the Prophet certainly was making it seem he never left the hospital). It had irritated her reading that--though Eliza had beaten her to the rant. What did they expect!? His son was in the hospital -- he could stop worrying about the market price of cauldron’s for a day or two, surely? 

So she’d expected Devin wouldn’t be alone. Almost amused, she thinks to herself, he was more popular than he’d ever thought. Adjusting her skirt, her walk was interrupted as she saw who was there, sitting outside Devin’s room, foot-tapping with eyes that darted this way and that, directionless. What she hadn’t expected, in all the likeness between all the different hospitals she had been in, was to find Victoria sitting outside the room. Halted abruptly, her nail tore a thread and poked through the thin fabric until she pressed a crescent moon into her thigh.

“Victoria?”

Her friend perked up. She’d been tearing at little leaves, toying with a petal on a nail so sharp Sienna wasn’t sure if she’d meant to yank them out or push her imprint in so deep she became the flower. Tear-tracks lined with mascara marred the long face that met her eyes.

“Oh! I didn’t realize you were coming, Sie...”

The nod and offhand remark that she’d mentioned it at lunch that day dies in her throat when her friend continues. It wouldn’t have been fair to expect she was listening after all. Victoria had not been paying attention to her anyway, sitting on Sam’s lap and wrapped around him firmer than a vine. 

“I...,” Victoria rubs under her eyes, “It’s silly. I meant to just come...leave these, but when I got to the room it...occurred to me he wouldn’t welcome me.” 

Sienna wilts like the purple flowers her friend held, suspicion disappearing.

“Oh Vicky,  I’m sure that’s not true.” Hurrying, in a flurry she was seated beside Victoria, bottom lip trembling and eyes watering. They were wont to do that lately, but she refused to cry. Sienna had promised herself the day her grandfather’s monitors went off she wouldn’t spill tears in a hospital again. 

“Oh, yes it is.” Victoria huffed, rolling wide eyes at her. “I was there, remember, I left him. If I’d still been there...”

“You couldn’t have stopped a werewolf, Vicky.” Sienna assures, though her gut twists at the word. It had taken Alcott five seconds (maybe) to insist to her it hadn’t been him, but his secret rested far from easily still in her gut. It killed her to think he must have asked himself the same. 

“I know that, and thanks.” Victoria’s voice gets a hard edge, and she yanks the petal off. “At least you still care.”

“Of course I do,” Sienna’s words were far from certain, as she wonders at the frivolity of clinging to what once was. “He’d be glad to know you--,” 

“What, cried over him?” Victoria bristles, shaking out her hair, pulling it from a too-large jacket. It must have been her father’s, Sienna thinks. “Oh I’m sure. He does so love to make me cry.” 

“Victoria.” Sienna wrinkles her nose, but says nothing else. 

“It’s true, Sienna.” Her friend huffs and puffs in the jacket. “You know it is, I did nothing to him but include him, escorted him to parties, supported him -- yet, everyone in the whole damn school just cheered and cheered when he cut me out.” 

Insulted by the sharp snap, she said nothing until Victoria softens herself. There’s a heave in her chest as she seems to decided something. 

“Reality just hasn’t often...mattered to him, has it?” 

Sienna gets quiet a moment, though she’s laid her own hand on Victoria’s shoulder. Well. It seemed ill-form for her to point out to her that she had also kissed him when he was heartbroken over Nadia. That reality had escaped Victoria too clearly. She almost snaps but a heart-monitor beep reminds her where they are, and all the harshness goes out of her, leaving only the pricks of her nails in Victoria’s sleeve. 

And really, hadn’t she done the same? Hadn’t she ignored how clearly Alcott was changing and denied that he might want too - hadn’t she denied the reality of his...condition, for favoring appearances? Sienna looks down at the rip in her skirt, the run in her stocking. 

“Perhaps not.” Her words were hush on a rough throat, heartbeat jagged. “But you’re...you’re here, isn’t that what matters? That you show you care?” 

Victoria’s scoff was doubtful.

“You know Devin loves the attention.” The irony makes both girls laugh, even bitter, even twisted. Devin hadn’t wanted attention. What he wanted was respect, and didn’t they all? 

Devin had never been her best friend. He’d swooped into Alcott’s life, filling that void of male friends that she, Eliza and the girl who’s arm she marks when her hand clenched at the thought. His assumptions and his text-book psychology were barely veiled beneath wit, snarking jokes on Quidditch teams and drinking endlessly things she couldn’t handle -- all those other men-things she just couldn’t get on the same level. Had she blustered? No. She’d tried to accept him -- she honestly had, even as “guys night” replaced their dates and those club K-pills replaced kisses. Even when he pushed Nadia away. Even when Alcott had told Devin he was a wolf and asked for his help two months before he’d even tell her. Yes, all right, she was a creature of jealousy, hadn’t she always been? Who wouldn’t have been jealous?! Watching Graft make googly eyes veiled as glares and listening to Liza and Al laugh at something Devin said that she couldn’t get? 

The hiss of pain from Victoria’s mouth reminds her she still had her arm. Releasing abruptly, she lifts haunted eyes from tracing the stocking-run. 

“Sorry.” She murmurs, “But listen, Victoria. If you want him to welcome you...it’s not that hard.” 

A bushy eyebrow disappearing in a brown snarl of hair that cried in desperation for a comb answers her. Sienna sighs.

“Stop...yelling at his friends, ask his opinion instead of assume you know it...honestly? Just be kind.” 

Sienna imparts wisdom that sounds more due from her grandmother than from her. So alike was the tone she thought she half expected a lemon square shoved in her mouth. Victoria looked like she could use the sweetness. Her grandmother always had made the best. And just as her mother had, Victoria ignored it, rubbing another tear from her eye. 

“It’s too late for that, Sie.” Victoria gets an odd smile on her face and she pulls back, to Sienna’s sorrow. Vicky hugs her black jacket around her, toying with jangling silver rings and then pushes a jean-skirt a smidgen lower. 

“Much too late.” 

Her other hand offers the flowers to Sienna. 

“Could you give them to him instead?” 

 **Alcott:** *This din was impossible. Irritated, his hand flicked the flesh of his ear, finger snapping repeatedly around the shell as his other hand clenched tighter around his glass. The alcohol wasn't enough either. But then, it was bought by Eliza and that explained it.* 

 **Hans:** Bad bug bite? *The voice came from over Alcott's shoulder from lips frozen in a chilled smirk.* 

 **Alcott:** *Gaze narrowing to examine the bottles behind the counter with absurd intensity, he caught sight of himself in the long mirror over the bar: flicking at his ear like a dog with fleas. His hand flew instantly, landing on the glass, internally wincing. There was no mistaking the amusement in that voice, nor the fact that he recognized it...only he couldn't admit to his heightened hearing. A forced smirk appeared on his own lips as he spun to regard the debonair gentleman. 

In an skinny suit with Eastern European cut, the man tapped at his lip with nails fine-trimmed. His sudden companion's smirk rested below eyes oddly cold for their bright color. Everything about this man was distinguished, his golden hair slicked back, with curls just peeking out around the ears, as if to hint at sudden darkness. Alcott shrugged a shoulder to laugh off his sudden discomfort. Passing casual,* Just an itch. 

 **Hans:** *He laughs once easily matching Alcott's tone, leaning against the bar as he signaled the keep for a drink himself.* Course, mate. 

 **Alcott:** *As he fell silent, Alcott hoped it would be the end of it - even considering his weird appearance. There was enough bloody weird in his life; else, why would he be at the Three Broomsticks on a Wednesday evening? Eliza had flounced out to shop irritated at him, which was the least of his concerns. Devin hadn't woken yet, Nadia was nowhere to be found, Hols-- he downed an impressive gulp.*

 **Hans:** Rough night? 

 **Alcott:** *He snorted with a half head-jerk to pass as a nod; yeah, he could say that. Only he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to think -- he'd have thought such an obviously high-class gentleman would get not wanting to talk.* 

 **Hans:** *Dry chuckling,* Ah...girl or work? Or both? 

 **Alcott:** *There was no question, something was definitely off about that smirk. With another dry laugh, he lifted his hand from the glass.* Look, if it's all the same to you mate, I'd rather not do the whole...bonding over a pint, thing.

 **Hans:** Right. I understand. *Hands going up to obvious fake innocence, his smirk only widened.* Sorry to bother you. And sorry to bother you earlier too.

 **Alcott:** *Too late realizing his surprise had shown on his face as he watched his eyes darken in the mirror, his gaze darted to his drink. He cleared his throat.* I'm not sure what you're -

 **Hans:** *easily overtop him* Oh, it just -- it can be a nuisance, can't it? *Flicking at his own ear hard, his lips opened with a grin too pleased.* 

 **Alcott:** *His gaze narrows. How could this man know he'd been listening?* Itches? *Sarcasm seemed to dwell ever on his lips quite, as he knew well that wasn't what he'd meant.*

 **Hans:** *nods, hand dropping with obvious amusement to rest back on the table.* ...Right, itches. *He let an uncomfortably tense silence fall.*

 **Alcott:** *Alcott could still hear the dry chuckle and wry whisper: _Naughty...I know you can hear..._ But that hadn't been meant for him, he told himself firmly. The man had been with a woman, pressing her ear against his chest. Or so he surmised. As eerie as hearing 'I know you can hear' had been, he'd meant his heart and it had nothing to do with him - for God's sakes, he'd followed that with 'I know you can feel'..and other things, he'd not think about. Amused with himself, just as Alcott had thought the man didn't have any idea how ironic the word nuisance had been, he spoke again, and Alcott's heart stilled.*

 **Hans:** And, it _does_ take some getting used to, doesn't it? *He tilts his head at Alcott, ever amused.* The uh - ability to hear across a crowded room. 

 **Alcott:** *The hell was-- how? Alcott stiffened, only to force himself to relax or else give up the ghost. Whatever this man was talking about, he didn't want a fucking thing to d--*

 **Hans:** Careful. *Immediately, his gaze darted to Alcott's chest, as if he could see his heart.* You should calm down. Anger is...*As he searches, he licks his lip with amusement. Letting out a tiny sigh, he looks back up to Alcott's eyes,* - not a good color on you, shall I say.

 **Alcott:** *His frown deepens, as the insinuation only increases his confusion, fear and thus above all his anger.* What are you-

 **Hans:** You know what I'm talking about. *Easily, still smiling and raising another hand.* Though, you don't _really_ \- which is why I'm here.

 **Alcott:** *He blinks. The second his watering eyes shut, his nose perks up to accommodate the momentary sense deprivation --and he realizes he knows what was off about the man to him. His smell.*

 **Hans:** Oh, good. *The condescending praise clenched Alcott's stomach, but Hans meant it as he heard Alcott's heart rate slow. This would be much easier if they skipped over all the 'how the hell do you know' boring hyper-drama. Teenagers.* You can smell the difference then -- more advanced than I hoped for, really. If you'll pardon the pun, you are still a bit of a puppy.

 **Alcott:** *Not entirely sure why he was being praised, his eyebrows snap together and he leans forward to hiss in under his breath (and unamused), now well aware he'd hear him just fine,* You're a -

 **Hans:** Yes, darling. *The word curled his lips up, his own words spoken as if to a lover. Impatiently,* Get there a little bit faster, would you? We haven't got all day, Al. I imagine your blonde friend will be back soon enough. 

 **Alcott:** *Every muscle tensing at his name, he glares as if it would make him disappear.*

 **Hans:** I can call you Al, can't I? That's what you're friends call you? *His smirk was only widening as Alcott's frown was deepening.*

 **Alcott:** I'm sorry, I don't believe it's possible to be friends when only one of us has the other's name.

 **Hans:** Ah, *With apparent surprise and delight, he extends his hand.* Hans Lawrence Ricard. _You_ can call me Hans though. *He laughs with ease.* Lawrence is... my father, you see. 

 **Alcott:** *Still confused and off-put, he just stares at his hand, tense. He challenges,* Do I know you?

 **Hans:** You don't, hun. Well not yet. *Ah, well. If he didn't want to take his hand, it made no real difference. He pats his own tie, grinning.* But oh, I know you. 

 **Alcott:** *His gaze lifts to meet his, dry smile reappearing with effort,* Does my reputation precede me? 

 **Hans:** *Delightedly,* Why, of course it does! After all -*He puffs his chest up in such a manner that Alcott knows he's mocking, but only grins and laughs,* you are Alcott Brackner, sole heir to the Brackner estate and next child prodigy. I'd say I imagine that isn't easy growing up with that kind of pressure, but I know only too well myself. Deviant and sinner, be top in your class if you just paid attention and the Quidditch star destined to be Captain I imagine, if Slughorn has any sense. 

 **Alcott:** *Throat unclenching with force,* Right. Well. *He takes another sip of his drink and looks down.* I'm flattered, truthfully, that you've taken such an interest in me -*passing casual again, he mutters in one breath*- It's not at all creepy -*louder* but Hans, truthfully -

 **Hans:** *Overtop of him again, still with ease and a smirk,* Well, I am a fan.

 **Alcott:** *He snorts. Then he looks down and nods, getting an idea. As he rummages in his pocket, Hans continues speaking, chilling his blood again,*

 **Hans:** Particularly, I must say, with what you did last week.

 **Alcott:** Last week? *casually, clicking the black marker he'd fished out. It only paid to have it with him in case of phone numbers. Reaching for the napkin with a grin on his lips that anyone who knew him would not believe, he continues,* What-

 **Hans:** Saturday? *He relishes the wave of fear through sudden still Alcott, leaning a little closer,* The Minister's son, Al? Oh, it was all over the papers. Really, you should be more careful. *The pause pregnant with tension, Hans shivered with delight of it. Cocking his hand and flicking his wrist, he added off-hand* Coincidentally, why I'm here. 

 **Alcott:** *His hand starts moving again as he forces breath back into protesting lungs, wondering at the back of his mind why Hans had said he didn't truly know why anger wasn't his "color" and concluding he didn't want to find out.* 

 **Hans:** *Still leaning a little closer,* You see, men like us, tend to ... say, run in a pack. Help each other out. *He tilts his head, leaning on his elbow.* Obviously, you may feel free to - *He chuckles, gesturing even as he continues to whisper,* - toss that drink in my face, but reading that newspaper article...my mates and I determined easily there was someone in need of...help.

 **Alcott:** *He ripped the napkin. Dammit. Reaching for a new one, he muttered despite a flicker of interest perking his ear up,* I don't need help. 

 **Hans:** *As if he hadn't heard.*  Of course from there we had to figure out who it was but - the nose does help with that. Apologies if I _have_ creeped you out - but as I perfectly understand your need for discretion, privately approaching you _was_ a bit of my only option, Al. *His lips curled up again, his hiss of hot breath - of course hot,  hitting Alcott's ear.*

 **Alcott:** *Disquieted and tense, Alcott waits a second without looking around. It would have meant he admitted he was intrigued - and he was loathe to. What wonderfully suspicious timing, wasn't it? Devin is lying in the hospital wing, Nadia missing - and there's a wolf pack just happening to be in town? And yet his heart soared to think it wasn't him - the truth was, whatever Hols' evidence, they _had_ been a little preoccupied and she _hadn't_ been with him the entire time - and he couldn't remember. If there were other wolves here...other wolves who got it...*

 **Hans:** *Sensing with ease that he had him thinking, he continues instantly,* That business with the Minister's son was a shame -- I wager, you understand the curse. But that isn't all it is, Al. This _can_ be a gift. These heightened sense are just the beginning -- you'll see. That anger you feel? You learn to use it properly, it can be a source of more ... *There's an underlying dangerous current in his dark voice, but sweetness in his eyes as if he spoke of love,* mmm...power, than you can possibly imagine. There is a whole world out there. Just waiting for you.

 **Alcott:** *It would be foolish to ignore the fact his heart was racing with want - to talk with someone who understood it, to understand himself more about the changes, what had happened to his body exactly...but he ignored this best he can, frowning with suspicion.* Why is it I get the feeling this apple is poisoned? *He smiles.*

 **Hans:** *He laughs once.* Because you've been reading too many stories, pup, instead of living it. *His gaze lifts to the door.* Ah. Your friend is back. 

 **Alcott:** Eliza. *He says her name without thinking as he too looks around at her, adding in a mutter,* And it isn't 'pup'. *Spinning quickly, he returns instantly to the napkin. Dashing it off, he hands it to Hans, smirking himself now.* There you go.

 **Hans:** *Looking down in honest surprise now - the first moment of it, he sees a scrawled 'Alcott Brackner' with a drawn broom. He says nothing so as not to admit to his surprise, eyes wide and smirk frozen open.* 

 **Alcott:** *Grinning wider that he'd at least shut the man up.* My autograph. *He clicks the marker again, dropping it in his pocket and moving off the bar stool.* Seeing as how you're such a big  fan, and all. 

 **Hans:** *He laughs honestly, even as Eliza is approaching. Delight back in his gaze and ease back in his every graceful manner, he inclines his head at Alcott.* Clever, aren't you? Well I suppose you'd have to be, father like yours was. He _was_ a genius, after all.

 **Alcott:** *His face darkens instantly, a sudden growl in his throat.* Wh-

 **Hans:** You must be Eliza. *Smile lifting honestly as she pauses near the bar.*

 **Eliza:** *Alarmed to see the sudden frown on Alcott's face, the question of why he was giving his name on a napkin to a man died off in her throat. Mouth open in confusion as she looked warily between the two men, she suddenly realized how rude her silence was and cleared her throat, flicking blond hair over her shoulder.* Oh-- ye-yes, sorry, hi. Eliza. *She forces a smile to her lips, extending her hand.* And you..?

 **Hans:** Hans. *Smile only widening, as he takes her hand he promptly kisses the top of it, not breaking eye contact. His smirk widens to see her surprise; hearing the skipped beat in her heart.* Delighted to meet you, Eliza. I'm sure I'll be seeing you.

 **Alcott:** *stiffly, as he forced a deep swallow, knowing and cursing that Hans would have heard his heart pounding just at the mention of his father,* I think you should leave.

 **Hans:** *Releasing Eliza's hand, he looks back to Alcott with an easy smile.* I was just leaving. Watch that anger, Al. You _truly_ will not like the consequences -- trust me. *He walked out quickly, ears perking up and smile twisting as he hears behind him Alcott's curse.* 

 **Eliza:** *Immediately,* What the bloo-

 **Alcott:** He's -- *He pauses, not wanting to say it aloud, glaring at the retreating back, even as he wonders,* He's...like me, Eliza.

 **Eliza:** *startled, eyes widening* You mean he--

 **Alcott:** Yes. *He snaps it, and turns back to the bar to lift his drink and finish it promptly.*

 **Eliza:** *Her gaze darts between his back and Alcott's before the bar door swings shut with a twinkle of the bell. Her breath is harried,* Do you think he's the one who hur-

 **Alcott:** I don't know. *He frowns, pushing the glass away from him.* He said he was here with a pack. He also seems to think it was _me_.

 **Eliza:** *Stiffly and instantly, irritated at that- her gaze goes to the door again as if knowing he could hear her.* We know quite well it wasn't, Al. And he shouldn't bloody insinuate that. Arrogant prat.

 **Hans:** *Continuing to listen to them even after he left the bar, he was leaning against the wall outside. At that, his grin curled up again while he snorted to himself at the prim little insult, before striding away into the night.*

“I should have gone with her.”  
  
Alisha winced at the words, turning to her cousin before shaking her head slowly. They were sitting in front of the fireplace in the common room, in the middle of the night. It had been a week since Nadia had gone missing and there was still no sign of her. Devin hadn’t woken up either. A small part of Alisha was thankful, a minuscule part, because otherwise his devastation and horror would surely engulf them all and make it unbearable to breathe. It was bad enough catching sight of Hols, or the triplets, and especially Chace. Nadia’s twin was inconsolable.  
  
She was supposed to be finishing up homework for a class that Alisha couldn’t remember right now. Life continued, which means school continued, which meant they were still going to have to take the most important tests of their wizarding lives next May. Alisha didn’t give a shit. Let them have their tests, and their magic if they wanted. All she wanted to do was dance, and she didn’t need magic to do that.  
  
She breathed out, and put a hand on Trent’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. 

“Trent, don’t blame yourself…”  
  
“How can I not? I just let her run off into the Forbidden Forest by herself! She’s so…tiny,” he remarked, passing a hand over his face and keeping it there to hide in it. Alisha rubbed his back, knowing he had been overwhelmed with guilt this whole week. Detailing things he should and should not have done, how he would have been able to help, how none of this would have happened if he had just followed her out.  
  
Alisha told him that was ridiculous; she tried to joke to him. How important did he think he was? Trent didn’t think it was funny, and neither did she. But the facts remained. There was a werewolf, and it attacked Devin and almost attacked the party. She could still remember the animal now, all black shiny fur, and blood dripping down its lips with eyes that matched the threatening scarlet color perfectly. A shiver ran down her back at the memory, one she had to combat by imagining the animal retreating after pelting him with liquid silver. It was a rather odd feeling for her, feeling distaste for something, someone rather, who was probably in no control of themselves or their actions but she didn’t care. The werewolf hurt Devin, and every time Devin got hurt, Nadia broke. She had been friends with Nadia long enough to know that truth, and as soon as they found Nadia, their relief would turn into ash upon seeing her face gaze down at the guy she cared about more than anything in the world.  
  
She had so many scenarios in her mind. Devin waking up to find Nadia missing, Nadia coming back to find Devin in a coma, and yet none of those involved both of them suddenly waking up and being found simultaneously. The opposite wasn’t true; there was one scenario buried deep in her head that involved Nadia never being found and Devin never waking up. She shuddered visibly now, her whole body rejecting the notion as vehemently as her mind did. She had no control over her subconscious however, and it was a good thing her dreams were so clear that she didn’t need Nadia to interpret them for her.  
  
She winced. That hurt to think about. Alisha was used to telling other people, namely Reid and Justin who were under the belief that anyone could learn to be good at school if they just apply themselves hard enough, that thinking hurt her but it wasn’t until right at that moment that she realized how wrong she had been before. She didn’t know anything about the real hurt thoughts could wager on a person. That was because she’d never allow herself to think about her parents, the memories she had of them were few and distant; Giselle was the only parent she knew and boy was she plenty. Yet now as she thought about the simple fact that Alisha might never get to have her dreams interpreted by her best friend ever again she finally understood it. To think that Trent might be feeling the same thing but addled with guilt just made her slide over closer to him and drape her entire arm over his shoulders. They were mirrors, she and him. They had their knees pulled up to their chest, their heads lying on each other, just like they did when they were little, just like they did after Trent’s mom left the house, after she got a letter from her biological dad (and burned without reading). Everyone always leans on a stone for support, as rock solid as they were, but who did Stones lean on? Each other, of course.  
  
“I could have stopped it,” he spoke again, his voice raspy and constricted. “If I’d have gone with her, I could have stopped it.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” she assured him, kissing the side of his head. It felt a lot kinder to say that, than to deny it completely. Doing so would only just make Trent feel weak, worthless, or insignificant. There had been a time when was the brightest of them all, when Irene paled in comparison. Doubt had slowly taken hold of his heart, spread across his body, and poisoning his mind. He didn’t even talk the same way anymore, with the same excitement over the day, the prospects. Trent had pulled them all out of their shells: her, Irene, Nadia, all of them. But now he was deeply buried in his, and it was their job to protect him. “You could have been too. Or worse, Trent.”  
  
“That’s the thing, Isha,” he raised his head from hers and looked at her. His eyes were wide and afraid, his lips hesitating to form words he felt treacherous saying. “We have no idea if she’s even alive.”  
  
That was a possibility no one had been willing to accept. Alisha imagined Chace now, and it made her wince to realize he would have probably punched Trent across the face for saying that out loud. Her family would have thought it a betrayal to think that way, and Irene would too. But Alisha understood, Alisha wouldn’t judge, because that was also her great fear and she couldn’t bear it.  
  
“We have to hope we’ll find her,” she remarked before adding after a bristle, “seeing how it’s the only thing they’ll let us do.” Alisha’s eyes flickered to the dying embers of the fire. Just until the fire burns out Trent had promised to her, then I’ll let you go back to bed. Alisha knew he’d be willing to keep his promise, but she wasn’t too keen to return to dormitory after the fight she had with Irene. It was the last thing they should have been doing, fighting, but the emotions were wild and rampant, and they had both said things they regretted.  
  
“Nadia is missing, Rene!” Alisha had screamed at her, as if the fact needed reminding, it didn’t. Not when Nadia’s bed stood vacant across hers, her teddy bear still wrapped in sheets that were strewn haphazardly about the bed. Alisha and Irene had looked for any clues regarding Nadia’s whereabouts, and in their wake had just left a bit of a mess for the house elves to clean up later. “Nadia is missing, and Devin was attacked and you’re asking me if I harmed the –werewolf-?!”  
  
Irene had looked momentarily abashed before she snapped back it was still a person. Alisha had a hard time associating the animal that was trying to claw out Devin’s heart with a human face, and was guilty for it as well.  
  
“I have to find, Al-“  
  
“What in the bloody fuck does Alcott have anything to do with this?! What are you not telling me?”  
  
Irene had hesitated, before answering simply, defensively. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s his best friend up there in a coma! And like it or not, Nadia and Al were starting to become good friends already so yeah, he’s already pretty involved, sorry to disappoint you.”  
  
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means you haven’t made any effort to be better friends with any of them, Alisha! You’re polite sure, but always distant, and never initiate! You and Trent-“  
  
“Trent and I were left behind while you all had a merry well time off at that strip bar, in case you’ve forgotten! Sorry, I’m not too ecstatic to make friends with the people who are pulling you and Nadia apart from us.”  
  
“That’s bullshit!”  
  
“You know what’s bullshit? The fact that your new friends, could give a flying fuck in space about what happens to Reid or Justin-“  
  
“For good fucking reasons!”  
  
“For vain-ass pitiful as fuck reasons! They’re my friends; they’re the ones who actually care about me. I’ve not made an effort? What should I do, throw myself at their feet and ask for their hand in friendship? I have better things to do, like help and find Nadia! So you go mourn with your new best friends, because I’m sick of you.”  
  
The argument still rang in Alisha’s head loud and clear. She wished she could’ve taken it all back the moment Irene had stormed out of the room. Alisha could have if she really wanted to, run outside and yell for her to come back and apologize but she didn’t, and she hadn’t apologized still, neither of them had. Reid and Justin were urging her to make amends, Trent was traveling back and forth between her and Irene to patch things up but the truth was that Alisha was ashamed of the things she had said and apologizing for them meant having to acknowledge them. She didn’t know she could be this person, this angry, bitter, murderous person. Because she wanted to murder that wolf, that’s how it felt. She didn’t like it.  
  
Trent seemed to sense her train of thought almost immediately, if his next words were any indication. “The last words me and Nadia exchanged before she disappeared were a fight, Isha. Don’t let that happen with Rene.”  
  
“What, you think I’m going to get kidnapped too?”  
  
“Don’t joke about that.”  
  
His voice was so sure and his tone so firm that she actually nodded her head and followed his wishes. It was nice to hear him like that again. It was familiar, it was normal, it was safe. “I’m just saying…we should stick together.”  
  
“Yeah…” Alisha knew that too. It would take more than logic to make her see reason. However illogical that sounded. She shouldn’t try to be funny too often; it almost never worked out for her. “Trent?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“It’s pretty cozy here.”  
  
“Yeah…it is.”  
  
He understood her immediately, and Alisha didn’t have to say anything else before it was Trent’s arm that was wrapped around her shoulders. Unsure of when she had dropped hers, or of when her head was leaned on his more comfortable shoulder rather than his head, Alisha shuffled in place to get more comfort and the pair of them stayed sitting there in silent for hours, just like they had when they were children, and just as they had so countless times before.

&.

 **Hans:** \--Oh, I'm sorry, love. *A slow smirk crosses his lips as he turns around. He's speaking into a mobile -- primitive technology, but efficient, when he sees Eliza walking in to the bar, her eyes cast around before they settle on him.* I'm afraid I'm going to have to call you back. 

 **Eliza:** *There he was. Flicking a few blonde strands back, she halted on the top of the stairs when she realized he'd spotted her.* Of course he did. *She mutters under her breath, irritated suddenly to see the man across the room wiggle an eyebrow at her in response.  Alcott hardly asked any questions before telling him to leave, her friend just had to be the tough guy. The little he'd told her though made it well-evident he'd been a wolf a lot longer than Al had, and was much more in tune with the abilities. Even Alcott could hear a conversation across the room already. 

Narrowing her eyes, her hands went to her hips as she took a steadying breath. Five days, she reminded herself. Five days, the school board was in an uproar looking for stronger protections -- five days and Devin refused to wake, nor Nadia found. There was no way this man's appearance was a coincidence. A tinier truthful voice in her mind told her it was unlikely there was a relation when none of them had ever heard of anything Hans or Lawrence or Ricard either -- but she had to do something, she couldn't go back to that hospital wing again all night. Eliza was ready to suffocate. Just the thought drove her to strut forward on her high heels.*

 **Hans:** *The determination lit her eyes, he thought amused as he signaled to the tender, made them sparkle. Spinning on the bar stool as he slid the phone into his top pocket, he picked up his own drink. Eying her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, he licked smug lips over the rim of the glass.* I must say, this is a surprise. 

 **Eliza:** *So, he'd look at her when she was across the room, but now as she stood next to him, he couldn't be bothered? Narrowing her eyes, she cast a glance up and spoke to her own reflection as well.* A surprise? *She tilts her head, unable to help a sarcastic,* I thought you were certain you'd see me around? 

 **Hans:** Memorize what I said, did you love? *That was too good. Chuckling as his gaze dropped to his napkin, he set the glass back down on top it.*

 **Eliza:** I have a good memory. *Her eyes narrow further.*

 **Hans:** *He chuckles again, shrugging a shoulder.* Lucky me.

 **Eliza:** I'm sorry, is there something amusing? *Leaning against the bar, she didn't understand. If he was there as he said "to help Alcott" -- a charge she highly doubted -- what exactly was so amusing about transforming into a wolf every month? Shouldn't he of all people at least get why that wasn't some big joke? All she knew of Hans was his first name, his accent and his werewolf side. And all he knew of her was -- wait, she had no idea. Alcott had given him her name. Considering all he'd known about Alcott, odds were he knew more about her. It wasn't like the sole half-blood Culpeper was hard to look up. Even without that Google thing Rene showed her.* 

 **Hans:** *He finally tilts his head and looks back at her, an honestly curious glint in his eyes.* Should I be upset when approached by a gorgeous girl such as yourself, Eliza? 

 **Eliza:** All right, stop it. *That was enough. She'd lived with Alcott more than half her life. Devin was no better, even Rory and Dillon tended to do this at times: that bloody smarmy confident-smirk did not make her knees weak. It did not make her grin.* I'm not amused, Hans, and I don't appreciate the dismissive flirting. 

 **Hans:** *His brows furrow, curiosity only increasing.* Dismissive? I'm appreciative. There's a difference.

 **Eliza:** *A shiver slipped up her spine, even as she felt a heart beat from glaring at him.* Appreciate silently then--I need to talk to you, seriously. *Leaning forward and rapping hard nails against the bar, she continued,* And for the record? Revealing you know a bunch about the person you're talking to, though they've never heard of you? Not flattering. That is _creepy_.

 **Hans:** *Despite all she said, his delight only grew. Oh, this was an interesting turn indeed. She was there to talk about Alcott then. Hmming under his breath, he let her lean in closer. He was grinning at that; Eliza was only too aware of his excellent hearing.* I don't believe I said anything about you but your name, love. If I creeped you out, I apologize. *Sliding a shiny galleon across the top of the bar to the tender with a wink, the man produced the second drink. Hans takes it and lifts it to her, offering. His smirk remains unchanged.* 

 **Eliza:** I'm talking about Alcott. *Startled seeing the glass, she regards it with a shifty breath and darting gaze between his blue eyes and the sugared martini. It was the same as she'd had the last time she was here, she knew. That was the only reason he knew what to order her, she told herself sternly. Focusing,* How did you know he was a -- 

 **Hans:** Ah ah. *Still holding the glass up, his free hand darts to his lips, patting the index finger across them.* Shh. *He winks.*

 **Eliza:** *Darting gaze following his finger, her stomach flips when she realizes he'd drawn her gaze to her lips. Oh, for God's sakes. Men. And she wasn't going to say werewolf -- she wasn't a moron! It was her best friend's heaviest guarded secret: she might have only bare skills in lying, but she wasn't five.* How did you know what he was? *She rephrases tensely.*

 **Hans:** Are you going to take this? *It's his only response, dancing amusement in eyes locked on hers.*

 **Eliza:** *Disquieted, she rolls her eyes and seizes the drink from him. She wasn't rude. After a steadying swig, she swallowed tightly realizing he watched her do so. Heavens.* Are you going to answer my question?

 **Hans:** *He was impressed, he had to admit. That was straight vodka without ice; only the brief twist of lemon and sugar atop. The blonde-haired bubbly (admittedly less bubbly the last few days) had much more to her than met the eye, he thought. At the bitter remark, he swallowed the chuckle and nodded graciously.* As I told him darling, you been at this long as I have, the scent is very distinct. Lovely perfume you're wearing by the way -- Chanel no. twenty-two, I believe? Judging by the white flowers, the jasmine, tuberose -- a lovely top-note aldehyde, truly. What's more interesting of course, is the fact you're not wearing number five.

 **Eliza:** *She blinked. Alcott had complained once about the strength of her perfume after the transformation, then later said he preferred "the flowery one." This was a more detailed explanation than she even knew without looking at the little crystal bottle. Inhaling deeply, she asked curt,* Why is that interesting?

 **Hans:** Well, number five is iconic. Which I'm sure you know Eliza. *He returns to his glass with every appearance of being offhand. It didn't fool her for a moment, he knew, delighted by the fact. Idly turning the ice in his own glass, he tilted his head and flicked a brief side-gaze up her, to hold her eyes again.* Chanel's signature, endorsed by Marilyn, Hepburn, Tautou. *He picks the straw out, rubbing it against his bottom lip and lays it on the napkin.* Yet, you're wearing twenty-two, which says you don't care about conforming for popularity's sake. That you take what you like, and could give a damn. And personally, that you have much better taste - I agree twenty-two is a much more pleasing scent. *A slow smile was spreading across his lips. He could hear her heart.* It's the that hint of vanilla that makes it stand out, isn't it? That base-note of incense...it's intoxicating. Don't you think? 

 **Eliza:** *Blinking, she found herself pressing both lips together disquieted as she listened, a flare of warmth snaking under her skin. This was ridiculous. Alcott had said he was disconcerting; she had to agree.  Offering a tiny, incredulous laugh,* I-- *Her head does a steadying half shake, eyes flicking to the bartender over his shoulder and then back. Wide grin honest, she said instead,* Why are we talking about my perfume?

 **Hans:** *With a tiny, triumphant laugh,* I'm just making idle conversation love. Do you always read into every little thing?

 **Eliza:** *cooly* You mean insinuating someone's personality based on an insignificant little detail like their perfume?

 **Hans:** *His smirk broke open in delight. It was his turn to laugh a little, evade her eyes a half second and then meet them again.* You wanted to ask about Alcott. Check up on your friend, looking out for him -- it's very touching, truly.

 **Eliza:** *A chill replaced the warmth in an instant, and she clenched her back teeth.* I'm worried about him.

 **Hans:** Why? *His eyebrows shift, but she's something darker in his gaze that makes her shiver.* Oh, because of the -- *his voice drops dramatically as he whispers, leaning closer over the bar to her for show, waving an idle hand,* whole moon, transforming thing? Don't worry - the first year's always a bitch. It get's easier. Buy him a galleon of liquor. Maybe a stress ball, that temper of his.

 **Eliza:** Because one of my best friend's in the hospital. *blunt, irritated with the blasé attitude.*

 **Hans:** *Something passes through his gaze and his lips purse a second.* Ah. *He leans back and nods once, now much slower, looking back to his own glass to take a sip.* Yes, that part is a damn shame. But that's why I'm here love. *When he meets her gaze, the smirk and delight is back, his brief emotion gone.* Help him learn control when that full moon raises. 

 **Eliza:** It wasn't Alcott.

 **Hans:** Oh? *With every appearance of genuine curiosity, as he leaned in closer to her despite the irony that made his lips yearn to smile.* How do you know? Because 'he wouldn't do that to his friend'? Hogwarts' curriculum really has gone down hill hasn't it -- 

 **Eliza:** No, because Alisha-- the girl who brought him to the hospital wing? 

 **Hans:** *As Eliza leans closer to whisper too, his jaw clenches at the name. A myriad of bruises seemed to ache in memory, but Hans didn't move.*

 **Eliza:** *dropping her voice just as dramatically to whisper as heavily as he had,* She fought them too and the thing is, Al? Has gold eyes. These were red.

 **Hans:** Ah. *A very slow smile spreads across his lips, even as he picks the straw up and starts spinning the ice in his glass again.* And so you think it might have been me.

 **Eliza:** *Taken aback by his blunt attitude, she blinks and then asks bluntly,* Was it?

 **Hans:** Couldn't say, love. *He tips the straw back in the glass, considering.* The nights...well they, get a little fuzzy, see. *He looks back up at her, holding her gaze steadily, without blinking.* Why should I have attacked your friend?

 **Eliza:** *Shivering, even the briefest description of what Alcott had to go through every month twisted her stomach. If anything, his question only makes her less comfortable, realizing as she spoke,* I don't know. I just don't think it's a coincidence in the slightest you and your pack show up right after Devin's hurt and Nadia goes missing.

 **Hans:** Nadia? *He tilts his head, curiously. The straw's become a baton, pointing now towards the mirror and tracing the reflection of her necklace idly even as he looks straight on at Eliza.* Oh...right, I remember reading something about a girl missing. You think I had something to do with that? Trust me love, I was a little preoccupied that night. 

 **Eliza:** *Well, that was true she thought bitterly. As a wolf, he hardly could have grabbed Nadia. There was honest curiosity in his eyes too. Eliza was breathless, discomforted with her own ideas a second and then she snapped. No. She didn't care; there was something bloody off about this whole thing, and she knew it. About to speak, he cut her off, sticking the straw in his mouth as he did and clenching it between teeth in his open smirk.* 

 **Hans:** I'm flattered you seem to think so highly of me that I might have accomplished all that in one night. Yet Eliza, I already admitted: it's not a coincidence. Not in the slightest. Werewolf attacks the Minister's son? That's got page one of the Prophet all over it. Men like us, we look after each other if we can wrangle it. There was clearly a new pup, so we came to help out. He's under no obligation. *He grins honestly now, still biting the stick of a stirrer.* It is nice to see such fierce loyalty; that's a quality I admire. Not even from his mate either -- that's the Graft, right? Holly-Rae? I imagine Hogwarts considers that quite a scandal, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin -- *He gasps out, pretending to cover his suddenly round lips, releasing the straw. Then he chuckles, continuing,* Still, that...pack mentality. I appreciate. *He chuckles over the little joke even as he sets the straw down, lifts the glass and finishes it off in one sudden, fell swoop.*

 **Eliza:** *If Eliza wasn't used to that with Alcott, she'd have assumed he should vomit. Actually, she still wanted him to vomit. It wasn't fair. And she felt sick; she wanted more answers, needed them, wanted to ask if any of _his_ pack were scarlet-eyed.* We look out for each other. *She says it stiffly, eyes narrow, unsure if she was being mocked. She wondered the futility of fighting mockery with sincerity, but it was all she had.* I'd do anything, for them. Al, Dev, Hols, Nadia, Ror, Rene, Lynn -- any of them. You better be telling the truth. *It was a tiny warning hiss. Whoever said Eliza was too sweet to be in Slytherin didn't know her.* Understand? 

 **Hans:** *Wasn't that delightful? She had a backbone, yet she still appeared quite flexible to him: best of both worlds. Amused and fully aware he was being threatened, he smirked as he set the empty glass down. It clinked on the table.* That's exactly what I'm saying I appreciate. *He winks, then claps both hands together and slides away from the bar.* 

Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement, one I desperately wish to skip for the sake of drinking with you but -- can't leave a friend in need. *He smirks, squeezing his own hands and shrugging a shoulder.* Another time, darling. *Before she could stop him, he'd lifted her hand and kissed the top of it.*

 **Eliza:** *Biting down on her bottom lip she nods and snatches her hand back, toying with the hem of her pink halter. After a brief glance to her own drink, she hears herself ask,* Why did you buy me a drink?

 **Hans:** What and make a lady otherwise pay for her own? I can be a civilized gentleman, love, I'm not an animal. *There's a beat, where his lips flick up.* Well.

 **Eliza:** *And then he turned on his heel and laugh, before Eliza could think of another word or find the breath to speak it.* 

 

 

++.

**Hans:** Well, no offense, but I do think it's dodgy to trust this potion to someone who clearly will take any opportunity to betray us.

 **Angel:** Find someone capable of recreating it then, by all means. 

 **Hans:** *chuckling suddenly under his breath, reaching to pick up a knife.* "And miss your charming company? I couldn't."

 **Angel:** See, I knew you liked me. 

 **Hans:** Of course I do. I'd even go one farther and say - *smirk/whisper/pointing with the knife he's picked up* I'm indebted to you. Couldn't let you go now."

 **Angel:** You seem quite eager to be in my debt. Not afraid I'll come collect one day, then?'

 **Hans:** *still smirking, humming a chuckle* Mm/I'm...not scared of anything; you should learn to take the compliment. I don't offer my respect lightly." 

 **Angel:** *Drops a pinch of what looks like gold sand into a cauldron, a small poof of red smoke appears before he wafts it away, looking back up from the concoction to smile.* Haven't received many compliments in a long time, I fear I'm out of practice. A shame this is so rare of you, I might have learned.

 **Hans:** *His nose perks up, sniffing in curiosity at the potion across the table without moving - still toying with the knife he held. He wasn't lying when he said these potions fascinated him; it was hard to discern the ingredients through the smoke, even for his nose, and that was impressive in it of itself. Still lightly,* Shame indeed. *dry* However does your ego manage it? No wonder you're so grim all the time. 

 **Angel:** I had a very large ego once. *He speaks casually, as he's learned to do.* One that only comes with being the smartest man in the world. So large, fancy I still have some left. *He heads over to his window and then cuts a stem off a plant he has growing there before returning and sets it in the mortar before adding a few sprinkles of water and picking up his pestle to squash it all to a fine wet powder.* Not enough to make me smile. Though some of your pups- *he smirked briefly* amusing. Would you be so kind as to pass me the knife?

 **Hans:** *His smirk quirks up a second as he continues, amusement dancing behind his eyes.* Sounds a bit more than 'some,' dear, but then - I can't say I blame you. *false brightly/cheerily, though with natural earnest vigor as he spins the knife back and forth,* It must be dead dull to be so high and lofty all the time -- come on Angel, leave those clouds behind, live a little. *And promptly he spins the knife so that it thwacks to stand on it's tip, half embedded into the table, quivering near the cauldron. He pays that no mind; his eyebrow arching asking passing casual.* My pups? How precisely were they amusing you?

 **Angel:** *He realized a second too late that he should have jumped as the knife was thrown at the table. The opportunity passed and besides, Hans was the alpha, and capable enough to hear his heartbeat. Faking being startled would not have helped him, or so he told himself. He gripped the knife and tugged it out of the wood, using it to scrape the powder from the mortar into the cauldron again before he started finely chopping up the other ingredients. His actions answered the question for himself; 'living a little' was just something he would not choose. Not the living Hans referred to at least.* 

Well two of them seem to be under the impression that they have to stand on their heads and take the potion for it to work. *He looks up at Hans after his chopping, his eyebrows rising.* No idea where they picked that up from. *He had placed the thought in their heads, an experiment of the ability he was trying to perfect.* You should probably correct them. I tried to but they were too busy detailing the extent of ripping out my spine through my throat. *He dropped the chopped ingredients in the cauldron and then snapped his fingers to turn on the flame to a boiling.*

 **Hans** : *Not for the first time, he was impressed, curious -- and wary above all of the man's continued monotonous calm. His conditioning to the surroundings really was wondrous -- a bit too perfect, he thought with a slow eyebrow arch. Hans had never deigned to take an interest in the proceedings of course (truthfully he had rarely ventured near the dungeons a mile beneath their feet since the day one he'd called sister had abandoned him) but there were two very distinct possibilities for the man's calm heartbeat, how unfazed he remained. The first was that he had given up and -- well, it was a bit too perfect for that to be the case. The latter, that he didn't fear Hans...well now that wouldn't do. 

Only he started chuckling, shaking his head - thinking he knew just which two those were that would be ridiculously gullible enough...and could picture Ans or Allison (or both really) convincing them of it. A slow grin spread across his lips as he took steady steps forward.* 

Amusing. I shouldn't interfere with natural hazing, of course. *He stops nearer to the man, dropping his voice to a hiss through his smirk, sideways so it would hit his ear.* As that is where they must have gotten the idea. If someone else thought they could play with my brothers, well. *He shrugs exaggeratedly, but a dangerous flash of scarlet crossed his gaze all the same, tone low.* It wouldn't be pleasant. 

*At which point he reaches out and cups Angel's shoulder, squeezing hard -- mocking the brotherly embracing and pressing his nails into the blade. All the while he smiled, lighter,* As to the threats - you mustn't pay them too much mind for the weak attempt, new pups do need a bit of house training, you understand. Don't you? 

 **Angel:** *When he was caught and captured and tortured, Angel thought they had beaten everything but his hope out of him. He had been wrong of course, they had gotten that too for a while, and they had taken his dignity too the moment he had kissed their boots very literally. No, the one thing they never, never, managed to beat out of him was his snark. He remembered his mother telling him once that his mouth would be the end of him, and at that time he took it to mean a more enjoyable venture and he had said he wouldn't mind. Maybe you'll be right in the end, mum. 

He stopped all motions as Hans got closer, the man probably already deciding he had allowed too much verbal smack from Angel. Shame really, he rarely got to talk this long before the threats began again. They were all the same to Angel, all the same breed of people, supernatural or not. Threats, vague threats, blunt threats, implied threats, he had heard them all. He swallowed, an inaudible wince crossing his face and that he didn't have to pretend too much to feel.* Like I said, Hans. *he turns his head to look at the man better, not dropping his gaze.* I'm pretty smart. 

*Make sure to add potty training to the list he almost wanted to say, before he shrugged the man's nails, half turned into wolf claws as Hans was so adept at this by now, off his shoulder.* And the reason for your visit? I forgot to ask. I have so many admirers, you see, popping in for a chat. *He stuck a hand in his pocket and took out a vial of silver liquid* Ran out?

 **Hans** : A genius. *Cordially, his voice was warm but his eyes remained cold as he held the man's gaze. His breath was steady. Angel, he thought briefly, curious of the name: for they all chose one here eventually. A large ego wasn't chapter one of choosing that name, Hans' lips quirked up again, yet it was curious for other reasons more. As he had just asserted - as they both had, he was rather smart. No doubt he was being clever with the name as well, clever...and coy, keeping that which Gustav thought was long gone buried closer to his heart. 

The thought was disquieting only in that he knew who had made him look so deep into other's here-- and so he brushed it off as he always did, graciously releasing Angel's shoulder and nodding. Delight crossed his gaze once more as he looked at the silver vial, not taking it yet. His eyes flickered back.*  Not for myself. Your admirers might be about to grow -- though I wouldn't expect him for a while yet, poor boy is only fifteen. *He clicks his tongue as he takes the potion quickly, still not moving.* But really, where are my manners, Angel? I wouldn't want to leave you with the impression I only visit for drugs. *Good-humored and sarcastic, he tilts his head, half whispering,* Dreadfully impolite.

 **Angel:** You flatter me again- I think you're more prone to it than you realize. *It was easy to resolve back to his comments and remarks that kept all true feelings at bay.* Though you do compliment on the same thing as before...so maybe not. 

*Though it wasn't really a compliment. It was a fact. He -was- a genius. His eyes darted up to hold Hans' gaze as he explained, before leaning to put the potion on the table.* Didn't realize you were making them so young. *15 year olds. Just as Nadia was 15, just as the boy who was responsible for getting her here was 15, just as the boy who smirked in the picture he kept in his pocket was 15.* 

And we're all about manners here. *He almost laughed at the irony of that statement, almost choked on the subdued bitterness and sarcasm and instead smirked.* I'm afraid I have no drinks to offer you. Gustav would have me sober. I told him he might as well have cut my wings off , but I don't think he minded that. Relieved to leave me without the ability to fly. 

*He shrugged, finding the extended metaphor suitable and vague enough to specific details for it to have no harm. Angel simply missed being able to talk and being listened to. His company weren't good listeners on their best day, and as likely to hit him across the mouth on their worst.* Probably for the best though, I was a real affectionate, horny drunk.

 **Hans:** That's me - *He said it genially, a hand lifting nonchalant - as if he hadn't merely been repeating the term to point out he'd caught the subtle sarcasm.* -always the accommodating gentleman. *He paused, rubbing at his bottom lip in amusement, as if to taste his own words. The benign remark made his eyes narrow; he'd been sixteen, he thought briefly. 

That was something he would never say aloud.  It didn't matter that he hadn't actually been the one to turn Alcott; the boy would be grateful to him either way. So why should he act like he cared?* The younger they are, the stronger they'll be. Well -*he shrugs his shoulder, admitting wry*- provided they survive, but now see, that's where I step in, help them out. 

*He folds his arms on his chest, tilting his head to the ceiling.? Faking a small gasp, and lifting his flat palm to his round lips,* An angel without his wings? My, how the mighty have fallen. *Hans smirked -- only to laugh suddenly honestly at the last.* I'm grateful to be spared then; for surely when it's been...how long -has- it been? *He jerks his head and eyebrow towards the ring Harper wore, his lips quirking.* 9 years? And still loyal...when she almost certainly has not been? 

 **Angel:** *Quite the accommodating gentleman he must have been when he subjected frightened children to the bite with hopes of disillusioned grandeur. Each day it got more difficult for him to keep his comments silent. He couldn't let his impatience show, he couldn't. Angel shared a smirk, unbothered by the slight when it was him who had started it in the first place. The one thing that did cause him pause was the motioning to his ring. He looked down at it briefly, his throat constricting for a moment before he shrugged* Nine years, three months, six days- *he checked his watch* about 10 hours. *If Hans was going to spew out information, Angel would have it be accurate.* 

It's difficult to settle for scraps, when you've already tasted the delicacy. *He shrugged again and realized he was without something to work on, his hands free, so he crossed them over his chest, taking the ring away from Hans' sight.* Most certainly, *he repeated, burying a hurt he knew he had no right to feel.* I don't care. She deserves to be happy, I want her to be happy. I don't expect her to be loyal to a corpse. *Angel had always wondered when he'd have to say those words out loud, to someone who would use his obvious care for his wife against him. No one had brought her up to him in that regard until now, and for that Angel hated Hans.* Ever been in love, Hans?

 **Hans:** *He'd done that too, he thought briefly; the moment he'd been able to look at a calendar. Still he let it fall, more curious than empathetic -- he'd learned long ago what that bought in the end. So despite a shadow passing through his eyes, his muscles tensing, he said only first,* Touching. *As Angel kept going, Hans' eyebrow cocked higher and higher. He knew it was what Angel thought he should believe, but his rising heart rate and heavier breaths told a different story. Of course he didn't have any idea who Angel's wife even was - so for all he knew, she might have still been celibate -- he didn't know. Angel's past didn't concern him - except in the regard as what it might make him do -now-; the man he was presently, besides making the potion he needed.* Impressive. Though I do not believe for a second you don't care. It must hurt. 

*Oddly, Hans realized there was nothing particular behind the remark: he was just being blunt, and honest.  Eyebrow arching slightly higher at the question -- insolent, he thought, but fair considering his own biting remark. And he had just said he was accommodating. First, he reached for the knife again, resuming toying with the hilt, pressing the silver tip to his thumb without a flicker of the pain on his face. Graciously allowing it,  he said first,* Careful, boy. When I offer respect, *flatly* I expect more than the same. 

*Another scarlet flash, but his lips curled up as he continued nonchalant, answering,* Can't say I've had that pleasure and torture, no. *And with an instant smirk,* All other kinds of course, yes. *Hans didn't realize he meant both: licking his bottom lip and thinking more of passion instinctively.* 

 **Angel** : *It must be handy to be able to pick up on heartbeats to detect a lie but then at the same time, whenever he lied it was because he had convinced himself of it to a point that his resting mind thought it was true and he didn't want to have to make himself believe that. He shrugged, always a safe response. His lips twitched at being called boy.* Flattering you think me so young. *He refused to take it as what it really was, a condescending noun meaning to assert his authority and dominance over Angel's submission. Because that's what he had done after all, submit and break; he was a slave in their eyes.* I meant no disrespect. 

*That was honest at least and then he chuckled at the answer and nodded.* And that's why, you don't understand. Sir. *he added that in as an afterthought though in his own mind, sir meant a much more colorful word* Why my hurt doesn't matter. *he shrugs again.* So if you want to keep talking about my wife shagging other men go ahead, but might as well have some fun and punch me in the face instead, kick me repeatedly, be very creative about it. But at the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter. As long as she's safe. *He shouldn't have said that, he should have said nothing at all but that was one part of him that he'd never been able to control or keep under wraps.*

 **Hans:** Well, that depends on you doesn't it? *Drawling easily, spiteful to the last, Hans' lifted his chin and smirk.* Perhaps I'll look her up myself then-- I mean, if you really don't care. Don't worry though mate, we'd be 'safe.' *A hard glint in his eye, Hans shrugs a shoulder as he adds - still light, still playful,* Could keep an eye on her for you, you know. Least I could do is make sure she doesn't have Gustav slavering after every step. *Actually, he meant that one -- no girl deserved that. So even if he had- irritated- started off threatening, by the end his amusement was genuine even if the offer wasn't. Lifting an eyebrow, easily feigned hurt crossed his expression and he folds his hands together over his heart,* Punch you? Do you truly think when I look at you, I see a punching bag? *Tutting and chuckling under his breath, as if he didn't know exactly how many in the group did, he shook his head. Not the pack though- no, he had them in better hand than that.* Trust me my friend, if it was repressed rage, I have a-bit- of a better, a more uh-*he smirks,* _creative_ outlet. 

 **Angel:** *After swallowing a stream of curses and hexes and colorful, creative insults he merely shrugged again, steely eyed.* She's more than capable of taking care of herself. Thank you, for your kind offer. *He had to restrain himself from fingering his ring again, but he did drop his right in his pocket where he still carried a small token of his wife. He raised his eyebrows.* Glad to know you wouldn't be so dull. I am far more handsome than your average punching bag. *Once, maybe once. Gustav had made sure to take that away from him as well.*

 **Hans:** *It was highly entertaining to see the varied colors appearing and disappearing on the man's face. That murderous glint so common to cross his own eyes was mirrored in Angel's - how delightful. Oh he knew he should once again cut that down but truthfully, watching him forced to swallow the emotion less he provoke Hans further was deeply satisfying. To thank him...Angel had to feel he was swallowing poison. Hans relished that power. And frankly, he wanted the man to still be blustered and insulted by his words. Prudent or not.* Oh, I'm sure she can. She'll have had to, without you there. *He claps his hands together, smirking.* It's no trouble mate, least I could do. *His gaze darts to the potion still resting on the table, words low and measured.*  After all you've done for _my_ family. 

*Still lightly, tutting amused,* Oh, I'm many things Angel-- but never dull. *He shudders comically.* You on the other hand--work, work, work. *tiny head shake.* Here--*Stealing one of the flasks off the table without care, he waves his hand to empty it, clean it, and fills it with golden-amber scotch. His smirk lifts as he sets it in front of Angel. Blunt and sly,* Don't worry, if you get too randy, I'll fetch Allison. She'd be only too happy to oblige. 

 **Angel:** *I will cut you down, he thought to himself as he looked back up at Hans, one day I will draw and quarter you and laugh about it. Angel could be patient. He's had nine years of learning to be patient. It might take a month or a year or another decade, but Angel would kill him. He grabbed the flask without looking away from Hans' gaze. He uncapped it and smelled. It was far sweeter than he remembered, he realized.* Scotch? Not whiskey? *He capped it  again and put it in his pocket* I suppose beggars can't be choosers. *He shrugs and then chuckles, smirking in distaste.* Eager, actually. Sad, that an attractive young woman willingly demeans herself to such a level to get even the tiniest bit of attention, and you encourage it by promising to send her to me...*he raises his eyebrows* and here I thought you said you were a gentlemen.

 **Hans:** The thanks I get. *Amused, lifting his eyebrow as Angel seemed to inspect it without tearing his gaze, his words were even through his plastered smirk.* Ah, I thought I'd encourage her getting what she wants, offer my...mm, familial support regardless of whether I agree with the choice. Curious you should take it that way. Are you such an animal you'd treat her with such disrespect? *His gaze hardens, through crisp words.* The irony abounds. 

 **Angel:** No, I would say animals are treated far better. *He shrugs again, looking pointedly at Hans before he continued.* Thanks for the liquor, Hans, but you can spare Allison the humiliation of my continuing refusal. Even she deserves better than that. Not that I blame her for trying, if she's so dissatisfied. Very little choice pickings around these parts.

 **Hans:** My brother's and I are the worthier for having been turned-- I agree. *He chuckles humorlessly, even as he thinks there was an element of truth to his sarcasm. Angel had no idea what they went through-- but then, he wasn't worth that consideration. Rolling his eyes and ignoring Allison for the moment, he tilted his head with a sly little grin spreading to show his teeth.* Any time you want to join, I am happy to oblige. 

 **Angel** : * _You get those fangs within two feet of me_ , Angel thought as he continued looking at him, _and I will personally pull them out and use them as scalpels._ * You'll have better luck recruiting 15 year olds. *He finally took his hand out of his pocket when the smoke turned deep purple and moved to stir.* But thank you for the offer.

 **Hans:** *Oh, such a look of hatred. Smirk only widening, he swirled his tongue around the pointed tips and hmmed through a chuckle under his breath, pressing his finger-tip to his teeth. Delicious.* Oh, this particular fifteen year old wasn't bitten by me. *Dragging the pad of his finger over his bottom lip, he flattened his hand and pressed it to his heart, as if to say ''how could you think such a thing?' -- even as amusement danced in his eyes.* No, no. I did face his friend, he, I gather is still hospitalized - *nonchalant, without remorse.* - but the poor boy himself, I'm just stepping in to help. *Leaning back against the table, relaxed as he survey's Angel.* You shouldn't underestimate me. I don't need to _bite_ someone to have their loyalty. 

 **Angel:** You're quite sure of yourself, Hans, to think the boy would join, with you having put his friend in the hospital. *He knew perfectly well Hans probably had refrained from that specific detail. He kept stirring. Clockwise then counter twice then clockwise twice, then counter four times, and so on.* No doubt the potion helps with that. *And he helped them.*

 **Hans:** From experience. *The rebuttal was light. Oh, there were a hundred different ways to spin it: starting with the current one, the fact that Alcott was still wondering at the back of his mind 'was that me?' and terrified of how, even if it wasn't, easily it could have been. Hans understood that only too well.* All thanks to you, Angel. *The corner of his lips dragged back, crinkled and he reached to clap his shoulder again, off beats as he watched the stirring.* You should be proud. *idly* It's only too bad you have to be so stubborn, it never had to be so difficult. 

 **Angel:** *Being tense when Hans patted his shoulder this time came easy, not with fear, but with the knowledge he couldn't mutter a spell that would cause electricity to run through his veins. He shrugged* Family trait. In the end, all for naught. *He looked up from his stirring to catch Hans again before he smirked.* And you're welcome.

 **Hans:** Not for naught. *Cheerily, despite lifting his eyebrow higher. How curious. This was Gustav's arrogance, of course, that the man would be so broken. There was something else here though, he realized slowly; Hans mentioning his wife, his family -- it made him murderous. And while that was to be expected - counted on, actually, as it was what made him fearful enough to be trusted.* Your wife, your family -- remained safe, haven't they? Don't undersell your achievement there, friend. *He dropped his hand again, sliding it into his pocket and leaning back off the table to step a bit closer again. A slow smirk reappeared as the man held his gaze.* See. Now that's polite. Was that so difficult?

 **Angel:** *They would have also remained perfectly safe had I decided to kill Gustav the moment he stepped foot in my house, but what example would that have been for my boy? Angel much preferred the conversation he was having with the man in his own mind, it was much more truthful, and Angel did so hate to lie; he had gotten his halo with honesty.* It was like swallowing burning metal. And I have before, so I can safely say it. *He smiled* Practice will make it easier, though.

 **Hans:** *Hissing through his chuckle,* Gruesome. *True though. The extent of what occurred in the dungeon -- well, it was well known to him in the one way, he'd never seen a reason to care to go back. Those who emerged were stronger, worthy. All except Angel...for he remained captive to the grounds and house, and as long as that was true, Hans remained wary of being so dependent on the man. Toying with the button on his own jean jacket, he straightened his head. Eye to eye with the shorter man,* Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor entirely. I'd hate to think you were resigned to the circumstances.

 **Angel:** Can't imagine I'd be much company if I had. *He raised the temperature of the potion, needing it to boil before continuing. It was easy to focus on the potion, that he didn't have to worry about but it also was enough to stop him from having his thoughts stray.* After all, if I've managed to keep your attention for this long, certainly I must be doing something right.

 **Hans:** *He'd done more than 'something', Hans thought with narrowed eyes. Angel dropped his gaze again, looking back to the potion and speaking idly -- and flatly, did everything that someone hiding something did. The false bravado over a rabbity heart was one thing; the dead clarity when he mentioned his wife was another, and the fact he still appeared ultimately unfazed? Disgusted, angered - Hans even thought he noted guilt before the gaze jerked away (if only he could discern emotion as easily as he could hear his steady heartbeat!) - but not the man was not phased. He was holding on to something - and he wagered it was something more than whatever his hand held so tightly in his pocket, the scars on his forearm protruded, dark and stark with his grip.* Oh, and again you undersell yourself Angel. Of course you've kept my attention, I'm not so foolish as to discount you. *His eyes were still narrow, his voice bare.* You are determined to be contrary aren't you? *flatly* And you haven't decided you're not leaving here in anything but a black, plastic bag. You, still think you'll see your family again. That's good. *tilting his head up* Hope is good. It means you still have something to lose.

 **Angel:** Of course I'm not leaving this place in a black, plastic, bag. *The potion needed more eye of newt.* You have that mistaken for the way I got here. *He headed to the pantry to grab the jar he needed and then came back, answering with a shrug.* Putting me in a body bag would require you all having some respect for the dead. More likely than not I'll make quite the entertaining game of chase for your pups. Don't worry, I'll make sure to give them a challenge on that day when I no longer serve of use. 

 **Hans:** How casually you discuss this. *Wryly, his voice remains as even and casual as Angel's did, eyes tracking the man's back as he retreated and returned. Disappointing, even if reassuring as well.* Ah, Angel I have great respect for the dead -- as I've said already tonight, I respect you. *His lips quirk, this time reaching to fill a flask for himself, stealing another one of Angel's potion vials. Watching his own careful mixing, his words were fevered,* 

I wouldn't ever let someone control me as that. What sort of man would I be if I didn't offer you the fighting chance? You have me mistaken for Gustav anyway - *he chuckles regardless of the fact it was anything but amusing, continuing,* - you really must have in _furiated_ him once upon a time. What did you do to him, anyway?

 **Angel:** *He chuckled because a twisted part of him could realize that was pretty funny, an amusing rebuke given that it was true. He inclined his head, and might have said touché, appropriate given their location as well, but he had grown to have a distaste for the French language.* A long time ago, back when I had family. *He pursed his lips for a moment and decided it wouldn't matter if he shared the story.* My brothers and I, we saw Gustav attempt to force himself on a girl in a corner of the Ministry during a function, so we kicked his ass and took his clothes. Not much for forgiveness, that man. We were just doing our civic duty, really.

 **Hans:** *Ah! He did laugh then, wonderful. Honestly curious, just as honest disgust crossed his face at the explanation. It was, he thought, the first time that evening that Angel had answered him entirely truthfully (rather than swallow his honesty or respond with flippant sarcasm) barring the passionate defense of his wife's safety. Hans didn't have trouble believing the story anyway; Gustav long had been a thorn in his side over what they had planned for female recruits -- really, it hadn't been Gustav's edict that no one touch Nadia either. The thought makes his nose wrinkle.* Ah, well, I must admit I'm not much for forgiveness either. Nor could any amount of groveling could forgive such abominable behavior. *He spoke off-the-cuff, casually.* Or...did you mean he should forgive you?

 **Angel:** Both. *He answered easily.* We would have probably left him with his clothes if he'd done as asked and apologized. Maybe. I'm a man of my word. *That wasn't entirely a lie. He had sworn to help them, made the unbreakable vow to do so, but he never swore one against betraying them for Gustav didn't think him capable of doing it.* But perhaps if he had learned to forgive, I wouldn't be in this situation. Perhaps.

 **Hans:** Sounds to me you made a fair offer. *Oh, Gustav. Such a petty grudge to hold...from such a dangerous man. Hans presses his lips together amused, his free hand still cradling his own glass.* Ah - can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that, mate. *In all actuality, he knew the man meant to-the-letter, which was why Hans was equally as particular in the questioning. He knew he should have left ages ago, should have threatened him -- but there was plenty of time for that, he was in no danger. Angel was speaking honestly; that was worth far more to Hans than yet another threat-and-shakedown.* Perhaps. *Agrees easily.* Do you regret enraging him? *Brow arching even higher, wry,* Knowing now what it meant for your family?

 **Angel:** *Oh he'd thought long and hard about that. Countless days and nights when he had nothing but his own thoughts for company. At least now he could work, before the solitude was as much torture as anything the other Death Eaters could concoct.* I would have still been the smartest man in the world. Gustav would have still sought me out. He'd be no less cruel, or ambitious. *He shrugged.* I don't regret saving that girl. My brothers and I had a laugh about it for many years. He's got a tiny cock. 

 **Hans:** *Not moving his gaze from Angel's eyes, he focused on the man's heartbeat much more than his own breath. Smirk frozen on his lips, he laughed out at the last remark, an abruptly bright sound even to his own ears.* Hilarious. Do be sure to tell him that for me. *And please let him be there when he did, though admittedly it wouldn't go over well for Angel's sake: Hans didn't care. The second reference to his brothers made Hans tilt his head. The words were fond, a memory still valued despite it all, and he had to admit he admired that...even if it was foolish.* You know Angel, you'd be better off forgetting all of that. *Evenly, taking another sip of the glass.* It's a pity you're so determined not to make ... new friends. *He downed half the glass in a single swig and gasp, not breaking eye contact with him.*

 **Angel:** *Oh everything would be much easier for him if he could do just that. Pretend he didn't have a life before, stop worrying about them, give over to his fate, play genuinely nice so that he might even be awarded the comfort of the sun one day. But why in the hell would he want life to be easy? He shook his head and then answered simply.* Friendships are for humans. I'm a dead man. *He would really enjoy drinking that scotch the moment he tested it for poisons and other potions of any kind.* Besides, don't care much to have friends who've made me bleed, vomit, and piss myself. 

 **Hans:** Fair point. *He chuckles, swirling the scotch he held back and forth even as his eyes remain stuck on Angel overtop it. The fractured, distorted reflection made the scars across his face highlight, gruesome. Yet he continued lightly,* I don't recall doing any of those to you. Well. Perhaps the last. *A glint appeared in Hans' eyes again, amused with the thought of having scared him. Still, he's nonchalant, taking a sip again, hissing through another playful, light gasp.* You could have that glass now, you know. You said you couldn't offer me one, so I fixed that -- accommodating as ever. It seems impolite of me to drink alone. And dead depressing of cou -- ah. *As if it just occurred to him, his pinky raised and rapped across the glass.* *You think I've poisoned it? *Not caring for the third violation of the man's personal space -- corpses didn't get that consideration -- he reached to fish it out of his jacket, poured it atop his own scotch and took a heavy sip. Then, he simply smirked, and offered the glass back.* Satisfied?

 **Angel:** You'd have been able to smell it if I did. *Not more than once he wondered on the werewolf mutation. He understood as much as he could without being a werewolf himself, and genetically understood it more than them, but he'd never been given the chance to for lack of a better word study them closely enough. He'd been given samples of blood with which he'd manage to concoct the potion with but he would have liked to know more. He watched Hans walk over after his 'sudden epiphany' and reach into his jacket pocket. Angel could do nothing but allow it, his eyebrows simply rising as he waited and then took the glass offered and took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat in the most pleasant of ways. The nectar caressed his tongue and lips, soothingly, familiarly. Angel felt comfort. He had missed it. He didn't think he hated someone else as much as he did Hans right at that moment.* I had no expectations that I needed fulfilled. So in that sense, no, no satisfaction. But it's not bad. Pinch? Johnnie Walker perhaps?

 **Hans:** Unpleasantly. *He wrinkled his nose again in bitter memory.* There are certain disadvantages...*He shrugs, just talking,* Many, really...but the advantages outweigh greatly. Hence why I rephrased. *He'd meant only he'd never been one of the man's particular torturers, but let it slide uncaring.* But then, you wouldn't know about that. *Few did. That was what made them special, so much more remarkable. Hardly noticing (except to smirk) his own complete control in that moment, of the other man's body -- his jaw hardened as he watched and listened. See now, he could hear the heart rate spike, Hans could tell it was appreciated -- even as fire flamed in Angel's eyes. How curious.* The latter. *He tuts; the difference to him palpable, even between the labels.* Gold label even -- sorry, *in a tone that intimated how utterly unapologetic he was,* I have the blue label saved for someone....mm, special. *Releasing the glass, he leaned to take the silver potion once more, tossing it up in the air and back, playful before sliding it now into his back pocket. Alcott would be grateful for that soon, he knew from flat experience. Looking back at the man, his smirk was back, easily.* Aren't you going to thank me? *Sure. He already had. But Hans didn't give a damn, he enjoyed that power.*

 **Angel:** *The major disadvantage, of this particular group being that they have to be answer to a cruel vindictive mother-fucker like him.* No, I wouldn't. *He took another sip after a few moments in silence. It was Johnnie Walker, how familiar. They had served this, along with 50 different bottles of alcohol, at his wedding. The ring seemed to pulsate on his finger, as if it were the reason now for his heartbeats, not the muscle constricted by fragile rib bones in his chest.* More special than me? *His condolences to whoever that was. After another drink of ambrosia, he licked his lips and put the glass down, looking up at Hans and his smirk.* Thank you, Hans. *Go fuck yourself.* I'll remember this. *And one day make you pay for it.* Have a good day. *Eat shit and die. He smiled.*

 

 

  
++

Anxiety was not Daniella’s friend. A penciled eyebrow seemed permanently etched in place on her forehead as she sat on a park bench, idly twirling a long black strand around her finger. _Emotions run strong in the Faye family_ , she was writing in a looping script, journal balanced on her knee.  _At least that’s what Papa would have said. And it’s true. For Papa, anyway_. 

Breathing out as she held the espresso to her lips, the wisp of steam flew away from her in a curly-Q. Daniella watched it, lips pursed in amusement. Lila would have smacked her, but the sight reminiscent of cigar smoke made her shiver. Nostalgia was a bitch, in this case, reminding her of debonair gentleman she enjoyed. After a sip, she considered her own words. Aunt Abi was celebrating Christmas already; her flat looked like a reindeer threw up. Her uncles were remarkably passionate as well. Even Uncle Brandin, though he’d deny it with a vehemence that made her point for her. She wrote these things down, distracting herself from the situation at present.  _Still, I think there’s a fault with the premise. Emotions run deep in humanity._

As she proved, as the startling hiss of an engine jerked her head up in a flash of anger. Unimpressed by the Frenchman atop the silver and black motorcycle, her eyebrows snapped together as he rip-roared in a circle around the fountain a few feet from her. How novel: a man who ruined his muffler for sound-effects. Halting after the second loop, the man didn’t dismount before he was smirking at her. 

“You really should wear a helmet,” her French was clipped as she called out at him, “You could hurt yourself.” 

Dark shades and smug lips answered her. “Your concern is flattering.” He was lucky he hadn’t knocked her coffee over; she’d give him a reason to be concerned then.

She rolled her eyes and tried to return to her journal after checking her watch. Her hour lunch break was rapidly deteriorating, half of it gone. If he stood her up - she swore under her breath, driven to take another sip. As she did, she realized her company wasn’t leaving. 

Ah. Daniella watched him dismount with a slow smirk spreading across lips still perched on the coffee’s lid.  

“Mr. D’Grey, I presume?” 

“At your service.” Startling blue eyes appeared as the man ripped the shades off. Daniella was grateful for the lid of the coffee hiding her momentary choked-off breath. Oh, cheri, his eyes were so  _blue_. She had to admit; it was disconcerting next to the black leather and HenleyWas that why men remarked on her own eyes so frequently? Determined not to look away, she cocked her head as he approached with such a swagger you’d have thought he just won the Tour d’France on that bike of his. (Which, she wouldn’t put anything past this man, especially not cheating). 

“You’re late.” 

“Apologies,” he spoke in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t sorry, “I was detained by business.” 

As he slipped hands in his dark-wash jeans, D’Grey came to stand still a few feet off her. Though his face looked appropriately apologetic, it didn’t convince her.

“Really.” Daniella couldn’t help her sarcasm. “Mysterious business. That’s what you’re going with?” 

“Pardon?” His head leaned forward as if to better hear her. Honestly.

She knew who he was, she knew damn well what he’d done. It was only surprising to her in that instant that her irritation was outweighing panic. “Dangerous” wasn’t chapter one of his description; subsequent pages would detail vicious murders he orchestrated and the stark heartbreak inevitable by anyone who had the misfortune to come across this man, hiding behind a smile.  His list of crimes could not fit in her journal if even half of her father’s stories were true…and she knew Papa had often lied to her “to protect her” damn well. The list was so long, she thought the only one he seemed not guilty of was bad taste.

Sue her, Daniella worked too closely with the fashion industry in her day job to not notice. She almost sighed aloud. _Why is it always the handsome ones who know how to dress that turn out to be Hannibal Lectors?_

“You heard me.” She said simply, snapping her journal shut. “And I’m not amused, Remington.”

The name transformed his face in delight; paradoxically she’d genuinely amused him. Daniella frowned as he laughed. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it curled the thin hairs on the base of her neck all the same. Was it that amusing that she’d said his first name? Oh, of course, no one was supposed to do that – even her father had always remarked on ‘D’Grey’, and he’d supposedly been his right hand man. About to ask – her lips pressed back together suddenly, seeing the light in his eyes. It wasn’t that.

Ah.

“You’re not Remington.”

Daniella’s eyebrow cocks up again, a visible breath in the chilly October air leaving round lips.  His affirmative laugh and nod only leaves her dissatisfied. Odd, she thought. Half her life she’d been terrified of Remington D’Grey and equally furious with him. The man had stolen her father’s life all but literally, and was the reason men tried to take hers on her three-month birthday. Papa would have been furious to think she was seeking to meet him, and not without reason. It was her life, she’d snapped at him on the subject repeatedly, and her decision to make. It wasn’t in a Faye, she would argue, to let something easily go. She would get him arrested, she would make him find justice – if she had to trick him into it by thinking she’d take her father’s place, so be it.

That wasn’t the only reason she’d been curious to meet him though, a voice at the back of her head. Sickened constantly by the reverence in her father’s voice when he could be convinced to talk of him, she had thought that meeting him could explain it. Psychology books were her only other recourse, and she disdained making the father she loved and owed everything to, a case for therapists.

This man in front of her had answered to ‘D’Grey’ however. It took only a moment before a smirk curled her own lips and she lifted her chin to ask, “Where’s your father?”

D’Grey’s smile darkens and tells her she was right.

“Mm. You don’t disappoint, Daniella.”

“Oh?” She decided not to admit she was taken aback by the idea he’d even heard of her. “What is my reputation?”

“Intuitive. Relentless. Privileged. Sex-Goddess.”

The first few had made her smile, but at the last she had to laugh. Covering herself with another sip of the espresso, she raised her journal to her chest.

“D’Grey, someone needs to teach you better manners.” They needed to teach him a lot of things, she thinks with a tiny head shake.

“Just answering your question factually. Is that not polite?” The smirk was back as he shifted his stance with ease, elbow poking the leather out. For the love of—she slides the journal into her purse and stands, skirt whipping around her thighs as she does. Her knee-high boots clack against the stone as she takes the few steps towards him.

“Well factually, I am relentless. Tell your father not to send his boy next time.”

She moves to walk by him and halts at another honest laugh pricking her neck. Making a mental note to wear a sweater to combat the autumn, she speaks without turning around.

“What is it?” Her first honest question.

“That might be a little difficult.” Something in his voice turns her back around, tells her she’s missing something else. He had that delight back in his face, but she was right: there was something dark in his startling eyes. Something cold.

Disquieted, Daniella snaps. “I can make other things difficult for him.”

It didn’t matter suddenly to her that she had that intention all along. His life had gone too long without facing up to his crimes. Even if it put a pit in her stomach to meet his son’s eyes. D’Grey had a family. Fabulous. A family she intended on splitting, just as he’d split hers, just as so many had been in the name of power. Daniella wasn’t sure why it surprised her; wasn’t that the unspoken truth she lived with all along? Murderers, Death Eaters and otherwise – they had families. They could get married, have children just as her parents had her and her siblings. If anything, she thought it was more likely.  Those built of deep pain and rage harbored just as much buried passion. Emotions ran deep.

He held her gaze steadily with those cold eyes, and she gritted her teeth. “Why would it be difficult?”

Asking him honestly tasted like poison, but his answer spit a bullet in her clenched mouth.

“He’s dead.”

Well, damn. That wasn’t the justice she’d been looking for, she thought bitterly, but she couldn’t say it didn’t relieve her. Couldn’t she have heard that from someone who wasn’t his son? Despite the chill in his voice and shoulder shrug, Daniella read pain in his face, the lift of his chin. And why shouldn’t that news upset him? It would devastate her to lose her father – much as she wouldn’t  blame anyone for wanting him dead or imprisoned. Hell, she knew he wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting that either. When her father didn’t see her watching there was a sorrow in a face written so weary he’d seem eighty, rather than in his forties. Guilt destroyed him. He just didn’t show his children it.

“I’m sorry.” Daniella was surprised by her own words: it was true.

“Don’t be. It happens.” D’Grey jerks away from her, face screwing up in a grin with both shoulders raised as he looks over her shoulder.

Tough guy, wasn’t he? Irritated she’d let her rapid heart interfere, she folded her arms below her chest.

“How did it happen?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He laughs again, meeting her eyes again. His thumb flicks the arm of his shades open, then shut, then open, rubbing at the hinge. “Besides, aren’t you here to kill him yourself? Congratulations, you got your revenge.”

Oh, he knew everything didn’t he? No surprises for the bastard – and she wondered suddenly if that was true. Had D’Grey even been married?  Then again, she was too technically, though her parents got married briefly for years following her return to them. She decided not to ask: it would give her something in common with the smirking, swaggering prodigal son.

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” Daniella narrows her eyes. “He’s the one that thought murder was justice.”

“And you don’t?” His hand lifts from his pocket as he takes a few steps closer, pointing at her with all four fingertips and his thumb. The sarcasm in her voice  flashes hot in her veins: how dare he suppose that? How dare he think he know her?

“No, I don’t.”

“Ryan Faye’s beloved daughter?”

“Yes, I am that. Though your father’s the reason he thought I was dead for years, nearly was.” Her step echoes, the click of stiletto against stone. “And murder is still vengeance no matter who one’s parents are. You kill someone, anyone, and you could be killing  someone’s brother. Or someone’s  best friend, their lover, their ah –“ She steps again, “ – _father_.  If it’s justified to avenge one’s fallen love, wouldn’t you then be justified to kill me for doing it?”

“That’s the way the world works, honey.”

The nonchalance infuriates her, rage ripping through veins pumping twice as hard.

“You have to be fucking—“

“Wasn’t that why you were here?” He questions with light amusement, the sarcasm as bothersome as his casual dismissive remarks. “Your father’s place has been empty too long, you said? His work unfinished?”

It would have fooled Remington, she thought bitterly. She’d gone over it a hundred times, knew the quirks to look for, knew how to stroke his ego. Years of her father’s tutelage had prepared her well, even as he thought he’d been warning her off being involved. Which, he had; she’d never had any urge to join either the Death Eaters or Aurors. That wasn’t her fight any more than it truly had ever been her fathers.

“I should take it you’ve taken your father’s business over then? Your mystery of a delay?”

D’Grey lifts his chin again to keep his gaze even with hers as she steps forward, smirk ever in place. He regards her honestly though, curiosity in those bright blue eyes. And she thinks for a moment he might listen, might not have wasted her time by meeting her in his fallen father’s stead after all, before he speaks.

“Being Remington D’Grey’s son doesn’t leave a lot of career options.”

Scoff high and eyes rounding, Daniella laughs. Looking first to the ground as she licks at her bottom lip, she nods to herself. Of course. Oh, what a broken idiot.

“You’re right.” Her arms fall from her chest, gesturing away from her. “I get it. I go into job interview and all I keep getting, ‘Oh, you’re Ryan Faye’s daughter?’ They look at me all confused and wary as I’m forced to say, ‘Oh yes, that Ryan Faye, the one you’re thinking of, the notorious traitor and killer.’ Their faces fall as they explain, ‘See, we live in the tenth century where that defines your entire being, so we can’t hire you. I have no choice but to become a mass murderer myself.”

Anger flashes across his gaze, vein protruding his forehead, “You don’t know me, Daniella.”

It’s curt, and Daniella smiles triumphant.

“I didn’t claim to. I spoke only of myself, and we aren’t anything alike.”

This time she won’t look back as she walks away, even as he scoffs, then laughs in disbelief at her click-clack retreat on the high road. She tosses her empty cup into the nearest recycling bin, thinking to set a good example and pauses near his motorcycle. In a flash, she has her wand out and conjures over it. D’Grey watches her walk off, rubbing at the corner of his curled lip and then chuckles to himself as he sees the helmet she left atop his seat.


	20. A Decent Thing to Do

**Angel:** Here. *He held out a basket for Nadia as he sat in the only chair available in her small cell. There had been no further incidents since the girl had tried to get out and caused herself those nasty burns. She was recovering pretty well. The bars were unfortunately spelled with dark magic. He could only do so much for scars but most of them had faded, save for the one down her left eye and cheek.*

 **Nadia:** *A smile on her face from being happy to see her friend, she was suddenly more happy as she took the basket from him and realized what it was.* Strawberries! *She picked one between her fingers and took a delicate bite, unsure of whether she liked them or not; she did. She ate the rest of the strawberry with gusto and licked her lips before smiling up at Angel.* Thank you. Where’d you get it?

 **Angel:** Kitchens. *he smiles as well.* I thought you might like them. They’re not the best pickings but-

 **Nadia:** They’re great. *She assures him before she chuckles* But I might’ve said that even if I did remember eating one before. *She seemed very naturally, well, nice. At least she wasn’t about to be mean to the only person that was nice to her…the only person who she knew actually.*

 **Angel:** Yes, I think so too. *She really was exceptionally kind for her situation. He was still shocked that she had been willing to keep her burns to spare him some pain.* Mind if I have one?

 **Nadia:** Not at all *she extends the basket out again, briefly amused that the strawberries he had brought for her were in reality not just hers at all. She didn’t mind though, she was glad to be able to share something.* Did you eat a lot of strawberries, before?

 **Angel:** *He licked his fingers after he finished eating the strawberry and nodded his head.* Oh yes. We had them every morning for breakfast, and sometimes as snacks.

 **Nadia:** *She swallowed a bite before she added in a small voice.* Meaning your wife.

 **Angel:** *He looked up at her surprised, his questioning glance must have been obvious to the girl because she explained herself quickly.*

 **Nadia:** You play with the ring on your finger a lot. *She gestured to the band on his left hand* A fidget really, I don’t think you notice how often…like you’re always making sure it’s still there.

 **Angel:** *He hadn’t expected her to be so observant. Then again, her senses must have been begging for some stimuli after so much time alone in this bland, cold, cell.* You’re quite astute. 

 **Nadia:** *She offered a small smile, unsure of how to take given that it wasn’t exactly a compliment, more like an observation. Agreeing with him would only make her sound cocky and -- truthfully, it might be completely wrong.* What was she like?

 **Angel:** *He cleared his throat looking down at his hands a bit uncomfortably. He refrained from turning the ring on his finger out of pure will. They were such private memories, ones that he held close to his heart where none might taint them. They had already tried, but saying them out loud…* I don’t…  
 **Nadia:** *She had made him upset. Frowning, she almost took it back and told him he didn’t have to say anything if he wasn’t comfortable but upon closer inspection, she could almost see the longing to say talk and be listened to burst forth from him. She understood. She might not have been here for long, might not have memories to reminisce about, but she knew what it was to want someone there to listen.* Was she pretty?  
 **Angel:** Beautiful. *The words left his lips unrehearsed, unable to be held back. Surprised at himself, he sat straighter and was further surprised to see Nadia smiling at him, almost encouragingly. He chuckled and then exhaled, the breath was visible in the cold air despite the warmth his potion provided him, the same one he had given to Nadia to keep her warm. He had to earn his wings after all. He looked back down at his hands, stayed quiet for a few more seconds before he added honestly.* She was the sun. Bright…warm…passionate. Smart as a whip, elegant but playful. And her eyes…I could have spent eternity in her eyes.  
 **Nadia:** *It was with sad happiness that she watched him talking about his wife. The wife that he had been kept away from for so long. These people  tortured him. They played a game of anxiety with her by leaving her alone for now, and tortured countless of others to screams that gave her nightmares, made it impossible to sleep -- they had also kept him away from his life.* You really love her.  
 **Angel:** *Love, yes, present-tense. He could endure that better instead of the constant past tense that had filled his impromptu explanation. Angel nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on his hands still.* I do. It’s not something that ever stops.  
 **Nadia:** *She wondered if he still had hope of seeing her one day. Angel had told her to resign to her fate the first day she had been there but it was hard for her to do that. She had thought Angel was speaking out of personal experience but he didn’t sound like a man broken or defeated. Not right at that moment. Love was a very powerful force. It was his strength.* Do you know what’s happened to her?  
 **Angel:** *He cleared his throat again, jaw clenching immediately. He looks up again to answering factually.* She’s safe as long as I cooperate with them. Still has a chance to live her life with our son, the rest of the family. I get pictures every year to be sure of their wellbeing.  
 **Nadia:** *She was surprised to hear about him having a son but she didn’t want to make a deal about it, by reminding him further about his loss. It dawned on her with painful abruptness. There was a fate much worse than not having anyone to miss: being able to remember them, but not being able to be with the ones you love.* I’m sorry.  
 **Angel:** *He chuckled though there was nothing funny about the decision.* It’s not your fault, girl.  
 **Nadia:** That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry *she frowned, not understanding why he wanted to brush her words off so quickly.*…I’m not offering you pity.  
 **Angel** : Good. *He said quickly, leaning forward to pick another strawberry and eat it.*   
**Nadia:** *She pursed her lips, looking down at the strawberries and then slapped his hand away as he went for another one almost immediately after.* Hey, I thought these were mine.  
 **Angel:** You snooze, you lose girl. *He offered her a small smile but he relented, giving her the opportunity to eat a few of them herself.* How are you doing? Has any of your memory come back?  
 **Nadia:** *She chewed slowly as she thought about it and then she shook her head.* No. I mean…sometimes I think I remember the smell of grass or the splash of water. In my dreams I see a face…or maybe it’s different faces. And I remember smiling in recognition but in the morning, I never remember a detail. So that’s *she shrugs, her shoulders drooping* that’s probably nothing.  
 **Angel:** Don’t be so quick to discount anything. *He said, a pang of guilt hitting his chest knowing the mechanics of his own potion, that her memory was a jumbled mess. Her mind was trying to arrange the puzzle pieces in order but failing. Naturally it would take years for her memory to recover.*  
 **Nadia:** I just keep thinking *she didn’t object this time as Angel leaned in for another strawberry* what if what I do remember…isn’t very nice?  
 **Angel:** …meaning? *He asked, a bit confused.*  
 **Nadia:** I was brought here, against my will and kept here against my will…I don’t want to remember being more scared than I am right now. *She bit her lip uncertainly and pushed aside her mess of tangled and dirty hair.* What if I had a horrible life?  
 **Angel:** *He shook his head.* No, I doubt that.  
 **Nadia:** Why? *she asked, genuinely curious but mostly, she just wanted to be reassured.*  
 **Angel:** Because you didn’t want me to heal you, because it would have caused me pain. You were fiercely adamant about it.  
 **Nadia:** *She frowned; that’s not what she was hoping to hear.* That was just the decent thing to do…anyone would have-  
 **Angel** : No. *He shook his head again.* Not anyone-  
 **Nadia:** Well, not the people here I know but-  
 **Angel:** Not, anyone would choose to think about a stranger before themselves especially when they were in obvious pain.  
 **Nadia** : *Was that true? Were there really not that many people in the world like that? Was the world such a horrible place? She didn’t believe that, she couldn’t believe that. People were naturally good…they were just warped, somehow.* So I’m nice…doesn’t mean anything. Maybe this eternal positivity comes from long practice of telling myself someday things would get better.  
 **Angel:** I think you’re eternal positivity, *his lips twitched briefly in amusement before he continued* has taken quite the blow, because you’re bordering on pessimism.  
 **Nadia:** It’s the darkness. *She noted after taking a bite of another strawberry, looking around the small room.* It’s eerie…it’s scary. *She shook her head to clear away the images of shadow hands wrapping around her ankles and dragging her into the black. Nightmares.* I’m just really scared.  
 **Angel:** I wish I could say that goes away…*Poor girl. She was too young.*  
 **Nadia:** You’re not a stranger, by the way.  
 **Angel:** *He tilted his head, confused once more. He was the smartest man in the world, or maybe more accurately described as underworld, and he was finding that this 15 year old girl confused and surprised him to no end.*  
 **Nadia:** You’re Angel. You helped me, brought me strawberries *she gestured to them with a small smile* and candles...you’re my friend.  
 **Angel:** Girl, *he sighed* you don’t-  
 **Nadia:** I know I can trust you.  
 **Angel:** *His guilt was a mountain sitting on his shoulders* No you can’t, you can’t trust anyone, not in this place.  
 **Nadia:** I can trust you. I know it. *She frowns, confused by herself but she was sure of her words, like she had been before.* And I can’t explain it, but I do, and it’s as certain as this room is...black. I trust you. You’re a good person.  
 **Angel:** Oh girl...*He licked his lips and shook his head from side to side.* That kind of attitude is going to get you killed. *He saw her flinch at the word, but he pressed on.* One day you’re going to trust in the wrong person and it’s going to get you killed.  
 **Nadia:** But it won’t be you. *She was dead certain about it, stubbornly certain and Angel was starting to understand that: when she believed something, there was no turning her from it...at least that’s how she was now. She didn’t know if that was true of her before.* Besides...maybe it’s already happened. I hardly think my capture was random.  
 **Angel:** No. If they’ve kept you unharmed for so long, it probably wasn’t random at all. Most prisoners are, the ones they don’t need to turn, just...toy with. *There were no screams in the dungeons today but he knew they would surely find more anyways. Especially for the new recruits.*  
 **Nadia:** Sometimes, *she began after staring off into space* I lie here and I invent stories about my life. I pretend I’m a rich heiress and they’re holding me hostage for ransom. That I have a guy I’m expected to marry to multiply the family fortune, but I could care less about him because I’ve fallen for a guitarist, or a lead singer, in a band and he works two jobs and lives in an apartment only a big bigger than this cell. And he’s the one who’ll come to get me somehow. Other times I pretend I’m this…scientific experiment. That I’m actually the most powerful magical being on this planet, and they keep me in this cell to make sure I don’t use my powers. But one day I just feel a surge of power and I blast through this rock and I set you and I free. Some days I’m an orphan, picked off the streets with nothing to lose or no one, and kept here by someone who took pity on me. Yesterday, I was a member of a secret organization that opposes this one, and they’ve captured me to turn me into a double spy, so that I might destroy the organization from the inside. Today, I was an angel, summoned from heaven and cursed with forgetting my eternal life because I’ve touched mortal ground. An angel’s tears are a key ingredient for one of your potions, so that’s why…and my wings are made of light and good, not feathers. And it’s why I trust you, because you’re an Angel too.  
 **Angel:** *Her stories had made him smile sadly but with amusement. She was just a child, dreaming, an active imagination, playing pretend so that she didn’t have to face the deep depression of her reality. He nodded.* You’ve quite the imagination. No days where you’re just an ordinary girl?  
 **Nadia:** Who’s to say one of them isn’t true? *She rebutting quickly, smiling despite it.* We don’t know. I could very well be an heiress or an orphan or an angel. *She giggles.*  
 **Angel:** *Me, he thought to himself miserably. You’re a believed to be Muggleborn girl, with a large family, large group of friends, a lot of people who care about you and are probably worried sick looking for you, and that’s what they’re counting on.* Or the most powerful magical being on the planet.  
 **Nadia:** That too. *she nodded, before admitting silently* But that one I’m not too willing to test out.  
 **Angel:** It’s for the best. *The last thing he wanted was her injuring herself further trying to get out of here. A hand went to toy with his ring again, causing Nadia to smile. He realized what he was doing and then chuckled.* I guess you were right before.  
 **Nadia:** Yeah, *her smile was sad but she immediately frowned as his hand went to reach for more strawberries. She pinched his pinky, swatting the hand away.* You were eating as I told you about my stories! The rest are all mine.  
 **Angel:** Oww. *He laughed once and then shook his head before smiling.* Alright then, I’ll leave you to them then. *He stood up and then was surprised to see her stand up as well.* Girl I’ve already told you, I can’t-  
 **Nadia:** Shush. *She took only the two steps that were necessary to reach him before she raised her arms and pulled him in for a hug slowly. She’d wanted to do that since he told her about his wife, his family. He tensed with the hug, but that didn’t surprise her. It just saddened her further. It wasn’t a tight hug, she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable but...he needed it. And not just that, she needed it to. Her eyes closed against his shirt but she did her best not to stain them with tears.*  
 **Angel:** *He paused a moment, confused, uncertain and looked down. Nadia was short, quite short for her age. Her arms couldn't reach above his shoulders, so she had just put her arms around his back. It took him several long moments for him to relax and then several more to bring his arms up to hug her back.*  
 **Nadia:** It’s been years, hasn’t it? *She asked quietly after he returned the hug.*  
 **Angel:** Nine...nine very long years. *The memory of his last hug was still on his mind, of his son wrapping his arms around his shoulders after Angel had told him everything was going to be okay.*  
 **Nadia:** It’s going to be okay. *She murmured.*  
 **Angel** : *The irony caused him to look down on the girl again. He almost smiled, wondering if she was telling him that or herself and realized it was probably both.* Yeah...somehow.

Oh, he hadn't just said that. The corner of Hans' lips curl in slow response, lifting his chin as he halts his languid steps. Sam, poor boy, had hissed as he spotted him on the street, excusing himself instantly from the lovely vapid creature on his arm. Hans didn't care to remember her name presently. Nor did he care to be interrupted. Ansel awaits him with a drink and a bet, both of which he was looking forward to - at least until Sam had said that.

"What are you still doing here?" was ignored with a light call back of, "Go back to the girl, Sam," and "You'll get caught," was only met with Hans chuckle as he kept walking. Of course, Sam would worry about that. Sixteen. That precious young age. If he had any sense he'd grow up as quickly as Hans had. Then again, sense didn't seem to have much place in Sam's life. 

He had volunteered that summer for the chance to repay what he called a debt. Hans called it what it was: a schoolboy's grudge, seized upon by Gustav to get his nephew's allegiance. He almost felt for the poor boy, so naive as to believe the grandiose dreams painted for him by the doting uncle Gustav portrayed himself as. Almost, for he was an arrogant little shit -- in over his head, willingly. It was the stupid ones, the weak, who recruited themselves for this life. 

“You did what I asked already.” 

The one’s who said things like that. Abruptly turning, his hand clasps around the boy’s throat to turn the cutting, idiotic words into pleasing splutters and mutters. Oh, much better.

“What you asked?”

Choking beneath his finger tips, Sam struggles both hands around his wrist to fight to peel him off, feet dangling beneath him, tips scrambling to scrape him, kick him. It makes Hans smirk, soothing the flames the boy had been idiotic enough to light.

“You’re right, we should talk. In fact, I would say we’re long overdue.” 

 Buggering eyes answers his chilled words. Fantastic. 

“Oh, no smart remark this time?” As if the boy could talk. Shaking his head, Hans spins a pirouette to drive him into the wall. Throat impaled by his fist, the little monster’s heart was struggling to beat, pulse a-flutter beneath his thumb. Each gasp was delicious. The violence casual, the other hand fixes his black collar. His eyes remain bright blue as he holds Sam’s gaze, a malignant statue of obsidian to the boy’s hurriedly crumbling white. Hans waits until the hands scrambling against him fall limp before he leans in to the boy. 

“You do not command me.”  The words are a lover’s hiss, stirring the tiny hairs in the shell of Sam’s ear. “Your uncle does not command me. No one, commands me. Understand?”

He lifts only one thumb to release the boy’s windpipe, leaving him suspended. It would have been just as easy to hold him against the wall with a pinky. He waited until he’d heard that beautiful affirmative - the choked little ‘yes’ - to let him go entirely. A hasty gasp for air crumbles him forward. Hans takes a step back, pleased. He fixes it his collar again. 

“It was poorly spoken.” Sam countered, looking up with a hand on his stomach and the other soothing his throat. Despite his stammering heart and bruised throat, the boy hadn’t truly learned anything. “But my uncle wouldn’t let you-”  

Hans laughed. The chilled chuckle cut Sam off. Or perhaps that was his hand raising, striking his cheek. Either way worked for him.

“Your uncle doesn’t let me do anything. He asks, as I ask him. Do I need to teach you the definition of allies?”

There was sudden hate in Sam’s eyes. Finally, Hans thought, it was such a dull thing to be so well-thought of by the family members. Blood blossomed on Sam’s lip, a slow dribble tracing an old scar.  He shakes his head, apparently too afraid to speak again--ah! He was learning. 

“Your blubbering and idiocy may have moved your uncle to act on your behalf, but I have no such affection for you or your family. I did your uncle a favor because, well, what are friends for? After all, your tragic accident a few months ago...I always was for evening the score.” 

That seemed to make Sam smile. Good, it made his job easier. Hans was lying. Or rather...he was exercising one of his favorite tools: double entendres. Gustav wasn’t his friend, but neither was he an enemy. He was one of the few who remained who had been there with him at the start; a man who had always kept promises to him. All those years ago when a soft hand cupped his cheek to guide him back from hell, Gustav was there the morning he’d killed the bastard who had bitten him. Tit for tat, Hans figured. The world wasn’t built for friendships existing off nothing: it was a cruel place, where the only ones worth trusting, were your family. 

“If you continue to trouble me,” His words were clipped, honest and dangerous, “I have no problem telling your Uncle you’ve had another tragic accident. I’m sure it’ll sadden him. He might even cry for a minute or two! And then he’ll continue on with his vengeance, because see, this really has very little to do with you. Your uncle added a few caveats for his family, that’s all.” 

That was why he was here. Family. Hans knew perfectly well that whatever the little monster in front of him believed, the classmate who attacked him would have had no control over his own actions. Lost in darkness and driven by that all-consuming instinct to rip, to tear, to bite -- oh, he wasn’t lying to Sam when he said their was a tragedy that night. He just wasn’t referring to Sam. 

Alcott was the one he was there for, that was what he gave a damn about. What Sam didn’t seem to grasp however, was the magnitude of his uncle’s plans. It made him chuckle. Sure, out of the kindness of his heart (oh don’t make him laugh harder), Gustav had offered to let his nephew call a few of the shots. It was recompense, the furious and protective uncle had argued when telling Hans. They attacked Sam, they erased his memories...their recruitment drive could afford a few eccentricities to avenge his family. And well, that was one goal Hans could agree with: protecting your family. 

Devin Stuart was one such casualty. Stuart was cleverer than the boy in front of him though.  It had infuriated him the next morning when he lay ravaged and treating silver burns, to have to unglue his damn mouth. If Sam had those brains, perhaps they wouldn’t have had to do anything. Nadia Tudor was as well; though she wouldn’t be harmed. Well. He rephrased the thought. The girl was in those black cells...accidents had a tendency to happen there. Hans lifts his chin. Would she emerge stronger, as some did, or broken beyond repair? If Devin had been ravaged by a wolf in karmic retribution, Hans knew it would be Nadia who suffered the memory-loss. It made the latter more likely...but then, Sam seemed to have a habit of underestimating those he hated. It was why he went to his uncle in the first place. Daddy, daddy, help me...

“Wipe your lip. It’s indecent.” He ordered the boy with an eye-roll, his alpha’s tone disappeared. Replaced with a lilt and laugh, he looks him up and down, taking inventory. Angry red thumb-prints colored the bruises on the boy’s throat, the shirt collar torn open to his breastbone. Sam’s eyes were unfocused, as he hastens to follow the command. Hans shakes his head realizing that despite his rabbity heart, he was smiling a terrible smile.

“And get your head out of the sandbox. You’re playing with the big boys now, Sam.” 

And then Hans just walked away. 

He didn’t look back. There was a brother waiting for him at the club.  That mattered.

&.

“That’s right. A little further...” 

Ansel’s hand traced the back of the brunette’s cheek. She relents, just as he knew she would, bending to the table and letting him guide her hand around the long cue. With a quick smack, colorful balls dart away from them, bounding off green walls with too much force and avoiding all the holes. She’d hit so hard he tasted the chalk in the air, but he sings her praises. It was a cleaner strike than the last two. And hardly the goal of the moment. 

The hand slips down her neck, caressing tender flesh to wrap around her bare waist and slip her in against him, a yank so smooth she flushes, thinking he must have done ballet. The smell of her arousal perks his nose and lips with pleasure, tracing the open skin of her hip, finger trailing the line of a jean skirt. Then he sees Hans’ enter the bar. Immediately cutting himself short, he leans in to her hiss in her ear, “Ah, business calls. We’ll have to pick this up later.” 

She pouts as he slips away, as graceful as he’d pulled her in. Hans smirks, a lazy sort of look over them both. Ansel peels himself off the pool table and girl, clutching onto the cue as he stretches his arms out wide as if to indicate ‘What gives?’ even as he smiles back. With an unlit cigar in one hand, he perches it between his lips as his master and friend stalks across the marble floor. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” Hans’ remarks easily without a hint of apology, “I should have realized you’d have found something to enjoy in the meantime."

Ansel just shakes his head, and lights up the cigar before offering it to him. “There’s not much to do in this town.” Surprised as Hans’ refuses his cigar, he takes a long drawl himself behind a close-mouthed smirk. The self-satisfied look turns his green eyes darker. 

“I’ll take what entertainment I can get.”

“By all means. Indulge.” Hans chuckles, signaling for a drink and lifting a cue himself. The waitress struts as she approaches, a coolness in her gaze when she realized his eyes remained on her own. Her heartbeat skipping as Hans’ leaned to order made both of the men smirk. Their were certain advantages to those pheromones; the taste of them heady in the smoke of this dive. 

“As long as it doesn’t distract you from our business.” The curt tone had that hard edge Ansel long recognized as his alpha warning him. In return he only smirks, words sincere. 

“The blond heiress? Trust me, brother,” a sly grin appears to lace his words with a tease, “that I’m all over.”

Hans lifts the scotch brought to him, thanking the waitress with a warm smile and surveying the man without a hint of distaste for his innuendo-laced words. It was something one got used to. Besides, if things went according to plan, that ‘blonde heiress’ was one of a few who would get to know them quite well. Hans trusted they would go to plan. He had no tolerance for failure. 

Plucking a cue off the rack, he stills as the door open, a gust blasting a tantalizing scent off curls towards both of them.  

“Ah, speaking of blondes.” Ansel’s grin only widens. “Rachelle mentioned that one.”

“Did she?” 

Something deeper passes through Hans’ blue eyes as he swirls the drink in his hand. Eliza was blushing as she removed her coat, cheeks already warm from the wind. He knew his friend was watching him, but Hans didn’t take his gaze from the door. The sight of her porcelain skin turned dark pink was appealing, he could admit. She was in the middle of unraveling a silver-and-emerald scarf when she seemed to see them both. He judged her startled by the sudden skip to her heart but the girl holds his gaze unrelenting, a quirk in her lips. 

Then she turns sideways and apparently walks by them both to the bar.

“She did.” Ansel’s tone was knowing, “Eliza, right? Says she walked right up to you. Challenged you, even, worried for the new pup.” 

Hans was amused to hear his right-hand man refer to Alcott that way. The new threat to pack order made the games begin already did it? It made his gaze flick from her a second, sideways.

“You’re right to be worried, you know.” The words were petulant and honest at once. “Alcott? Something tells me he’s no omega.”  

Ansel scoffs, but whatever he was going to say, he seems to decide the better response was none at all. Hans had always liked that about him. Nursing another sip of the glass, his gaze traps back on Eliza. His grin widens with pleasure realizing she was looking at him as well. 

“Isn’t she stunning?” He asks lightly, gaze trailing down her as she starts to stalk away from him to the bar. Ansel has the good judgment not to laugh. Instead, he teases his brother,

“She certainly looks good walking away from you.”

Hans rolls his eyes, takes a steadying sip and sets down the glass without another word to him - especially hearing a mutter of “you know she’s the one who- , ” -- for that wasn’t something he would think on. Not now, not yet. In only a few steps he was across the room. The speed somehow managed not to ruffle his hair. Eliza stiffens with his sudden appearance, but he knew better. He could hear her heart, smell her delight, taste her coy smirk. Or well. The last was something he meant to do eventually. 

His hand darts out, rather than saying anything to her, to quickly cover her drink order. That finally makes her turn to him, a bright smile back on her lips. 

“Oh, thank you, Hans. My boyfriend will be so appreciative of that, I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, undeterred despite a glint in his eye. The operative part of that word was ‘boy.’ Sure, in the same regard Eliza was a ‘girl,’ but he disagreed. Particularly with what would come and well...she was already well on her way to ‘woman.’ With a delighted grin, he said instead,

“Ah, Rory, right?” 

The fact he knew the name startles her; she stiffens, her breath catches, her heart skips another beat. It bothers Eliza that she knows he can hear all of this, and she clenches her fist around the drink. Instead of asking the quick question on her lips ‘how could you know that?’, she runs her finger around the rim.

“Right. More information you creepily know about me and Al and all my friends even though you've ever met us.”

“Do you want to know how? 

“Not if it means you admit to hanging outside my bedroom window, no.”

The quick retort makes him laugh. It’s a high sound, but a good one and it warms her against her will. Eliza smiles back at him and rewards him with a sip and smirk despite the wariness in her eyes. She was perfectly serious. At this point she wouldn’t put anything past him.

He tilts his head, delighted by the remarkably challenging look to offer himself, “Do you think so low of me?” 

Irritating. The game became a staring contest, one she could ill win. Were werewolves super-resistant against the need or something? Finally resorting to the humiliating blink, she only half-way asks, “how do you--,” before he cuts her off. Hans had already won when she blinked. He never would be so uncivilized as to make her wait longer.

“You have a friend - Sienna? She enjoys ... the art of gathering information.”

“You mean gossip.”

“I mean secrets.” He offers her another tiny laugh. It was only polite, after all, to teach with kindness. “It's all worth something to someone...the trick is finding the right one to tell.”

Eliza regards him coolly a moment, plainly astonished but not foolish enough to be disbelieving. That pleased Hans. It took an uncommon person to admit the true measure of those they call friends. 

She begins blinking rapidly, wanting to push it off, “No--okay, no I don't buy it. Sienna? She told you?” There’s an incredulous gasp through her lips, despite the fact that her eyes make it clear she already knows. “She isn't -- look, yes she likes secrets and information and gossip and whatever you want to call it but she's no snitch either, she wouldn't tell you, a stranger--,”

“I wasn't exactly a stranger.”

This silences her. He waits, patiently. Finally realizing she was just going to stare at him until he explain, the man sighs and leans against the bar. It was a relaxed move, one meant to put her at ease, as well as hide her from the boyfriend’s sight. Rory was looking for her, having entered himself. Eliza hadn’t noticed; for she was plainly captivated by him. That more than anything puts a smile on his lips.

“You were in France this summer, weren't' you?”

It takes her only a second to put it together. He was simply going to continue to be impressed by her, wasn’t he? 

“...you're him? You're the older guy? The one she was --oh for heavens sakes, you've been stalking us, haven't you?”

He chuckles again. Oh, no. If only she knew. It wasn’t he that she should worry had interest in stalking the poor girl. The hint of dislike in his heart for Sam Roswell was growing. 

“I haven't been stalking anyone honey, I've just been in town.” 

The astonishment in her eyes quickly gave way to sudden fits of chuckles. It’s the first move of hers to confuse him...and he’s not ever easily confused. Good for her for walking away from Roswell, he thought bitterly before asking with honest curiosity, “What's so amusing?

“Oh...” Eliza looks caught. Now she flushes. The dark tone in her cheeks makes his smile brighten. “No, no it’s...nothing. I’m just...wondering when Sie is going to stop sleeping with werewolves.”

His smirk flicks up, feigning hurt with a pout, “Ouch.” 

Amusement danced in his gaze. Eliza shrugs, but she darts her gaze away ashamed to be impolite. 

“I'm just picturing her face, really,” she explains it away. Rory notices both of them now, and begins to walk over. His heart picked up with that aggravating (but admirable) male instinct to protect his girl. Hans ignores this, to say instead, “I don't know which of us should be more insulted.”  

This makes her gaze meet his again. She had been waving Rory over, apparently calmed by his appearance. 

“...pardon?” There was genuine wonderment in her eyes, a confusion that made him smile.

“Well, your friend, for you thinking that she must sleep with every man she has deep conversation with or myself.” She’s flushing, and Hans is delighted, “In your thinking I would be so cheap so as to whore myself for information.” 

&.

 

"You, would be proud of me."

She was speaking candidly and brightly, as if there were no tears in her eyes. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took her brush back and then turned quickly to rub the tear out of her eye. When she looked back, her smile was vibrant. 

The cuts on Devin's chest were healed, so effectively that there was only one faded pink scar, and she had been allowed to finally remove the bandages off his head that morning. So she'd promptly decided she had to fix his hair. But as she'd said aloud, she'd brought him some of the homework he was missing -and- even read it to him as she did brush it. That had to be worth some brownie points! Clearing her throat, she continued softly, 

"I even said to him he was right. _And_ called him Al. So. And no Dev." She chuckles, and for a moment she thinks she is so goddamn certain what he’d say that despite the fact he didn’t move or blink, she’d heard him speak, "You should not have done this ages ago if all it took was a little thing like a coma to get us to agree." 

Her chuckle is unamused, but she can’t help it, because she wants to push off the fact that she hadn’t actually heard him, that her baby brother was lying comatose in front of her, his skin chilled under her fluttering palm. Quietly adjusting on the bed, she kicks her heels off and puts the books she’d brought on his bedside table. Clearing her throat, she continues as if her heart hadn’t just smacked against her ribs loud enough she was surprised it didn’t wake him. But then nothing was. 

"Look, in all honesty I started liking him a while back, I just never really stopped hating him either so you know -- I’m complicated. And passionate. It’s lovable. Or Nick says so anyways. Because either way, see, I always cared. And I would never admit that to anyone else so if you could not remember I just admitted that I cared what fucking Alcott Brackner thought that, that would be really great, little brother." 

Lynn had taken to calling him that on her visits. These visits where she sat next to him and read the paper, told him how Dad had sworn to get the Headmaster fired, how the school governors had Aurors on the grounds now. She’d told him how Mum had nearly started a fist fight with Aunt Ingrid, and then told him how Trevor and Alexa had spent nearly two hours on Get Well cards before Aunt Pamela had managed to tell them to go to class. 

But there was an ache in her heart, for Lynn knew...she never told him the important things. She didn’t tell him that Alisha and Irene were still at odds, or how lost Mum had looked, or about the editorial that questioned Dad’s job performance. She especially didn’t talk about Hans. That a werewolf had walked up to Alcott, introduced himself and that Eliza had figured out he was the one who’d attacked her brother (probably), who had put him here (most likely)...well, she was going to fucking have words with him, but she didn’t want that to spoil the visit. 

Mostly, she didn’t tell him about Nadia.

Two weeks without finding Nadia made all those bloody alarms go off: the fact that forty-eight hours were the most important in a wartime abduction, that they were far past up and her chances of being found slimmer all the time (because that fucking wasn’t true because this was Nadia, this was Hols’ sister and Devin’s basically-wife and her oldest friend and she couldn’t -- she couldn’t be). Lynn had hope. More than that, she had a bloody iron will and a certainty that it would be obeyed, that she would be obeyed. Her parents were Shane Stuart and Jana Rivers for goddamn sakes -- and Hols’ mother and father? If anyone could find her, it was them. 

And...oh all right, she supposed Alcott too: apparently he descended from at least one genius, anyways. Grandmother had better stories for her though. The thought makes her chuckle, and she takes Devin’s hand again, squeezing.

"Grandma Dalma has been owling every day, you know, and visiting too. When you wake up Dev, you need to ask her about Benjamin Brackner and a woman named Margaret. I swear, I laughed so hard I think my whole drink came out my nose. Disgusting, I know, you don’t have to say it, Grandmother already did." Lynn adopts the proper tone, trying to keep her brave, bright smile in place. "My dear, Stuart woman do not handle themselves so brazenly. Good heavens, is that an -orange- refreshment?"

Lynn laughs, and she thinks she hears Devin laughing with her, and it makes her feel better for a moment, just a moment. Two weeks has been too long for him too, much too long... (but goddamn, stop ringing that alarm bell, she had enough fires to deal with). She looks at her stationary brother with all the wires and machines. He was just sleeping, she told herself. It was easier to pretend that now the bandages were gone, now his hair was brushed. Just sleeping, but oh how her heart bled.* 

I’m pretty sure orange pop has been around for like half a century now, but, that’s Grandma Dalma for you. You know she cried? I have never seen her...look like that. She’s the toughest person I know...well besides Mum. Besides Hols. ...Besides you."

Her throat closes, and she looks to her brother’s hand. She squeezes it, breath caught and struggling to remain calm. Her light and airy words give way to quiet murmurs, sincere and wrenched from deep in her heart.

"You are, you are pretty much the strongest, most inspiring person I know. I know you don’t think so Dev, and that just...that breaks my heart. You know you went through so much bullshit last year and I know...I know a part of that was my fault..."

A tear appears in the corner of her eyes and she rubs it away angrily, determined to speak suddenly, riveted on her brother’s face. 

"But you know you fell apart and you put yourself back together again in I think less time than anyone has ever done that. You know how much strength that takes? How much courage? I know I couldn’t have done it. I know it, when I go off, when I go too far...which, let’s face it," She chuckles drily, "I do frequently...or did, anyways...you’re the one who pulls me back. Dev, you’ve always been a better person than me. And I need you. I need you here. You’d know what to do. Of course you would, that big brain of yours, you’d know... I need you to wake up, to yell at me, to tell me to see the other side of the issue and when I’m being hypocritical. I need you because you make me think that there’s something in this world worth fighting for, something bigger than us, something we’re all a part of that makes this drama and hell worth it. And I need you because...because you’re my little brother, Dev. You’re the only person in my life I’ve ever been able to count on entirely, who I know has my back 100%. I’m supposed to protect you," Her voice breaks, but her eyes are blazing, words too fierce and heavy to cry, "I’m supposed to protect you and I failed, and I need you,  goddammit, I need my brother." 

She exhales heavily, almost expecting her heavy, desperate prayer would have made him wake--and there’s a blip in his heart monitor, that cuts her off. She looks up at it and stares, breathless and struck. When nothing happens, she closes her eyes, nodding to herself and letting out a long, slow exhale. There was no real change, and that was good, she told herself quietly, repeating the words of the Mungos’ specialist. He was no worse; his other injuries were stable. He was going to be fine when he woke up. A little sore perhaps, a little weak but -- she imagined the adrenaline would take care of that.

"You saw something," She says it quietly, her eyes locked back on his shut ones suddenly. "Didn’t you? You saw something in that forest. They tried to get rid of you, because they knew, they _knew_ , that they couldn’t handle you. Couldn’t handle any of us. Well. That’s still true, baby bro." 

She leans forward and plans a soft kiss on his forehead. It’s cold under her lips, but his gentle breath is warm, tickling her forehead. It makes her grin, just to feel that quiet affirmation of life.

"And for the record, if you don’t wake up soon," She clears her throat and eyes, smiling again as she pulls back, "I’m finding my stuffed animal unicorn, the one you stole from me, and I’m gonna tuck you in with it. Al won’t ever let you live that down...and neither will I." 

&.

 

“Are you going to the hospital?” 

It was the only thing that Sienna could think of that made sense. Shaking snow from crumpled up blond, Eliza hadn’t said two words to her yet. Bustling back and forth in their room, she’d tossed her scarf and jacket over the chair so hard it spun. Loud smacks made it clear that her roommate’s friends heels were still on. They echoed in her ear, waking her from a restful slumber that seemed too likely to claim her again. Dear God, why was she so tired the last few days?

“No.” 

The curt response was matched with Eliza lifting her heels and throwing them. They fall with a thump-thump against the closet door, the wicker shaking in answer. Sienna blinks.

“Oh.” It’s awkward. Eliza doesn’t answer. Instead her friend rips her purse off, tossing it to land on the bed above her while she climbs underneath it. Uh-oh. Sienna knew what she kept under there. Peeling herself off her white flowered comforter, she asks hesitant and awkward, 

 “Are you okay?” 

That drove Eliza to words. Huffing back at her, they’re thankfully muffled by that purple heavy down-comforter that laid on her friend’s bed. 

“Nope,” a bottle rolls out, “Not at all, Sie, not even a teeny-little-bit--,” - a muffled thump-thump-thump as it slides against the carpet, halting dangerously close to sliding down the stone steps, “--get the, the glasses, please.” 

Sienna was a step ahead of her there, as her friend reappeared in heavy breath. Her fingernail tapped, ringing against the red-wine glass. They had a whole set; would never be improper enough to drink from something less than the best. 

“Sam?” 

It was the only question she asked, but Eliza’s face contorts to wince in response, and then she nods. She won’t tell her why until Sienna’s jammed the metal screw and popped the cork but when she does, Sienna wishes she’d asked less. Oh, oh so gross. That she hadn’t needed to know. Dear Lord, how she had not needed to know that. 

The only appropriate answer is to down half the bottle. 

They do this in a few minutes, sitting on their floor, too lazy for once to lift back to their comforters or even pull their pillows down. High-pitched squeals of “ew” were replaced eventually with comfortable assurances; their worry over Devin (and yes, Nadia too) was hardly far from mind. Particularly with the topic that Eliza had divulged. Quickly they changed the subject again, to Potions essays and gossip articles, refusing to settle. 

It was much later that she found herself needing the bottle again, after the sun had set outside and left them shadowed by a rising moon. It harks down in judgment from high, reflected in green-light on the waves that were their ceiling. 

“What?” Sienna asks abruptly, lowering the half-empty glass from lips deep-maroon. “You...” 

“You didn’t know he was here?” 

Why did Eliza sound suspicious? Of course she hadn’t. Now she was irritated, if he’d been in town, he should have told her! Maybe she’d missed a letter. Actually, she couldn’t remember half of what she’d done that day (she was just exhausted, and the Zinfandel wouldn’t exactly help recollections).

“No, oh my god!” A bright smile had crossed her lips. “I mean, I floated the idea a while ago, said he should come visit...,” 

“I remember.” There was no doubt about it to sober minds, Eliza’s tone was definitely sharp and cold. 

Sienna continues oblivious, “Oh that’s right, you told me I should.” 

“That was before I met him.” Eliza mutters under her breath, making Sienna frown. She fluffs out her hair and leans back on their carpet. The wine in her glass shakes near the top, swirling scarlet that seemed desperate to spill. 

“Irritating, assuming little prick.” 

Sienna only laughs, “It’s not little.” 

“Oh, so you did sleep with him!” 

“Er.” Sienna pauses, sheepish and shrugging a shoulder. “No, I mean -- I almost did, but he er--stopped me.” 

That makes Eliza sit back up. Loose curls smashed against the floor, still wet from snow dangle over her shoulders. Sienna casts her gaze to the window, saying a bit quieter embarrassed, “I may have...I kissed him outside Majesté D'ivoire -- the little alleyway there, but he stopped me.” 

“After you copped a feel.” Eliza’s wine-laden tongue never sounded more dry. Sienna blushes, and blames it on the wine. 

“He said I should have more respect for myself.” Sie remarks louder, as if to erase Eliza’s words and the judgment in her blue eyes. She didn’t understand why she was being looked at that way; what didn’t she know? Irritated, she narrows her own dark gaze at her friend. Lord, was she tired of being kept in the dark. 

“Yeah, maybe then you won’t just tell every secret in the world to a damn stranger whose twice your age.” 

“Hans is twenty-six.” A flash of anger rears in Sienna’s throat, “I’m sixteen. And I don’t know what put your knickers in a twist, but -- ,” 

“I don’t know,” Still Eliza’s words were dry, breath heated, “Maybe having a twenty-six year old Eastern European werewolf you just happened to meet on holiday in France, tell me everything about my life was knicker-twisting.”

“He what?” Sienna’s breathless for a moment. Eliza laughs, high.

“Oh, right, you didn’t know that part. Yeah, he’s a wolf --,” 

“I knew that.” Sienna cuts out, slapping her hand down into their carpet. The wine was going to spill. So instead, she finishes. That makes Eliza breathless herself, eyes clearing. 

“You did?” 

“Yes, I did.” Sienna hisses it, standing up. Kicking the cork away, she hastens to her own dask to set the glass down, harried as she looks for a cloth. Eliza says nothing, not as Sienna walks back, not as she yanks the glass off her friend’s hand too. She lets her, and lets her start scrubbing them clean in their bathroom basin too. Glass must be washed by hand. It’s delicate. 

Shut up Mother, Sienna thinks as she calls out over the rushing sink, “Why do you think I wanted to talk to him so much?” 

She scrubs harder. 

“Alcott wouldn’t talk to me, but Hans, he got it, he’d been through the same thing -- and he didn’t judge me, he just...he just was easy to talk to, Eliza.”

“He might not have judged you.” Sienna startles, seeing Eliza at the door behind her. Her hands dropping into the soap and curling around the ivory basin.  “But he definitely wanted to be easy to talk to.” 

Sienna hisses,but glare in the mirror is laced with the hint of unease that flared in her heart, the tiny nagging thought of “ _Oh God, what have I done?”_

 

&.

 

 **D'Grey:** *As he descended past the Goliath guarding the door, he found himself thinking with quiet amusement that it took him less time to adjust to the darkness than it did to sunlight in the morning. A poet would make something deep of that, using fluttery words to paint some picture of the 'state of his soul,' or something. He laughs. Or perhaps he wasn't thinking of a poet, but one person in particular...it made no difference. Walking past the rows of empty cells with as much indifference as he did the not-so-empty, he halts in the light of flickering candles at the right one.* ...oh, this won't do. 

*It's casual and spoken to himself, not the girl, even as he waves his hand. The bars melt to shade, letting him see her without having to enter himself. He knew that damned ward against magic within it. Waving his hand again to cast a brighter light for the poor girl, he speaks not unkindly.* I would say good evening, but that would be patronizing. *A bit softer,* And you probably don't know it is evening. I'm sorry. *Honest.* I'm D'Grey -*his hand goes over his heart,* not associated with anyone here particularly... but you'll have to come upstairs with me if you want to ask me anything else. *He offers a small smile, almost teasing despite the lack of joke.* This place, it gives me the shivers. 

 **Nadia:** *Footsteps always made her wary. Even after days of them being either Angel's or belonging to people who passed by the cell with no regards for her. She couldn't deny that she preferred that to having someone take an interest in her the same way they did the other prisoners; the ones who screamed and screamed until they lost their voice. But this time the footsteps did stop, and it wasn't Angel. She brought her head up from her knees slowly, curiously. This man was younger than Angel, and immediately appeared far less troubled. He wasn't a prisoner then released, she realized. He was probably one of them, who kept her here. Her heart began to freeze. She watched him cautiously, his words reaching her ears slowly as she weighed them in her mind, the truth of them, for any hidden intent. 

D'Grey, who apologized and worried about being patronizing, was offering to take her out of the cell. She lowered her knees from her chest slowly. Could she follow him? What did he want? What if it was just a trap? But she also didn't want to make him angry, what if this was all a game? She didn't want to stay in the cell any longer, she didn't want to hear the screams but what if what awaited her was worse? She shivered a little, pulled the jacket closer around her and stood up on shaky legs. Angel had told her to move around as much as possible but in this space, that was difficult.* 

I'm sorry, I don't have a name to offer...*She didn't want to think her rude by not giving him her name, but she couldn't remember it and wouldn't give herself one. She licked her lips and realized D'Grey said no questions so...she wouldn't phrase it as a question.* Promise me if I go with you, you won't hurt me.

 **D'Grey:** *The wariness in her eyes didn't change his expression. Any flicker would only alarm her more-- and of course she was scared. How long had they left her down here without company but that holier-than-thou potion maker anyway? (He forgot what the man called himself; it wasn't his real name, and D'Grey had little patience for Roswell's games and zero tolerance for lies).* Oh, please don't apologize to me. If we're going to do that, I'll never cease finding things to apologize for, and you'll never get to the important questions-- you must have hundreds. *Smile widening, his outstretched hand slides into his pocket after picking a stray piece of dust off his ebony sweater. God he hated it down here.* Well. I can't vouch for my cooking, I swear my poor nonna wants to whack me with a ladle every time I attempt her precious sauce. But otherwise. *Unblinking, he holds her gaze, using those baby blues.*I promise.*Waiting a few moments to let her believe him, he holds the hand out for her to take through the dissolved bars adds, still not blinking.* Come on. 

 **Nadia:** *She almost apologized again, for having apologized before she caught herself with how stupid that would have sounded. She looked down for a moment before looking at his eyes again. She wanted to look at him when he made the promise to her, wanted to see if she could spot the lie...but she didn't. Angel's voice rang loud in her ears. One day, you're going to trust in the wrong person and it's going to get you killed. He was so distrustful, so convinced that mankind's true nature was made of deceit and betrayal, it made her so sad. She didn't want to be like that, but neither did she want to get hurt. 

She had to make a choice, right now, before he took the offer back and left her here in this dark (though now not so dark, pretty bright actually and it made her eyes hurt a bit) dungeon. All or nothing, then. Like when she had chosen to try and walk through the bars. Gaze flicking to D'Grey's hand, she realizes her own were surprisingly still despite the quick tempo her heartbeat had taken up in anticipation. She takes it then.* Thank you.

 **D'Grey:** *As she slid her hand into his he nodded, muttering in Latin beneath his breath to pull her across the threshold.The gratitude made his lips quirk--that he hadn't expected, at least not so soon. Curious. He offers a small nod, not dropping her hand, saying instead,* You might want to close your eyes, at least until we're to the stairs. *The state some of the prisoners were in would sicken even him, if he hadn't long learned to narrow his vision. It was just so...unnecessary. 

Their steps were quick, even as he insured she didn't trip either, clearly weak and malnourished as any would be. He helped as invisibly and as much as he could, curiosity sparking behind his bright eyes. Her resilience was the reason he had been driven to seek her out--this girl Roswell crowed was a golden ticket to recruits. D'Grey wasn't easily impressed...but she was an oddity. By the time they were in the dinette arranged for him, he'd let go of her hand, and now gestures to the blue sweater he had picked out for her.* Please. You must be freezing.

 **Nadia:** *She was so relieved to be out of that cell, even if it was to a hallway, that she felt she could physically breathe better. Nothing had changed, they were still down here for the time being, in the cold, still air, but it was a change one she hadn't been expecting. Eyes widening at the advice, she quickly took it and closed her eyes. The screams were enough, she didn't want visuals to drag into her dreams and turn them into nightmares. They got to the stairs and she opened her eyes again, unwilling to focus on the guard who had sneered at her and just kept walking. One step at a time, she was surprised she could get so tired. How deep underground were they anyways? Or had they been, now they were in a room. She looked around in curiosity. It was still dark in here, but it wasn't because of the absence of light but rather the decor. She pried her gaze away as he motioned to a sweater.* I...am a little cold. 

*The leather jacket didn't provide warmth as much as it kept out cold but the sweater did appear comfortable. She shrugged off her jacket and slipped the sweater over her thin shirt, collecting the mess of hair and moving it out of the collar before she put the jacket back over it. It just didn't feel right, to be without it. She turned to D'Grey, gratitude in her eyes though she couldn't keep saying thank you repeatedly. He didn't seem like the type of person to be looking for voice gratitude anyways. He was right before, she did have a hundred questions.* Are you the man in charge...the leader of this...*she swallowed a lump in her throat, not knowing what to call it* organization?

 **D'Grey:** *Unsurprised that she put the jacket right back on over the sweater, he moves only to pour himself a drink. It was just as much to give himself something to do as it was quenching thirst. It would not make her feel at ease if he just stood there staring at her, expecting her to carry the burdens of conversation. She wasn't a circus animal.* The organization you're referring to, is a remnant that poises to terrorize anew, the Death Eaters. 

*Irritating that she couldn't remember. That would have been enough if Gustav had been less...total, in his destruction of her memory. He shakes his head.* No, I don't lead them.  *As he turns back sipping a Burgundy, he gestures at the long dining table, seat nearest the one at the head, where he sits.* Sit, sit. *He knew she had to be tired even from just the climb, waving his hand over the glass next to the seat for her so that it fills with water.* Nor particularly care for their express goal. I would give you your name if I knew it.

 **Nadia:** *Death Eaters. Even the name was enough to make her shiver again despite the new warmth that came from the warm, blue sweater. She couldn't remember a detail but she was hit with such an overwhelming dread that she thought she was going to fall over. She didn't though, she was stronger than that. He said he didn't lead them but he was obviously still involved with them, still involved in what they did otherwise he wouldn't have managed to get her out of that cell. She sat when he offered, she was tired, and tried to pass fingers through her tangled mane. For some reason, around so much dark elegance, appearance seemed to matter more. 

Her hair was soon forgotten however as she saw the water. Reaching for it, she took a sip and her throat sang a hallelujah chorus. She didn't chug it down like she wanted to, Angel had taught her not to, but it was a strain. Her shoulders drop again as D'Grey revealed not knowing who she was. And that was two for two; two people she'd met, and two people who didn't know who she was.* But you still let people get tortured in that dungeon. *She looked at him again though her words weren't accusing, more factual.* You know what's happening and you do...nothing, against it. 

*Well, he had gotten her out of that cell, given her a sweater, water. She exhaled, bit her lip and asked another question, unrelated to him, lest he decide he wasn't going to answer her questions after all.* What do the Death Eaters intend to do with me?

 **D'Grey:** *Unflustered, his eyebrows still perk up in amusement of the unflattering statement. Far from shame, he was more curious of her intent. And of her lingering morality. Nodding once, he speaks as blunt and calm as she had setting his glass down,* I also know every day hundreds of thousands of children are starving to death in India or shooting each other in Africa and do nothing. *Despite the grim words, a smile appears.* The world is full of injustices and hardships to fight. I don't make a habit of choosing the losing battles when there are so many I can win.  *His eyes lift from his glass to hold hers,* Today, I thought you would like a hot meal. So, *His smile widens and hand unclasps the glass,* here I am. 

*Listening carefully, he exhales as he deliberates and examines her expression.* Now that's a much more interesting question. A great deal of it, it seems, rests on who you are...so while I am devoid of specifics, I wouldn't say I'm ignorant of you entirely. You're still in school...and very far from home at the moment. Apparently, you have a very unique position in several important people's life. As daughter or granddaughter, I imagine, you're a bit young to be the leverage of a captive lover. *He pauses, realizing the indelicacy of that statement and holding his hand up in apology. Then continues on, easily.* 

What do they intend to do to you? *Flatly, offering a small smile.* Let you go. *Bait was a crude way to put it, however, so he did try to be simple.* In the moment of their choosing. It's not a kindness, they'll do so to uh--to lure those who care for you, and to announce their grand return to the world stage. *He pauses straightening his tie and trying to be a bit kinder, feeling it defeated the purpose of helping her if he was too blunt.* Though there is a directive not to harm you. *Much, he adds silently. A calm reassurance in his eyes, he continues lips poised in a smile,* So, I told Gustav there was simply no need to keep you in that horrid cell indefinitely in the meantime. It's cruel. 

 **Nadia:** Are there? *She questioned softly, the question rhetorical because why would he lie to her about such a thing after all?* That's quite sad. *But he wasn't in India or Africa...she assumed.* You choose what's easy over what's right. *And that was sad too, that he could be like that. Could Angel be right? Were humans so selfish? At the same time though, he had thought of her...somewhat. But she dropped that subject, admittedly much more interested to find out what he knew, for now that was. She was in school, she had a family somewhere, a mother or a father or both. Certain influences...she wasn't that far off when she thought heiress then. Feeling heat rise to her cheeks at the mention of being a lover, or rather how she wouldn't be, she raised a hand to rub the pink away. But maybe the color wasn't such a bad idea. If her hands were indicative of how pale she was...* Let me go? 

*She repeated, snapping her head up to D'Grey again. But of course, it wasn't that simple. Her eyes widened as he explained further, her hands shaking. He didn't need to explain further, she knew what he meant.* They're going to attack them. Whoever would come for me, they're going to walk into a trap. Because of me? 

*Her bottom lip quivered even as she listened to the man try and tell her she wouldn't be harmed, and that he had spoken on her behalf to actually get some nourishment- that didn't matter much to him. She shook her head repeatedly, furiously.* I'd rather they hurt me, and stay in that cell forever than unwillingly help them do this- how many people are gonna suffer? How many people are going to die? How many people are going to wind up in cells screaming and tearing at their hair and praying to God for the pain to stop for the sake of rescuing a girl who can't even remember her own name?!

 *She placed a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes really tightly. She didn't want to cry, she'd done enough of that. Her chest rose and fell rapidly even as she looked at him again.* Will you do nothing? These aren't starving kids thousands of miles away, this is right here and right now. And you, you could stop this. You could tell them. If not now then that day, when they do this, you could warn them and stop this. *Her eyes watered despite her best efforts, damnit.* But you'll do -nothing-?

 **D'Grey:** I choose what is possible. *He counters mildly, lifting his wine for another sip.* No more, and -- certainly no less. *About to offer some to her and caring little for her clearly being underage (it was Paris, after all), he refrains only as he sees her growing concern. The back of his teeth clench, if only because he had no idea how to comfort one in tears. Well, honestly. Patronizingly yes, manipulatively, but neither was his goal here. Only tears don't fall, even as her voice rises in anger and breath quavers. 

Shaking his head very slowly as he set the wine glass down again, he folds his fingertips and bends on his elbows.* I have to admit. *It's quite candid, low and astonished.* I did not think those would be your questions. *Curious, his eyes lift from his tangled fingers as he regards her, amazed she'd be so...thoughtful. But then, he supposed he had only given her the knowledge other's cared for her--why shouldn't her rebuttal be that she'd care back? Still mild, his lips flick up to diffuse the fiery words with the simple statement,* Actually, right now and here is only a meal.

 *He smiles.* And the night you're referring to will almost certainly be in a different country. *Tilting his head as he regards her, he continues without pausing for breath.* I would argue there is clearly much more at stake than a girl who doesn't presently remember your name. You have no notion of who might try and come, after all. Important people? They could be the heads of those organizations in Africa, ordering those child soldiers about. I doubt it of course, but the fact remains. There is a war here child, one that has been raging in different incarnations for hundreds of years.

*He tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at her.* Neither side is innocent of extremity or cruelty, both believe they are right and justified -- and yet without questioning a moment, you say you would rather sacrifice yourself than let one who cares for you die? *He pauses to let her ponder, even as he ponders himself, eyes on hers. It was remarkable.* It seems to me your worth is far more than a name. 

*He lets silence fall, unceasing in looking back at her for the first time. Trying to puzzle it out in his mind, searching for a justification, he has to admit a few moments later such selflessness eludes him. Putting himself first did not seem selfish to him. If he was not there, how could he possibly help anyone? Survival was supreme. And he couldn't justify this upon thinking well-- she didn't know what she had to lose, because she had no notion of what she could gain either. 

Besides whoever had given her the candles (and Gustav had sent that potioneer, so he suspected him), he knew he was the only living soul she had memory of talking to. Kindness was hardly his forte. Yet it appeared...what she expected. 

Clearing his throat and dropping his gaze back to the glass, he continued abruptly on a hoarser throat to cease the train of thought,* I didn't say I would do nothing. I only said I would not fight battles I could not win. For example, this selfless sacrifice of yours...it wouldn't save anything. You'd be dead, your family would mourn, and they'd try again another way--all because of your refusal to act beyond giving up. 

*He licks his bottom lip, index finger pressing the corner as he 'hmms'. Perhaps a bit blunt.* You must forgive me, *he tilts his head,* I find martyrdom an impossibly selfish and rather tired act. 

 **Nadia:** *Her eyes narrowed at his technical answers. Logic told her, such behavior was foolish given that she was pretty much powerless against him if he tried to do anything. She couldn't remember how to use magic and he vanished those bars and pulled her across the barrier that had burned her with the wave of a hand. But she didn't care. His answers annoyed her, so she glared. It was obvious, she was young. 

So young, it was even more obvious to her when he mentioned a war. She was part of a war that she didn't even know existed. Surely, she must be stuck in some novel, she had travelled into a book. But she hadn't, the circumstances were very real. She bit her lip, feeling she was being chastised and answered stubbornly* Yes.

*She didn't want anyone to get hurt because of her, no matter who they were. And given that they were the ones in danger of being treated like Angel, she was much more inclined to believe they were in the right. Even still, it wasn't about that; no one should be treated that way, with such cruelty, no one. She was pleased that he looked away first, more relieved than pleased actually for she needed a break from his searching blue eyes.

She took a sip of water again as he began to explain. Fine, she couldn't deny...he did have a point. She could do nothing dead, she repressed a shudder, and instead said.* Then I'll tell them. You said they'd let me go, so I'll wait and then I'll tell them what I know. I'll tell them about Angel, and about Gustav *D'Grey had let his name slip but given that he was the one who gave D'Grey permission to take her out of the cell, he must have been important* and I'll tell them about...

*She wanted to say you, that she'd tell them too but he was being kind to her, with seemingly no agenda...just because he was a pessimist and a coward didn't mean he was with these people...but then again, she didn't know any of the things he truly was when he wasn't feeding the starving girl in the dungeons. She cleared her throat*

 I'll tell them about this place, the fact that the dungeons are made of carved solid black rock in huge deposits, the number of steps it took to get up here, the height of each step and width so that they can calculate how deep underground the dungeon cave is and figure out geographically which parts of the world that could be possible *she looked out the window, saw the night sky, but nothing that could help her. She bit her lip, before turning back.* 

These are the only memories I have and there not much, every single thing here I remember it vividly and I will describe all faces to a T, the hallway, this room, that patch of stars, everything. Because I can do something and maybe I can't win, but I have to try. It's the right thing to do. *But in retrospect she shouldn't have...told him, all of that.* 

And I musnt't do anything, I don't forgive you no matter how thankful I am for you giving me water and warmth and giving me a small reprieve from screams that'll haunt me forever, no matter how little my forgiveness matters to you, I don't forgive you. You can stop this right now by taking me away from here. It's as easy as walking out that door. Granted, not as easy as sitting there and drinking wine but. 

*She exhaled for what seemed like the first time since she started speaking. Maybe it was. She suddenly seemed to realize all that she said and was very privately mortified.*

 **D'Grey:** *He doesn't move. A slow smile spread across his lips and froze in place. Patience and relaxation exudes from his stance, only speaking the once when she abruptly cut off.* About me. *It's pleasantly spoken. Sitting back, he averts his eyes a moment.* That's what you were about to say. Oh don't worry, I'm not upset--do tell them, tell anyone. My name is hardly unknown. 

*His fingers slid forward in a V to scissor the glass, he turns the crystal as if he meant to straighten a circle. Round and round the glass went as he listened, forgetting nothing she listed as important even as he stayed quiet. Under his breath with the realization,* Angel, ahhh _that_ was his chosen name. Thank you, I had forgotten. I imagine he in particular would love you to tell everyone about him. 

*Still pleasant, still calm, he finally looks back at her.* A courageous undertaking. Thank heavens. I was beginning to worry. *He stands. Pushing the chair away and moving to the small kitchenette, he says nothing else for some time. 

Olive oil, butter, garlic appear on the counter and he slides them away, another hand wave and finger-snap filling a pot with water and clicking on a brazier. Putting a mopin over his shoulder, lest he stain this sweater, he lowered the flames to simmer, licked his finger tip and slicked down eyebrows that threatened to fill with sweat above the flames. It wasn't until he undid a plastic bag to place fresh tomatoes on a cutting board and held a large silver knife that he spoke again. Chopping steadily and efficiently, he calls,* Feel free to keep looking around, I don't mind. *Now he looks back without releasing the holster, smile pleasant and knowing.* Not that you're spying, of course.

 *Mm, he thought seeing a red fleck on his thumb. Licking the tomato clean, he resumes, saying patiently,* By the way, telling everyone and anyone...that is what they're counting on. See, it works for them. Enables a state of petrified law officials and the older generation screaming the younger one doesn't know the hell to come. Because...those relationships aren't fraught enough. 

*He chuckles to himself, sliding the slices across his wooden board, knife squelching in the scarlet juice. A wave of his hand discards the rinds. He merely fetches the garlic next.* Gustav especially, *saying his name purposefully,* he craves the attention for his work. 

*Head jerking up as he adds nonchalantly,* Has a bit of an ego, see. It's...*He hmms, deliberating over pursed, buzzing lips. Then he smirks, and cocks his head at her,*...kind of obnoxious actually. By all means, cut him down a peg. I'd-so- enjoy that. *And he would, he thinks still chuckling to himself, as he resumes chopping.*

 **Nadia:** *Well why wouldn't he? Of course he would want to go back to his family. The family that the Death Eaters stole him away from, and now they were going to lure who knows how many other people in the hopes of rescuing her, a teenage girl, to hurt them as well. And D'Grey didn't care, because he only did things that he could, no more, no less. She was frowning with her arms crossed in front of her chest when as he stood. Fine, let him ignore her words or throw them off as unworthy of his time...she was still going to find a way to help even if it seemed hopeless. Nothing was ever hopeless. That was the difference between her and D'Grey, between her and Angel even...his hope was very limited. 

She tried not to let hope fall when she heard that her testimony is exactly what the group wanted from her. She might not be much of a person anymore, but she wasn't a pawn. She slid the chair back and stood, looking around for anything distinctive. It was a pity that they weren't in a library or something...that would have been a bit more informative. Watching him not pay her much attention, she looked down at the kitchen utensils. There was a butter knife there. Now that she could use much with a butter knife, she couldn't just stab and run away...she didn't think she could even if she wanted. 

Even still, she silently slipped the knife in her sleeve, just in case. 

Then she goes to the door, dare she try it? If she got burned well...it couldn't hurt more than before. She grabbed the door knob and twisted it but nothing happened. Locked, just locked. No shocks, no fire, no pain...she was almost relieved. She turned on the spot and then walked towards D'Grey again.* Yes that's the thing I'm most worried about with a lunatic who tortures and attacks people- knocking down his ego. *How could he care so little? She licked her lips and then said plainly.* Just so you know, your lack of emotional response isn't threatening or intimidating. Irritating, yes. And sad...*she said the last softer before she asked curiously* Do you have anyone you care about in your life?

 **D'Grey:** *Hearing the click as she tries the door without looking up, he wonders briefly if he ought to inform her he had locked it for her safety. She could have escaped it easily if she tried. And within five minutes Gustav would have her, and he wouldn't care so much about his own statement not to hurt her then, he imagined. He looks up briefly, but decides not to say anything as she's already returned. It wasn't his job to threaten her further. A small smile appeared on his lips at the bitter statement.* I'm not trying to intimidate or threaten you. The very opposite. 

*He knew how to do that only too well, he thought with his own degree of bitterness.* Honestly. *He holds one hand off the knife, palm up to 'swear',* If it would reassure you more if I swear and bluster, I could attempt. I had thought such passion would alarm you. *And he...wasn't accustomed to it. He didn't get the 'sad' comment, so with a brief pause he drops it. Only to be promptly confused by her choice of question. His gaze drops back to his knife, resuming, his reply curt.* Yes. 

 **Nadia:** ...Oh. *She frowned, realizing that she was the one that brought up the controversy but with very good reason. It didn't sit well with her that he could allow this to happen when one simple act of his could prevent. She wouldn't be able to sit by and do nothing, she felt...personal, responsibility. She wasn't saying she was gonna find a way to get out of this place and feed children in India, but she was going to find her way out of it and stop these people from hurting anyone else because she was quite literally in the middle of it. She wouldn't choose the winning side over the losing side, she'd choose the right side because that was what her innate morality told her to do. And how did she know the Death Eaters were the wrong side? Well, besides having a horrible name for an organization, they -were- locking up and torturing people. D'Grey had brought up that she was willing to sacrifice herself for people she didn't even remember, but it didn't bother her to do so...she didn't want people to get hurt, least of all because of her. She cleared her throat.* 

Well, you're not doing a very good job. But...thank you again, for your kindness and thoughtfulness. *And she phrased it that way specifically. Because if he could be kind to her, why not others, why not those people who were being tortured downstairs?* No word yet on the food...I'll save that for later but I'm pretty sure it's going to be decadent compared to what I've had. *Air, stale bread, and moldy cheese. Did she look like a rat- scratch that...she could very well by now. She was pleased he answered her question honestly, and truthfully wasn't surprised, because...didn't everyone? At least  one? She hoped so. What a sad life if they didn't. She already cared about Angel, about whoever was coming to get her, and strangely enough...D'Grey too, for the person he was and chose to be, instead of the person he could be. She could hear Angel's voice now "You have a serial kindness problem, girl. It's going to get you killed one day, it's going to shatter your world, because people are always going to let you down." Downers.* Is there anything you wouldn't do for them?

 **D'Grey:** *He chuckles, nodding at first and offering flippantly,* Ah-apologies. I'll be sure to carry on in rage next time. Just to make you happy, of course. *He looks back down, sliding the cut noodles and tomatoes into the separately boiling pots. Even as he placed lids over them, rubbing his hand off on the _mopin_ , he stilled.* My kindness and thoughtfulness. *He echoes, not sure how to take that. At least, it didn't seem to be mockery. Slowly arching his eyebrow as he resumed washing his hands, he shook his head at the faucet, saying instead,* You have a lot of faith for...someone who just thought I meant to threaten you. *It startled him. So as he dries his hands off and tosses the used towel on the counter, he leans over it, knuckles white and blue gaze wide. Unblinking while he deliberates, he decides suddenly.* Commit genocide. *He nods firmly, smirk appearing to show he was kidding as he continues,* Or let them choose the music we listen to. Or give them the remote. *His smirk softens to add more seriously,* 

'Anything' is a bit too vague. So I'll only say mostly, there isn't.

 **Nadia:** *Her lips twitched in spite of herself because yes that was rather amusing. Not literally, a rage was not something amusing in the slightest but that he would say it, was amusing. Apparently.* 

I have little of anything else, so I guess I'm compensating...besides, I didn't think you were actively threatening me just...assumed it was your natural disposition. *She was running her fingers through her hair again, careful not to let the knife slide from the sleeve or prick her skin, when she rolled her eyes at his answer.* You're a fan of technicalities I'm noticing...*she paused and then found herself smiling, so she explained with a hint of awe in her voice.* That seems familiar to me. I mean, still no less irritating but it feels...known. It's comforting. *She nodded briefly before she continued.* 

Anyways, smarty pants, I meant to keep that person safe...well how you feel about that person is how I feel about these people. I care about them like that, already. As I care about the strangers being tortured...it's not in me, this me, at least to be selfish. I think it's because I don't have a self...anyways, I was just asking because I wanted to see if there was any way you'd be able to understand...how I feel. And why I think letting all these people walk into a trap, is horrendous. *She puts her hand down again, declaring the hair impossible and giving up on it.* Well and because after your so aloof responses I wanted to see the human in you.

D'Grey: You have a self. *He says it cordially, but abruptly. It surprises him, how quick he responds. Turning back to the pans and busying himself with adding oregano, he continues quieter,* Memory might shape a person's reactions, but you had to have a self that created those memories in the first place. *He was still being technical. That time he knew it, did it on purpose; truth was, her strength of self and resilience was sort of stunning to behold. 

Curiously tilting his head back at her as she continued, his hand paused over the pan as he spoke slowly with a small, incredulous smile,* Gustav miscalculated.  In depriving you of those memories, he only strengthened your want to change the one situation you know. Even knowing only half the story.

 *He turns back to the pan, noting the time and yanking up a spoon as his fingers snapped the flames off. Stirring, he doesn't look at her with eyes darkening, though a small smile is still on his lips.* You'll have to look for a long time to find that in most here.

 **Nadia:** *She was surprised by his quick response, as surprised as he probably was as well, but no less pleased to hear it, despite the fact that he quickly turned back to technicalities to explain. Oh, why did that make her smile? What part of her remembered something as simple as stating facts literally and associated them with comfort? The mind worked in mysterious ways, especially hers. No doubt, however, it was just relieved to be out of the dark, in an actual room more than six feet across, and actually in conversation with another human being.* Not entirely true. I do know about the starving kids in India and the ones shooting at each other in Africa. *Ha, she could be technical too. Besides it was mostly a joke to hide the fact, try to hide, that she was ridiculously relieved to hear that from him. Granted, it wasn't a "what Gustav did to you was wrong" but given that moments before all he had replied to her frantic rant was with a thanks for reminding her Angel's name, she would take it. One step at a time. He snapped his fingers and the fire turned off...that was cool. She looked at her own fingers, wondering how that worked before she looked up at him when he spoke again though he didn't look at her. 

She nodded at the truth of his words, she wasn't that hopeful after all.* Yes, I imagine so...but it didn't take me that long at all with you. *Even if it was a tiny glimpse, it was something. He was not a monster, holding her prisoner. He was a person, holding himself prisoner to circumstances he didn't think he could change. He could be better than anyone else here, if he so chose but he didn't. 

And because he chose to do nothing, to let this play out even though he might have no direct part in it...well, that's why she couldn't forgive him, that's why she'd tell them his name. He had chosen the "winning" but wrong side, and they hadn't won anything yet. Not if she could help it. The smells finally wafted to her nose and all of a sudden her appetite seemed to open up all at once. She was so hungry it almost hurt.* I do hope I'm not allergic to tomatoes.

 **D'Grey:** *That makes him laugh honestly, nodding at her as he plucked another piece of the tomato up and popped it in his mouth. He did always appreciate a good joke, even at his expense, even in regard to something he honestly believed. Was it such an unreasonable proposal to look out for himself? Yes, he could walk out the door with her...and that would accomplish what exactly? He didn't know her name. True, he could hazard a guess at her school-- did the English have an institution they were as proud of as Hogwarts?-- and well, he supposed that would foil this particular plan. Doing so would mean he'd have to flee his own country-it wouldn't do a damn to help the others in those cells she said she cared about (or Angel, and he imagined she'd care about that)-and it would leave his own behind. He refused. 

Jaw locking at the statement and raising an eyebrow as he waves his hand and summons the bowls off the table, he only swallows an insult to challenge her instead.* You want to see the human in me? *All right then. He nods, lips screwing up in a huff,* The reason I don't care if you give them my surname? It's my father's. You'd know it too if Gustav hadn't had your uh- your Angel give you his potion, destroy your memory...temporarily anyway. My father told me someone killed my mother for her association with him when I was only a year old. He lied. She's still out there, he just had his buddy steal me so he could have an heir. They paid her handsomely though, *he shrugs a shoulder,* and I never wanted for anything, so everyone wins don't they? Apparently they didn't even have to hurt her. Much. 

*He clenches his teeth, but though his voice is twisted it doesn't raise. Ladle churning the sauce, he scrapes out the scarlet, deposits it in a bowl and swipes his finger against the wood spoon and sticks it in his mouth. Still needed cayenne.* What's going on in those cells now is often unnecessarily violent, but it has a purpose. They take the lost, the orphans and forgotten, the ones the world gave up on and they give them a family, a purpose. Yes. Some die. Newsflash. We all do. The people in this organization; they're the broken, the damned, and yet for it they're strong as hell. Your Angel -- you know what he's been able to create? If Gustav isn't lying through his teeth, and he isn't-- about this. He's given werewolves the ability to turn at will. You know how long people have tried to find a way to do that? Centuries. Hundreds of years, he does it in three, maybe four. I mean, it's amazing!

*He shrugs a shoulder, eye brows wiggling with honest incredulity in his blue gaze.* And that's only one example. Do I agree with their philosophy of who has the right to use magic? No, I don't--but I can't argue with the results either. I have no doubt they'll be beaten in some way, as they have time and time again, and they'll be someone else to take their place-- there's always someone to take their place, there's always someone willing or broken or delusional enough. *He shakes his head.* And there's always someone to fight them. It's how the world works. In the meantime, *he gestures to the bowls,* I too hope you aren't allergic to tomatoes. 

And, *he shrugs, stalking across the room to get his wine, and frankly inhale it.* I do hope you stop worrying about finding 'my humanity' or saving everyone in the world for a few minutes, or you're never going to have the strength to fight them. *He gestures to the dark red couch next to the bar and fireplace, saying simply,* Tonight at least you're welcome to sleep there too. 

 **Nadia:** *Defense mechanism, that's what it had to be right? After having called him kind and thoughtful and having thanked him, he was being defensive. Being not cruel not realistic, technical, trying to "wake her up to reality" like Angel so readily did in order to help her survive. Despite the difference in intentions, as it was clear that D'Grey didn't particular care whether she lived or died, they both came out the same. Though she was sad to hear about his mother, how he was taken from her, the rest made her frown even more. -Angel- was the one who had taken her memory? And the prisoners were being trained? To work for these people? How could they agree to that? Is that why eventually the screams stopped, because they gave up, because they agreed? She didn't think her eyes could widen more but at the thought of werewolves being able to turn at will was enough to practically turn them into saucers. And he said it was no use fighting against them because eventually someone else would take their place? That had as much logic in it as "I'm not going to clean my room because its going to get messy anyways." She brought a quick hand up to her eyes and wiped at them before she exhaled and laughed, she actually laughed. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and then looked at him.* I already said I had found it, you made it pretty easy. *She pursed her lips.* And I'm not going to save everyone in the world, I'm going to help save my family, and those that are coming for me, those that I care about, some way. Because its the right thing to do. So thank you for your lesson in "how the world works" but just because it does work that way, doesn't mean we should let it happen. Everyone dies but no one should have the power to decide when they do, especially not these people. You, you're as broken and forgotten as those prisoners. You see there's no hope in helping me, helping them. You've accepted the way the "world works" and roll with it. You know who also said the same thing to me? Angel. And you probably think me foolish and stupid and childish and weak for having hope and emotions in general, for thinking I could do something, but I'm not. The moment I give up, that's when I will have become weak, and I'm not going to give up. *She was ignoring the couch offer, but she would be sure to thank him for it later. She stepped closer to him again and then asked softer.* Have you seen your mother, since you were taken from her?

 **D'Grey:** *Startled more by her laughter even as she rubs tears away than anything she said, his brows furrow, his breath quickens and he takes another sip to calm himself. It reminds him: he'd said he would react in rage next time, promised her in fact...but it was a promise he'd have to break. She didn't want him enraged. He'd kill someone.Or fuck someone, and he feared it would be the same person.* I never said I wasn't. *His voice is one of hoarse astonishment, a tremor of amusement rippling through his lips and throat.* It doesn't mean I need you--or anyone, to save me. *The insinuation it was giving up that was weak...it made his breath hot.* 

No. I haven't seen her. I have one picture and her first name. *The words are curt. He sets the glass down, before swiveling back to her.* That what you want to hear? That I'm still looking for her, that I think about it on my birthday, a day that isn't my real birthday, and then I cry myself to sleep staring at her picture? -That's- strength to you is it? *He laughs, high once.* You want to tell Angel he's weak too, that ring of his? Because he gave in, because he didn't choose to die? *His eyebrows seem to disappear into his hairline.* Please. And I didn't say you were weak, in fact! *His finger goes up.* I said you'd fight them. If you don't self-implode from guilt. What happens won't be because of you. Blame the person with the gun, not the hostage they used to get them there. 

*He turns back, another finger-snap banishing the bowls back to the table.* And hope? If I say I have it, will you stop asking about my humanity and for the -love- of those people you're swearing you care for, focus on yourself for an instant? *Jesus, honestly. The chair scrapes back for her with another snap, and he moves to the fireplace, shaking his head in shock and awe. Heavy thunks echo in the marble as he chucks two, three logs on top and kneels to light it. He won't look back. Even as his good humor returns, and he chuckles under his breath.* Seems to me you're the one I should call Angel. Or Angelica, I suppose. Wouldn't want to steal his identity. Again. 

 **Nadia:** No, only you can save yourself. *She said it stubbornly, even if it was a whisper, because she didn't get louder now when he started answering back, honestly. Oh before her voice had gotten quite high, but it had to be, because all he'd done was sit there and drink his wine and chuckle in amusement. Now that she was getting a reaction, well, perfect.* Yes, it is. *She had to think it was strength didn't she? To accept her emotions and not try to hide them away, because if she didn't think them as strength, then what she had been doing, all those hours she spent crying, would have meant nothing. An angel's tears are valuable, she'd told her friend, but that was wishful thinking on her part. 

She balked at the insinuation that she thought Angel weak, she shook her head and wanted to speak up he still had hope but then she would have revealed a secret he was trying to keep from Gustav and people would get suspicious. She wouldn't betray his trust, even if he had taken her memory away.* You said the prisoners were orphans and forgotten but not all of them are. Some of them are captured for sport, for play, as toys and pets, Angel said so. They don't give -them- a purpose and a family, they take it away. And Angel wasn't alone or lost. He was loved and loved in return. And he agreed to help...to protect the ones he loved. As long as they're safe, he helps Gustav...*she swallowed* so I don't think he's weak. *Her voice was so unbelievably soft, as if she set it down it would shatter into pieces; she didn't like it. She did blame the man who'd make this happen, just as she blamed D'Grey for not doing anything about it, and now that she knew and if she didn't try to help, she'd be to blame too. That was her opinion, and he thought it was wrong but it didn't matter. She raised her chin and then said simply.* 

You don't need to say it. I believe it already, even if you don't. *She walked to the table and sat down in a huff only because she wanted to and because she wanted to eat. And it would be rude to refuse his dinner, especially when it smelled so good. She could stand a little rudeness though. She reached for the wine in the middle of the table and poured some in her now empty of water (she had found a plant and poured it in there) glass.* I won't give myself a name while I'm here. I'll wait for my real name. *She took a sip of the wine and was pleasantly surprised to find she liked it, even if her mouth did screw up a bit with the unexpected warmth. She picked up the fork and picked some noodles up, took a bite. Heaven.* This is delicious, thank you. *And she ate more and swallowed it down with wine, it was really good so further talking waited until she was done. She picked up the napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth when she was satisfied.* May I ask a personal question? *Another one, she meant.*

 **D'Grey:** *He almost pointed out that without that apparent love, Angel needn't have suffered so much, but something holds it back. 

It might have been the look in her eye as she asserts it, for that told him she needed to believe it for her own sake. It may have been her tone, as he was bothered to realize she was now as quiet as he had been while he snaps as she had, admittedly without the tears. Why, hypocrisy? Surely not. Or it could have simply been that Angel was only his example because she knew him; he knew of others, counted several as friends, and rather disliked the idea of insinuating he found any of them weak for what might have broken them, or that their inactions thereafter unworthy. It wasn't true. If Angel made the vow so his wife was safe, if Hans and the pack had because of their loyalty to one another as family-- why should he think them unworthy? On the contrary. Everyone in the goddamn world was broken. They had a choice, they made it, end of story. Same as him. As if he didn't know. 

So he sits in utter silence as she eats, looking at the flames as often as he did her, suddenly not hungry himself. It was disconcerting, and he didn't like it: her plea for help should have been no different than countless others he'd heard. Only it was...because it wasn't for herself, and it wasn't to his ego she appealed. No that she had no trouble ripping into (as if she could), even while thanking him, even while complimenting the food. Her plea seemed to be that he 'be a better person,' and offered nothing in return for it but the satisfaction of 'it being right.' It made him blink. Lord, she was naive. And young. And...he decided that was unhelpful, for what should she care for his opinion? It was good she disregarded it: she shouldn't let someone tell her how to think. He approved of that. And she said she didn't have a self? Oh, she'd learn. Rubbing at his forehead hard and keeping he didn't look back until she was apparently done, this time with honest laughter in his retort.* These questions haven't been personal yet?

 **Nadia:** *At that she flushed a little bit, the wine though that was true, because certainly it didn't suit her to be embarrass ed that she had been imposing. Actually, he seemed to need someone to be imposing in his life. He got away with too much, she quickly realized. Never had someone tell him no, he couldn't do anything. Well, sometimes even hearing the word no was good, maybe. She didn't know how she knew that but it made sense to her. Even still, she had no further intentions except actually curiosity.* Well I have several, actually...but I'll ask my first. Why do you kill people? *She saw it in his eyes, that he had, when he spoke of people dying, that everyone died. She was genuinely curious for that answer.* 

And if you'd rather not answer that, I have a lot more. I like to talk. Not much of that going on in the dungeons. And given that I can't talk about myself, otherwise I would so you could get to know me a little better, I want to talk about you. Your mother's a touchy subject, and I would apologize if it made you uncomfortable but I'm glad that it did, as its probably the first time you've mentioned her to another human being in a long time. The next logical one would have been to ask about your father, but an educated guess of what you've said so far informs he wasn't a very nice man to say the least, and you probably resent him and blame him possibly subconsciously and-- *she realized how she was ranting and quickly shut herself up, pursing her lips together.* I...have no idea where that came from, I'm sorry...But my question remains. I'd like to know. And I'm only a little sorry.

 **D'Grey:** *The presumption, that arrogance from her was so unexpected, so stark that he reaches for the mantle and grips it white-knuckled. It wasn't as if he'd never heard those questions --although no, he couldn't say most dared once they heard his last name--but from a fifteen year old English girl he'd plucked from darkness and given food?  He wouldn't look away from her. Unaccustomed to the personal intrusion, he wondered if he should have expected it. He had thought she'd hunger after questions of herself, desperate to scrape together a sense of self that Gustav had denied her. Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he blinks as he unclenches,* Why do you care? 

*It had to stem from her, he thought; scrambling to psychoanalyze as she seemed so prone to doing.* Honestly, what does it matter to you who I am? You think if I open up, tell you about my father you can 'understand' me? *Incredulous, he shakes his head and drops his hand. It slaps against his thigh,* I thought they were arrogant here. Or is it you think by saying you're sorry for things that you had no control over and people you've never met, I will be so grateful for the affection that I'll pledge to help you in this quest? Honey, I'm not Angel. I don't crave love and mourn a wife I lost a decade ago, I don't need a hug from you. *He shakes his head, hand slipping into his pocket.* What I need is for you to harness this, this energy--*he gestures into the air at her in a circle*-- and use it for something far more productive than psych one-oh-one on a man whose first name you don't have. 

Stop. Okay? Just stop. Because I don't care what you think of me. You know what I care about? What if I tell you that the reason I wanted to meet you tonight was because I have every interest in helping already? Because I was curious in you as a person, curious if you were going to fight them. Because this 'organization' as you called it has caused terror in -my- streets, with -my- people, and -my- home after they were kicked out of -yours'-? You think I want a pack of wolves  turning at will running around my home unchecked? Even if the pack leader is a friend of mine? Ask me about that, about the war or what music I have and if you can listen to it. Fight for your-self-, honey, not me. Don't pretend you can possibly understand about my father, and don't presume that all I could possibly feel for the man who raised me, who gave me everything, is resentment. *His heart seemed to sear in his chest.* 

But God, don't say you have no self--you do realize the amount of judgements you made about me and the world in the past half hour alone, right? Where do you think that value system came from when you woke as if anew less than two weeks ago? You know what? You're right -- you don't have a lot of talk in that cell. I'll get you a journal. If what you're searching for is someone to be as apparently selfless as you, you're going to be disappointed,  and not just by me. But if you're searching for-help-, tangible, real help--such as, oh I don't know, a hot meal or those candles Angel brought you, something that is actually possible, well, *He shakes his head, unblinking eyes locked on her, shrugs his shoulder...but smiles.* then(!), I'm listening. 

 **Nadia:** I just- *Nope, wait, he wasn't done talking. That's good, that was good, she wanted to hear him talk, and she had no desire to intrude so she pursed her lips together. But she did frown and had pinch herself to keep from commenting to some of those. Did she look manipulative in the slightest? Did she honestly look like someone who would do that, despite the fact that yes, she did want his help? Her eyes did widen as he gave her a reason why he helped her, and she was genuinely surprised. Surprised but oh so pleased! 

If it was the truth. She really hoped it was. It might not have been the help she wanted but if he was helping other people too, people he cared about, then good! Wonderful! She was just so relieved to hear that, she might have sat down quietly and content if she were someone else, or maybe herself from before but the point was, she wasn't now. Because she was also feeling rather...insulted. She cleared her throat, silent for a few moments before she finally, softly, replied.* If that was really your intent you shouldn't have said it so loudly. 

*And if that was really his intent then maybe she shouldn't ask about it. She didn't know who could be listening. She folded her hands on her lap, biting her lower lip. She hated feeling chastised.* I'm not looking for that, I'm just...I'm just...oh, I don't know. *She rubbed at her eyes again.* I don't know what I'm doing, I'm trying to understand, so much about a world I don't know with what little information I have and you're the second face I've ever seen and I'm just...*she waved a hand around* I don't know! I don't know who I am. I don't know who anyone is. 

*There was no point in rubbing at her eyes any longer, the tears were coming and they didn't want to stop.* And most of the time I think I'm going -insane- down there, and I don't want to go back down there and I don't want anyone else to have to go down there, and I'm so tired of crying, I just want to be able to do something not just sit in a corner and hope that one day someone will come for me- or now, I'm going to be waiting for the day I'm released so people can be ambushed! *She sniffs* You might not need a hug, but I do. I just want someone to hold me and tell me somehow everything's gonna turn out just fine, because right now it seems like a bottomless pit of hell but oh! 

Oh, I should be grateful! I'm not getting tortured, or beaten, or raped, I should be so thankful! I should suck it up, because the people all around me are going through the real hell and I'm lucky to be left unscathed. But how can I be thankful over the fact that someone else is getting tortured five feet away from me?! I want to stop it, I want it to end, because I don't want to hear it anymore! I'm not a selfless saint, I'm no holy angel, I'm a girl! A very lost and very afraid girl, who just wants all this madness to stop! And to focus on something else that isn't that horrible place, or my horrible situation, and my lack of memory! *She wiped at her cheeks now, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every shaky breath.* 

So if you're not going to tell me anything of substance about you, fine! But I'm not going to ask about myself, I won't talk about myself, so either tell me your name and your favorite color or drag me down to that god-forsaken place again because you can't give me what I want. I want to go -home-, I want to know what that is! And I want to know what that feels like! I want this to stop! And it's not as you say it, impossible! I asked about you not because I wanted to manipulate you into helping, I asked because I'm curious. Call the press! I wanted to try and understand why you won't help me because I don't want to be bitter about you when you've been so kind so far! Understanding and communication- is that not the logical and respectful thing to do?! Or are we all out of that in this place?! Do I only get snarky and snippy comments tightly wrapped in a veil of deceit and ulterior motives, topped with a light sarcastic sauce? Sorry! I don't believe I know the recipe for that order, so this is what you get! Are you listening -now- hyena mouth?!

 **D'Grey:** *Light flickers in his unblinking eyes at her first statement, a smile dancing just out of reach. Oh, it didn't matter if they'd heard him say that: they expected him to lie to her, after all. That's all he'd have to say, that he was lying, that it was a hypothetical rhetorical question and shut his mind. They wouldn't probe his thoughts too deeply, because that was what they wanted to believe of him. That was how you sold a lie. As she kept going, he knew what he was supposed to do now. The funny thing was, he knew in two very opposite ways, what he was supposed to do now. 

Gustav would instantly have him comfort her, turn the breakdown to their godforsaken benefit and manipulate her into what they needed, create her "self" into their purpose, their tool. His father would have too. But oddly enough, it was the second option that attracted him and strangled him. The option that he genuinely pull her into a hug and tell her exactly what she wanted to hear, and follow through to the best of his ability. Be the adult to a very, very lost and afraid little girl. That's what She would have wanted. But then, he'd always been a contrary soul.* 

Blue. *He takes a step closer to her and the table and waves his hand. A box of tissues appears beside her, in a red marble box.* And only my brother calls me anything but D'Grey anymore, so you have my name already. See...*He pauses, thinking how to put it, feeling a bit odd* Well, it's what you just said. *He shrugs a shoulder, even as he draws the chair out next to her, and sits down beside her. His eyes and breath are unwavering.* I don't know what it was my mother had called me, but it certainly wasn't what my Father did. 

*He leans against the table, elbow bent. His voice was steady, calming to his own utmost surprise, but he focused for the instant just on her. If she wouldn't do that, then fine, he would. He had to. Otherwise he'd keep thinking about what he'd just said.* You're not supposed to feel thankful you haven't been hurt when you hear those screams. You're supposed to be afraid. That's what they want. Fear and misplaced gratitude to work in tandem, until you do what they say.*Lighter, and just as genuine as before, his words are matter of fact.*  I am sorry that this has happened to you. I just don't think that feeling sorry is going to change anything. Of course you want to go home. *He exhales, and then lifts his chin.*

But that isn't all you want. You just said. You want the torturing in those cells to stop permanently. You also want them to leave your loved ones alone. *Steadily,* Disrupting their plan right now would do nothing to either end. They'll still torture others. Angel will still be here. They'll still come after those you care for, in another way. If you know their plan, you can use that to not only prevent it from coming to fruition, but to prevent future plans. Dead men seldom plan well. *It was a joke. Perhaps a poor one, but he smirks anyways. The thought of some of them in this place dead...made him smile. Especially a certain pink-haired bitch.* So look, what you're doing right now, waiting, much as it might be hard and seem like you're doing nothing, -- it isn't inaction. Especially, *And now his smile turns bright and genuine,* with that knife up your sleeve.

**Nadia:** *She almost didn't catch the single word he'd uttered in response. She sniffed and looked down as a box appeared next to her, a box of tissues. She reached for one, two, four, whatever, and wiped her eyes and cheeks and nose with them. Her eyes felt heavy, like they wanted to fall out of her sockets; it wasn't pleasant. 

Blue, blue was his favorite color. She smiled a little and nodded, wiping at her eyes again and then looked at him when he explained about his name. She could understand that, and nodded. Being told that she was right not to feel grateful made her even more relieved and then disgusted that they could manipulate her mind like that, and even more disgusted that maybe it would have worked. But now that she knew, clearly it wouldn't right? She hoped so. 

She was more hesitant to admit he had a point on...doing anything right now wouldn't help. Because half of her didn't believe that. Waiting was a torture of its own. But she didn't want this to keep happening, and he had more knowledge about it than she did. She scoffed and repeated under her breath* Seldom. *Not very funny, but she appreciated it nonetheless. 

Movement stopped altogether as he mentioned the knife, her body tensing at having been caught but she forced herself to calm down. He was smiling after all, and this one reached his eyes.* You noticed? *she sniffed, and then abashed slipped the knife out of her sleeve.* I wasn't going to use it on you...but I thought it might be better safe than sorry. Down there. 

 **D'Grey:** I know. *The affirmation was pleasant. He spoke at once, not bothering to look at the knife.* If I thought you meant to use it on me, I would have...*Oh, perhaps he shouldn't say precisely. The smile on her lips was small enough already.* Well. *His own quirks up.* I'd have simply taken it back...a little less kindly. 

*It didn't surprise him the reasons she gave, and he nodded with a kind of approval in his eyes. The same as when he'd known she'd gotten up to check the door and searched the room and window for hints of her location. After looking to the thin silver knife, he nods and says simply,* That I understand. Hold on. *Slipping his hand into his pocket again, he holds it out to her, palm unwrapping to reveal a blue-handled pocket knife with a white cross on the edge. It wasn't the only he carried, so he saw no qualm in giving it up.* 

That, *he nods to the butter knife on the table with a look of distaste for the provided silverware (even though obviously with wolves in the house it made sense),* is imitation in more ways that simply pretending to be an actual knife. *His blue gaze flicks back to her, small smile still in place.* This, *he flicks it open with a casual -thwang-,* is solid silver.

 **Nadia:** *She restrained a shiver running down her back at his very vague description, grateful he didn't choose to get imaginative. She wanted to keep her food down and she didn't know how good she was at stomaching things given that she didn't have much food in her stomach before. She watched him take out another knife, well it was only a handle at first until he flicked it open. Her eyes widened, finally dry but probably red, as she looked at it.* You're right, the other one isn't a knife at all. *She reached for it tentatively for he was holding it out and studied it; it was simple enough. She was smiling to realize the handle was blue like his favorite color, though was curious of the cross.* Religious?

 **D'Grey:** Hm? Oh. Something like that. *As he let it go so she could take it, he lets his hand fall back on his knee and leans back in the seat. His hand curls into a small fist beneath his chin, keeping his eyes on her. He was grateful to see her calm at last and found himself wishing he could have given her name for the first time. Lips flicking, he explained further,* That's a design of the cross that's part of a statue, Cristello de Minerva, in the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. Made by the master Michelangelo himself, sometime in the High Renaissance period. 

*He pauses, realizing the amount of random information, none of which would make sense to her, and shrugs his shoulder with a guilty grin in place.*  It's just something I painted on there, honestly -- well, on a few things. I know the Church pretty well. *And how his father had used it, though he wouldn't. Rome to him was off limits, particularly that Church facade. For,* It's where my brother and I first -met- our nonna. The one with the sauce. *He gestures over his shoulder without taking his eyes off her, lips flicking.* And the ladle. 

 **Nadia:** ...Wow. That sounds impressive. *It did but she didn't know much of anything about what he'd said but it didn't seem very scholarly! So he must be very educated. Probably as educated as he was deadly, which was a rather frightening combination. She was glad he didn't want to hurt her. And he painted it on himself! Artistic tendencies? She looked up from inspecting the knife, nodding to show she remembered.* Right...I don't think she'd beat you with the ladle, it was really very good. *She was smiling easier now, after brief wipe under her eyes.* Your brother, is he younger than you?

 **D'Grey:** *He chuckles, just once.* I suppose. *He feigns modesty continuing,* Though of course I might have said...a bunch of nonsense, anything at all. *His lips flick up, amazed how at ease he suddenly felt. It was an honest compliment, he thought and well...he appreciated that even if logically he thought he should listen to it as much as he had her insults. At the question, he nods, amused.* Yes. By about eleven months. And thank you. *Dry, but he wiggles an eyebrow at her all the same.* For waiting until I'd mentioned him twice before asking. 

 **Nadia:** Theeen, I would compliment you on your ability to make nonsense sound impressive. *She knew she couldn't d that even if she wanted to because, well, he hadn't seemed very impressed earlier by her choice of vocabulary- she had called him hyena mouth for Merlin's sake. Wait, who was Merlin? She looked at him confused as he thanked her and the realizing he was poking fun at her she giggled under her breath. It didn't look right with her holding the knife, she thought. Bit frightening.* I am capable of some self-restraint and sensitivity when I choose. *She paused and then grinned a little brighter, asking curiously* Does that mean I can keep asking?

&.

 

 **Hans:** *His eyes were stuck on the rising castle in the distance, amused as he was irritated by the gates. Of course there was every precaution known to man on them, (all newly restored even!), but the symbol was one of mutually exclusion and lax security. He felt a certain pride in breaking it. As he walked, he came to a relaxed halt, his hand going into his pocket. He recognized the girl sitting there, shielding what appeared to be Quidditch plans from the viewing public. Casually, he turns back to say,* Luv, is that secrecy really necessary for a few new plays? I'm fascinated.

 **Hols:** *They all expected her to back out of Quidditch, to be too distraught to lead her team to victory but that was exactly the reason why she needed to keep going. And she needed a distraction: homework didn't cut it, and her poor camera wouldn't survive another cleaning. She was still working on them when somebody came up and talked to her. She didn't bother looking up at first.* You've obviously never been to a Hogwarts Quidditch match. *She finished it up and finally looked up, and then was confused; she'd never seen him before. She knew everybody.* Don't think I've seen you around before. Hols Graft.

 **Hans:** Can't say I've had the pleasure, no. *As with most of the English, her heart raced where her face was calm. He didn't try to see the plans; it would be detrimental (and rude). Sounds exciting and mysterious. *The words slipped from him with ease before she'd looked up, vindicated when she gave him her name. Hols Graft...well there was one his source had been less than flattering about. Teenage drama. It figured.* Ah, well I won't insult you with the cliche 'I'm new in town." Especially as I won't be here long. *Holding out his hand as he offered a little smile,* Call me Hans. Pleasure to meet you.

 **Hols:** *She would have described it as violent and bloody but she wasn't exactly eager to continue that point of conversation, especially after learning his name. She took his hand after raising an eyebrow and then shook it.* Hans Lawrence Ricard, oh I have heard of you. *And nothing at all was pleasant, her expression seemed to say.* So where are you staying, Hans?

 **Hans:** *She had a firm grip; he approved of that. Not at all surprised she had heard, (teenagers did love their gossip) and considering the sudden glint in her eye, he only lifted his chin and looked abashed a moment.* Ah--not -all- bad, I hope. *Amused at the question, he tilts his head to gesture without looking away.* Three Broomsticks. Were you looking to relocate this conversation?

 **Hols** : *She chuckled.* No, not all. *Some of it, in her opinion, was worse than a simple bad but she was biased, sue her.* Oh, no. I was simply going to offer to help you pack up your things. *She smiled as she rolled up her plans until they were no bigger than the palm of her hand.* The sooner you leave town, the better.

 **Hans:** *His gaze not moving from hers, he chuckles under his breath, amused by the little show. With a hand of innocence raised,* So I should surmised you meant that which wasn't bad was worse, then. *Marvelous. He did so hate to be bored...and challenges were never that.* I would say I'm hurt, but then, as you've never met me it's a bit premature. *He tilts his head, still regarding her without blinking.* Unless you're truly that worried I mean to steal your uh*he grins*-your boyfriend.

 **Hols:** It would've been rather rude of me to do so. *But that's what she did, yes. In a quite civilized manner actually. Nick would be so proud of her. Hols wasn't surprised that Hans was that well informed. He had come up to Al and made it pretty clear he was the farthest thing from clueless.* No, Hans. What I am truly worried about is Devin still not waking up because he was attacked by you, or one of your pack. What pissed me off is you trying to pin that on Alcott when I know for an absolute certainty, it wasn't him. What alarms me is how much you seem to know about us. And while you might be sincere in wanting to help Al, *Maybe, she was doubting it, but Eliza said there was a possibility and she didn't tend to be wrong about people, usually* that's also not the only reason you're here. Who do you work for?

 **Hans:** And you wouldn't be rude. *There was laughter in his eyes and words, genuine as he listened to the multiple accusations. It wasn't rude at all after five minutes of meeting someone to blame them of attempted murder resulting in a coma and conspiracy. Oh, but he wouldn't be indignant. Not when her accusations were true. Or rather: he'd be indignant of one thing.* I'm not working for anyone luv. Others work for me. 

*He shrugs, thinking truthfully: at best, Roswell worked-with-him for mutual goals. That potion of Angel's was...well, that had been a Godsend and triumph.* I -am- trying to help Alcott, *He grins.* But fair enough, that's not the only reason I'm here. I also quite enjoyed meeting Miss Simmons. *Calmly,* And...I'll be here until Mr. Stuart wakes. *That was entirely true.* His suffering has been prolonged quite enough, I agree.

 **Hols:** *She scoffed. Oh, even better. A werewolf with an ego. Well, at least she was well practiced with that already. And was she impressed that he apparently commanded at least a pack of werewolves if not more? Not in the slightest. He arched an eyebrow as he mentioned Eliza. Hols knew that Eliza was lovable as a newborn puppy but that just...eww.* Aren't you a little old to enjoy anything a 16 year old girl has to offer? *Her head snapped up after.* Prolonged. Interesting choice of word. The adjective or verb? Because if it is the latter, that would imply someone committing the action. *She stood, she'd been sitting down and looking up at him for too long.* Go ahead, feign ignorance. 

 **Hans:** *Chuckling under his breath, he counters easily,* Leave it to a sixteen year old to believe I meant anything but enjoying her company. Or, wait. You're a little older than Alcott yourself, aren't you? *If he recalled properly it was nearly two years difference; by school years anyway. At her sudden snap, his smirk opens, delighted by her catching the double entendre. Could it happen twice? Mm, clever girl. I'm seeing the correlation, between you and Alcott. *And she was standing too!* If you're going to offer your autograph, I should tell you, *He licks his bottom lip, furrowed brows wiggling,* I'm a fan of signing body parts myself. 

 

*Then he shook his head. He had to admit: protecting the nephew wasn't his personal favorite task, and it wasn't his responsibility.* I'm not feigning anything luv. Telling you you're looking in the wrong place on the other hand, well. I have no interest in leaving Mr. Stuart in agony, nor the means to do so. *He shrugs.* I'm quite eager to leave this one-pony town myself, trust me. 

 

 **Hols:** *Responding with the fact that it was Hols who was assuming, not Liza, and that she was 17, not 16, was unnecessary and rather childish, so she didn't. However,* But not a decade older. *She said that pointedly and with some doubt- she was thinking more than a decade but she couldn't know. Werewolves tended to look older than they actually were. Alcott himself definitely didn't have the body of a 15 year old- right, focusing. 

Focusing wasn't working well when Hans was focused on her boyfriend too, but a little indirectly. The autograph bit had made her laugh so she was smirking too. Even while ignoring the tone he had taken mentioning the words body parts, almost in a hiss, almost as if it were a delicacy.* All which would have been avoided if you hadn't attacked him in the first place. Why did you do it? What do you have to gain from attacking an innocent boy? 

 **Hans:** Nothing at all. *He speaks quite candidly, unruffled. Whatever the delicate game plan, the truth was he had nothing to gain, and never had. He did so enjoy the serpentine games, those of labyrinths that allowed him to speak bluntly without fear of giving away the ghost. Or their angels. As it were.* Should I ask you what you had to gain attacking a fellow student last year? *He arches an eyebrow at her.* Or rather, why you saved their life -- it -was- your boy that nearly killed the little prick, wasn't it? *A careless little shrug, and he slid his hand free.* He lost control, and you covered his ass. Only you didn't expect the poor boy'd remember your face...and you didn't realize he had such dangerous connections. 

 

You see, *he shakes his head without blinking at her, voice lowering with sincerity* I didn't lie when I said I was here because Alcott attacked someone without meaning to, that I realized a boy needed help. We look after our own, Holly-Rae Graft. *Hans doesn't blink. He keeps his gaze steady, listening to her hammering heart as if it's echoing drumbeat was matched by his words. The glint in his eyes of respect was honest, for if any one of those at the school deserved it besides Alcott, it was this one.*  

 

And for the record, *And now his eyes were light, his words lilting, his smirk back,* there was no need to snap at me. I understand you're worried, but, ever hear you catch more flies with honey? Not that I think myself a bug, but honestly, He tuts, clucking his tongue behind closed teeth,* of your little friends you're the one I'd have expected such judgment from the least. Except perhaps that -- *he furrows his brow, chewing on his bottom lip, making a show of trying to remember,* -- something with fla-- ah! Burns. **The Lord's daughter. *He chuckles, looks back at her.* See, she I think might have at least offered me a drink first.

 

 **Hols:** *She could practically hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, first in anger that he basically attacked Dev because he could, and then in apprehension. She swallowed a few choice words and accusations as he explained himself, told her things that had just been her and Al's secret for months. But in that apprehension came anger again once Hans all but admitted Sam had planned all this (nothing new to her but to have it confirmed just boiled her blood.) She almost snapped out that Al didn't need any help but she didn't because that was a flat out lie. Her jaw was set so strongly that she almost thought it would break when she opened her mouth again. It didn't.* I never liked that expression. 

I don't catch flies, I squash them. 

*Out of everything he had said, that felt the safest one to reply to. But that wouldn't be the only thing she'd say, when was it ever? Especially after he showed off more of his knowledge of her friends. He identified Irene by her father- why? Why was it so important? She was liking Hans less and less.*

I'm not judging you for being a werewolf, I'm judging you because you attacked my friend. And you're helping that sick and twisted piece of shit with this revenge plan of his, and you've nothing to gain except some entertainment. *She took a step forward.* And I'm judging you because you know exactly where my sister is, and what's going to happen in Roswell's little game, and you're just walking around, trying to get Al to join your little pack by painting yourself as a concerned soul. Someone like that? I don't buy drinks for. 

*Eyebrows arch* Do you have any idea of what you're getting yourself into, Hans? Because people who've gone against us, my friends, my family? They always lose. You're not going to get away with this.

 **Hans** : *That made him laugh.* I'm doubly glad I'm not a fly then. *No, but he was beginning to think he wasn't the only one of them there that had an animal inside them. How curious. He almost sniffed noticeably, before thinking that would be rudely misinterpreted. His expression didn't change as she moved forward toward him -- even if the move was foolish, it was brave, and he respected bravery. To a point, anyway.* 

 

I know quite well you don't judge me for that, Hols. Just as you didn't Alcott. *He spoke evenly, pleasant even, eyes locked on hers.* That's why I like you. *And truly, at that moment as she continued walking forward and leaning in to threaten him, she should be more grateful that he did. Shaking his head side to side briefly, he didn't blink or take his eyes off her.* Though you are a little off with regard to one thing: it isn't for entertainment. I'm quite sympathetic for your sister. Empathetic, even. *That was dry.* As, this is about my family too. *And as those cells...well. His jaw clicks.* And if you're curious, that's what I have to gain as well.

 

*He shakes his head, but as she continues he only lays a hand on his heart to say pleasant, light,* Oh,  I thought it was obvious by now. I make a point to know everything about a situation before I become embroiled. Headaches, otherwise, you understand. *He shrugs, and slides his hand into his pocket, moving past her. He turns as he does, so his eyes can stay stuck on hers, calling back,* Would you be so kind in the meantime, Hols, as to tell Alcott I'm looking for him? I'm so looking forward, see, to finding out more of 'what I'm in for' here from you, your friends, your family. *His lips flick, laughing under his breath as he thought about that.* Oddly enough, I don't think you'd find they're too much different from mine. 

 **Hols:** *He might like her, but she most certainly didn't like him. Half of her wanted to rip his throat out with her teeth, and that was turning out to be a very common reaction from her since this whole thing started. That's why she had been trying to take her mind off the whole thing even if only an afternoon. But no, the world wanted her to be angry all the time. Last year, during Devin's class crisis, she had been angry for her sister's sake, for Lynn's sake-- she had been angry for her own sake as well, but it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Dealing with cabrones like Sam who had 'dangerous connections' and a plan of revenge, who had attacked Devin and kidnapped her little sister- why _wasn't_ she trying to hurt Hans again? The logic in her mind, the one that told her starting a confrontation with a werewolf even without the full moon, must not be completely gone.

So she didn't move as he walked past her though her hands did clench into fists for that was one reaction she would never be able to control. She only turned when he spoke again, with a raised eyebrow. What did she look like, an owl? She didn't owe him any kindness. But Al would want to know that, her logic struck once again. Damn thing.* You're right, Hans. Maybe we're not so different. After all, you're not the only ones with fangs and claws, and capable of ripping out hearts. *The image of Devin lying in that hospital bed crept into her conscious mind yet again, and enraged her.* Maybe one day I'll show you. *She smiles, but not without effort* Until then, do have a good day. Here *she reached into her back pocket and flicked a galleon in his direction.* I've changed my mind. Buy yourself a drink and make sure to toast to me. *And then she turned around and left because she was Holly Rae Graft; no one walked away from her, she walked away from them.* 

&. 

_Dear Journal,_

_I don’t know what day it is, I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know who I am. A day ago I would have written that I’ve lost my memories but now I know the truth, my memories were taken from me. Even still, I hope to somehow find myself again the more I write here. Find myself, and find a way to let the people coming for me know that it’s a trap._

Nadia let the pen fall down on the page as she was left with a loss on how to continue. True to his word, D’Grey had gotten her that journal; it was small, yellow parchment bound with red leather. She wished he would have provided her with further company instead. She understood why he wouldn’t, and attempted to understand why he couldn’t. Nevertheless, it was better than nothing.

She had been writing her stories down for something to do, relieved that she hadn’t lost the ability to write. If she thought about it though, it made sense that something she had learned, she wouldn’t forget because that wasn’t really memory was it? There was a difference, somehow. Angel would know.

Angel. She didn’t know how to feel about her friend right then. It was a good thing that she’d had time to herself again before she saw him next, otherwise she feared she would’ve have been insensitive and rude. Angel was still her only friend here. D’Grey…wasn’t. He was an ‘every man for himself’ kind of guy with, as far as she could tell, one person he cared about and would do anything for them short of genocide or picking the music they listen to.

_Wine tastes bitter but almost fruity, and I’m not allergic to tomatoes. Strawberries are delicious and I enjoyed them a lot. The walls are black, the ceiling’s black, the floor is black and so is the hallway. There’s a big man guarding the door, he looked like a giant. There are 1,349 steps that lead from the dungeons to the ground floor. They’re not that high, I would say two inches high and six inches wide. There must be some sort of mathematical formula for calculating how deep the dungeons are but I can’t do it, I’ve decided I don’t like math. I do hope previous me didn’t have a prior goal of becoming a mathematician._

She wrote down everything that came to her mind, instead of what she used to do and just say it out loud. At least this way she would have something to read when she -didn’t- have anything left to say. Sometimes what she wrote sounded silly even to her own ears, but she wrote it nonetheless. Every single thing she could see and feel and think, she wrote it down just in case she woke up one morning and couldn’t remember anymore.

_I wonder who would come for me. How many people do I matter to? How many important people? It wouldn’t matter to me if they weren’t important, right now I wish they actually weren’t. Maybe then the Death Eaters wouldn’t have taken me so I couldn’t help lure these people to a trap._

She dropped the pen on the page again, bit on her bottom lip. A terrifying loud scream rang in her ears that made her wince and shut her eyes really quickly. Hissing, she passed her tongue over the small cut on her lip where she had bitten too hard. She had taken the time D’Grey had gotten her out of that cell for granted. She wanted to go back, or rather, get out. Get out from here, immediately. She felt her fear returning to her like a cold settling in her bones. She had been so hesitant at first, taking his hand, but by the time she was warm and hydrated she was…shouting at him. It was likely any other person in here would have shouted back at her for her insolence and ingratitude, they would have hurt her, they would have locked her back up in the cell if only because they still needed her to get more important people. But not D’Grey.

_What makes us human? Or rather, what makes us people? Am I a person? Even now, with no recollection of the choices I’ve made, with no identity? I think I am, though some would say I am nothing. I am a pawn. I am not a pawn, and it is because of people that think in such ways—of using humans as chess pieces—that other humans give up on humankind. People like Angel. He has given up hope on everybody except those he loves and trusts outside these walls. He doesn’t want to trust on anybody else, and he doesn’t trust me. I think that’s why when I told him I trusted him; he tried to get me to take it back, because he knew he’d never return the gesture._

_I don’t care; I don’t need him to return the gesture, though it does make me feel sad. Hope and faith are the only things I have except you, journal, and this jacket. And one must give trust to receive trust. I have no problems being the first to do so._

_Also, technicalities make me smile as much as they make me roll my eyes._

She looked up as she heard steps, realizing she felt much less wary than before. Angel would say that was stupid, that she should always be wary, because she wasn’t safe here. That much was true at least, she wasn’t safe here, but she was tired of fleeing in fright from her own shadow. Not that there was much shadow here to begin with; shadows needed light.

“Hello,” Angel greeted as he stepped through the cell bars unharmed, a smile on his face. His smiles didn’t seem so forced now. He held a deck of cards in his hand. “I thought we could play a game…” he paused and then his smile gave way for a cautious frown, curiosity etched above his eyebrows. “Where’d you get that?”

She exhaled and then closed the journal and set it aside on the bed. She looked up at him. “If I answer all your questions, will you answer all of mine?”

He didn’t hesitate to say, “Of course.”

“With the truth?”

She could see she had caught him off guard with that addition. Nevertheless, he bounced back quickly enough and nodded. She nodded too, before she replied easily. “D’Grey gave it to me.”

That didn’t make him happy. The muscle in his jaw twitched and an intake of breath made his whole face hard. “D’Grey’s been to see you?”

“He came to get me-“

“Did he hurt you?”

The question was so quick and so unexpected that she just stared at him for a few seconds before she shook her head in answer. “No! No, no, he made me dinner.” Apparently, this was terribly uncommon because Angel just stared at her as if she had grown a horn or something. Then again, she had already suspected it was uncommon. Prisoners and hostages were supposed to stay in their cells. They certainly didn’t get the luxury of homemade meals, or personal journals.

“Why?” Angel asked, more confused than she had seen him, more confused than he had ever been in here she expected. In reality, she was the one that was confused. Confused on why it was so confusing!

She shrugged before she answered honestly, “Because it was the decent thing to do?”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Angel. He laughed, and the laughter was so reminiscent of the way she had laughed with D’Grey that it made her wince and shrink away. It was bitter and disbelieving with no amount of amusement identifiable at all.

“D’Grey hasn’t done a decent thing in his life.”

She winced again; the words felt like knives.  “Well, now he has. Two, actually.” She patted the journal next to her. “It seems I have knack for getting seemingly indecent people to do decent things, whenever they’re not doing indecent things I mean.”

“Apparently so,” he agreed skeptically. “Don’t think he gave you that as some sort of wooing gift though.”

What was wooing? “He gave me this journal so I would shut up and stop bothering him with my pointed questions because it made him uncomfortable; because no one’s ever tried to ask him about his personal life, possibly because they fear getting killed, but I did anyways. I’m not under any false pretenses-“

“Good.”

She kept going despite the interruption, “But neither am I willing to write him off as a cold blooded murderer.”

She was annoying him, or exasperating him. He adopted the tone he used when he thought he was dealing with a mentally retarded three year old toddler. “Girl, that’s exactly what he is.”

“Most likely, but he’s more than that too. We all are.”

He hissed, passing a hand over his mouth. She could only imagine the thoughts that were going through his head. Were they of betrayal, of pity, of sadness, of disappointment? She couldn’t bear a waiting game, but thankfully he spoke up rather quickly, his words a snap. “Even the monsters that torture and kill these people? Who tortured me, who kidnapped you?”

“Yes,” she saw him stare at her with incredulousness before she raised her hand to add, “but the majority of those are forever lost, their humanity buried too deep and then chipped and chipped away until there’s nothing there but a pit of unquenched dark desire.” Oh, that was good, she should write that down. “Who can’t be saved.”

“But you think D’Grey can be.”

“Yes,” and she didn’t appreciate the way he talked to her as if she were a child…oh, right. 

“And you think you’re the one who can save him?”

She scoffed and then shook her head immediately, “Absolutely not. He can only save himself, just like we can only save ourselves from…ourselves.” Did that make sense? “But I do hope he gets some help, somehow.”

“All because he made you dinner and said some nice things?”

“No,” she snapped back quickly enough too. “Because I saw it for myself- and he didn’t say nice things, he just told me truth. Something you’ve neglected to do.” She saw that made him pause, made him hesitate and with good reason to. Maybe she should have let him try and confess what he did know, because there could be many other things he could hide from her but the silence was overwhelming, so she began it herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the one who took away my memory?”

He looked like he had prepared himself for that accusation. It didn’t faze him, he didn’t flinch, she didn’t even see one muscle twitch out of place. Silence overcame them again and it made her frown. “Did you think I would be mad? Did you think I wouldn’t trust you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m mad now!” That seemed like a rather petulant thing to say but she couldn’t help it. She was angry at him. She was surrounded by darkness and violence and torture and when there seemed to be not one shed of light, Angel had been it. He had healed her and brought her candles and strawberries and company, but he had lied to her. Tainting her already dark memories with lies, and there was nothing she hated more than lies. Apparently. 

“You could have told me.”

He scoffed and shook his head, looking down at his shoes as he tended to do when he just couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye. D’Grey had that problem too, after a certain point but he was more stubborn about it. She would have preferred a little more stubbornness right at that moment; instead she was supplied with sarcasm. “Yes, what a lovely start to any conversation. Hi, my name is Angel, you’re a hostage, and by the way I’ve taken away every single one of your memories stored across the entirety of your brain while leaving intact all other cognitive processes. Brilliant.”

“I didn’t even understand the majority of that, but I do not appreciate the sarcasm, Angel!” She huffed and then thought twice about raising her voice. She didn’t want anyone else to suddenly take an interest in her. The next person who decided to melt down those bars would probably, and most likely, not want to help her or make her dinner. “You could have told me,” she repeated. “Maybe not at first, but after. I understand what’s happened to you, I understand why you choose to help them, I would have understood that they made you do this.”

He chuckled again, and it was bitter. When Angel looked up at her again, she almost wished he would look back down. “That’s the beauty about hindsight, girl, it’s 20/20. You have no idea how you would have reacted had I told you.”

“Really? You know me that well?” She countered back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Even I couldn’t tell you how I would have reacted but I guarantee you, I wouldn’t have gotten angry. The state that I was, in the state that I am!” she breathed out and rubbed at her eyes, “It would have just made me cry.”

The cell went quiet again, and this time she didn’t feel the need to break the silence first. Though he did; Angel spoke first. “I was trying to spare you that.”

She shook her head. “You were trying to spare yourself someone looking at you in disgust.” She sniffed and her eyes narrowed at Angel before she continued. “Because everyone here’s used you and abused you, and they think you’re nothing, that you’re the scum between their toes and that bothers you and you couldn’t stand it.”

“Alright that’s enough, settle down,” he waved at her before taking a seat in his usual chair. “No need to psychoanalyze me, child. Believe it or not, I kept the truth to help you.”

“Yeah?” An eyebrow was arched. “And the truth about you being able to make a potion that lets werewolves turn at will?”

That surprised him too, but he rolled with the punches. “It’s not really relevant is it?”

“It’s still deceitful.”

Her soft voice was matched with a quieter voice of his own. “Because I didn’t come right out and say it?”

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Child, teenage girl, still in school, still too young to know how the world really worked; she was really tired of those being the only titles, the only form of identity she had in this place. “They took me because of my connections. They’re going to let me go at the most opportune moment for them, and the reason they haven’t harmed me is that I’m a necessary puppet for their scheme to lure a number of people, including the people I care about, into a trap where they can cause havoc and destruction and kidnap even more people. They’re going to do that. Because of some centuries old war I don’t even remember.” It still made her teary to recite the explanation out loud. It had stolen the breath from her the first time she heard it and she was still no closer to accepting it.

She continued when Angel didn’t say anything. “I asked D’Grey to help me. Do something, anything, to make sure it doesn’t happen.” She half expected another sarcastic comment there but Angel just stared at her in silence. It was eerie, and she didn’t like it, she liked it even less now, so she just kept finding words to fill it up with. “He basically said he wouldn’t because it wouldn’t change anything. Because there’s always someone out there in the world willing to step up and continue the legacy. And I told him that I would, that when I got out of here I would take all the information I have with me and I’d track down these Death Eaters.”

She just wanted to react again, that’s all she wanted. Instead he looked on and on, as if he was waiting for the punch line that she didn’t have for a joke that was non-existent. She wiped at her eyes again and shook her head. “As long as you don’t take my memory away again.”

“That’s not fair.”

“He speaks! Oh speak again bright Angel.” She frowned and rubbed at her cheeks again only to stop once she he realized he was chuckling and smiling. Why, what in God’s name was so funny now? Did she have something on her face, what?

“What’s so funny?”

“You quoted Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet,” Angel explained briefly as Nadia tried not to question exactly who Shakespeare was or why she knew that. And she didn’t appreciate the change in topic either.

“You won’t help me either.”

And that was the real reason she was angry. Well, not angry just so incredibly frustrated. She couldn’t do this by herself, she didn’t want to do by herself; she needed help. She was strong enough to admit that she needed help but no one wanted to help a little girl do something so incredibly stupid that would probably never work. But she had to try! Why did no one else believe that?

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“You can walk through those bars, I am sure you can find a way to break the barrier down. And you’re supposedly this genius mind who created in a few years what men have been trying to make for centuries, you could knock out guards easily, we could be out of here. You and me, finally out of here. All you have to do is-“

“I can’t.” That was his immediate refusal.

“Yes you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“No,” she narrowed her eyes now. “You won’t. There’s a difference. You won’t because you’re afraid-“

“I am not going to put my family in danger, girl! Not for you, not for another casualty!”

The words left her cold after it had finished slapping her face, stabbing her in the chest, and kicking her in the gut. She sunk back further into the cot, her back hitting the cold wall as she stared ahead. She didn’t even register the apology he had muttered, couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not, but she didn’t care. Later she would tell herself that was perfectly logical of him. That he thought her a stranger and people just didn’t tend to risk anything for strangers especially not the ones they cared about.  But right now, even her ‘saint-like’ disposition didn’t want to understand.

“You knew about all of this.” She looked at him again. “And you know who I am, don’t you?”

He stared and stared until he looked down at his feet again and opened his mouth. She didn’t want to let him lie to her face, not anymore. “Leave,” she requested evenly as she turned her gaze away from him and kept it fixed on the journal. He didn’t move for a long time, stubborn she imagined, not until she added a whispered “please” did he finally stand up and move out of the small cell. She wiped at her eyes once he was gone and picked up the journal.

_Angel’s hope remains; it just isn’t placed on me. Soon, I know I’ll forgive him. I can’t afford not to. And I’m not a casualty, I’m a person. I’m a person. I’m human. I’m human._

_I matter._


	21. A Rose Would Still Be Sweet

**Gustav:** *It brought him some amusement to realize that the last time he had knocked on the door to this house, he'd had more people with him. Last time, a kind old butler had opened the door. They had probably scared him off, or had they killed him? He had hit the wall with such an incredible force and slid down to leave a trail of blood down the wall where his head had been bleeding...yes, there was quite the possibility the man could have died. Had Lyndsea not replaced the man yet? Or had she resigned herself to opening her own doors? Poor dear. He rang the doorbell now.*

 **Lyndsea** : *Heels clacking as she headed towards her own study, she paused hearing the door and turned. The folders in her arms she hugged closer to her chest, grant applications she had been putting off reading in light of...well, half a dozen books on..werewolves. Saying the word aloud was important, she had realized, despite the flicker of fear and worry for her son every time she did. So was carrying on. She held her chin higher and waved Jimmy off, thanking him lightly with a laugh that as she happened to be right there it was all right, and opened the door herself.* Gustav! *Blinking in surprise and forcing a smile to her lips, she held the open door closer to herself and leaned against the frame. It bit into her palm.* To what do I owe the...*The word stuck in her throat.* Pleasure? 

 **Gustav:** *He smiled as well, adjusting the glasses on his face. It was anything but a pleasure for her, that much was certain but it was her apparent distaste for his presence that made it that much more enjoyable.* Hello, Lyndsea. So good to see you. I've brought you the necessary documents for the renewal of some of the patents for your late husband's potions. *He was laughing on the inside* I realized they were due during some clean up office work.

 **Lyndsea:** I'm sure. I hope you haven't thought that I've...oh, *she tosses a blonde curl back, apparently careless and light,* been avoiding you because the mere sight of you sickens me horribly. *She offers a light chuckle, eyes glinting with the sarcasm-cloaked honesty.* I would just hate it if you thought that. *The smile on her face tightens the moment the word's 'late husband' were out of his mouth, teeth gnashing together to avoid spitting at him.* And...so you hastened right over instead of awaiting me at the Ministry surely because you didn't want to risk them expiring. How thoughtful. *She exhales.* Won't you come in?

 **Gustav:** *He grinned, finding it much easier to bear the insult when he thought of what was soon to come for her and her son.* Of course not, I could never think that. *Quite literally; it was just something that didn't even cross his mind except for  right at this moment. He had more important things to spend his time on.* Oh, yes, thank you. *He stepped through, much more kindly than the last occasion.* I just thought with so many things going on in your life, I'd save you the trip. Hogwarts seems to be the talk on everyone's lips, even in the Ministry. Ingrid informed me your son was in the forest that night. How is young Alcott?

 **Lyndsea:** The Ministry should be talking about it. *Her anger flares behind cold words.* They should be ashamed at their lack of security. For an innocent girl to be spirited away is ... *As curses fill her mind and rob her of any appropriate vocabulary she just shakes her head, focusing on the wood paneling as she shuts her door. She stills, suddenly forgetting Nadia and Devin the moment that her son's name left those disgusting lips. Curious to the source of a foreboding shiver, she tilts her head when she looks back.* Did she? Ingrid has been so supportive...*She clacks away from the door and him, saying firmly.* Alcott is strong. A lot stronger than most give him credit for being. *Her words are clipped as she regards him.* I've been remiss I fear however--was Sam in danger?

 **Gustav:** I agree. *He nodded.* I believe this would have never happened had my brother been elected Minister, so many years ago. *He shrugged.* But, the past is the past, no use in dwelling. We must simply carry on. *He held out the documents for her with a smile.* Oh, I'm sure. *What with him being a werewolf and all.* Oh no, thanks heavens. He was far from harm. *That was technically true. Given that he was with his nephew the entire time, he was never in any danger.*

 **Lyndsea:** Yes, I agree. *It was sarcastic, but spoken pleasantly as she starts walking down the hall.* Obviously it's -your- brother who would have been more interested in protecting them, rather than say, Devin's own father. 

*She was flatly insulted on Shane's behalf, she realized with some small measure of surprise. Ingrid's husband had never been her favorite person, but neither her least: allies were sometimes a great deal more valuable than friends. But how dare Gustav make it Shane's responsibility? How dare he go-there-?* 

Yes, we must carry on. *She does try not to tear the files -- Harper's files, in his hand, with his signature --as she takes them. To sign for her husband, as now he couldn't himself.* Dwelling on your family's defeat -would- be bitterly unpleasant. *She presses her lips together, moving to the parlor, expecting he'll follow, to fetch quill and ink. At his words, her smile does soften.* Oh, thank God for that. You must be relieved...after last year, it must have been terrifying for you. My heart goes out to Ingrid, truly. *The first honest thing she had said. Ingrid getting the call a second time...well, Lyndsea knew how she felt.*

 **Gustav:** Oh, I didn't mean to insinuate our Minister isn't doing the best he can, of course not. *His best, however, was not good enough. And he'd been allowed to continue his term for far too long. Marrying a tainted muggleborn.* Quite right, and I do hate unpleasantries. *He followed her further in to the parlor after adjusting his glasses again, smirking briefly only for his expression to sober up at the mention of Sam's attack last year. He nodded now and frowned genuinely.* It was. I only hope that these new security measures catch the monster *his eyes glinted with his amused malice, craving her reaction* responsible. For Devin Stuart's own attack as well.

 **Lyndsea:**   Of course you didn't. *Agreeably, she waves off this with,* You'd never be so callous. *She wrinkles her nose, slowly uncapping the ink and rolling the crystal stopper between two fingers. As he continues, her eyes are held seemingly captive as she read's her husband's (illegible at times even to himself, but never her) hand, a finger toying with the diamond and white-gold bands. Oh, stop talking, she thought bitterly, and suddenly stills at his last words. Her eyes flash, lifting to his.* I would hope they find them, yes, and get them help that they need. *Her son wasn't a monster. Thought that wasn't to say Gustav would have no need to be wary of him. Her eyes narrow,* After all. Perhaps if there wasn't such a stigma and flatly ignorant, hateful people, they would never have been driven into the forest, wouldn't feel the need to hide or be apparently unable to receive Wolfsbane, a potion that has existed for nearly a hundred years. 

 **Gustav:** *Oh, now that was an interesting quirk. He watched her play with the rings on her finger and was almost nostalgic. Her quick to defend attitude almost made him laugh, but instead he made sure to look properly baffled and confusedly scolded.* I apologize, I did not realize this was a matter you held so close to your heart, Lyndsea. *He smiles politely.* Perhaps a change of topic might be necessary. The Ministry Winter Gala approaching, for instance.

 **Lyndsea:** *Seeing his gaze stray to her wedding band, she stiffens and then lays her hand over her heart. Taken, it seemed to say. Not for the first time she wondered about it, his interest in constantly mentioning Harper to her. It didn't surprise her: she was only too aware he'd desired her too, but God she wished he'd stop it. Only a bit tempered by his apology and look of abash, she nods stiffly and says simply,* Thank you. *A bit quieter, looking back to the papers.* It is. I appreciate that, Gustav. *A bit surprised by his choice as she sets the stopper down, she looks up again.* Ah, yes. We've settled on a location...

 **Gustav:** Have you? *He asked, quite genuinely interested as he caught her gaze one again. There was just something so satisfying about seeing how dissatisfied Lyndsea was. He felt personally responsible, because he was after all. Almost like it had been his little project.* And where is this event set to occur?

 **Lyndsea:** *She didn't know what had put that look in his eyes, but it pulled at her lips, made her ache to frown. Or simply hit him.*Oh,  the Avenue House in Finchley. It should be a wonderful evening. The Arboretum is simply known to be flawless to deck-out for the holidays. *It was a shiver-inducing type of smile on her lips now, as if she were judging him for not knowing about it, and continuing,* I hope you're not planning on asking me to accompany you though. 

 **Gustav:** Oh heavens no. *He chuckled, thinking privately that for all her beauty, he would never be seen arm in arm with a muggleborn sympathizer. He shook his head and grinned, saying pointedly.* You'll look much better on Max's arm, as always. *He smiles.* It will certainly be a night to remember.

 **Lyndsea:** Oh good. *Despite the icy-shot to her heart, nothing registers on her cool face, or wide blue-eyes. The chill had surprised her: shame wasn't something she'd give this man. So she smiles brightly at him, and looks back down to begin signing. Her words just as pointed,* Actually, I believe Max is bringing Miss Noel. You remember her. *Her lips flick as she flips the page, mind's eye filled with the memory of Harper, Max and Sandor all laughing together. There's another pang in her chest.* I'll be coming myself, actually. *flatly, but her smile turns soft and genuine as she signs her name besides his.* There was rather only ever the one for me.

 **Gustav:** Who could forget? *His smile became forced in that moment as he recalls a memory of so long ago, one he kept buried so deep in his memory and recalled so sparely, he didn't think it'd existed anymore.* Such loyalty...*He was fighting laughter but appearing cool.* I've never seen anything quite like it. *He grinned easier with the knowledge he kept from her.* It warms the heart to hear.

 **Lyndsea:** Who indeed? *Tiniest bit amused as she relays,* I believe it was the sort of image that stays in the brain. *No matter how hard one scrubs their eyes with soap. Admittedly, Harper had been more helpful in distracting her when -he- stepped in. Barely refraining from flinching at the word loyalty, she kept flipped to another page to hide the wince and keeps signing. The flourishes grew exaggerated beneath her quill-tip.* I believe you're referring to true love, Gustav. *She says it quietly.* That sort never dies. *Her eyes lift to his, relentlessly defiant.* I'm sorry to hear you've seen so little of it. 

 **Gustav:** *He only chuckled through his teeth and shrugged as if to say "the trials of childhood." He chuckled with much more amusement as he hmms.* Not much room left for such things in my life. *He waited a moment before he asked* Have you finished?

 **Lyndsea:** *Ignoring his little chuckle with a calm little shrug herself, she tucks the files back into the folder and stands.* Well, that is quite a shame. *No less than what he deserved, she thought with icy disdain. Still smiling,* I think you should perhaps lessen that load. It can't all be so important as to mean missing out on love. Or else you'll end up all alone in the world, Gustav, and that. *She lays her hand on her heart, a hint of malice in her own gaze, daggers in the look,* That would just break my heart. *She disliked the idea of even putting something of Harper's back in his hand, but she preferred the thought that this was insuring his work was continued.* And yes, thank you for bringing them by. If that's all, I'm afraid I'm quite busy today. Thank you for such thoughtfulness, but please, kindly leave my house.

&.

 **Rachelle:** *She had become acquainted with the bartender in the short time she had spent in the town. It was bound to happen though; she frequented bars more than almost any other establishments combined. The man always smelled of cheap cologne and hand sanitizer. He was married, but he took off his ring aove up and down the bar, his heartbeat grew unbelievably fast and fluttered, most likely a heart condition. And anytime she called on him to order a drink, the pheromones of his attraction and arousal practically choked her lungs the first time. She was sipping her beer when she heard him enter, smelled him. His scent was familiar to her, as familiar as her own but vastly different. A small smirk crossed her lips as he sat down on the bar stool next to her with an unnatural grace.* You're late, mon chéri. *She finally turned to him, smiling.* I almost contemplated starting to worry.

 **Hans:** *This town gave a new definition to "deadly dull," an inappropriate one. At least "deadly" usually was accompanied by some kind of entertainment. Perhaps he was being unfair. Born in Austria, he'd travelled far across the greatest European cities....and they did say there was nothing like Paris. A smirk appears on his lips. The carved pumpkins had already given way to sparkling multi-colored lights and fat blow-up santas. It made him chuckle as he walked the cobbled streets; how quaint little towns were, starved for holidays. Was it so novel an idea to live as if on holiday every day? Brushing the first snows off his jacket with ease to keep it clean as he slid into the bar, he grins honestly at the remark.* My sincerest apologies, cheri. I was delayed by an arrogant school-boy.*He leans to kiss her cheek in greeting, signaling the bartender as he did so. And--ah!* Oh dear, he does look unhappy with my appearance. *This only makes him smirk. Voice low from habit, it highlights the teasing,* Have you been naughty?

 **Rachelle:** *Ah, yes, the new potential. She chuckled before she teased* You do like them feisty, Hans. *To a certain point at least. That point was usually crossed when Hans felt the need to be hostile. Otherwise he was quite pleasant...well, she was painfully biased. Not only by belonging to his pack but also because of what that entailed. Her views of what was pleasant and painful were slightly...hmm, warped, from normalcy. Some would say. She grinned as she heard the bartender's heart accelerate upon noticing her friend, mentor, and leader sitting next to her.* Not as much as he'd like me to be. *She took another sip of her beer to hide a smirk as the man approached.* After all, a woman should never have to buy her own drinks, a Frenchwoman less so. *The poor man should know better. She was far too good for him.*

 **Hans:** *He chuckles, rephrasing with feigned defense and laying a hand over his heart,* I like someone with a little life in them. *He winks, even as his ears turn to pick up every distinct heartbeat in the room. Force of habit, he would prefer to know if someone found them of interest. Well, besides the lovely scantily-clad woman in the back corner; he was well aware of her already.* After all, *diplomatic as his hand comes back away from him,* I only take the best. *He nods to her with a nearly imperceptible head cock and smirk poised like it was threatening towards displeasure,* And this nephew is...far from. *Shrugging a shoulder,* What we put up with family -- truly, no wonder Gus -*how he almost could imagine the hatred of the nickname from here, delicious*- is so difficult so often! *Turning without missing a beat to the bartender,* Evening, my good chap. Ah, Johnnie Walker. Best label you have. As a thank you for taking such good care of my sister. *His eyes sparkle with a hint of scarlet at the man; the meaning dual. Don't bloody cross her and,*I wouldn't deprive you of such a fruitful game. *That was for Rachelle's ears only, the slightly mollified bartender had slid away to get his drink already.*

 **Rachelle** : *She smirked, pleased to hear the compliment though she was well aware of her own prowess. Even still, hearing it was no less enjoyable.* I think you might have dropped your standards a tad for Allison. *It was a jest, mostly, at her honorary sister's expense. There was no doubting she wasn't lethal she was just so...annoying. Laughing at the use of "Gus" she nodded. The boy was...* He's worthy, Hans. For dinner. *Turning towards the bartender again, she thought his name was Tim, she winked at him before he fell away again, grinning at Hans' comment.* Always looking out for me. *She took a sip of the beer before she asked curiously.* What of the other boy? The one who handed you the autograph. *She smirked, still finding that rather hilarious; she had been watching that night near the back.* Still no luck?

 **Hans:** I think I'll refrain from commenting. *He chuckles, despite thinking truthfully it hadn't been his idea to turn Allison, but rather the interested-Ansel and Gustav's agreement. Still,* Between sister's is not a place I would want to be. *It was light and playful still, and he snorts in sudden honest amusement.* True. We must invite him soon. I would hate to think he find us rude. Especially when he's working so hard for us, and volunteered so eagerly. *And that was his issue above all. The willing recruits...they never knew anything. Anything. His jawline clicks, but he's agreeable as his drink arrives,* Ah, thank you mate. *He takes a measured sip, cherishing that sudden burn, and then smirks once more.* Alcott? Oh, he'll seek me out soon. Particularly after a delightful conversation with his own mate -- she's quite formidable. 

 **Rachelle:** Especially not literally. *The last poor soul that had tried to get in between her and Allison in the midst of one of their disputes that turned into an all out dogfight didn't come away very well. But Rachelle had won, and so had everyone who'd bet on her.* Quite the dutiful nephew. *Volunteering, on some false sense of potential grandeur. The boy had much to learn, had many lengths to fall yet.* I liked him. He will do well with us. *She took the final sip of her beer and noted curiously* Don't believe I've seen her, unless you're referring to the blonde.

 **Hans:** I shudder to think. *That was light too, though there was a hint of something dark in his eyes for a moment, as he considers. Healthy rivalry among his underlings could be good (and he had made privately ten galleons off the last fight, pulling for Rachelle)--it was what established a pack order, and the rule of authority. Only that emanated from him, and if he ever did have to step in...it wasn't for his own sake that he'd shudder to think of the consequences. With a light smile-and-sip, he continues to nod,* He will do well. *He agrees easily.* Poor pup doesn't have any idea his gift yet...he sees only the curse. *The headshake of empathy is genuine. There were some --many-- who would say Hans was unfeeling. It was an insult that always amused him as it meant they feared and loathed him. He prioritized his affections as anyone did, but if there was something he still felt viscerally? It was for the trials a new wolf.* He's strong, though...and clever, very clever. *He says aloud, nursing the drink and a sudden small smile.* Eliza? You -have- been naughty, *he chuckles absolutely delighted,* spying even on me? *As if his nose hadn't told him she was there.* No, no...it's an older girl, Hols. Senior Gryffindor. Coincidentally I believe her sister Nadia is missing at the moment...small world, isn't it? *Irony always did put him in such a good mood.* The blonde is Eliza Simmons. *Something passes through his gaze over a thinner jaw, words crisp,* I'd be curious to know what you thought. 

 **Rachelle:** *She nodded though she couldn't say she understood. To her, the bite had never been a curse. It had always been a gift, a blessing, an escape from the torture she had suffered in those dungeons. A power and a strength, especially after being able to control it.* So would I assume. You said it yourself, you only seek the best. *Her smile turned sly as he teased her.* You say spy, I say secret wingman. *When Hans took an interest in seemingly ordinary humans, so did she. Then again, she had a inkling why that was. She chuckled.* Tiny, actually. *She raised her gaze to the barman again as he came to take away her empty beer bottle. Her mouth curled into a barely there pout and a calculated lick of her lips would ensure she get another drink free of charge soon enough. Poor man, she thought, so many years of seeing the same faces and serving to schoolchildren would of course make her seem as decadent as the moon goddess herself. Truthfully, she was pretty close.* Of the conversation? Quite entertaining and satisfying. I must admit, it was so refreshing to see your charm shut down. *She smirked and then turned to the bartender as he brought another beer for her. She feigned surprise for his sake, refused him at first, she couldn't keep taking business away from him, but in the end he insisted and she accepted and her drink was once again free of charge. Rachelle thanked him with her best French before turning to Hans again. She took a sip of her beer quite pleased with herself and winked at her brother before grinning.* I admire her, coming by herself to confront you, a strange man she was so suspicious of, by herself for her friend's sake. So easy to see why you enjoy her.

 **Hans:** Shut down? *Tapping his fingers against the glass, he considered it, chuckling. Eliza had a less steady heart rate than he thought she'd admit that night. True, she was genuinely irritated, but she'd sought him out. Irritation meant he was under her skin already. He wiggles both eyebrows, rubbing the corner of his lips.* One conversation is hardly the end of the match. The game's only just begun. *Watching with delight and amusement as Rachelle teases her way into another free beverage, his voice lilts when she returns, speaking under his breath.* I would say I do love it when you're cruel with kindness but alas. *He swirls the drink with the stirrer, and cocks his hand back.* I think our friend's wife won't know what hit her tonight when he gets home. Nice of you to spice up an old marriage bed. *His mind's eye is still thinking of Eliza...and a decidedly less-old bed. He grins slowly as his sister continues, and inclines his head.* You say that like I'm dangerous. 

 **Rachelle:** But that's my point. *She wiggled her perfectly  pencilled eyebrows before admitting with no small amusement.* She won't play games. And if she does, she'll play hers, not yours dear brother. *For a while, but the girl was only 15 or 16 after all, with a lot of growing up to do and Hans, well. She chuckled and then smirked.* Oh they will...how do the English say it? Shag? *How cute. She grinned* Like newlyweds thanks to me. If dear Tim doesn't make a mess of it. *She was helping them, really. Putting passion back in their marriage. Hopefully, not enough to cause a heart attack.* And you say that as if you don't know it's true. *She teases after another sip.* One of my favorite things about you.

 **Hans** : Oh, she's too smart to fall immediately, I agree. Thank heavens. *That was a curious thought.* What game are you referring to? *What game would Eliza have she would play on him? If they both had the same end result--ah, which Rachelle had just given the word for--than was it not the same game? And if that wasn't her goal...how intriguing; one without an agenda. Or rather, with her agenda plainly stated (without one would be without passion)--to look out for her friend. Curious, he tilts his head at her only to laugh.* Indeed, they will; such a delightfully crass word too. Dear sister, *He echoes, playful,* you're so generous. You could run a charity service. *His finger points to the sky, teasing as if it just occurred to him.* Ah wait. Apologies, I think there's another name for that service. *He grins to show her he's teasing. It was amusing, this duality of roles; if anyone else had insinuated such about Rachelle, he'd have ripped their throat out. Literally. Dangerous indeed. He smirks.*

 **Rachelle:** But not smart enough to not fall eventually? *She laughed after shaking her head. Actually, she didn't think intelligence of any kind had anything to do with it. It was entirely natural, hormonal, primal...animalistic. The only time a normal human could feel as free as they did when they roamed the night. She scoffed at his tease, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder.* As if I could be so baseborn. *That made her giggle, knowing her last name and the person she used to be before now. The prim and proper princess-type, back when she was still referred to as Jacqueline De Lamarliere, would have never even set foot in this place. Even still...she tired of it.* Tell me again how much longer we must remain in this dull town, mon chéri. Everything is just too...quaint.

 **Hans:** Well, you know me honey. I can be very...*Both eyebrows pop and drop at once as he licks his bottom lip.* Persuasive. *Running his finger around the rim of the glass, he thinks for a moment how true it is. He'd persuaded her and dozens more, it was not mere vanity that led to his certainty Alcott would seek him out soon. (Whatever a bored kept genius had insinuated - he needed to get out more. ...Oh, right). A new pup for their family...a bonus, to the other recruits that Gustav sought with this favor to his nephew. That was all he cared about, really. His chuckle is sudden, hand dropping to pat her arm comfortingly,* Patience, darling --it's only a few weeks. And then we'll have a new brother...*His lips quirked up,* and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. 

 **Rachelle:** That you are. *She smirked before she chuckled and took another sip. Oh, poor girl really, she won't know what would hit her. But at least Rachelle knew she wouldn't regret, not many did. Hans could offer so much more than mere teenage boys could, more than anyone could. He'd free her, and she would always owe him her allegiance.* Anywhere I want? *She smirked* Such dangerous choice of words. You know how extravagant my desires can be. I will think this through. *She assured him with a grin.* In the mean time, do think of more errands for me to run, lest I get it in my head to challenge Ansel for his position as second.

 **Hans:** Try to keep it in the present universe, though -*He flicks the stirrer away from him,* do you know, there are rumors of a person out of time by more than a century. *He tilts his head back at her, grinning wide and tucking his feet beneath the chair to lift her hand now and bow over it, eyes locked on hers,* What do you think, fancy a trip to the Renaissance, Miss De Lamarliere? *He pauses, ear swiveling, and then smirks. 'Too familiar with his sister,' one poor patron was muttering to his friend. Tilting his head as he lilts again, knowing she'd heard it too even with them at the other end of the bar,* Mmm, Ansel could use a challenge....but further errands can wait til the morning darling; appears we have an audience. *He looks over to them, unblinking, that dangerous glint of scarlet flashing over lips poised to threaten a smile.* Shall we satisfy their curiosity? 

 **Rachelle:** There are also rumors of a three headed hydra monster terrorizing Transylvania. *Though admittedly a time traveler was a much more plausible. Smirking as he takes her hand, she laughed and then declared.* Brother, I would follow you anywhere. *Oh, well now that had the potential to be scandalous. Small towns always resorted to the same piece of gossip to liven up the atmosphere. Incest! How dreaded. She almost laughed again. Rachelle turned her head as well, passing her tongue under her top teeth, canines enlarging beyond normal for just a split second; by the time she was grinning again it was back to normal. She did enjoy that trick.* Oh, you read my mind. *A flash of gold in her eyes accompanied her smirk*

 **Hans:** I have a knack. *Coy and sarcastic, though truthfully that branch of magic had always fascinated him. Still,* It's instinct, luv. *He winks, eyes trailing over her pronounced canines--oh, good girl, she'd been practicing--as he takes her hand. In an instant it seemed, they both had moved clean across the room and were behind the gossipy judgy small-town couple. 

Mm. Judging by the scent of the girl's perfume he'd wager twenty-one at most, not yet able to tell it was dreadfully overdone and tasteless. Her red top on the other hand, much more enjoyable, and the creamy skin it didn't hide was so pale he thought it might just be dying to blush. Splendid that he was here then, wasn't it? 

He didn't pay nearly as much attention to the boy, he was of an age for Rachelle to check out herself-- besides using those same instincts to determine for all their mutters, they were jealous (as most small-town judgy were) of the air they portrayed. Hans didn't blame them. Pheremones aside, he and his sister were...spectacular.*

Excuse me. *He taps the girl's shoulder, a light smirk playing on the corners of his mouth that failed to meet his eyes. The girl startles, looking back first to where Rachelle and he had just been standing across the room, and then looks back, fluttery. He didn't move, used to it, enjoying it.* I'm Hans. 

 **Kylee** : I-er--yes, hi. *Attempting to recover herself quickly, she pats down brunette curls and covers her hand in the glitter spray she wore. Questions of how they had moved so fast died as she looks at his eyes; amazed they were still on her own. She couldn't say that of her date.* Kylee.

Hans: Kylee. Wonderful to meet you. *Clasping his hands behind his back and putting on his most gentlemenly voice, * My sister and I were just saying, this place is rather...tired. *He casts a hand out, not breaking eye contact with her.* We were wondering if you would be interested in accompanying us somewhere a bit more...exotic. *His eyes glint, but Kylee only looks at her glass, thinking it's a reflection.* 

You see...you two seem the type to crave more from Saturday night entertainment than... *He looks sideways to the albeit busy bar, of nonetheless mostly older men calling out plays off the television. He takes care to look at the oldest, and then his gaze flicks back to Kylee, all smiles.* 

Well. Terribly sorry to intrude if we're wrong however...the place we're thinking is rather...premier clientele only. *He knew they were wary, could hear their rapid breaths and rabbity heartbeats but--they'd agree all the same. Everyone wanted to feel special.* 

 **Rachelle:** *She allowed Hans his tease and then smirk still in place they were right next to the couple and far away from dear Tim, who would be so disappointed. Oh they were just as quaint as the town they resided in. A young couple, who would be much better off in a city than this dull and boring town. Pari, she would have recommended. There's nowhere like her previous home.* Rachelle, *she offered the couple as well, nodding at Kylee but paying a lot more attention to the man on her arm. Not bad, a bit unkempt but certainly pleasant to look at. He had such green eyes, she didn't know whether to be entranced or jealous. Rachelle knew what this would read like in a fairytale. My, what large claws you have. The better to claw your eyes out, chéri. Her grin was genuine but not for the reason the man believed. She held out her hand.* Enchante.

 **Sebastian:** *Shaking his head, he tried to clear his throat, torn between glaring at the man who was obviously ogling Kylee, and staring at the attractive woman on his side. He was robbed of choice when the woman introduced herself. He took her hand gingerly.* I'm Sebastian. How do you do?

 **Rachelle:** Oh, much better now...*She smiled slowly and then chuckled as Hans explained, and she could play the little sister role so well. She leaned on his shoulder for a moment to speak to Kylee.* My brother's so polite. My exact words were "a pathetic way to spend a Saturday night." *She grinned at Hans and then leaned away from him to pay closer attention to Sebastian, whose fear just radiated in waves. The golden spark in her eyes was the wolf appreciating the scent, hungering for it.*

 **Sebastian:** *He cleared his throat again, seeming a bit put off and then looked towards Kylee. She seemed more inclined to go than himself but he couldn't admit a curiosity.* I'm not entirely sure...

 **Rachelle:** I can promise you both *she said both but she was looking directly at Sebastian* it'll be the most exciting night of your lives. You have plenty of time to get old. *She licked her lips.* Live a little. *Ha, she amused herself greatly sometimes. A full pout made her scarlet lips even more prominent as Hans began the retraction of the offer.* And I don't really fancy going to a place like that with just my older brother. *She smiled.* Oh, do come. *This was always their way. Hans was the less imposing one, ha, because women were naturally wary of a strange man offering them adventure, the same way they were drawn. Rachelle, however, was the pushy, more eager younger sister. Men craved impulsive girls, and had no fear of females overpowering them. They wanted someone wild and free with no inhibitions. Oh, men, so much easier to convince.*

Sebastian: Well. *he looked from Rachelle to Kylee and back* We were just talking about doing something different.

 **Rachelle:** *No, you were insinuating Hans and I have hot passionate and oh so sinful sex. She smirked before she beamed.* Perfect!

 **Hans:** Forgive me sister, for being a gentleman. *The words crisp through his smirk, he's genuinely delighted at how easily they do pick up on each other's rhythms. As his gaze flickered to Sebastian an instant, his brow arches as if to say 'sisters.' He stays quiet, listening to that lovely rapid heartbeat and Rachelle's pushing, subtle and pitch-perfect. As they reluctantly agree, his grin is genuine for a heartbeat still beneath dark eyes.* Splendid. Oh-- here, dear, *He leans to pluck Kylee's jacket off the seat, extending it in perfect mockery of a gentleman's butler.*

 **Kylee:** *There was something off putting in their looks and words...something strange, something addictive. After briefly glancing to Sebastian to indicate she was curious, she held his gaze a long few moments with a small smile. At least they'd get answer to their question, she seemed to say with her eyes. She startles again only to blush as she realizes Hans is holding her jacket up.* Oh thank you-*she chuckles abashed, an anxiousness in her gut,*-you didn't have to-

 **Hans:** Nonsense! *He winks at her, even as his voice gains the usual alpha-tone as he continues, simply,* Turn around luv, I wouldn't let a lady catch her death in this night frost. *Oh, how amusing was he. His pride had already spiked, hearing Rachelle quote him, and now as he was obeyed easily, he slide her arms in, fixing the collar to let his hands linger a second too long, lost in those beautiful brunette tresses against a soft neck. The spike in Sebastian's heart made him release her, and turn to smile straight at the man.* Thank you so much for indulging my sister. *He grins sideways, not taking his eyes from the protective male. He had to admit such men were some of his favorites to toy with -- the best part. Hand toying with his own collar, he continues easily,* When she gets an idea in her head, she can be quite ...passionately demanding. *The implied promise a tease to Rachelle as much as it was meant to bother and relieve the man, he offers his arm to Kylee saying only,* Shall we?

 **Kylee:** *A trickle of trepidation shot up her spine as his hands gently tuckedloose strands free, but when she turns and hears the fondness in his voice for his sister, she's suddenly beaming.* Thank you. *Even so, she had meant to take Sebastian's hand when Hans' arm appeared and she took it so as not to be rude.* We're always in for... living a little. *Her breath was uncommonly quick now as they exit out on to the street.*

&.

**Selene:** Hans Ricard? It's not ringing any--well, Ricard, that was an old English family that wasn't on board with the proclamation's decrees and moved to power in Eastern Europe in the post Grindelwald era. But that just seems to go with what you know--supremacist with a complex and ego." 

 **Alcott** : "Yeah...all right. You know his name might not be Hans-- he said to call him, that, his father's name was his? Lawrence?"

 **Selene:** "...Lawrence Ricard? *nose wrinkle*"

 **Alcott** : "...what is it?"

 **Selene:** "Alcott-I really-"

 **Alcott:** "Aunt Selene, he approached-me-."

 **Selene:** "Well. There was a Lawrence Ricard...*exhales, then recites route* 62 years, 187 lbs, Caucasian male, eastern european, clearly wealthy. He died from injuries and blood loss sustained...."

 **Alcott:** "...sustained?"

 **Selene:** "It...apparently he was a fan of the Old World. Tradition. And he was...bear baiting."

 **Alcott:** "Bear baiting."

 **Selene:** "*eye rolls* Look, muggle authorities had the case, it wouldn't have even been on my radar except-"

 **Alcott:** "Except?"

 **Selene:** "No. *struggles, then repeats* No, that I can't tell you. You know how this works, Alcott."

 **Alcott** : "*nose wrinkles* Can you at least tell me when and where?"

 **Selene:** \--silence--struggling-rocking--

 **Alcott:** *teasing* Por favor, Tia Sel. Para su sobrino favorito?

 **Selene:** "You're my only nephew. *pointed; amused with the outburst in Spanish, as he used to do that so both his aunts "were equal".*

 **Alcott:** Yeah, still your favorite though.

 **Selene:** *chuckle*

 **Alcott:** Look it-I don't think it was a bear. An animal attacked? 

 **Selene:** "-exhale-You don't even know they're related, Alcott - Lawrence isn't that uncommon--"

 **Alcott:** "Yeah, so pull the file, look if he had kids, look if the claw radius--you want to judge against my-own- claws if you don't have a sample?"

 **Selene:** "*finally exhales* 2019 Summer. In Budapest. *flatly* That's all I'm saying. 

 **Alcott** : *He pauses, for the place seemed...a bit heavily spoken. Exhaling, he starts to speak, but finds he can't think of any words to convince her...or even knows how to ask.*

 **Selene:** *Concern crosses her expression, and she finally says quietly,* Look. I do know someone who might be able to tell you more. 

&.

**Daniella:** Are you stalking me now? *Looking up from her journal to see D’Grey

leaning against the stall, she shakes her head and offers him a smirk.*

 **D’Grey** : *As his eyebrows curl together, he cocks his head and remarks offhand,* You called me.

 **Daniella:** Oh, *with dawning comprehension and a small smile,* I did, didn’t I? 

 **D’Grey:** *Sliding into the booth in front of her, his gaze darts to the book she was writing in so feverishly when he entered. She promptly shuts it, sticking her finger between the pages, and he laughs once under his breath.* I was a bit surprised, have to admit. 

 **Daniella** : I’m surprised you’ve shown, so we’re even. 

 **D’Grey** : *He smiles a bit* Problem being in my debt?

 **Daniella:** *Snorting, she reaches for her coffee and takes a sip, words sweet,* You have to admit, it isn’t your strength to be in one’s debt either. 

 **D’Grey:** Well, all your uh — polite, comments on the message aside —

 **Daniella:** French, dah-ling. *She winks at him.*

 **D’Grey:** —*cutting himself off mid-word with another swallowed chuckle, smirking, * I’m uh, Italian, actually —

 **Daniella** : You’re right…you’re not as well known for your insults. 

 **D’Grey:** Not as well-known, no.

 **Daniella:** Good food though. *False brightly, tickling her ear with her quill.*

 **D’Grey:**  *Lightly, just as off-hand as hers, * You should try my sauce. 

 **Daniella:** I think I’ll refrain. *Laying the quill down atop her book, her light demeanor falling away as she looks back at him, with a heavier breath.* Prefer not be poisoned, see.

 **D’Grey:** Ah, clever. *Despite detecting something in her gaze, he chuckles as if what she’d said was hilarious, not insulting.* Though I wouldn’t poison you, Ms. Faye —

 **Daniella:** Call me Daniella. *Twisting her fingers together and squeezing palms that were sweating together, she leans forward.* If you’re going to be answering insulting questions, you might as well get to call me Daniella. 

 **D’Grey:** Insulting questions, Daniella? *He waves a hand of obliging her, and she swallows back something sticking in her throat with his tiny smirk.* 

 **Daniella:** I didn’t call to discuss pleasantries.

 **D’Grey** : Mm, *with apparent confusion,* do you usually consider being poisoned a pleasantry?

 **Daniella** : Mm, cute! *Her close-mouthed chuckle rings insincere.* I called because I want to know what you know about Nadia Tudor. 

 **D’Grey:** *Blinking, his face contorts with honest confusion and his head jerks up. He’s honestly taken aback, and he folds his arms on the table.* Nadia Tudor? 

 **Daniella:** *Leaning forward with him to try and search his gaze, she keeps her tone even.* Yes. Nadia Tudor. See, a good friend of mine happens to be her sister, and she gave me a call. Asked me if I knew any slime-balls with a penchant for kidnapping little girls. And I had said no but see, then I remembered — *she gestures him with a wide, sly smirk.*

 **D’Grey:** Slime-ball. *brows furrowing as he tries to clear through what it was she’d said, his jawline thinning as he realizes what had put the unpleasant twist in his gut. Kidnapping little girls...Daniella meant herself. But that hadn’t been him, he might have said, could have said. It was his father.* I have to admit, I’ve never heard that one before.

 **Daniella:** Mm, I spent too much time in the States this summer. *She hasn’t blinked; searching his gaze.* 

 **D’Grey** : Ah, and yet you credit your insults to your French heritage?

 **Daniella** : *Laughs, and then looks surprised at herself, and she clears her throat.* D’Grey. Nadia Tudor. Where is she?

 **D’Grey** : *Honestly,* I don’t know anyone by that name. But if you’re going to accuse me of being a kidnapping slime-ball… you should call me Olivier. 

 **Daniella:** Olivier? *Startled, and her gaze darts down as she sees his hand lifting.*

 **D’Grey:** Well, that’s my name. *Holding out his hand to her, a smaller smile in place when she takes it and shakes hard,* Enchanté, Daniella.

&.

 **Hans:** Oh excuse me. So sorry, darling. 

 **Kylee:** *Holy hell. Breath catching in her throat, she halts and roots to the spot, stammering out an apology that fell into dead air. He appeared not to notice or care. Hand going up, he waved her off as she attempted to nod abruptly, and kept walking. Yet where he said ‘so sorry, darling,’ for a moment all she could seem to hear was a drawling ‘Confession...you see, we overheard your curiosity...so we thought, the polite thing to do, doll...was satisfy it--’ 

A shriek and whimper tangle in her throat with the flashes of nightmare; a dark sky empty of celestial bodies clouded with a hefty coat of black, interrupted by ripping branches, eyes blood-red and dripping, a mad pursuit, her heart pounding so hard fit to burst--there was a hand.* Get away! *Snapping, slapping, pushing--Kylee steps back, breathing hard.

 **Eliza:** Oh! I’m so sorry, I -- I was just going to ask if you’re....if you’re okay...*Her heart had gone out to her in the same instant the woman hit her. The girl was not that much older than her, she thought, perhaps three or four years. And plainly terrified. Raising both hands to show that she meant no harm, she didn’t blink. It was supposed to be reassuring. Or well. It worked with Alcott. Maybe that was just because he bloody never backed down from a staring contest.* 

 **Kylee:** *Frenzy-eyed, she looks right, left, and then nods suddenly. Sheepish, blood-red cheeks appear and she rubs at her eyes.* I’m sorry...you must think I’m a nut. *The girl was younger than her too, she thought miserably. What was wrong with her?* I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.

 **Eliza:** No, it’s fine... *Eyes locking suddenly on a scrape on the girl’s forearm, angry and dirty brown, Eliza hisses.    The woman responds by instantly pulling her sleeve down. Eliza looks back up and shakes her head, smiling abruptly under sad eyes.* I swear, I don’t.

 **Kylee:** Truly...truly nothing. *Insistent, embarrassed and shoving snow off her jacket, she thinks briefly all she had meant to do was get cocoa to share with Sebastian. Apparently, she ought to have listened when he said not to leave their little flat. Her breath cuts out at the thought, and she finds herself talking again, searching the road for the man’s back. A distance and terror appears in her eyes,* I just thought I...I had a...well a, nightmare. That I was...attacked; well, my boyfriend and I...we were attacked by some...beast. I thought I saw someone who...it doesn’t matter. It’s silly.

Eliza:  It’s not silly. *A nightmare? Relieved as she was it was something banal (she wasn’t sure how many more tragedies she could carry on her heavy, burdened heart), Eliza just shakes her head. Smiling encouragingly still,* You should have seen me when I dreamed I failed everything. It took ages for my friend to convince me I wasn’t expelled. I -- oh I, was so utterly convinced; I was halfway through a box of tissues, my suit case out and I was basically knee-deep in ice cream.

 **Kylee:** *Her heart was still pounding, blood pouring hot to try and warm the chilled veins-- but at the girl’s remark she offers a sudden, weak chuckle. Why this person would choose to stop, try and help her was beyond her..but God, did she appreciate it.*

 **Eliza:** *Continuing without missing a beat, she was encouraged by little chuckle.* I’m Eliza.

 **Kylee:** Kylee.*Sebastian usually teased her she had too much faith in people, in the human race in general. That goddamn nightmare had proved his point, but she thought meeting this girl might have restored her faith in humanity a little bit. Rubbing her throat and trying to smile, she adds,* Thanks. I do feel a little better now. 

 **Eliza:** Want me to get you ice cream?

 **Kylee:** *She chuckles, and shakes her head, looking down at the bag she still held.* I have cocoa actually. *And...a few other necessities that probably explained why they were so freaked out.* 

 **Eliza:** *Kylee was still freaked. Off-put and trying to think what might have frightened her so much, she looks around. A hard edge to her jaw suddenly appearing, she rubs her tongue below her teeth and narrows her eyes.  Oh. She had an inkling.* This beast. Red eyes?

 **Kylee:** *Startles again, she drops the bag. A box of powdered cocoa and two new mugs spills onto the snow, alongside a mile of bandages. Her mouth opens, eyes wide in shock and breath shallow.* How did you... *Going pale, she bends to pick them up hurriedly, shaking her head.*

 **Eliza:** *Antiseptic, first-aid, gauze and bandages tore her gaze away from the man relaxing on a park bench with what appeared to be a novel...that was at least triple the size of his apparent morality and compassion. Heart pounding, she shakes her head too, bending to help Kylee pick them up.* Nothing, I just...I have a friend who was dreaming about a red-eyed beast too. *Her jaw suddenly sticks together, water appearing in her eyes as she thinks of Nadia. It had been twelve days. Sick at heart, she was almost relieved Devin hadn’t woken up yet...it was almost kinder, to not leave him in this interminable purgatory awaiting news. 

Or maybe that was why. Maybe he’d shut down because he knew and his brain literally couldn’t function in a world where Nadia wasn’t. Wasn’t that how they were like? Rory had said he’d stay comatose if anything happened to her when she’d been rambling in tears, reassuring her it wasn’t a ridiculous theory. Her heart warmed with the memory of her own boyfriend. So,it was find.  Maybe her imagination was getting the better of her, but she liked that explanation as much as any. It meant he’d wake up the moment they found Nadia. Which...which goddammit had to be soon.  Rubbing under her eyes as anger floods her veins, she smiles anyway. Positivity was necessary.* Coincidence, huh? Hey...uh, was it...a full moon?

 **Kylee:** Breathless, as Eliza helps her pick them up (reinforcing the belief Kylee had that she was utterly an angel),* Thanks, really... *Her eyes narrow at the question in confusion.* ...No, crescent. Almost no moon really, it was just...black. 

 **Eliza** : Right, of course. *Forcing another smile and chuckle, she waves it off and buries her hand deeper in her pocket. Odd. Maybe she was wrong then, maybe it was just a nightmare. But why stand there asking if she was right or wrong, when she could just goddamn ask him?*

 **Kylee:** *The bandages were for the mysterious scratches, the bruises up her thighs. Sebastian had cuts too, one on his cheek still bleeding when they woke that morning. That was probably the real reason she was so on edge. They’d rougher sex than usual, been drunk and her unconscious made up some nightmare about a beast. Admitting as much to an underage girl was clearly not appropriate though, so she just smiles.* Anyway. Thank you, Eliza. 

 **Eliza** : *Nodding, eyes still fixed over her shoulder, she looks back and adds a smile to her expression as an after thought.* Nice to meet you, Kylee. Enjoy your cocoa.

 **Kylee:** And enjoy your ice cream. *Her smile was as much an afterthought as Eliza’s, but she was comforted to see anger in her expression. Comforted, and newly terrified. Deciding not to look back at what Eliza was looking at, she hurries back on the path, thinking maybe she would tell Sebastian about the dream after all. She must have just seen that man on the street before, and he’d played the part of villain in a drunken nightmare. Let him tell her she was being ridiculous, pull her into his arms and she’d still insist on a feel-good holiday movie. No more of his cheap horrors.*

 **Eliza:** *Her tongue is running back and forth beneath her teeth, heart aflutter as she watches Kylee retreat. The appearance of so many bandages, the scrape that looked likely to still bleed, scarlet eyes...it was too much a coincidence, even if it hadn’t been full moon last night. In fact it was a full moon twelve nights ago. Perhaps she was still experiencing traumatic memory loss of some kind and remembering it as a dream or...or...oh she was just going over.* 

 **Hans:** *A light smirk was still resting on his lips as he heard Eliza approach. Not looking up from his sketching, his pencil continues to move even as he cuts off her immediate remark. My, was her heart going fast.* You’re quite the angel, aren’t you darling?

 **Eliza** : *Her question was cut off naturally. She wondered what had given her approach away more; the clacking heels on cobblestones leaving footprints in snow that nearly sunk her, the wind making a mess of her blonde curls, or her thudding heart. She didn’t have to wonder long. Incredulous, she leans forward as her palm cuts the thick air,* You heard that entire conversation?!

 **Hans** : Of course I did.  *The off-hand chuckle under his breath only raised her heart rate. That had to affect her temperature. The thought made him look up, and he was rewarded with brilliantly scarlet cheeks.* Oh, Eliza darling, you knew I was listening.

 **Eliza** : I--! *Okay, if she’d thought about it, yes, she knew. Her eyes narrow as his blue eyes suddenly leap to hers, the pencil finally stilling. Cutting herself off, she snaps instead,* Fine, yes, yes I knew you were listening. Admiring your handiwork, were you?

 **Hans:** My handiwork?

 **Eliza:** *Hissing in an angry whisper, even as she darts her gaze around,* Oh come on-- Hans, you attacked her, and...and then you made it look like some nightmare.

 **Hans:** *His lip curls, even as he lifts his chin to her.* Why are you whispering?

 **Eliza:** *Her arms fold over her chest.* Because -- *She suddenly realizes she doesn’t really know, hurriedly jerking her gaze back to his.*

 **Hans:** *Sitting comfortably, his slow curling lip only lilts as she falls silent. The silence stretches. He waits. If there was one trait Hans knew, it was patience when called for. Clever girl, wasn’t she? Intelligence was a trait he always admired, especially when it appeared to be coupled with instinctively knowing him. Though...truthfully he didn’t know how to feel about that. Understanding him was a step towards...oh, insanity, horribly depressing nightmares, alcohol, institutionalization, the works he imagined. Perhaps one would even be knee-deep in ice cream. It wasn’t a question that troubled him too deeply...and the last thought made him smile. Finally feigning an epiphany, he lays a hand on his heart,* Oh, sweet of you to worry about me. 

 **Eliza:** I’m not worrying about you. *Lord, was her voice suddenly shrill? And it was still in a whisper. Fine, maybe she didn’t want to be overheard without proof and give him a reason to attack her instead of that poor innocent woman, but that didn’t mean she was worried about him. Arrogant little bastard. Heart skipping a beat, she snaps,* So you deny it?

 **Hans** : Deny...

 **Eliza** : Attacking her, for no reason!

 **Hans:** I certainly deny that. *The latter was what made his statement truthful. Oh, he’d had a reason. As much as he and Rachelle had been looking to blow off steam; the couple had been insulting them. If he had been feeling less generous against the slight, he’d have done more than show them what the truth was. Easily tilting his head, his piercing blue eyes cut into Eliza.* Though I won’t deny, a glimpse of your angelic anger would have been reason enough.

 **Eliza** : Are you--would you stop that? *Insistent, tension mounting in a choked throat.* 

 **Hans:** Stop what?  *Genuinely curious, he furls his fist beneath his chin, crossing his knees and bouncing his foot. * Complimenting you? I apologize if I’ve offended you darling. Shall I put it another way? Your eyes right now -- all chipped ice and inferno, are truly captivating. A man could lose his soul from that stare, and I wager many have. 

 **Eliza:** *Her cheeks flushing, she has no trouble remembering her point. Just trouble finding her voice. It was the cold. And okay, his own piercing bloody stare.*

 **Hans:** And it might be this light snow putting the delightful pink in your porcelain cheeks, I wouldn’t be so arrogant to assume credit for that but, *He cocks his head, grin flicking,* Couple that with your gorgeous eyes and the righteous indignation on behalf of a woman you’ve never met but I imagine, deem innocent, and, well. Eliza, you’re entrancing. 

 **Eliza:** Is this how it works for you? *Finally finding her voice after a few moments gaping at him, hating to realize she was flattered, it only seems to add to her anger.* You act like some alpha-male -- 

 **Hans:** *He chuckles, albeit taken back by her continuing anger.* I don’t have to act luv, I am the alpha-male.

 **Eliza:** And then what? You throw a girl a few poetic lines and batter those eyes, and expect she’ll forget all common sense?

 **Hans** : *He nearly pointed out that she’d admitted her own enjoyment, but his jawline is stiffening. Abruptly standing, he meets her eye to eye now, voice hardening with the truth of his words.* I don’t expect a thing from you, Eliza. 

 **Eliza:** Oh no? *Incredulous, her voice sky-rockets with her eyebrows disappearing into flyaway blonde hair. Breathless as he’s in front of her, she just keeps snapping, flustered,* You don’t expect that I’ll forget that you just attacked an innocent woman, think you have some line forgive you and swoon and fawn? And don’t you expect that I somehow will still believe you’re here to help Alcott? 

 **Hans** : I am, here to help Alcott -- *He cuts into the speech. Why did she care? Wasn’t there enough in her life she was concerned with? It confused him. To think she would be so concerned over a woman she’d never met who was perfectly fine...it stole his breath a moment. Blue eyes blazing, his jawline softens as he shakes his head slowly,* But no, I have no expectations of you. What should I expect of you? 

 **Eliza:** *Still high-pitched, her eyes widening,* I don’t know! That...I’m...the best friend, the Slytherin half blood, the mark for you...a, a challenge. A game. 

 **Hans:** Is that what you think? *Genuine surprise and sympathy crosses his softening expression, and he shakes his head.*  I’m not reciting lines from a script Eliza, waiting for you to parrot tired scripture back at me. You’re ingenious. You’re spirited. You’re free to be what you want to be. *Honestly, his chin comes up and a small smile flutters across his lips.* That’s what I like about you. 

 **Eliza** : *Breath stolen, her eyes search his as if searching for the trick. It appeared there was none. She drops her gaze to the ground and frantically runs a hand back through her hair. Trying to remind herself of her anger is apparently impossible. Warmed by the words, she’s horrified by her own confusion. It was nice to hear, dammit. But from this man...? He had to be kidding her, had to be. Why was there nothing that said that in his gaze? Her heart was racing, her mind was spinning; biting her lip, wrong-footed and feeling vulnerable, she finally snaps out,* Well, then right now I’m the person who is going to tell you attacking whomever you feel like, for whatever bloody imagined reason? That isn’t the act of a pack leader, and it isn’t someone worth trusting or respecting. *Her eyes narrow, flashing with anger.* It’s the act of a coward. 

 **Hans:** *His jaw clicks. Astonished and taken aback by the words, he clenches his teeth and refuses to look away. She had been flustered by his confession, he had abundant sensory evidence. Considering using Legilimency to try and bloody figure this one out, he balks at it: using that particular skill would be an invasion of her privacy akin to invasion. He would not make Eliza fall prey to it. Instead he narrows his eyes further and says in a low voice,* Right, well, thank you for the psych lesson--

 **Eliza:** You know who taught me to do that? *She tenses, her voice reaching high.* Who taught me to bloody psychoanalyze every person’s actions for the underlying motive? 

 **Hans:** *As her voice reaches higher, his goes lower, his own heart kickstarting with fury. Shaking his head only once but refusing to drop from those glorious eyes, he interrupts,* I couldn’t fathom --

Eliza: Devin. Devin Stuart. *She bites it out, willing herself not to cry.* You know, the Minister’s son? One of my best friends, the one that’s lying in a hospital bed right now, ravaged by you or one of your pack and you have the bloody gall to try and post that crime on Alcott? And then say you’re here to help him?! When you know, you aren’t attacking innocent women...and I haven’t even known Dev that long either. You know what that is? 

 **Hans:** Eliza -- 

 **Eliza:** It’s because people his whole life and my whole life have just looked at us the one way, for our mixed parentage. It’s because kids are cruel and life is hard, it’s because prejudice is institutionalized in every inch of this country. I’m saying this because you probably know something about that, being what you are -- 

 **Hans** : *Scarlet flashing through his eyes over a firm jawline, he drops her gaze instantly,* I think you should leave now, Eliza -- 

 **Eliza:** Your eyes are red. *Stiffening, as she realizes the salt she’s pouring in an open wound. Heart stopping as a hand flies to cover her lips, she’s vindicated and sickened at once. All the words seem to fly away from her as fast as they had come.*

 **Hans:** *The moment she speaks his eyes shut, losing himself to a world of dark swirls and sticky lashes pricked by snow, the slow heartbeat from her, the conversation across the street, that lingering mixed scent of her no. 22 perfume and a dying flower bed, wilting under the snow.  But only for a moment. Then he looks, and matches her gaze, blue eyes locked on blue eyes.* Carmine, actually. It’s a deeper red, with hints of purple, like specks scattered through a cut ruby. *His breath is steady.* There are a hundred different shades of red, a hundred different shades in even that coat you’re wearing right now. Alcott could detect them, just as he’s struggling to detect now what part of him is a monster, what part still human -- and until he accepts that he is both, he won’t have peace. These little details, thin lines and shades -- the finer things...they’re what make all this worth it, Eliza. This life. I encourage you to see past the stark to the thousand more beautiful subtleties beneath.

 **Eliza:** *Breathing very hard, her mouth gapes again. He had to stop doing that. Her heart aching with the weight of worry for Alcott’s plight, she thinks of her guilt. That hardens her jaw, even as she knows he got to her.* You know what would help Alcott? If you tell him it wasn’t him that hurt Devin. 

 **Hans:** *He laughs.*

 **Eliza:** *The sudden, light sound in a hot cinnamon breath that strikes her face infuriates her. Huffing, she half gets out,* It isn’t a jo--

Hans: No, it’s not. *He shakes his head, eyes still locking with hers, voice heavy despite the light smirk.* You don’t understand, for all your textbook psychology, Eliza. It doesn’t matter, if he did or didn’t. He might have. That’s the thought that kills you. You could have done it; you could have hurt your best friend, could have blacked out and have no memory...but one thing is certain. 

 **Eliza:** *Terrified and teary-eyed, she hardly realizes she whispers, ‘what?’ even though it wasn’t a question.*

 **Hans:** There’s a killer inside you. That it’s a part of you, and always will be. That’s the worst. Forget the--the constant fever, the unimaginable pain, the mind-numbing process of breaking every bone in your body to transform...they’re meaningless in the end to that one fact. You’ll kill eventually, and you’ll kill again. You can try and lock yourself up, deny yourself... or you can embrace it. Only then can you learn to control it. *A tiny smile comes across his lips, adding honestly,* Then you’re free.

 **Eliza:** *Breath heavy and cheeks pink, she’s struck with sympathy and horror at once.* ...I’m sorry. That’s horrible. 

 **Hans:** *He chuckles again, astonished at the sympathy even as he realizes he was thankful for it. So he just laughs. He doesn’t know what else to do with it.*

 **Eliza:** *Her heart was pounding as she considered the truth of his words. He was flatly admitting he’d killed...at least Kylee had been okay, she thought while her eyes shut. She wanted to snap again, wanted to reject it all but she can’t get past one simple fact: Alcott had said nearly the same thing to her, multiple times. Very quietly, she flutters her eyes back open and says fervently,* Alcott isn’t a killer. 

 **Hans:** He’s a werewolf, luv. *His smirk widens, but his eyes darken with sudden sadness.* 

 **Eliza:** *She take a heavy breath and shakes her head again, more certain.* But he hasn’t killed. Yes, he has...what, a killer instinct, a hell of a nose now -- but don’t you dare go tell him a monster--

 **Hans:** *Arching an eyebrow,* I didn’t say he was. *He hated that word. Calm and incredulous,* Monster is just one of the many insulting statements of the ignorant.

 **Eliza:** *She nods, pressing her lips together firmly.* Thank you. But you know what else it is? It’s also the word for when someone justifies attacking the innocent for sport. Being a werewolf doesn’t mean being a killer and monster. No, you do that to yourself. *She moves past him, heels clicking on the cobblestones again, rubbing under her eyes at cheeks one of those delightful shades of red. She wondered the name of it. When she was a few feet away she pauses, and turns back, throwing her hand up.* And by the way? I’m taken. So stop flirting? It’s pathetic.

 **Hans:** *Heart pounding and face hard with wandering eyes as he tries to push off her statement, he turns as she does. Cocking an eyebrow at her with a sudden softness and chuckle, he shrugs a shoulder at her. Pathetic? Unlike the former label, unlike being called ‘monster’, he knew flatly he wasn’t pathetic. And if she was saying that...if she felt the need to be defensive, then “taken” wasn’t a label to use either. Then again. She meets his eyes again, snorts at his refusal and turns to stalk away. As he watches, he thinks: he had been honest. He had no desire to label Eliza. She was herself...and Lord, what a self it apparently was.* 

&.

**Rachelle:** Miu Miu, fall collection. *Impressive, she thought, with an appreciative glance at her heels. Werewolf she might be, but she was and French women loved their fashion almost as much as they loved their lovemaking.* Je l'adore. *Oddly enough, it was the French in her she had trouble taming. It almost made her giggle, almost. Rachelle stood leaning outside of the bar, finishing off a cigarette; her most faithful of lovers. She just couldn't quit it, despite the burning smell her nostrils endured every time she lit one up. At the same time however, she felt the nicotine a lot more than a normal human would, which kept her coming back. The soft plum color of her lips outlined the stick of her cig as she took it between two fingers and blew the smoke forward, away from the girl. Rachelle was anything if not polite. She smiled before asking.* Am I right?

 **Lynn:** *One hand was curled around the hot coffee she just had paid for, grabbing en route to the hospital. Another held the butter croissant, and she was as well, as otherwise it just clashed. Like that man's socks and shoes, good Lord (Lynn had to keep a steady stream of thoughts or else she would think back to her brother). Pleased to hear the name of her heels aloud, as she looked around she thought, at least -someone- understands how to dress.* Good eye. *She stops walking (promptly stuffing the croissant aroung her cup and fetching her lollipop). Her eyes furrow; she was French, so it was unlikely she was a reporter...but. Lynn never was one for passive chances.* For the record, I have no comment. Though you should tell your editor she's wasting you on this, she clearly should send you to Milan. You've just missed the Fall week of course but surely there must be something on Via Monte Napoleone.

 **Rachelle:** *She chuckled, shrugging her shoulders and tilting her head at that. Rachelle's close observation of the girl had her notice that Lynn was prone to blunt behavior. Coupled with being so important and high ranking because of her father's position, she was also used to unwanted attention from the press and the paparazzi. As close to being a celebrity as one could get around these parts. Everything else was so frightfully dull.* I know. I was cross with my brother for making me miss it. But that was before he got me an original Givenchy dress, so I forgave him. *Which she would wear to the Gala, and show these English what fashion really was. Though Lynn was talented at that as well. Rachelle really did love her shoes.* I'm not a reporter. *She smiled in earnest after tapping the ashes off her cigarette.* Just a woman jealous of your shoes. *She chuckled again before she introduced herself.* Rachelle.

 **Lynn** : Oh. My mistake. *She kept her smile bright, unabashed, and did that kind of ',you can take this as an apology but I'm not really apologizing' dance her mother did so well. Eyes widening, she was genuinely impressed at that.* Lucky. My brother wouldn't know Givenchy from L Conrad. *Determined not to let her face fall as she mentioned Devin-so easily, so casually- she brightens as she realizes Rachelle didn't know her. She said her last name, to encourage disassociation from the 'reigning family in loss and turmoil' * Lynn Rivers. *Or she did, and was lying--Nick honey, I swear I'm not paranoid, she just doesn't seem surprised I thought she would be a reporter.* And I love your jacket. Margiela?

 **Rachelle:** Most brothers don't. *she laughed and nodded, thinking about how connected they were already. Saying something like "my brother attacked your brother, we're practically family now" was not the best course of action. It was amusing to think about it though. She was strayed from her thoughts as Ly nn continued to impress her though, a genuine beam lighted her face. She tapped her nose.* Yes, exactly that. I like you already Lynn. Finally, someone who understands. *She laughed. Rachelle really needed more female friends.* I'd invite you for more gushing over a cup of coffee but I see you already have your own. *Chocolate cherry by the smell of it.*

 **Lynn:** *Grinning, she chuckles.* I could say the same. *She could, but she didn't, because she was still suspicious of this French woman with shrewd eyes in the fabulous coat. Still, no need to invite dislike. Well, further. She looks over her shoulder briefly, narrowing eyes at the distant hospital and deciding that if there was something here to find, she owed it to Devin. And it was a hell of a lot better than sitting in that white room, hoping he wake.* Well. *She looks back, smile sheepish and wide.* Then I'll just have to invite you for one instead. Are you new to London? There's a little shop a block that way, the Thinking Cup, best kept secret west of the Thames. For Raspberry scones anyway.

 **Rachelle:** *The subtle and brief spike in the girl's heartbeat after the comment only attested to a double meaning, but even without her keen senses, she would have been able to pick that out. It was how girls communicated, after all. Saying one thing, meaning another. Nevertheless, she was as beamy as before. Playing the bored foreigner card wasn't new to her.* First time visiting. *She nodded, pleased Lynn didn't choose to continue on to the hospital like she had been every other day, even if there was suspicion in her eyes. It was a sign of good instincts.* Sounds delightful. *She dropped the cigarette in the snow and squished it out. Normally she would put it out in her hand, the burn stinging so delightfully as she watched her hand repair itself in awe that never faded, but for obvious reasons she didn't.* I've been stuck in bars and the hotel while my brother conducts business. *That was half true at least.*

 **Lynn:** Brother-s-, *She stressed the plural in amused sympathy, eyes flicking to follow the ashes floating away from them both. Still speaking while turning on her heel,* I'm -so- sorry. *It was half a tease. Sorry Dev. If you want to yell at me, you'll just have go wake, won't you?* I can't imagine. One is more than I can handle on a good day. *Which it had not been, in... too long. Still she smiles after a quick, cherished sip. Her remark and tone were casual, the questions not.* How many brothers do you have? Any sisters, at least? Though perhaps that...might be worse...*Lynn chuckles as she takes another sip, nonchalant. She tried not to think that she'd considered Nadia her sister since she was born. More thoughts to make her ache.*

 **Rachelle:** Mon Dieu, we're practically an army. *She laughs as she walks with Lynn; years of practice made it easy to walk at a normal human speed, shaking her head to clear the snowflakes away from her perfect ebony curls.* We're all adopted. *She nods, happy to provide this not so false information. Let her play Nancy Drew all she wanted, Rachelle was happy to provide.* It is worse. Sisters are a nightmare. *Cheers to you, Allison.* What about you? Any sisters?

 **Lynn:** *Eyes widening over a forcibly bright smile, for she thinks 'there's a loaded statement if ever I heard one', her words are laced with incredulity and laughter.* I was going to say...an -army-...Merlin, bless your mother. *She tilts her head,* But I guess bless both parents anyways. *Blowing wisps of steam from the tip of her cup before she took another sip, she thinks: yes, and they're more than capable of defeating an army.* Not biologically. *She shrugs.* But my mother and her best friend, they basically adopted each other, and thus adopted each other's kids too. So, in that sense, I suppose there's...well-*she feigns counting on fingers clenching the stick of her lollipop off hand,* Hols, Belle, Elle, Phoebe, Nadia and Chace, the triplets...*She trails off pointedly, half waving it off with a grin.* I guess we're kind of an army ourselves, come to think of it. *Yes, an army.* See, and now it makes sense why my boyfriend gave me that Brigadier hat to wear. I mean. Beside the obvious reason.

 **Rachelle:** *She smiled and nodded as they kept walking, thinking about her parents for the first time in ages. She had gone missing her sixth year at Beauxbatons, lured out of the grounds by the man she had been in love with, a Death Eater. He had been the most persistent person in her torture. Years later, upon returning home, she was met with a disbelieving mother and a wary father. And upon finding out the truth, of her nature, tried to kill her. Who tries to kill their own child? But she wasn't a child, she was a monster in their eyes. And a monster was the last thing they had ever laid their eyes on.* I understand that perfectly well. Shared genes doesn't a family make. *She raised her chin, smiling again with genuine amusement at Lynn's double edged words.* Your boyfriend gave you a Brigadier hat? *Nick Callaway, Californian, divorced parents, two siblings, above average levels of iron in his blood,and he smelled like pine and nutmeg. Fou d'Absinthe his cologne, she was sure of it. He was a pretty fine specimen for being 18 years old.* Lucky girl. What's his name?

 **Lynn:** *Yes...only Devin wasn't awake, for no goddamn medical reason, and Nadia...she swallows on a caught throat, gnawing the edge off the white stick. Alexa was with Devin right now, she reminded herself as she yanked the stick out and chewed, sucked and choked down the rest of the pop. He wasn't alone. And she wouldn't lose him. Smile implacable, it softened genuinely to think of Nick. A moment from answering, she reconsiders abruptly. Actually, if Rachelle was lying...* Kris. *Her gaze flicks to hold hers again, curious. If she was lying, if she knew more than she said, then she had to already know Nick's name. Lynn kept her look benign, but she was watching closely all the same.* Well, Kristoffer. *As in Kris Kringle, or Jolly Not-Old Saint -Nick-. He spoke,* I've been putting aside money for his inevitable therapy when we're married.

 **Rachelle:** *Oh my, was Lynn that suspicious? It almost made Rachelle smirk. Either the girl was very good, Rachelle was losing her touch, or Lynn's infamous conspiracy streak was at an all-time high. It was most probably a combination of the first and last. Devin had been attacked after all, and really, she'd seen the boy, he could be a lot worse; Hans was wonderfully savage about it. Either way, she accepted the fake name with the same genuine smile and nod, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.* What wouldn't a man put up with for the sake of the woman he loves? *There was a certain Angel who had lost everything for that exact reason. And Nick, well Kristoffer, would be able to prove exactly what he would do, at the Gala. Rachelle was hoping for some fun. She sighed wistfully, but not for what she had just said.* I do love romance, well, I am French.

 **Lynn:** *Besides an uptick in her smirk, Lynn could see nothing to indicate that Rachelle knew Nick's name. Maybe she was being paranoid. But...no, okay no, because if this was a totally random meet then she wasn't fighting for her brother right now, and she was.* Besides the remote? *She chuckles to herself, easily relaying,* But of course, ruins unearthing the tomb of Richard the Third beneath a parking lot is important too, I suppose, and he-did- watch my movies too. *Although her guilty pleasures tended to be...noir based with lots of femme fatales, three-point lighting, double crossing, suave detectives in suits and pounds of red lipstick. Nick indulged her in that in...other ways, she thinks briefly, before looking sideways.* Which just means you know how to properly appreciate it. *She grins, as she pushes the door of the coffee place open and gesturing Rachelle enter first.* Where in France? I'm dying to visit next summer...before I go Stateside for a university, anyway.

 **Rachelle:** Right, apart from that. *She didn't quite understand the reference but it must have been an English, possibly muggle, reference. Ah! Of course, movies, television. Yes, now she understood. Though that did sound dreadfully boring.* Indulgent, a good trait for any man to have in relation to his woman. *She stepped into the shop, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and cinnamon and dough filling her nose. As well as the bleach that had been used to clean up vomit in the back room, the scents lingering. She unwrapped her scarf and answered easily with a smile.* Cannes. It's in the south of Fran ce, right on the Mediterranean. *And as far from Paris as possible. Granted, her childhood home was in neither of those places, still.* It's a lovely place, you really should visit if you can.

 **Lynn:** It sounds lovely. *She grins, even as she thinks it's a loaded as hell remark. You should come visit-- when she'd met her five minutes ago? Had it actually been warmer outside? She definitely wasn't imagining this then. Or well, maybe it was polite but...* I have a lot of places I want to go. *She grins easily, undoing her scarf and immediately setting it and the half-eaten croissant on the nearest table. Her heels clack as she walks.* Milan being one of them, truthfully...do you travel a lot with your brothers for business? Maybe I could tag along. *She wiggles a cocked eyebrow.*

 **Rachelle:** The entire world perhaps? *She grins and laughs before slipping her gloves off.* I agree. In particular, I've always wanted to visit Egypt myself. *She waited for Lynn to place her things on the table before heading towards the counter to order. She could obviously care less about English coffee but appearances were everything. She chuckled and shook her head.* No, not often. Business takes them everywhere obviously, I tag along when I want. *Ha lf true, half false, but given that was a very pointed question and not casual in the slightest, Rachelle thought it best to go back to slivers. She smiled at the barista as she got there.* Bonjour, I'll have a raspberry scone, please. I hear they're delicious and- *she broke off to pretend to peruse the  menu* oh, gingerbread latte sounds great, I'll have that. Thank you. *She popped open her Prada purse to fish a couple of pounds out to pay for it before turning back to Lynn.*

&.

“My my, this room is so disorganized, Angel. It’s a wonder you can find anything in here.”  
  
Angel watched Gustav Roswell wade through his apparently messy room, picking up various items about the room with his gloved hands. Angel could do nothing about it and simply stayed standing on the other side of the already small room, leaning against the wall. He still wasn’t trusted completely, probably the only smart thought Gustav had in his head, and so once in a while his room was inspected for anything that might seem like he was betraying the Death Eaters. There were of course no such things in his possession, no tangible ones at least; his thoughts were still his own, as they had been from day one and would continue to be.

  
Angel never talked to Gustav, never said a word, but that didn’t stop Gustav from talking throughout the whole interaction. He enjoyed it, trying to annoy him and speaking of life in the outside world, occasionally dropping information about events that Gustav thought would cause Angel to flinch. No news ever made him flinch; few things made him flinch anymore after being accustomed to the worst this hideout had to offer. Yet Nadia finding out about the plan to use her, and her questions of whether he’d known all along, that had made Angel react.  
  
From the moment he thought it through, Angel had always felt guilty about deceiving her and using her as one might an envelope to deliver a message. He tried to comfort himself by restating the logics over and over again: this wasn’t only beneficial to him, but beneficial to both of them and to everybody who was being oppressed by the Death Eaters. He had to think beyond the girl and even beyond himself. He could have tried running away, but the chances were always 1 in 77, and those were the latest ones. If he failed and was caught, he knew the consequences. And even if he did successfully managed to break out, the same people would still be around and bent on revenge. He did this the hard way, to ensure that the information got to the right people without leading back to him, without putting someone else in danger, so that they could shut these people down for good. It wasn’t easy on him either.  
  
But how could he possibly explain that to a 15 year old girl who only wanted to go home?  
  
As understanding as Nadia was proving to be for someone not only her age but in her position, he could never ask her and what was more important, he could say none of this out loud. The spoken or written word wasn’t safe around these people. And the majority of cases, neither was the unspoken thoughts, as it was with Nadia. It’s not that he didn’t want to trust her, or that he wasn’t capable of trusting her, it was simply that he wouldn’t, for her sake as much as his, as much as his family’s.  
  
“Lyndsea looks quite ravishing, I must say.”  
  
Angel was snapped out of his thoughts violently by Gustav’s drawled out words. He raised his head and for the first time in a long time, paid close and undivided attention to the man in front of him. Gustav had a frame in his hand, his fingers tracing the metal edges of it. Gustav’s dark blue eyes looked above his black rimmed glasses and watched Angel just as closely, his lips widening in a brilliant smirk.   
  
“We spoke briefly about the Winter Gala. I must admit,” he chuckled and then set the picture down on the desk before turning back to Angel, “I am quite excited for it. It’s sure to be quite memorable.”  
  
Angel knew he meant that that’s when the Death Eaters would strike big and with flair. Of course it would be at a Ministry funded event, under the Auror’s noses, and under the Minister’s nose. Inflict their destruction at a party, as if it was an original idea.  
  
“I asked if Max would escort her. I thought, of course, that would be typical. They’ve been so close since their mutual loss so many years ago. Moved in and everything- but you know that already.” Gustav waved his hand dismissively, taking slow and calculated steps in Angel’s direction. Angel breathed through his nose now, attempting to make the red that was inching across his vision recede. As metaphorical as the darkening color of his eyes might have been, the anger was very much literal and real.  
  
“As it happens, Max is taking Zoe Noel, do you remember her?”  
  
He remembered the exact moment he and his brothers had met her, after they had pulled Gustav off her and she barged between all of them in the middle of their pummeling and delivered a well-deserved kick between his legs. The memory almost made Angel smirk if not for the fact that any visible sign of amusement would surely be bad for him in the long run.  
  
“Cheeky little bitch,” he commented idly, as if he were speaking about the weather. “Still as beautiful as ever, though admittedly still wasting her life.” Gustav chuckled and then tilted his head as if he had just stumbled across an idea previously unknown. “I think I may have ruined her for other men.” Gustav shrugged after another chuckle and another moment of silence from Angel and then continued.

“Lyndsea and I also spoke of the horrible tragedy that happened at Hogwarts. The boy that was attacked, Devin, is a close friend of her son you see. I can only imagine her terror, finding out she was so close to losing her son again.” Gustav was now so close to a tense Angel that he could smell the cologne of the man even while holding his breath. Angel feared breathing at that moment.  
  
“I don’t think her fragile heart could have taken that, losing her son. I’m so relieved for her.” Angel’s jaw was snapped shut tightly, muscles twitching with the effort to keep from moving. His eyes were dead set on Gustav’s own through the lens. Shut up, he wanted to say, shut the fuck up.  
  
“Being a widow suits her. It was so calming to see her so at ease in her own home-“  
  
Gustav’s head swiveled back as he fell to the ground. It was only a second later that Angel realized why that was. His hand was a curled into a fist, knuckles painted in angry red from the blow that he’d just given him across the face and also from the blood he’d drawn from the bleeding nose they’d come in contact with. Angel’s chest rose and fell fast as he watched Gustav chuckle and stand up once more, fetching his glasses and mending them with one simple tap of his wand against the rim.  
  
“Oh Harper, there you are.” Gustav wiped at his nose before he too swung, striking Angel in the gut. He was hunched over but Gustav wasn’t done. This time it was the wave of a wand that attacked him. Angel slid down to the floor, limbs twitching about him in an involuntary reaction to the pain the cruciatus curse exerted. But he didn’t scream, Angel had long learned not to scream.  
  
After Gustav was satisfied he pocketed the wand again but not before delivering a kick to his chest. “You’re not Harper Brackner, anymore Angel.” He chuckled cruelly as Angel exhaled with difficulty, a small hiss leaving his lips. “You’re lucky I allow you those pictures, that ring,” Gustav spat on his hand before he stepped on it, a loud crack echoed through the room but Angel did not scream, just gasped, and even that felt like failure to him. Failure tasted a lot like blood to him, but that was mostly because his lip bled.  
  
“Clean this place and yourself up, Angel. You’re a fucking mess. And make sure to remember Harper has no room in this world, not anymore. I watched him die, I watched him be buried. I watched his entire family mourn and say goodbye. Next time he makes an appearance, I’ll stop being so kind.” And then he left after straightening his suit.  
  
Angel sat up, reached for the wand in his pockets and fixed his hand as another pop back into place. He hissed as he felt at his ribs, knowing at least one would be broken. They were fragile by now from constant breaking and mending and sure enough there was pain at his side. Another wave of his wand fixed that but this time he couldn’t hold back a groan.

&. flashback &.

_They had allowed him to sleep undisturbed for what he assumed was the whole night before they sent for him. It was that alone that had filled him with dread for the day, most likely several days, to come. Their attempts to instill a feeling of affection for a selected few of his captors after the brutality of others were as effective today as they had been since he first came here. He was beyond that, beyond psychological manipulation, he wouldn’t think of them as nothing more than a group of preying, soulless, scum. He repeated that to himself every time he was alone almost as much as he repeated his wife and son’s names with nothing but the darkness to bear witness._

_Time had no meaning to him anymore. Any attempts to figure out any sort of schedule were futile because they came whenever they pleased. At first he had tried to keep time in his head, count out the seconds, the minutes, the hours but for that he would need to stay awake interminably and as much as hated it, he couldn’t. It wasn’t that he fell asleep easily, it was that the exhaustion on his body proved too much to bear and it shut down habitually, pulling him into a state of unconsciousness until the next time he was violently kicked or hexed awake._

_Sometimes they healed him, usually whenever they ran out of clear skin to bruise, though more often than not it was when someone had gone too far, and they needed to keep him alive after all. Harper had laughed at them in the beginning, lying on the cold stone floor, blood and teeth and vomit all around him, about what poor training they all had. If you kick me hard enough with the heel of your foot to my side, he began explaining, you could probably send a few of my broken ribs straight to my lungs. Go on, try it, he had said. He taunted them with the fact that they couldn’t kill him, and he paid for it dearly. The blow had gone to his head instead, and not hard enough to knock him out._

_Sometimes there was food, but it mostly served as a reminder that his throat was too raw to swallow anything other than water, his stomach not strong enough to process even that. More often than not, they shoved a potion down his throat that did nothing for the feeling of hunger but kept him alive. That’s all they worried about, keeping him alive and making sure he wasn’t permanently brain damaged._

_What Harper worried about was keeping hope alive. Every day it dwindled further and further out of his reach, until he played a memory over in his mind and the spark caught on the kindling and kept the flame alive._

_After his captors realized that he would keep trying to escape, they cursed the cell they kept him in. Any use of magic inside it caused extreme, almost unbearable physical pain to the caster. Yet he still performed magic, every chance he'd get, exactly twice. The first to get the objects he had managed to grab from the morgue out of hiding, and the second to place them back into their place, away from the eyes of his captors. He would put his wedding band on his ring finger, he would hold the tube of lipstick in one hand and look at the picture in his other. He spoke to them. Delusion and wishful thinking had him believe that somehow they could hear him talking to them, asking about their day. He would never talk about his, because he had nothing to say, but sometimes he would apologize._

_He had renounced them vehemently in an attempt to spare them, to save them from being used against him. He had said horrible things…dreadful things that the Death Eaters could not disprove for he was too skilled at Occlumency. Yet he was ashamed of having said such things about his son and wife. He asked their forgiveness and reminded them they were the most important thing in the world to him, even still, even now, especially now. When the days greeted him with an unforgiveable curse and a kiss of steel, he could focus on them and it would make the suffering barely tolerable._

_They came for him today, the same as they did every day, grabbing him by his shoulders and dragging him out of his cell and to the medieval torture chamber, as he had so dubbed it on his first visit. That left him his first permanent scar. Dark magic left behind scars that no amount of time or creams or even glamours could hide. He was tossed on the cold stone floor, manacles flying up to ensnare his wrists and ankles. They always pinched away skin, and the time wearing them rubbed them raw and bleeding. Those cuts never healed._

_A voice spoke out of the darkness, moving away from the shadows and coming into the dim light. “It’s been a long time, friend.”_

_Harper lifted his head slowly as to him it weighed a ton. His limbs rarely did what he wanted them to anymore. Visibly paler, visibly weaker, he was nothing but loose pallid skin hanging off fragile bones they kept breaking and re-breaking. Harper had never been a buff man, his brothers were that instead, but the difference was still palpable. He saw it on his new torturer’s face behind the restrained excitement. “Gustav,” was the only word he spoke._

_“Glad to see your memory is still intact,” Gustav tapped the side of his temple and then strolled about, examining his so-called ‘friend’. “How are you feeling?”_

_Harper didn’t respond, the sarcastic responses had died off a long time ago. Besides, his state was more readily apparent to Gustav than to himself. Harper had not seen a mirror as long as he had been in there, except whatever reflection water brought him. It he looked as bad as he felt, he’d look like a corpse with one foot in the grave._

_“Crucio!”_

_A strangled yell left his lips in surprise before he bit down inside his cheek so hard that he tasted the copper of his own blood. Don’t scream, he reminded himself, don’t let him hear you scream. He writhed on the floor, unable to fight off automatic responses, closing his eyes and willing it to be over. Gustav was fiercer, he was stronger, and what was worse, he was smart. He knew the brink he could push, and didn’t have to tip toe along it. The pain left suddenly, though the aftershocks still ransacked him._

_“Sorry, I didn’t hear you before- how are you feeling?”_

_Harper’s limbs shook as he sat up on his knees again, his eyes opening to look at Gustav._

_“Dead.”_

_“Dead?” Gustav tilted his head, looking at him in amusement. “If you were dead you wouldn’t be able to feel anything, now tell me Harper-“ he slashed his wand through the air, and a violent red spell assaulted him, and he felt his skin on fire. He looked down at his hands and feet and almost laughed to see there was no fire consuming his every nerve ending, ripping him apart, and no flames licking his skin and melting it off. Pain was in the mind, he remembered. Gasping sobs left his chest, the closest thing he ever got to screams anymore._

_“Did you feel that?”_

_The pain subsided again, and Harper merely nodded as he laid on his hands and knees, attempting to catch his breath. He almost wished for the others to come back, so that they could attack him with their fists and kicks, with their knives and chains, with their whips and blades and their crucios. That he could handle, but Gustav…Gustav was much more resourceful than all of them combined._

_“See, then you’re not dead!” Gustav said it so cheerily that a person would think he was being sincere in his excitement over his life instead of simply being delighted by the power he wielded, the control he had, knowing that he could break Harper’s body in half if he wanted to._

_“Do you know how long it’s been, Harp?”_

_Harp. Arsehole. He shook his head again._

_“You’ve spent three full years here. How do you like it?”_

_A question that required a verbal answer, how unfortunate. Harper began clearing his throat before instead deciding he knew exactly which answer would be the best, most-encompassing he could give. Harper spat at Gustav’s feet. Gustav’s nose wrinkled in disgust before he laughed, the sound finally sounding forced. “That bad, huh? Well, you might as well get used to it, my friend. It’s the last place you’ll ever see.”_

_“If you want to kill me,” Harper spoke up again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for a moment, something he could not control; they had not healed him in a while. He not only felt the pain of right now, but the pain of every bruised rib, every broken finger, every lashing that ripped skin away in long welts. He could feel one of those that was scabbing crack open again, and a line of warm blood ran down his backside. Discomfort was his friend, and pain was his lover, and darkness was his father who watched over him. He finally finished his thought,_

_“Kill me.”_

_Gustav’s genuine amusement returned, his eyes glinted behind his horn rimmed spectacles._

_“I wasn’t brought here to kill you, Harper. I was brought here to get you to help us.”_

_Harper grinned now, his tongue circling the hole where his front tooth used to be. “I’m never going to help you.”_

_He paid for that comment as well. He dropped his head to the floor again, as his head began to pound painfully against his forehead, as his heart accelerated into a rapid pace. His forehead broke out in sweat, his stomach convulsed in itself, his breathing was cut off no matter how hard he tried to get air into his lungs. He was panicking, and then he was throwing up blood and then it stopped again, the relief coming over him like a cool towel to a burning head._

_“Boiling the water inside your body- it’s a nice trick I picked up a few years ago in Budapest.” Gustav seemed pretty proud of himself as he crouched down, lifted Harper’s face by grabbing his chin and then smiled. “You think you’ve lived through the worst, Brackner?” He shook his head slowly, his expression condescending. “You were in heaven before, Brackner. This is hell, and I’m the Devil.” He stood up again, and he continued._

_They were there for hours, Harper counted as high as 328 minutes before he lost track. Gustav was relentless, merciless, and he delighted in watching him squirm. Shackles were no longer necessary to keep him in place, because the only movement left in Harper's body were the spasms of constant pain. He had no vision in his right eye, though Harper couldn’t be sure that was permanent. He didn’t care. Let it stop, please let it stop._

_He hadn’t noticed he had managed to say the words out loud until he heard them being repeated his ears in a mocking tone._

_“You could end it now, end it right here. Swear fealty to us…make the unbreakable vow to help us. And the pain will end.”_

_Harper found strength to shake his head, his neck protesting, the trail of dried tears cracking on his cheeks. “I’d rather die.”_

_“Think about what you’d lose, Harper.”_

_Harper was grateful his head was resting against the stone floor, half of his head slick with blood, because in that moment he winced and in that moment he would have revealed everything. He shook his head again before he answered, “I have nothing to lose.”_

_“Nothing? Nothing at all? Not Lyndsea? Little Alcott?” Harper didn’t move, but he could feel the smirk looming over him. “He’s nine years old now, strapping young boy. And of course, Lyndsea is as beautiful as ever.”_

_“I don’t care,” he yelled out, hoarse, but the crack was visible and Gustav was picking at it._

_“You can’t fool me, Harper. We’ve known each other for longer than that. These gutter rats might have been so easily fooled for three years, but I’m not.” There was rustling now and Harper lifted his head to see what Gustav was doing. When he pulled out an envelope and dropped his three items, the most precious three items in existence, Harper balked. Where did he get them? No one was supposed to know about them, no one knew-_

_“A man performing magic every day with no attempts to escape? That seemed suspicious…and here it is. The evidence that you care. You care as deeply as you did that day when you protected your boy from me. But guess what, Brackner? You can’t protect them now.”_

_Harper looked up, a grip and twist in his heart that was causing him a pain fiercer than any he had previously experienced. Gustav took this as encouragement and sneered down at him, spitting at the man lying near broken at his feet._

_“You know what, I am going to kill you. But not before I kill them first. I’ll bring them here, I’ll chain them up just like you. Don’t you worry though -- I’ll give your wife, your widow, a proper…warm, welcome. I’ll even let you and the boy watch.” Harper’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles paper white and protruding scarily from his hand as he tried not to lunge for the man, grab his neck, squeeze until he crushed his throat…_

_“I’m not a cruel man, I would not make a mother see her child die. So I’ll kill her first. I’ll slit her throat open and you can watch her bleed to death, powerless to stop it, as the blood eventually slides it way down to you –the room is slightly slanted you see—I’ll make you watch the life leave her eyes. And your son? Your precious boy? I’m gonna hack him to bits slowly, piece by piece and lay him at your feet. Then I’d throw you in a dark cell for weeks and months and years, with nothing but the memories of your family’s blood staining your clothes and hands for company. And after you’ve gone mad from the guilt and the shame, only then would I kill you.”_

_Harper was shaking now, visibly shaking, but not in anger. Anger would have been welcome, no, it was fear instead. Tears fell down his eyes as he struggled for breath and sense._

_“Congratulations, Harper. You just killed them.” Gustav then walked over to the fireplace, the poker that had been laid to rest there still hot and threw the three items into the flames. The picture, his wedding ring, the lipstick tube. In that moment something clicked inside of Harper and he lurched forward, crawling forward using his elbows and his knees, sliding against the ground like a worm before he threw his hands in the fire with a shout of ‘No!’_

_The pain didn’t register, the flames tickled at his scabbed and bleeding hands, but Harper merely grabbed the things out of the fire, patting them suddenly with a sudden desperateness, fanning the flames away. His hands were burned bright red, angry blisters already forming but that was not the reason why he cried. He cried and he cried in silence, and for a moment he even forgot Gustav was there._

_“Please,” he found himself pleading, his shoulders dropped, his voice shaking._

_“I can’t lose them again…I can’t.”_

_His voice raised to a sharp almost screech before he cut himself off and bowed his head forward in shame, in fear, in hopelessness. “I’ll do anything you want.”_

_It was only then that Gustav walked forward, his shiny shoes leaving footprints of blood against the floor as he walked through it and crouched down next to Harper, placing an arm around his shoulder and leaning his head against his._

_“Thank you, Harper.” He breathed out the words near his ear, and the relief was almost believable. “You’re doing the right thing.” Harper didn’t know if that was true, but he nodded, not knowing what else to say as he dropped his gaze back to the picture of his family, the edges burned off, the picture a crude circle that had erased Harper out of the picture completely. It seemed fitting. He closed his eyes again, and more tears fell._

_“Now you can start your new life.”_

“Fucking piece of shit,” he said to himself and then shook his head. The man had been in his home, toying with his family. Gustav had gone back there, and more than once, Angel thought, he should have killed him when he had the chance, Harper should have killed him.  
  
Soon, Angel promised Harper as he stood again and headed to his desk, picking up the picture. Soon.


	22. Whose Side Am I On?

**Nick:** *Two weeks. Two weeks and there was no sign of Nadia. Two weeks and Devin remained in basically the same condition he was two weeks minus one day previous: out of danger but with no signs of waking up. And according to Hols' conversation with the "illustrious" Hans, wouldn't wake up until someone else so chose it. It took Nick, Will, and Jacob and then finally Al himself to keep Hols from marching to the Slytherin Common Room to beat up Sam. She was sick and tired of waiting, and so was everybody, so was Lynn. 

The difference was that Lynn was focusing on her brother more than her anger, and he was focused on her. It was the least he could do, and would do far more. He hadn't needed for Mr. Stuart, the Minister of Magic himself, to tell him to take good care of his daughter; he would have done it either way. Though he did recognize that without his help and influence, he wouldn't have been able to leave the grounds to go to Mungo's with Lynn. 

Nick entered the off white room Devin was kept in, monitors beeping steadily as they had been, and Lynn holding her younger brother's hand. Nick tried not to think how he would take it if it was Kristen or Jesse lying in a hospital bed, not waking up. He wouldn't be able to handle it half as well as Lynn and her family well. And half as well as "barely" was a difficult thing to contemplate. Nick took quiet steps to Lynn's side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind and kissed the side of her head.* He looks better. *It was true, the bandages around his head were gone and judging by the brush lying presently discarded, she had fixed up his hair.*

 **Lynn:** *She hadn’t heard him enter, but somehow she knew he was there, she seemed to feel his arrival long before his arms closed around her. Smiling briefly, she shuts her eyes, free hand jumping to wrap around his wrist and squeezing tight. His heartbeat echoes in her ear. It calms her, to realize it matches the quiet beeping on the monitor, as if her two boys were in sync to reassure her. Nodding against his chest, her smile widens briefly, tilting back and looking up at him.* Yeah. I couldn’t stand how messed up his hair is. Least for once I got to fix it. He’d just have made it messier. 

*The moment she said it her throat caught and she exhales. Pressing her lips together, she drops her chin abruptly and lifts her hand back to flick a few strands over his closed eyes.*  ...There. *She chuckles calmly, trying to ignore the pang in her heart and then reaches up to brush strands from Nick’s eyes too.* You’re hair is always messy too. I seem to remember you saying you liked that on me...*She winks as she stands, swivels, and kisses him just once, lingering against his lips, drowning in the warmth of his embrace, the sweetness of his lips. Or maybe that was her cherry lipgloss. Her hand drops to shield Devin’s, then she peeks one eye open,screwing her nose up and looks down at him.* Damn. *She mutters teasingly aloud.* I thought for sure he’d wake to tell us off. 

 **Nick:** It's a well known fact that brothers don't appreciate their sisters trying to fix their hair, so no he probably would change it back up after you weren't looking. *He chuckled as she now turned to fix his hair and then smirked at her little whispered addition.* You do wear it better than me. *He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her with all the love and caring he had for her. He chuckled as she pulled away and teased. He brushed his nose against hers before he teased.* Let's not push our luck though, just in case. *He kissed her one more time, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb against it.* He'll wake up soon, baby. He will.

 **Lynn:** Oh is it well-known? *She teases, musing under her breath,* I’ll have to double-check with Kristen. And plot. I’m good at that. *The moment she hears herself -- which seemed to be happening all the time lately, she thought, wondering if Devin not being there to tell her to think before she speaks was particularly debilitating -- Lynn exhales and shuts her eyes briefly. She was good at plotting. And schemes, games, all manner of wicked diversions. Or devious ones. Was her heart actually beating or was there a machine doing that for her too?

She doesn’t open her eyes until Nick’s warm hand encloses her cheek, a soft thumb soothing above her lip. Gaze fluttering, she nods determinedly in fierce agreement before saying quieter,* I know he will -- he just...he should have by now. *She turns, pulling from him to take a step closer with a frown on her lips.* And after what Hols ...what Hans told her...*She bites her lip. Hard. If she had Alcott’s fangs, she’d have pierced clean through. Another reason she was incredibly glad she was not a werewolf. Fixing her sweater she frowns with the back of forth of the edge slowly against her leg. Her gaze was darting from Devin’s face to the machines, to the medicine bag that was hooked to his arm, floating magically above his head. She exhales, knowing what that was: it kept him nourished and ‘fed’, the required vitamins and the like. Devin would have known the scientific answer. Devin would have known what to do if it were her.

As her gaze traces over the medicines sitting on the bedside table, she pauses, and then her frown deepens as her breath catches and heart skips another beat. Clenching her teeth, she spoke slowly to her boyfriend,* Nick...can you read me what his chart says. On the -- on the edge there? *Her hand flaps behind her, gesturing as if casual despite her sudden urgency and she doesn’t spin to actually see where she’s pointing. Instead her hand whips back to tilt one small vial up. It was marked Arnica Montana, which made sense: the small plant from the Alpine was at certain levels known to be effective in aiding the absorption of a blood-clot, particularly in cerebral injures and could be essential in aiding a comatose patient. In aiding Devin. Only...

She spins suddenly, not even waiting for Nick to answer her and snatches her purse up, rifling through it furiously, irritated that the Healers had checked through it nine times and messed up her careful system. What, was she going to be smuggling drugs -in- to a hospital? Didn’t it make more sense to check her -after- she left? 

Finally locating her small blue sketchbook, she flips through it hastily, as if a gust of wind had the pages instead of her scarlet fingernails. Her gaze darts between her drawings and the vial that sat so innocently against the shelf. Whip, whip...ah. There. She thought she’d drawn it recently; Madame Sprout had let her stay after hours in greenhouse three to look through different treatments and plants, amidst twitters of high-pitched regret. Her nail taps the drawing, tracing up the small stalk she’d skipped over penciling in, focused on the leaves and petals of the bright yellow flower. Examining critically, her words to Nick were still breathless.* Does it say...how much Arnica Montana is he supposed to recieve? 30 mg? Around that, right, applied topically to the wound? Look. 

*She swivels around, pointing to her drawing to show him.* Arnica Montana is a member of the plant family Asteraceae, specifically the genus Arnica. It’s remarkably effective, in regards to waking someone up, treating spinal and cerebral injuries. Miraculous even. You’d know it as monkshood or ha- ironically, wolf’s bane. Except it shares those names with another of the same family, these in the genus Aconitum. There’s another name for the branch in the genus Arnica -- leopard’s bane, and that’s because the family Asteraceae? It’s more commonly known as the sunflowers family. *Her words were top-speed and abrupt.* So the petals are yellow, even dissected. Only this, these--* She darts to pick up the vial that was sitting there, what the nurses would have been applying topically, and shakes it. Yellow and green swirls inside, to reveal a single purple scrap. It hardly qualified as a petal, she thought bitterly, more a ripped tissue fragment.* 

There, right there, that’s purple. Which makes more sense because Arnica Montana has petals that are two, three inches long, these...while I suppose they might have been cut, these are much too short. Which coincides with Aconitum or rather -- you know it as aconite. Aconitum the flower, it dissects yellow on the inside like all of of them, but it’s petals are short and purple.  *Her gaze darts back up to him, furious and with breaths shallow, quick, scant. She exhales heated through her nose, fire in her eyes.* Monkshood, wolf’s bane, aconite...it’s all the same thing. There’s another name for it too. 

*Alcott would have caught on a few sentences back, but by the time she’s saying the names, she sees Nick understands. Was she breathing fire?* It’s called “the queen of all poisons,” Nick it’s -- that’s the essential ingredient to the draught of living death. 

 **Nick:** *Yeah, he'd be thinking about that too. Hols had good instincts, he rarely doubted them, and it just didn't make any sense for Devin to still be in a coma. Looking up as Lyn points to the chart, he heads to it curiously, picking it up. There was nothing off about it. Medications, treatments, diagnoses, etc.* What exactly am I looking fo- *He was cut off by the beginning of a rather long and detailed explanation. What most people didn't know about Lynn was that she was an expert on all things plant based. The ease with which she talked about it was simply fantastic to experience. He only kept up because he'd had grown used to it and because of his own budding intellect, if he said so himself. The explanation ended up being somewhat simple: aconite had taken the place of arnica, and instead of helping Devin recover from his coma, it was keeping him in it.* Motherfucker. 

*It left his breath in an exhale, slight disbelief on his face. He shook his head repeatedly.* We need the Wideye Potion then. They must have it around- it's damn Mungo's, they should have tried that in the first place- *He hurried over to the potion cabinet, flicked it open with his wand. He searched through a lot of vials, knowing most of them by sight but having to double check the labels -he could no longer trust labels in this place apparently- and then once he spotted it, grabbed it in his hand. There was an eye inside a triangle in the front, a sparkly blue potion inside. That was it. He turned to Lynn, breathless.* If you're right, this should wake him up. If he's only's been getting the aconite topically, the potion should be more than enough. 

 **Lynn:** That about sums it up. *She breathes out furiously, still surprised fumes and flames weren’t accompanying the hissed words. His snap cuts her off. She enjoyed Herbology, particularly in regard to drawing the flowers in question (as the sketchbook filled with their information proved), but she had no patience for the finnicky work of hours that encompassed turning them into potions. That was someone else’s department.

The question of ‘who’ was easily answered: her mother had even seen Sam hanging around. Once dissected, a Healer in the middle of a twelve hour shift would have a hard time realizing the cut petals they were applying were from an entirely different plant. They were after all, cut, yellow, with the same type and number of leaves, as well as the same density. Blaming the nurses would be useless. She knew who benefited from leaving her brother to suffer: the boy who had told him it was war. Their dratted cousin, who was smir--

No, he was. She stiffens, realizing that she wasn’t mistaken or hallucinating. Outside the door, talking to a short little Acolyte, was Sam Roswell. Nick was preoccupied, looking in the cabinets in their room, trying to find the emergency potions and she left him to that, having no clue which potion countered which: what she knew was strictly herb-based. And besides the fact that she was doubtful a potion could wake him instantly if he’d been, three times a day having thirty milligrams of poison shoved into his bloodstream, she trusted Nick. She let him look. Her eyes were fixed outside the door on the bastard who had looked up, spotted her and waved. He fucking waved. Here she had proof he was--or all right, someone had, poisoned her brother and he was--*

Miserable bleedin’ little cocksucker.

*She breathes this out, fist curling at her side and glaring at him. Sam’s face darkens even as he smirks, wiggling fingers at her. As she lifts her fist and takes a step, Nick’s words pulled her back and when she looked around again quickly, Sam was gone. Reminding herself he would be on hospital camera footage, she swivels back startled to Nick and nods briefly, eyes locked on the navy potion he lifted. Wideye. She lists under her breath,* Zolbetium, betula cortex, and one auberole of aurum metallicum...yes. That should counteract the poison. 

*It was easier to swallow that, but Devin had no such ability, particularly not when it had to get into his bloodstream. And did she trust right then that St. Mungos had brewed that potion correctly when they bloody couldn’t tell the difference between aconite and arnica montana? Still, she supposed she’d have to try. She trusted Nick more than any of them. Forgetting Sam, she hastened to Devin’s side, swallowing tightly and taking his hand again.* Trust me. *She whispers it under her breath.* You always said I knew more herbs than you did. You just knew everything else. 

*And he’d agree, wouldn’t he? Of course he would, her potion-genius brother who was making the extraordinarily complex Wolfsbane for his friend..being poisoned by the herb of the same name seemed cruel. And ... it was fucking karmic retribution again wasn’t it? Exhaling and shutting her eyes, she squeezes his hand. Sam would pay for this, she mutters under her breath, trying to quash the hope he’d wake up immediately and simultaneously convince herself that if he didn’t it meant she was wrong and had failed (again). When she opens her eyes, they are clear, full of determination and free of fear. Her jaw is set, the sparkly potion seeming to wink at her.* You’re right. But that...has to be an injection. Do you know how to...

*Her words were breathless, more hesitance in them than in her gaze. Devin needed this. They needed to try. Wideye wouldn’t hurt him if it didn’t work. No doubt they had tried it before he started being poisoned anyway. At least. She was swearing this to herself up and down. Gaze fluttering back to Devin’s shut eyes, she leans forward and mutters with fire under her breath,* You’re going to wake up. You are. I won’t let this happen to you, Dev, I won’t. 

 **Nick:** *He looked behind him briefly, expecting to find the devil himself judging by Lynn's facial expression but there was no one outside. Whoever she had seen, she would have to tell him about later. This was more important, and he knew she would agree. He nodded along with her listing off the scientific names of all of the ingredients of the potion. It should work, should. The aconite had been applied generously, yes, but it had been applied by itself. The more complex nature of the potion should counteract it. There were a lot more 'shoulds' in his line of thinking than he was happy admitting.*

Yeah, let me- *He looked around again and grabbed a syringe. Pressing the needle through the cork stopper, he drew the syringe back and watched it fill up with the blue potion. Stepping up to Devin, he turned off the IV drop and fed the tube he was already connected instead of trying to find a vein by himself and missing. The blue potion fed into him in a rush as Nick pushed it steadily, and then stepped away when the syringe was empty. He reached for Lynn's hand immediately.* I should bring his healer, so you can explain...

 **Lynn:** *She was glad Nick took care of it, green eyes locked on his widening with his every careful motion. It surprised her, she realized. Even though she shouldn’t have been, even though her boyfriend was rather more than capable of filling a tube with a syringe...but what surprised her, was how calm he was doing it. He was bluntly relaxed despite his own anxiety, his own worry. The steps quick, his motions smooth and certain, he simply..took care of it. Like he’d been taking care of everything in her life since...she thought truthfully, since the moment she had met him.* You’re hands are so steady. *She remarks in wonder, eyes on them, unabashed as ever. Her own were shaking, as if struggling to figure out what they were meant to hold.

A brief smile flits across her lips even as she darts her gaze to follow the liquid, squeezing his hand back before she realized he’d taken it. Half expecting Devin to wake instantly as she watched it disappear, staring at the needle and then his resolutely shut eyes, she reminds herself: you had to give it time for potions to work. Magic was not like the storybooks. There was no quick, simple fix as much as they endeavored to find one. In fact she thought at the back of her mind, looking for one seemed always to make it only that much more complicated. 

Exhaling as he continues to her, she seizes and looks up at him sideways, asking breathlessly,* And tell them what, that we just corrected their mistake and gave him drugs illegally? *She searches his eyes, trying desperately to pick through the subtleties in the back of her mind. Quietly, she hisses under her breath,* Nick, we definitely just broke the law. I mean, not that my father would prosecute bu--still, if there’s no change, then, then we should tell him and my mother first, they’d know how to...handle, that. *Her free hand clears a few errant scarlet strands, taking a few steadying breaths and saying quieter,* Besides. When I tell my parents. I want to be able to tell them it was Sam who did it so they can arrest him, and we need the proof first. 

*There was a brief pause, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she hears herself and realizes it was her father she had just sounded like: prosecuting requires evidence. That the law, despite having just been broken, that was the recourse to which find justice. And she did believe that, she did believe that with all her heart (even if she wanted at that moment to rip Sam’s throat out with her manicured-nails, sans werewolf claws because she fucking didn’t need them). But there was another kind of politics, one she had to admit she was better at, that she knew Nick understood as instinctively as she did (no one could play that many chess games to a standstill and not be brilliantly strategic). The tiniest bit quieter, she adds,* Well rather, we need to have the proof of his guilt in any regard. *And thinks to herself, her mother would be proud.*

 **Nick:** *He hadn't even realized his hands were that steady until Lynn brought them up. He simply shrugged, not knowing how to explain. To him it was mind over matter. Logically, he knew what to do, and a part of him was hesitant to admit it was because of how often he'd watch soap operas with his mother and sister (not because it was embarrassing but rather because trusting him with Devin's well being because his expertise stemmed from television wasn't a detail that would make anyone feel calm), so it was simply easier not to say anything at all. Just be there for her, as he had been.

He wasn't expecting Devin to wake up immediately, which is why he suggested getting the healers. That, to him, seemed like the logical thing to do. But, then again, he hadn't realized that they had just broken quite a few rules, not to mention laws. His mouth opened into a silent 'o' of understanding before he closed it and nodded repeatedly. Yes, that made more sense. It was probably best just to go to the main honcho himself.* Let's go find that proof then. In the mean time though, as long as we're breaking laws and what not...*he reached over to the jar of the aconite and waved his wand over it to disappear it into thin air. It was as if it never existed, except the essence of it lingered in the form of Devin's state. But soon the boy would wake up, and they'd be one step closer to getting all of this resolved.* 

 **Lynn:** *Taking a long, shuddering breath and she nods rapidly, gaze snapping back to her brother. Every fiber of her was praying for him just now to wake, and though that was no different than when she had arrived...it felt different. They knew why now. They knew what was keeping her brother, her baby brother, under. He wasn’t just attacked...he was being poisoned. Continuously.

Turning her gaze sideways only as Nick reached for the vial, she nods briefly and then holds one hand up.* Wait. One moment - *Conjuring a quick vial herself, she transfers the purple ragged petal and takes the part of the label that said “Arcina Montana” (the false label), with Devin’s name on it. Her words quiet,* Evidence. *Wishing there was a signature, that they might have asked who had brought this vial, had a record of it, she slips that into her pocket and then nods. He vanishes the rest, and Lynn relaxes a bit just to see the poison gone. Wiping her hand off and straightening her sweater, she tucks herself into his side.* Hols first. I need my partner in crime. *There’s a tiny pause as she considers what Nick had just done, and her lips quirk up to amend quietly,* My other, partner that is. *She winks sideways.* And...I suppose, Alcott too. But first...

*Nodding slowly, very slowly, her gaze locks on her brother in the hospital bed. Wake up Devin, she pleads and prays, harder than she thinks she’s ever prayed in her life.  It was all Lynn could do not to spit at the ground. Only she wouldn’t do that in Devin’s room. Then she says in a low, dangerous undertone,* I  think it’s time I meet this Hans Lawrence Ricard myself...and have a few words with my dear cousin while I’m at it. 

&.

 

 **Irene:** *Trips to the bathroom weren't usually as productive as the one she took to the Three Broomsticks every month. Her stash of alcohol had been depleted faster than usual- it had been a rough few weeks. In the purse that she exchanged, a lot with the money, there was a note asking Frances for a favor. Irene didn't put too much hope on it but she had to try. And now she had some time to spare before meeting up with Dillon. As if the gods heard her, she saw a familiar face sitting at the bar. Beaming, she headed towards him, her gold pumps clacking on the wooden floor, glad they were on solid stable ground instead of snow; Irene had skewed priorities.* Is hanging out at bars the only thing you do? *She slid on a stool next to him, unwrapping her scarf.* Let's switch lives. You go to school, and I'll pick up hot unsuspecting women.

 **Ansel:** *The lovely Irene had already much more to her than most golden-haired drop-dead-gorgeous heiresses -- but even Ansel had been delightfully surprised to realize just what that purse that jangled so loudly in his ear was for. Oh, they had more in common than he'd thought. Delightful. Still, he didn't spin until she approached him; though he was honestly happy that was for purposes of deception that had nothing to do with her caring he was a wolf (if Hans information was accurate, and it was, she was one of the new pup's greatest defenders). The rest..well, in due time. He chuckles at her remark, saluting and then sliding the glass to her.* Well if you'd let me take you out of this dull town for a night like I said before, then it wouldn't be. *He curls his fist under his chin, looking sidelong at her with a grin.*  You look stunning. And on a school night, Irene? I knew I liked you for a reason. 

 **Irene:** *Her smile widened with honest delight as he passed her the glass. She didn't mind buying her own drinks, she certainly had the money for it, but it was always nice to be treated especially to a drink that wasn't overly fruity, though she enjoyed those too. It was the stereotype that she didn't enjoy.* And I told you, I'm all for it as long as I can bring my boyfriend along. *The word was one that she was still overusing according to Trent but could one really overuse such a word? She didn't think so.* Thank you. *She grinned at Ansel.* More than one reason I hope. *She takes a sip of her drink, he liked leaving her mark, especially on her boyfriend, though she didn't really need lipstick for that- right, focus.)* I'm meeting Dillon in a few. But I  saw you so I simply had to come and say hi. And get a drink, it's been rough. *And with that she took another sip.*

 **Ansel:** *His brows cock. The way she said 'boyfriend', like it was a glittering gold standard (tm) made him chuckle, nodding it away.* Right, right, well I'm afraid I don't fancy much being a third wheel. So one of these days, I'll just have to grab a friend and we'll all go see the world. 

*He winks, swirling the napkin that recently had held his drink on it with the plastic sword, amused at the irony. Well, he hadn't lied had he? Dillon wouldn't be coming of course-- he did hate to share. Honestly,* I'm honored. But oh no darling, why rough? Did you know one of the -ah crap, what were their names...--*his face crumples as he feigns searching for the word, fisting the napkin as his eyes screw up,*  Darren and..N-Nicole? 

*He smirks guiltily.* Names were never my specialty. But, *he adds quickly with the plastic sword pointed skywards,*  I never forget a face.

 **Irene:** Ah, you're only a third wheel if you let yourself be. *She said it pleasantly, but she knew from experience younger and at the same time, it had been too close to what she had said to Alisha. No wonder she was desperate for these drinks.* But that sounds like a date! *Seeing the world with a purse full of alcohol sounded wonderful right now. She sighed at the question, though frowning* It's not "did know" it's "do know". They're both alive, Devin ahelp still being worried. So she cleared her throat and then smiled again.* I'm flattered you remember my name then.

 **Ansel:** Ah, I like the way you think, *he chuckles once under his breath,* but I must admit: I do hate to share. Particularly ones' company as lovely as yourself. *He had the strange feeling she could relate to that. But he nods in agreement,* A date. *To be specific, the date of a certain Gala, but he lets that fall with his amusement. Dropping his hazel gaze and chin as he considered this, he nods once. Assuring,* Of course they are, I'm just so sorry. That's terrible. But you know. *The words and demeanor were as if searching for a bright note to sound, despite the fact that the instrument of communication was one he was well accomplished at.* If Nadia is half as strong as yourself...then I'm sure she'll be fine. *He squeezed her hand in comfort, effortless. This was why Hans often assigned him these tasks--he excelled, for he delighted in them. It was just a different kind of hunt, one of fine wines, silk skirts, cigar smoke, scarlet smirks and strapped gold heels. He wasn't ashamed about which he preferred. Irene's company was genuinely wonderful: she, was genuinely wonderful.* And whomever took her, if someone did, then woe to them for I have the feeling they're going to wake with a stiletto in their throat. *His smile flicks.* Or something equally poetic and stylish; I can't imagine you'd let it be dull.

 **Irene:** Always dripping with compliments, aren't you? *She didn't mind it, who didn't love to be complimented? But she agreed...she did so hate to share. Irene felt a little bad for making him apologize, he didn't do anything wrong. She smiled at his attempt at an assurance, but it felt a little shallow because how would he know how strong she was? Even though she did exude such an air, that was true.* Thanks, Ansel. I know she is. *She had to be. Irene took her hand back to grab the drink and take the final gulp of it before laughing. Oh she knew very well someone had taken her, the bitch Victoria had practically admitted it, but no use to burden Ansel with the knowledge.* Sometimes I prefer vulgar and crass over poetic and stylish to tell you the truth. *She beams.* But I liked yours too. *She pulls back her red sleeve to look at her wristwatch, a good piece that had once belonged to her mother and then  frowns before looking to the door, as if her wishing could make something appear.* That's odd, he's supposed to be here by now. 

 **Ansel:** I just speak the truth. I-may- be guilty of putting things poetically...but, I am French, luv.  *Parisian at that...there was a reason he understood that purse of cash for alcohol.* Now that, *his grin widens and he drops his hand flat to the bar,* sounds like a sight to see. *He cocks his head, glance passing over the watch casually and then flicking at his ear with the other. Her breath had quickened; how curious.* Vulgar and crass? Could I convince you for an example? *Of course, she looked to the door. He had a pretty good guess for the delay (Hans was too good), so he doesn't take his eyes off her.* Ah, his loss is my fortune it seems. 

 **Irene** : Then consider it a crime you don't drop more of your lovely French words in my ear. I do love languages. Nadia is Spanish, Dillon's Italian- I might be subconsciously collecting people fluent in all the Romance languages. *She grinned and shrugged her shoulders before she looked at the door. It wasn't that she was usually paranoid, but given what had happened, and Sam having declared war on all of them, she was worried.* You might not need to convince at all, it might just happen naturally if he doesn't get here...*She turned back to look at Ansel, oh what a ham he could be, and managed an easier smile than simply looking at her watch or the door could provide.* Maybe I should look for him. It's not like him. *But how exactly did you explain to a new friend that you were in the middle of a school grudge match that had turned into actual danger?*

&. 

**Nick** : *It had become routine of him to come to Mungo's after dinner, bringing Lynn something to eat given that she was in Mungo's whenever she wasn't in class, and even then it was difficult to keep her away. Nick understood perfectly, but he wouldn't let her go starving. This was a routine, however, he would gladly give up and would soon because Dev was on route to waking up. He and Lynn had explained what she had uncovered to her parents, and Mr. Stuart, being the Minister of Magic, "took care of it." He had no idea what that meant specifically but apparently it was taken care of, and Devin was receiving the correct treatment and that coupled with the Wideye Potion he'd given him, it was only a matter of actual, calculated, time. Several of Devin's friends had also received permission to come visit him: Al and Eliza more notably. Hols dropped by often as well, even Chace came to visit every few days. Sienna, and he could hear Hols' displeased exhale at the name even from here, visited as well. Though he didn't expected to find her here at night and certainly not sleeping in a chair. Forgive him for thinking so, but while he didn't doubt her friendship with Dev, he didn't think it was at the "sleep in an  uncomfortable hospital chair in the waiting room at Mungo's for that person" stage. Curious and concerned, he stepped up quietly to the sleeping girl, ot wanting to startle. He had received many a bruise trying to wake Kristen and her friends when they had sleepovers and he tried to maneuver his way to in the kitchen without stepping on a braid.* Sienna? *He spoke softly, laying a hand on her shoulder.*

 **Sienna:** Wai-*She startles to sit up, jarred from an uncomfortable world of bright flowers, tiger swallowtails and morning cloaks. The butterflies had surrounded her with wing tips of razors and needles replacing antennae. Black, unbrushed curls heaved over her shoulder as she darted her gaze, breathing heavily. Not understanding the hand on her shoulder, she stares wide-eyed at it. When she realizes it must belong to a person and looks up, color floods her cheeks. Nick Callaway.* Oh. *Pulling back in the seat as her stomach twisted, she tried to convince herself it was only from shame. Not guilt. Rubbing furiously hard under her eyes, she mutters another spell to try and cast off dark circles. When her breath was caught, she murmurs quietly,* I fell asleep again? Thanks for waking me. I can't believe I keep doing this. *She was tying her sweater closer to her chest, peering bleery-eyed at a nearby clock, only to realize she'd taken her contacts out. Oh, Merlin, she did not want to put her glasses on. Instead, she continued soft,* What time is it? 

 **Nick:** *Well, so much for not startling her. He took back his hand, and didn't pay attention to the blush, though he was slightly amused her first act was to spell away non-existent dark circles.* Yeah, no problem. You feeling okay? *He felt that was more appropriate than reminding her sleep was a normal human function, not really something to be mad about. Nick had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate his humor.* It's almost 8.

 **Sienna:** *The question made her still, even as she adjusted her leggings and picked lint off of them to try and hide the fact that it felt her lungs had stopped working. No, she hadn't been feeling all right for a few days now, weeks if she was being honest, and she didn't understand that. Well, she knew now but--* Yeah, fine. *She murmured, poking her thumb to stretch the sleeves hem and rubbing below her eye again. A screwy smile appeared on her lips, nodding as she thanks him for the time.* Just...been up the last few nights working on essays and the like. It's fine. *Only when her eyes met his, she realized he didn't believe her and swallowed tightly. Maybe...maybe she could tell him part then, Nick wasn't -so- bad and he...could tell her, maybe, how to start to tell the others. Eliza was still distant, ever since she'd informed her (quite snippy, really) that Hans was a werewolf and to stop "telling him everything" (as if she had anyway; he was her friend, there was a difference). And Al...well, if she could even get him from Hols' side for more than a few minutes, he'd never get the time to be past anger. She used to know how to talk to him, she thought bitterly, before clearing her throat and asking slowly,* You...you were the reason that Devin is getting better, right? You and Lynn? *She tried to keep her tone even, despite the fact that OK- maybe it wasn't the most known information, she made it her business to know. Besides. Who else but Lynn would be so comfortable breaking the law? (Even if that thought twisted her stomach again too; could she have broken the law if she didn't know she was?).*

 **Nick:** *When was 'fine' ever really fine in girl speech? Once upon a time, a long time ago, he used to believe that. Then his friend Jenissa had hit him on the head for being a dumbass and not insisting she share her feelings with him. He had been 5. So Sienna didn't have him fooled, but neither would he insist. The question surprised him, not realizing she would know about it. But then, she was famous for her information. He nodded.* Lynn, mostly. She realized one of the ingredients was switched, poisoning him instead of helping him. *He decidedly didn't add the fact he injected Dev with an antidote.* He's waking up soon, a matter of hours really. Couldn't come quicker really, I don't know about you but I'm not too crazy about hospitals.

 **Sienna:** *She nods absently, only half listening to the response, for the moment he confirmed it she was breathless again. Her gaze darts to the ground, still bleary and thinking she could perhaps excuse herself to the bathroom to at least put her contacts back in. Her head was already so heavy though, her limbs not quite feeling up to the task of supporting her, so she burrows further in her sweater and lifts her eyes to his. She wouldn't look away again, merlin dammit, she was Sienna West, she had to get a grip. Biting down on her tongue, she says first, brisk,* I don't think we're supposed to like hospitals, we're supposed to get out of them as soon as possible. *As Devin would, as he was telling her, because it had been fixed, it had, Devin had to be okay.* Oh thank god. *A few hours? She wasn't leaving then, even if she hadn't slept -- she couldn't sleep, she could hardly think, her eyes were hazy even with her contacts, her heart seemed to pound in her ears, and she had a headache and a stomachache and --bloody hell.* Nick...the poison, *The word was breathless on her lips,* it...was it...did it have anything to do with...*She clenched her teeth but made herself ask and wouldn't blink or shrink away,* Flowers...? 

 **Nick:** *Whoever this was staring off idly and around and behaving so oddly wasn't the Sienna West he knew, or rather, knew about. They'd only met officially at Eliza's birthday party during the summer, but he had been hearing about her ever since he started getting closer with Lynn and Hols. They would both have him believe she had been public enemy #1, and only Lynn seemed to get the Johnny Depp/John Dillinger reference when he made it. Obviously, now the heat of the slander was focused on Sam and Victoria, but that didn't mean he'd started hearing a kind word about Sienna. Nevertheless, he didn't make judgements before meeting a person. But the Sienna he'd met even if it was briefly, wasn't the one sitting in front of him now. Though both did share a misunderstanding about his humor. Well, hospital humor was never appropriate anyways.* Um, yeah I suppose. Petals, more like. Aconite and arnica, mixed up. Lynn could explain this a lot better than I *but she wouldn't want to* but they both go by monkswood and wolfbane...*he bit his bottom lip once* You're looking a bit pale, are you sure you're alright?

 **Sienna:** *It had been. Her eyes instantly shut again, horrified that for the first time in her life she might be as expressive as Eliza, might show what was going on behind her dark eyes. A chill seems to take her, but she wasn't sure how it could have. There was no window open. And she wasn't afraid..maybe he was right, maybe she was just sick. As loathe as she was to admit to a sickness (whatever her churning stomach told her and had told her, for weeks), as it was weakness, it was preferable to fear.* I--maybe not. *She was not afraid. She swallows harshly, catching a ragged breath in a scratchy throat and rubbing at her head -- goddammit, she wanted her pillow, but Devin had to wake up first.* Nick, I think it... *She wouldn't usually tell him, some part of her seemed to know, but she couldn't help it. She needed to tell someone, someone who wouldn't instantly snap at her, turn her in, because she just couldn't handle this. Lynn had told him worse, she figured. If he could have kept -her- secrets, he could keep hers.* I think it...*There were not tears in her eyes, she thought, rubbing quickly under her eyes for a third time and hugging her sweater to her chest,* I think it might have been me.

 **Nick:** *He was starting to think that maybe she was more affected by Devin's condition than he had originally thought. That made sense to him, a fault of his judgement for discounting the depth of their friendship. He didn't seem to be quite adept at anticipating anything at all in this conversation, for her revelation had surprised him. Nick made sure he didn't do what he wanted to do and stare dumbfounded. There was one key detail of what she said that required his full attention.* You're not sure? *If it had been intentional, then surely she wouldn't be telling him. And the look on her face wasn't of remorse. It looked more like she was frightened. And if he put himself in the conspiracy mindset like Hols, who was turning out to be right about everything, then maybe Sienna looking so sick wasn't a coincidence.* What happened?

 **Sienna:** If you're asking if I intentionally poisoned my friend, I may have to smack you. *The crisp words left bitten, red, raw lips even as she hugged her purse closer. Then her eyes widened, realized what she'd said and as pleased as she was to hear strength in her voice, she twisted both lips together, cast her glance at the ground and furrowed her brows.* ..Sorry. *She hated that word. But she wanted him to help (at least she thought that was why she was telling him) and so...smacking him would be a bad idea, particularly when all he'd done was ascertain what she'd actually just said. A strange, haunted look overtook her gaze as she stared absently at the arm of a chair near Nick. She was monotonous a moment, half wanting to take it back, half wanting to strangle a certain person's neck.* 

No, I'm -- I'm not sure, but I know I...when I first visited two weeks ago there was...I was...I took flowers in. For someone else. I don't...*Now she's chewing on her bottom lip.* I can't quite remember..but I'm *Her voice gains momentum a bit even as her eyes continue to widen*, -sure- I put flowers beside his bed, I'm -sure- of it, because I had to find a vase, and then the only one they had was unbelievably plain and in the wrong area of the room, it would have directed energy very poorly, Feng Shui I mean -- you're from California, you have to get that -- *Actually did the States get anything?* -- so I conjured one, and I remember I made sure it was directly by his bed. I don't remember after that, I just...I..*Her eyes narrow again and she whips her gaze up to Nick, saying quietly,* 

I wouldn't hurt him, Nick, you have to believe me, I wouldn't hurt any of them. Dev and I might not always get along but -- but he's been there for Eliza, for Al, when I couldn't be and I--I regret that sometimes, even knowing I can't be anyone but myself, and I'm so glad they have someone. Not to  mention he's saved me in half a dozen classes. But they...are the people who have always been there for me, I mean, *She exhales sharply, voice trailing off and saying quieter,* I even like Nadia, whatever it seems. It's just been...hard. To be the one left behind. We've changed, we all have...I understand, I really, really do. I've changed too, I guess I just don't...I've never been quite as brave as Eliza is, whatever she says. You know, *Her voice changes again, stronger.* I know Alcott has grown, I know with...what he has to deal with now, he's changed. I know I can't understand it. But it's quite galling to be told time and time again that he became a better person the moment he started lying to my face. *Her voice is prim, her chin high, but her lips quiver.* Even if he was doing so to try and protect me..it is..quite galling. 

I always thought he was wonderful, I always thought he was better than he did,  and I've known about his family for half a decade now -- I just...*She shakes her head and looks at the floor. She hadn't made it public knowledge, she thought bitterly; she knew he hadn't wanted to talk about it. And that was all right, it had been all right, he talked about it once or twice with her or Eliza. It had made her feel special. She hadn't minded when he started telling Devin either. After a few moments of silence, she lifts her gaze again, refusing to look anywhere but his eyes, pressing crescent moons into her pale skin.* 

I know why Hols wouldn't like me, I know I'm the easy target to point the finger at. It's not like I -wasn't- jealous. I mean, *she scoffs incredulously* of course I was, I lost the boy I thought I would marry, when he went through hell, and only now do people seem to realize what a great guy he is--so yes, yes of course I miss him, and I miss them, and I know why Lynn wouldn't like me either - can only imagine what she's said - ....but Nick, they're my best friends. All three of them. And I wouldn't -- I couldn't, hurt them. Any of them. Please say you believe me. 

 **Nick:** *He raised his hands in front of him as a sign of peace as she snapped at him.* Of course not, Sienna. I'm asking what happened. *He really did mean what he said, quite literally, about 98% of the time. Nick nodded as she started explaining, immediately finding it strange. She didn't remember who she was carrying the flowers in floor? Very suspicious. And the fact that she couldn't remember meant that her memory had been tampered with. He could feel anger wanting to rise. How much more would they have to endure? How many more people were going to suffer for this revenge?

Feng Shui. He laughed once, unable to restrain the amusement before he nodded. What she said next was decidedly not funny, but his attention remained solely on her, just as focused if not more so. She was no longer speaking of how she might have been the one to get the potion inside the room, but rather of her. How she was feeling with all of this.

Here was another side to the story, another point of view. The 'evil witch' turned out just to be another teenage girl, who felt like her friends were moving on without her. Oh, no doubt she had her flaws, didn't they all? Lynn could just as easily be casted as the villainess in a role reversal that switched nothing, not a personality trait, not a quirk, not a word, but the point of view. He supposed it was easy to think like he did, when he grew up so close to Hollywood and the movie business. Just because he was a shit actor, didn't mean he was totally clueless about storytelling.

And Sienna was being genuine. Maybe she would regret telling him all of this later, but Nick would never hold it against her. He understood the need to talk about it. As macho as he liked to think he was, or rather make people he was (he wasn't very good at it), sometimes there was nothing more necessary than talking to a stranger or, well, he wasn't exactly a stranger. Just the only one there, because she felt like she couldn't talk to anybody anymore.

He understood her. Even with being Lynn's boyfriend and loving her with all his heart, even with finding a best friend in Hols who he loved as well, Nick understood Sienna. And she was right, she was absolutely right. 'What do you mean she's right Nicky?!' He heard it as clear as if his friend was shouting it in his ear. But she was, and he wasn't going to tell her otherwise.* I do believe you, Sienna. And if you don't mind me intruding...I think you should tell them that too, at least that you miss them. *But he wasn't a psychiatrist, and she wasn't looking for a psychiatrist. Sienna just wanted her friends back.* I believe you. And that means that someone's been messing with your memories. Because there's never been a vase of flowers in his room. 

Sienna: *Utter relief broke across her face with those simple words and she smiled. It was a tiny, tearful smile, but a genuine one - and she kept it as long as she could, even as his following statements soured the warm spark. Swallowing tightly, she rubbed over her eye with the sweater again, determined to chase away a latent tear. When she lowered her hand, she tucked nodded several times, lowering her purse back to her lap and toying with the chain, the little diamond owl that Eliza had gotten her.* Thanks. *The single word sounded odd after so many had burst from her lips. While she thought part of her was certain to die from embarrassment at all she had just revealed to someone she hardly knew -- to the boyfriend of her so-called enemy (and, as she had just asserted repeatedly, friend's sister) nonetheless -- Sienna flatly couldn't care. She was glad he said it, warmed by it, even as her head pounded and her breath still seemed scant.* That...I needed to hear that, Nick. *Even quieter,* I...well of course everyone misses Devin right now, and Eliza..I have to..fix something with but--I'll tell Al. 

*She lifts her gaze back to his, unwavering in a tiny frown.* There--yes there was, it was on his nightstand. I--I just saw it, how--*She swivels as if she could see through the wall, then rolled her eyes at the drawn paisley curtain. Exhaling, her hand rubs at her forehead as she says aggravated,* It -can't- be though, I'm--I practiced Occlumency for _hours_ and _days_ and _weeks_ I, I know how to keep someone out of my head, there's.. *She wrinkles her nose. Then her eyes go wide.* Granted, all right, I've had a persistent migraine-- *She shrugs a shoulder, and snaps the purse, yanking on the diamond owl, unzipping and digging through to find the tiny potion Alcott had made her, taught her to make, a year ago. She knew where he got the research for it, but only murmured a silent thank you to both Brackners under her breath before resuming talking to Nick,* It's nothing unusual though really, I mean, we have our O.W.L.s coming and then all this -- this happened, and the holiday season upcoming and all the homework--I thought it was just...*She shakes her head, uncapping the vial and sipping briefly.*

 **Nick:** No problem. *That was just his reply of choice when it came to accepting gratitude wasn't it? He was only noticing this just now. Nick nodded as she didn't reject his advice, though he would have understood if she did. He wanted her to work things out with Eliza and 'her boys' as she always referred them to as. Just that choice of words actually, Nick thought a moment later, facilitated the separation. Maybe he was a psychiatrist after all.*

It's not...*he worried now, well more than before.* Occlumency protects directly against Legilimency and in that same strain, Imperius, but it wouldn't stop a memory modification. *Especially not by someone whom she trusted, or semi trusted, but he wouldn't say that out loud. The suspicions against Sam and Victoria were still lacking any actual evidence.* If it has just been modified though, it can be reversed.

*A migraine was consistent with memory modification, especially one that was badly done. He watched her take whatever potion it was in silence and then nodded with her words. That was true, stress was rampant even normally. And in these circumstances, even more so; it was easy to see why she would just play it off.* Even if you were the one to bring the plant to the room, you should know that it's not your fault, and you shouldn't feel guilty. The important thing is that Devin will wake up soon. 

 **Sienna:** How could I not feel guilty? *She did try to keep her tone calm, but it shook and was sharp all the same as she rubbed her throat. What he was saying made sense - she thought it did, anyway, remembered Alcott talking about the difference in modifying someone's memory -- but it just all felt hazy, like she was struggling to catch a wispy cloud and kept grabbing knives instead.* If it was -- if my memory has been modified, if I -- *God, even just saying it seemed to make her headache worse, and she realized maybe she should talk to Alcott about this after all. If there was anyone she knew who had some understanding of these spells...it was Alcott. She knew he tended to have a photographic memory, but in this case she also knew damn well his father's research had been basically his favorite bedtime story. Exhaling,* --then, then it was someone I trust, someone I consider a friend, someone who I didn't fight against when asked and just -- *She wrinkles her nose again, hand slipping the vial back into her purse.* -- then that is my fault! I should have known, stopped it. 

 **Nick:** *Logic never worked when someone blamed themselves. That was a pretty known fact. If he knew anything that would help, he would say it but he didn't think any of it would help. At Sienna's revelation of thinking herself guilty of bringing the poison, he had sat down on the table in front of her. Now as he saw her struggle with herself and her mind, he couldn't keep from leaning closer, shaking his head slowly.* You couldn't have known, Sienna. You can't blame yourself for being deceived by a person you thought friend. Want to blame somebody, blame whoever thought they could get away with using you. Because whoever they are *-and boy did he have an idea of who that was-* they don't deserve you. Not to mention they're probably nuts, and getting what's coming to them soon. But dwelling on what you could have done...*he shrugs and shakes his head again* seems rather pointless doesn't it? I'd be more focused on what I could do, right now.

&. 

“I really wouldn’t struggle like that mate. Terrible rope burns, you know.”

As expected, the boy didn’t listen to him. Or perhaps he was just genuinely startled, for he instantly yanks up on the restraints, and jerks his neck to spin his head. Wild eyes search Hans up and down as the boy chokes on white linen to paint it a sloppy red. Letting the boy exhaust himself, he stands relaxed with his legs spread and hands braced behind his back. A smirk curls on the edge of his lips, but Hans’ eyes are hard. They stare at the captive, bright like a fresh sapphire still being chipped out a gloomy caveside a hundred miles below the ground, in the dark and cold. 

He surveys the scene, ignoring the muffled whimpers of pain (he really did have to stop grappling with those ropes). The room was sparse but elegant; ebony and gold paisley hangings cover the large window, a pair of standing lamps blanket the room in muted light. A red carpet, lush beneath his feet, covers hardwood. There’s a single bookcase, overstuffed and a plush chair shoved in the corner. A reading room, Hans thinks amused. A room for learning. How delightful. 

Of course, just because they pushed the one chair didn’t mean he’d make the poor boy stand. Though from the sound of things, maybe he’d prefer to do so. Metal scrapes as the boy tries to move the chair to which he was bound. Thick ropes scrape at his wrists and ankles. Blood still drips from the cut above his right eye, falling on his gag. Hans shakes his head slowly, and his companion takes the cue. 

“He said don’t struggle.” 

The harsh bark makes Hans smile. He takes a few easy, graceful steps towards him, still not letting him go. When the boy didn’t listen to him either, hatred and fear glinting in dark eyes, Zach backhands his mouth. Blood splatters, mixed with spittle to land on his own scrabbling fingers and knee. Tears pearl in the corner of his eyes, but the boy shuts them to prevent them falling. 

“Thank you, Zachary. That will be all.” 

Still the captive yanks on the ropes and so Zach lifts his hand again -- but in an instant Hans has his wrist. Squeezing one-handed to feel the protruding bone beneath his thumb, he doesn’t blink as he looks at Zach. The boy looks between them transfixed with a hard gaze of his own, finally ceasing to pull on the bonds. Jawline pronounced, a muscle twitches in Hans’ mouth as if still it struggled to smirk against a rush of cold anger. Zach winces, realizing how easily he could break his wrist. 

“I said.” A growl traces his low tone. “You can go.” 

Zach left. Hans didn’t move until the door had shut, clasping his own hand again behind his back and watching the man retreat, sparing not a glance for his watery-eyed bleeding captive. At least, not until he hears the click of the other door, listening hard as he was to insure he was obeyed and left alone. Though of course the pack were privy to nearly every detail (what sort of man left his brothers and sisters in the dark?), there were some details only left to him. 

Satisfied that Zach was now by the sound of it, playing darts with his fellows (Oh dear, was Rachelle going to have to school him again?), he finally looks down to the boy again. He’s breathing hard against the linen, a fine drop of snot hovering so that were the cloth not there, he’d be swallowing it. 

“Apologies mate, let me get that for you.” His words are crisp with the reappearance of his smirk, brows cocking and wiggling over a relaxed expression. He retrieves a folded handkerchief from his pocket, speaking as he unfolds it, “It’s Dillon, right? My sincere apologies for the whole, snatch-and-injure -- don’t worry. I know you had plans. Rest assured you’ll still meet your girl.”

He’s leaning forward now. Dillon flinches with heavy breaths and muted gasps as he grasps his shoulder, shaking his head at him, trying to keep Hans’ hand from his face and leaning as far back as the chair’s arm will allow. Irritating, Hans thinks with a sigh, impatient. Grasping his throat and chin with one quick hand-jerk, he stills him even as the boy’s heartbeat scatters.

“Calm down.” It’s an order. The curt words hit the boy’s face, his eyes boring into the wild eyed ones. “You don’t want to make this worse for yourself.” 

Dillon’s expression twists, as if he meant to dare him to try if there were no gag stopping him. This streak of pride and resistance ran deep, he thought, mildly impressed. Unusual for Italians. They did have a habit of choosing the failing side, and running back quickly crying foul. Chuckling once, his thumb comes up, coated in his handkerchief, to swipe beneath the boy’s nose and over his gagged lips. 

“Fair enough, your situation isn’t ideal.” Hans speaks easily as he cleans him, hands swift and smooth, “But don’t tempt me. See, I’m in a very agreeable mood. We just have a few things to talk about. And then I’ll let you go, good as new, no harm done. If you cooperate. I swear. I’m a man of my word.” 

Scarlet flashes through his eyes. He grasps the boy’s shoulder again, then pats it and stands. Dillon’s gaze track him as he walks until he can’t turn his head further. Hans rounds him, folding the bloodied napkin back up. 

“You’ll be a hero even.” Hans’ chuckle is bright and chilling, perking the thinnest strands on Dillon’s neck. The captor looks to the ceiling, flashing a hand over his shoulder as he keeps walking.  “I wager Irene will be quite impressed. You were on your way to meet her, impeccably dressed by the way,” He stops walking at his side, waving the hand over the boy now. “I do love Italians.” 

He winks, and then resumes the slow circle of a vulture descending on prey. “You were hastening to your beloved girlfriend’s side when you saw a poor woman being assaulted by a mugger. Being the noble, upstanding, protective gentleman that you are, you just,” He stops next to the other side, grasping the high post of the chair’s back. His shoulder shrugs, casual with a chuckle. “You just had to intervene. And one of them might have broken your nose, but you knocked one out cold and got the woman her purse back, and doesn’t she love battle scars anyway? And then,” He resumes his slow circle, unhanding the chair post, “You simply had to walk the woman home, for what upstanding gentleman lets her walk alone after she’s been mugged? Thank the Lord you haven’t just joined your friend Devin in a hospital bed. Or worse. You’re so very sorry you’re late to meet Irene of course, but have every intention of making it up to her.” 

He stops dead in front of him. Dillon is glaring at him, the linen shifting with his quieting breath. He leans over, grasping both arms of the chair near the boy’s wrists, and stands over him close enough that he can smell his fear. It tastes like ambrosia to him, and he parts his lips canines appearing and eyes darkening, unable to help himself from a momentary indulgence.

The single word question is smooth, 

“Understand?”

For a few moments nothing happens. There’s heavy silence, like the kind that echoes in the back of your head when a bullet just was shot from the gun you hold and can’t remember firing. Dillon struggles against the linen, but is otherwise breathless and still, locked on his gaze with hate and fear billowing behind the stiff posture. He breathes in heavily and then out, nodding very slowly. 

Hans smiles. 

“Fantastic.” The word drips from his curled lips like a dash of honey. He closes his mouth, icy blue chasing scarlet out of his gaze and teeth retracted. Hans leans back, considering Dillon. Still smiling, he’s cut from explaining further when something genuinely surprises him. Lifting a hand to his ear and poking at the hanging strip of flesh, he stands as a statue cupping it. 

No, he was not mistaken. How delightful! And about time. 

“Ah, my sincere apologies Dillon--I swear, this was not my intention. It seems I have a long-awaited visitor I must attend to.” 

Ah, and of course that meant... 

“It shouldn’t take long, I imagine.” Hans’ words are chipper, his steps taking on a jaunt as he walks to the bookshelf. A snap of his fingers, and a black box from the eighties appears on the shelf. He toys with the boom box’s dial, asking lightly, “What sort of music do you like?” Static colors each station he spins past, loud and short blasts of every song from those golden oldies to early holiday music echoing in the small room. 

“It’s not that awful electric smashing that has your generation so ensnared is it? Honestly, what is it about that? Is it like a car wreck -- you just can’t look away?” 

Hans shakes his head side to side, smacking the side of the box. Twiddling bass and treble between finger and thumb, he fixes the antennae. Honestly, he knew he was a little less than a decade older than the boy but really, did that mean he had no taste? It had to be the West. His eyes rolled. Eastern europe would never be so accommodating of trash.

“Hm? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the music.” Hans chuckles at his own little joke, even as he deadens all sounds of the boy’s breathing and heart to even his own ears. Tilting his head back, his hand comes up as if in sudden apology. “Oh, of course, that’s my fault -- I forgot, you can’t tell me.” His hand flutters to land on his chest, patting down the suit jacket.  “I’ll just stick with classic rock then? Apologies I don’t have Italian aria’s on tape, I do love Puccini as much as anyone.”

Hans winks even with his convincing look of apology and starts walking backwards. As he retreats, he waves his hand to tighten the ropes again, and smirks hearing a hiss of pain. 

The call back is pleasant, “Don’t struggle. Honestly, you’re going to make your wrists bleed. I’ll be back before you missed me.”

Shutting the door behind him, Hans unhooks another heavy ebony and gola hanging. It swings to blanket the door from view as if merely hiding another window. The flat he walks into is much larger, steps light and half a dance down steps. A half dozen chairs and overstuffed couches litter the floor in front of him around a coffee table laden with architecture and art magazines and whatever else this complex thought passed for . The bay window was open to the balcony, where Zach and the others had disappeared to in a flash at the knock.

Hans crossed the room in half that time, hand slipping the bloodied handkerchief into a drawer beside a knife stand. He toyed with the handle of one, tweaking it and drawing his thumb to his lip, licking the scarlet drip to savor the taste. He stood behind the island, waiting until there was another abrupt knock.

And then, “Hans?”

Impatient suddenly, wasn’t he? In what appeared a single step to normal eyes, he was at the flat door, opening it with ease. Hand lingering on the gilded handle, faux shock crosses his expression. As if he hadn’t been expecting him. 

The boy in front of him was of his height, anger and wariness in his gaze. He was tense, elbow sticking out from his side as he leaned towards the door, hand half in his pocket. Hans chuckles, speaking brightly,

“Alcott. Won’t you come in mate?” 

Alcott’s gaze darts behind him, around him, apparently taking in the lavish space to ensure they were alone. A casual shove leaves the door hanging open, but Hans doesn’t wait for him. He merely turns on his heel, a twinkle in his eye as he returns to the spacious kitchenette.

“I was just about to eat.” He calls over his shoulder, insuring his voice carried. Glee appears in his eyes as his gaze slides over the black hanging before stopping on the fridge door. He leans over it as he flicks it open with his pinkey, tapping a thumb against the handle.  “I’d invite you to join me, but unfortunately tonight I’m expecting another guest, so unless you happen to know hi--,” 

“I’m here for one reason.” Alcott finds his voice on the third step through the floor, impatience and anger in the tone. Touchy. Hans smirk flicks up, as if he was smirking at the rare steak that sat in front of him, marinating in barbecue. 

“I know.” Hans says, eyes appearing over the top of the door as he looks over without moving. The smile is still wide. 

“You’re here to ask me where I’ve stashed Nadia away.” 

Alcott stiffens, clenching his back teeth. He glares at Hans, unmoving, hand slipping from his pocket to slap his knee. A giggle stores in his throat, and Hans only looks back to the fridge. 

“The answer is yes, by the way. You rather are that predictable.” Now Hans chuckles, emerging with a pair of beers, effortlessly grasped between his pinky and ring finger. The door shuts behind him as he approaches Alcott, holding it out.

The beer rests in the air between them. Alcott only looks at it for a moment, before raising his glare to Hans’ smirk. The boy’s heart is steady, Hans notes with approval, but he clearly was still having some difficulty controlling that anger. It was typical of them. Hot-blooded animals, and what not. 

“Where is she?” 

If that question were written down, it would be in poisonous silver. Covered in barbed wire. The low, dangerous curt words strike Hans lips, and still he only smiles.

“It’s impolite to refuse, you know.” He gestures with the beer again, opening the other with a flick of his thumb against the jagged metal. The cap skirts across the island as it lands behind him. Alcott ignores this, merely watching as Hans takes a sip of his own. With a quick gulp and gasp, he jerks his head sideways, as if impatient himself, “Come on mate, making me feel like a bad host here.”

“You kidnapped my friend.” Alcott bit out, incredulous. 

Which one? Hans’ smirk asks that for him, a brow cocking. He thinks of Dillon, still bleeding, still smarting, still tied up listening to the twelfth verse of that abominable yuletide song. Who wanted that many birds anyway? Now the maids-a-milking, that he could understand.

“Tell me,” Alcott takes a step forward (threatening wasn’t he?), “Where Nadia is.” 

“See now.” Hans spoke easily, setting the other beer on the island behind him. He gasps out a high laugh, lips parting as he does so: it’s too good, too amusing, just too much. Rubbing the corner of his smirk, he finally continues shaking his head, “I’d love to help you out mate, I really would.”

Shrugging a shoulder, he slides his hand into his own pocket and meets his gaze again. The delight of Alcott’s arrival and the amusement he elicited knowing what he’d interrupted had put him in a good mood, so his voice remained calm. Rachelle would smirk at that, he thought, ask who was getting killed for him to be so delighted. 

“But unfortunately, I can’t. You seem to be overlooking the fact that you know very well I was remarkably unable to grab anyone the evening Miss Tudor disappeared. Let me see if I can jog your memory -- a big silver thing in the sky? Four legs and fangs?” He gestures around his lips and cheeks, smirking wide.

“You’re working with someone.” Alcott continues to bite down on his teeth, as if he’s physically restraining the urge to punch him. Hans’ heart ached at the thought. Oh Alcott, you can’t fight the urges that way...abstaining only leads to binging. Though, he appreciated the phrasing. Clever boy, he thought again. It would have irritated him to hear again how he was working for, someone. 

“I have friends.” Hans agrees easily, taking another sip of his beer. Alcott swallows, perking his chin up, but stays silent, even as Hans allows, “I’d like to be yours.”

“Friends don’t kidnap friends.” 

“That’s true!” Hans points at him, index finger extended around the bottle. It throws Alcott off, and the hard gaze finally falls as he realizes what Hans meant with those two words. 

“Nadia will be released if I cooperate with you.” The realization was more astonished than angry, but only for a moment. Then his fist curls, and he’s launching it at the man’s face faster than one could blink, faster than anyone could stop...

...except a wolf whose been at this a decade longer than him, who has that silver little God-send in his pocket. Hans side-steps, grabs his wrist and twists him up against his chest in an instant. Gripping tight and relishing the fact he has to wrestle with superhuman strength for once, Hans sways while shaking his head, chuckling in Alcott’s ear. 

“You really do have a temper mate.” The scoff irritates him, but it’s what he says next, so easily, so knowing, that curdles Alcott’s stomach.

“The transformation must still be so painful for you...I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry for insinuating you hurt Devin before, that was poor of me -- but the point stands. You hurt someone,” He tilts his head, matter of fact, “Lucky you didn’t kill him, really. It’s all right. You’ve lost control, it happens. I can help you, honestly, if you’d calm down, and stop accusing me. We’ve all been through this here.” 

He gestures with his head, turning them without releasing, chin pointing at the balcony where the others rest. Alcott’s face contorts as he looks at them, brows furrowing. “All of us at some point or another. We’ve all hurt someone we didn’t mean to. Your temper...phew,” Hans whistles under his breath, “Wait until you meet my sister Rachelle -- I swear, when she gets angry, she rivals Vesuvius.” 

Love you sis, he thinks amused. 

“And, we all have to deal with the fact that anytime anyone is hurt, anywhere, we’re the first anyone suspects. Even our friends. Even ourselves.”

At that last, he feels Alcott stop struggling. Triumphant (and about damn time), Hans releases him and steps back, straightening his collar. Alcott falls away from him, scrambling to support his weight again and looking back at him. He shakes his head, but there’s a glint in his eye: a glint that Hans recognizes. The smirk on his lips disappears, softens at the edges with the hint of genuine empathy. 

“Nadia’s nothing to me,” Hans’ words were calm, even as Alcott’s jaw stiffens. “Can’t you see that? I’ve never even seen the poor girl. I said I came -- I said we, came -- because there we look out for one another. You need help, Alcott. Rachelle, she isn’t my sister by blood -- but she’s my sister in anyway that matters, they all are. Every one of us has done things we’re not proud of. And because of it, because we were bitten, because we have abilities that scare normal people, because we’re different...the world declared we’re unfit to live. Or worse.” 

He whispers it now, realizing Alcott’s inched towards him with every word, seeming to forget to breathe. 

“We declared it on ourselves.” 

The moment Alcott drops his gaze to the floor, Hans knows he’s right. It clenches in his chest, the realization and now he takes a step forward, raising his hand to comfort the poor child, fingers curling over his shoulder. He’s the first not to cower at his touch, not to pull away. That makes Hans smile. 

“It’s all right, mate. I swear,” His voice breaks even as Alcott lifts his gaze to meet his, “You’re not alone in that either. I pulled a knife out of my brother’s hand, about thirty seconds before he jammed the silver into his heart.” Alcott stopped breathing again, his bottom lip stiffening. His gaze darts away, lands on his hand holding the boy’s shoulder, and then to his shoes. Then he nods, slowly, and keeps nodding. 

“And now,” Hans voice lightens, “Now he’s my right hand man. A better friend, a more happy companion, you could never ask for. The world declared us unfit to live, so we have fun instead. We found our own family. You can do that too. You can control it, Alcott, you can.”

Alcott looks at him, a small smile on his lips, even with wariness and distrust still in his gaze. That was perfectly all right with Hans, though it saddened him. Of course he would be distrustful: Gustav had taken his friend. Hans’ gaze doesn’t shift as he keeps his words light, airy.

“Of course, I should tell you it starts with embracing the fact you are the wolf. They aren’t two seperate things, the wolf is you, you are the wolf.” He shrugs a shoulder. “But the deep, psychological exploration is best suited for when you trust me. Otherwise mate, I’m just wasting my time.”

He lets Alcott go, and slides his hand into his pocket. Alcott laughs, and then looks surprised at himself for doing it. Triumph and warmth in his throat, Hans merely walks towards the wine rack.  The green bottle he grasps, and slips free is filled with a silver liquid. Uncapping a vial from his pocket, he pours with ease. 

“What’s that?” Alcott asks, impatient and distrustful as ever, clearing his throat as if he was struggling to regain his own self. Hans smirks again.

“This? Oh, a gift from an Angel.” Hans couldn’t help the tiny joke. Irony amused him. And as he said: fun, that was the point, wasn’t it? They were different. They were stronger. They were better. 

“My friends and I,” He turns, holding the vial to Alcott with an open palm, “We have a bit of an edge, in controlling this, in learning to embrace it. This.” Holding it up, he grips the delicate glass between finger and thumb. “This, gives us the ability to transform at will.” 

It’s plain Alcott doesn’t believe him..and desperately wants to, at the same time by the way his gaze darts from the vial to hold his with a heavy gasp. Hans stays still as Alcott flusters in front of him. He’s calm as ever, listening to the distant, loose violin strands of Silent Night. The song was better in the original German. 

“You’re--,” 

“Lying? I’m not a liar, Alcott. Merely careful with the words I choose.” He tosses it to the boy. Alcott catches it with a speed that surprises himself, clasping the glass to his heart and shaking as he looks at it. There’s fear in his gaze. Afraid it would work or afraid it wouldn’t? Hans’ wonders before deciding: both. He throws both hands up to swear his honesty. 

Then he starts walking to the door, each step another bullet of a sentance, suddenly brisk and impatient, 

“Go ahead. Try it. Test it for poison. Do whatever you want with it.” 

He opens the door, and leans against it, smirking back at Alcott. The boy stands off a moment, disquieted, but there’s a glint in his eyes again. A dark amber had appeared there, a flash of true want as he holds the vial up and looks at it. His breath is caught in his throat. 

Biting his bottom lip, he nods once and then pockets it. He didn’t believe it, he told himself. He didn’t. So instead as he walks to the door, and halts on the threshold, looking at Hans. 

“I’m going to find, Nadia.”

“I know you are. Devin will wake up too.” 

The blunt assurances rang with truth that Alcott didn’t like. For a moment, he thought, they sounded like something Nadia would say. She got that tone sometimes. It made him wince, and to cover, he asks what he thinks is unrelated.

“Who’s playing the holiday music?” 

Hans’ smirk widens. 

Faster than some could blink, Hans is back in the small little reading room. Dillon has ceased resisting the binds; blood is dripping off his wrists to paint the wood. Slow and steady. Steps matching the relentless drip, he comes up to the poor boy from behind and slowly undoes the gag.

“My sincere apologies, Dillon, I’m a popular man. I swear, I don’t need much from you.” 

There’s a gasp as the gag falls on the boys lap. With the continuing halleluigh chorus echoing off a static radio, Hans kneels beside the chair and clutches his shoulder and arm, smiling wide at him. 

“I’m not doing anything for you.” Dillon bites it out, eyes narrow with fear and hatred. His voice is hoarse, but obviously heavy with emotion and sincerity. Poor boy thinks he means it. Hans tilts his head, sympathy in his gaze for the delusion, a dangerous twitch in his jaw.

“Aw. Don’t be sore.” He reaches up to pet the boy’s head, stiffening in amusement as his captive suddenly rears back, jerking away from it and then hisses as the ropes rub against raw skin. Hans shakes his head; while bravery could be admirable, it was in this instant incredibly stupid. That was one thing he couldn’t abide, and never could. 

“You won’t even remember meeting me.” Hans promises, with a curl to his lips. “It’s not you I need. It’s your girl. Irene?”

“You stay the fuck aw--“

“Vulgarity isn’t necessary.” Hans cuts him off with a quiet ‘cooing’ whisper. Then he leans in to his ear, cups his cheek and locks his gaze with the boy. He struggles in his grasp, gasping on a sore throat with blood still pearling at the corner of his lip, but a single finger keeps the boy from blinking. 

“Figlio di una mignotta.” It’s the first time that Dillon smiles.

“Now, that’s a terrible thing to say about my mother.” 

“Go to hell.” Dillon spits out at him, flustered to have been understood, the drips spraying against his lip. Disgusting, Hans thinks with a nose wrinkle as his eyes shut only an instant. When he opens his eyes again, they’re scarlet. Dillon’s widen in response, lips trembles beneath his firm grip. He’s shaking, the tightening grasp making him realize how easily Hans might snap him in half. 

“Better.” Hans’ whispers, and then leans forward. He hisses the instructions in Dillon’s ear, quick and brutal as they were. The scarlet flash in his eyes is matched with a muttered Imperius; the spell wand less effortless to him by now, something he was teaching to Rachelle. Persuasion was a natural skill of his, after all. Ansel could do the Cruciatus wand less and wordless as well: a skill Hans never wanted for himself, but had to admit was quite useful. Simply...inelegant.

Dillon continued to tense under his grasp, and then he suddenly chokes realizing what he’d just been told--gasping out a quick refusal that Hans cuts off.

“You will.” He snaps it, dangerously low on tolerance. “And if perchance, you begin to fight the spell, remember this too. That sweet little blonde sister of yours? Oh, Arianna’s lovely. I’d enjoy seeing her again.” 

A curl of fear blossoms in Dillon’s furious gaze before going dark as Hans shoves the chair down and smacks his head into the floor, elbow cutting under his throat to hold him in place and swallow the boy’s scream. 

&.

 

 **D’Grey:** You know. *He’s leaning against the door frame, arms folded and head cocked, a tiny smirk on his lips as he looks in on Angel. Though he had been there for several seconds, he hadn’t made a noise approaching, enjoying as ever to simply seem to appear from the shadows. It was the subtle things that said: I need no introduction. Lips flicking with the dry remark, * I had thought the dumbest thing that Roswell could have done was let you keep that wand and neglect any kind of vow against killing him. *One hand folds on his heart. The other flies in the air, as if to say ‘on my honor,’ though his smirk only serves to highlight the ironic statement.* Don’t worry, I have no intention of forcing such an oath myself, I only -- *Head leaning into the post, his shrug is casual,* -- am amazed he could compound the mistake by sending you to take care of the poor girl. She’s in school with your son, isn’t she? *He hadn’t put it together at first; however frequently she had mentioned Angel. It was only when Roswell had dropped a line about recent tragedies at Hogwarts that he’d realized the connection.* 

 **Angel:** *Didn't these people ever knock? He looked over his shoulder and held back a scoff as he saw D'Grey leaning on the doorframe and turned back. At times, Angel felt like the group therapist; everyone just loved to walk into his room and expected him to listen. There was just no getting away from it. But it was true: Gustav's arrogance had allowed Angel a lot of freedom. He would still have a found a way around it somehow, it would have just taken longer. The question was unexpected but it wasn't wholly surprising. It was basic math, someone was bound to notice eventually.* They're of similar ages, living in the same country *he shrugs, his back still to D'Grey* so I suppose they are. 

 **D’Grey:**   Yes, I suppose so. *Dry chuckles haunt his undertone, D’Grey takes a step forward, letting the door shut behind him with a wand less, wordless mutter. Oh, very good. The nonchalant explanation, coupled with the fact that he didn’t even spin around from whatever he was gazing at (or writing in, perhaps) so intently on the desk -- it was almost convincing. It only failed on the basic premise: of course he gave a damn and would have noticed if a girl they meant to release. It was his son. Call him old-fashioned or biased, but if it had been his father...well. Roswell would have been an after dinner snack. Not even worth the main course. Wry, he continues quite politely, * Shame about her memories then. I wager Roswell isn’t the most favored or illuminating font of information on that front.  *He halts again, leaning back against the wall to shrug. This time it’s with both shoulders, exaggerated, weighted with curiosity and certainty equally. His bright eyes stay trained on Angel’s back.* Still, if ever you had an escape route... 

 **Angel:** *He shrugs.* I just do what I'm told to. Gustav wanted her memories gone, didn't bother asking why. *He was never a fan of asking when he could find out the truth by himself. It was much more reliable that way; not perfectly but exponentially more trustworthy than hearing it from the likes of Gustav. Hearing D'Grey's last comment, he does turn around. Was it possible that someone of actual intelligence walked among the dregs?* I'm afraid I don't understand.

 **D'Grey:** Aren't you quite the little soldier. *He slips a hand free, raising it before he realized he had. Well, he supposed he was Italian.* You get your orders, follow them, don't question them? Admirable. *He cocks his head in disbelief and a little chuckle crosses his lips.* Well, you don't question aloud, anyway. *Though he was greatly interested in the girl's past now, he had to admit it only had one purpose to him presently. So he lifts his gaze, smirk widening as Angel turns around to look at him.* No? Let's see...Gustav asks you to tamper with her mind magically, sends you to heal her and check on her, and then she's released to friends--among whom one is your son? I mean, you uh-you don't really expect me to believe, even if I have no intention of interfering, you don't intend to take advantage of that, send a message? *False brightly, slapping his leg, with delightfully wide eyes.* Come on --you're smarter than that, aren't you? You're, *despite the honest words, he's half teasing and playful now,* a genius! 

 **Angel:** *And what was a visit without mocking sarcasm headed his way? It just made it easier to ignore, for there were more important things that D'Grey was saying; shocking, he knew. The man thought he had if all figured out...actually, he mostly had.* Ah, you caught me then. *Eyebrows rise* There's just one flaw with that, D'Grey. I don't trust the girl. *He shrugged, though he felt guilt saying that simple sentence out loud.* Wouldn't risk it. And Gustav's not that stupid. And the moment he found anything, my family would suffer. I won't put them in danger, simple as that. *It was little tidbits of truth that made lies more believable. Angel turned away again and picked up his pen to continue writing*

 **D'Grey:** Mm, he -thinks- he's not. *In all honesty, Gustav was fairly brilliant, certainly devious and resourceful. Only he let emotions cloud his judgment as easily as Angel stroked his ego right that second; he wanted revenge. D'Grey didn't care why. Revenge was a powerful motivator, but it always seemed to have one fatal flaw or another. Perhaps that was why he favored positivity himself.* Well. They'd suffer...if there wasn't someone to protect them there. They -would- be safest out of the country...  *He mused aloud, knowing perfectly well the hint he left: if things went well enough, it certainly wasn't only the girl he meant to make use of himself. As he'd told her: he erred on the winning side.* You don't have to trust her, or even tell her--ah, right. That's dishonorable to a man like you, right? Shame you don't though. I do. At least, I trust she won't be the puppet Roswell wants, not without a fight. 

 **Angel:** *Well, well. And just what kind of game was D'Grey playing at exactly? Angel left the hint unanswered, let it hang in the air where it was safest.* Use a frightened little girl without her knowledge? *He raised an eyebrow, though D'Grey couldn't see him.* I have some morals. *The irony of his words was laughable. Though he did turn around again as D'Grey admitting to trusting Nadia, his eyebrow still raised pretty high, before the man clarified. Yes, Angel thought, that was certain.* She's 15, all alone, and in the midst of being psychologically torn apart. She'll break, like we all do. *He shook his head before he chuckled bitterly* And what a fantastic addition to the puppet show she'll be.

 **D'Grey:** Of course, of course, I had forgotten, you have some. *Hand waving to gesture away from him, it was as casual a motion as his calm breath, nodding it off. Some, sure. D'Grey was amused at the irony; the man in front of him wouldn't believe him if he said the same. And if Angel's lack of commenting on his family was anything, his hint had landed well. Good. Gaze holding Angel's stubbornly, unwavering and with utter disregard for the thin sprawling scars on his face,* And yet for all your morality, you won't help her avoid it, refer to her as a puppet yourself, won't even tell her, her name? *For of course he had to know it; he was the one who took it away.* Curious. I would be inclined to believe you, agree even, only...your potion seems to have a side effect. As she can't cling to memories of loved ones, consciously anyway, she seems to hold on to her own morality instead. *Idly,* She's a bit judgmental, really. But broken? *How to put this...his smile was sly.* I suppose you could say she's as broken as you are.

 **Angel:** *Some, yes. Still, there were still some there. Despite the work he'd done for Gustav throughout the years, despite the fact that he was doing exactly what D'Grey suggested long before it had even crossed the younger man's mind.* Just because I have more morals than everyone in this place, doesn't mean I'm stupid. *That was his cover, after all. That he was too cowardly, too selfish, to try and help Nadia. He told her that himself and by the end of their last conversation, he suspected she believed it.* Not a side effect, simply the way the spell works. It disables long term memory, but no other cognitive processes, everything else left untouched. Gustav didn't fancy teaching her how to speak and walk anew. *The memories of how she became to be the person she is were lost to her, but personality was untouched. It was one of his more brilliant ideas.* Then I pity the poor girl, because she's shattered. No doubt Gustav asked you to make good use of that. Offering her the only kindness she remembers. *Because Angel's help, after all, was poisoned in her thoughts now because he had deceived her and it was D'Grey himself who had informed her.*

 **D'Grey** : Ah, it's not truly a question of intelligence though, is it? A man who can create such a potion as you describe, regrow organs and skin, allow wolves to turn without the moon -- I've never doubted your brilliance. *He wasn't lying whatever his bright, off hand tone suggested, nor was he mocking. All that was impressive, always had been.* No...it's a question of willpower. The will to see your family again...perhaps I was mistaken in one thing after all. I had thought we were...mm, a bit more alike. *Easily, steadily,* You don't truly think yours is the only family threatened? *That was as casual as anything. He was at peace with his decisions, after all, apparently much more than Angel was...and Tony need never know anything. Chuckling once, he only continued lightly,* Pity her as you do yourself? How...miserable. *Toying with his tie, he shook his head again, irritated with only one thing: it hadn't been any sort of calculation on his part that led to him telling her who had taken her memories. Whatever he had said to Roswell after.* Ah, was she upset with you? Sincere apologies. Actually, it was I who wished to speak to her; Roswell was merely indulgent. As friends are. *Oh, oh how that made him laugh. Amusement cracks at the edges of his lips.* I told her such as I thought she might cease unrelenting searches for the uh-the good of humanity. What a novel idea, isn't it? *He chuckles bitterly himself, eyes lifting back to his and holding steady.* We know the truth. 

 **Angel:** No. *That much was obvious, though it was surprising to hear D'Grey fit into that category.* But it's the only family I care about. *And there was no need for him to lie on that point. He swallowed back a snort on that uttered word. Friends. Gustav didn't have friends, he had people he saw use for and "granted" them favors as he saw fit to keep them compliant.* Well, it was nice attempt, with the opposite desired result. *At that he did have to chuckle dryly before nodding.* Through personal experience. In time, she will too. *Shrugs* All part of growing up, which she'll have to do and quickly to survive in here.

 **D'Grey:** How about that. *His words were dry, his mouth opening with the delight.* I wasn't mistaken after all. *His brother wasn't the only one he cared for (how sad that would be), but of those here, a few of whom he called friends sincerely lacking the sarcasm that haunted his tone when he said Gustav's name, Tony remained the only one he cared about. Simply, he owed his brother too much.* It did backfire a bit, *He admits with a dry little chuckle,* so she continued to look for it in you as well then? Such spirit. *He nods, a jaunty jerk of delight to hide his...surprise. Why did this girl seem to go against all psychological sense? He says a bit lighter,* Personal experience. Yes. I suppose that's another difference between us. Roswell might not trust either of us- intelligently, I'd add- but he didn't need to beat that lesson into my head, and he does believe I share his philosophies. *His brow arches slowly, as if to indicate he did not. Words unspoken were often the only ones that mattered.* You made sure he'd never believe that long ago. Admirable as such strength was, I'm sure. *There were many advantages to his name, D'Grey thought honestly, but the bit he relished the most was the fact everyone assumed they knew him by it. It was great fun to confound that expectation, always...or merely use it to his benefit, as he had. Olivier would never let one chain him to a wall, would never be punching bag anymore than he'd be a puppet. Ever.*

 **Angel:** *Somehow he highly doubted it, though he wouldn't say it out loud. He nodded as the answer to D'Grey's question. Nadia was fiercely determined, to the point of recklessness and foolishness. It was admirable and stupid.* Don't be so close minded, D'Grey. *He shrugged.* He didn't just beat my head. *Looking back on it, he would have suffered a lot less had he just given up a lot quicker and played the game Gustav and the rest wanted him to. He'd had too much stubborn pride.* Your family reputation gave you a certain advantage over me. Besides *he shrugs before he smirks* I doubt Gustav had a grudge against you.

 **D'Grey:** Ah right. *He chuckles abruptly, a genuine delight in his eyes.* I heard about that--the uh, girl you saved. It's such a fantastically enlightening story, I'm amazed Roswell doesn't tell it more often. Truly, *Again his hand lifts to the sky to swear on his honor,* I laughed aloud when Hans told me. *As he drops his hand, he shrugs a shoulder, continuing perfectly lightly without pausing for breath,* As to my reputation, I've always found it's much more enjoyable to cultivate my own and then abandon it. Keeps life interesting. Although speaking of names I don't have, Angel. *He tilts his head. He had no idea what the man's reputation had been. Smirking,* You play the same game. After all, according to your reputation, you're uh--dead. *His mouth twitches, amused.* And yet here you are! In the flesh. 

 **Angel:** Not much for jokes, the man. *Unless he was making them at another's expense.* Never learned how to laugh at himself. *Maybe at another time he would have felt sorry for the man, years ago, maybe...no, no he wouldn't. Even if Gustav hadn't chosen this life, he'd still be a despicable arse. He finished writing the sentence before he lost the train of thought completely.* Oh, smart man like you? You could figure out my name easy enough. Either way, doesn't really matter anymore.

 **D'Grey:** He is quite droll. *Matter of fact, he was worse than that: he was sadistic. Once he'd heard a comment he hadn't ever seen Gustav Roswell smile...but that wasn't true. When others were in pain, he offered the most sincere smile D'Grey suspected he had.* You flatter me. *He chuckles, the words light. As his gaze flicks to the ceiling, he considers it.* I suppose I could, yes, if I cared too. *Gaze flicking back down, he's suddenly still against the wall, all superfluous gestures gone. * Do you want me to? * Despite the lighthearted tone, if anything, this was the most serious he'd asked and arguably the reason he'd decided to seek the man out. Most never wanted to be on his radar--for good reason, D'Grey admitted with an unwavering smile to himself. Yet if Angel was to be any use at all, he had to have that stubborn streak...the one Gustav believed broken, the one that had left the man to be the longest to withstand the cells beneath their feet.* 

 **Angel:** *The sincerity and seriousness in D'Grey's question gave him pause. Why on Earth would he want the man to know his name? Like he said, it didn't matter, but he supposed it would help D'Grey realize why Angel was so invested in this plot. Anything that helped D'Grey, Angel was not in favor of, no matter their shared animosity (apparently) towards Gustav. He needed far more than that. And yet the previous comment that Angel left hang in the air was a constant reminder. What exactly was D'Grey playing at? He raised an eyebrow* What I want matters to you?

 **D'Grey:** I wouldn't care when a man won't care for himself. *It wasn't exactly an answer to the question; nevertheless, it was the truth. Just as he had been curious the depth of the girl's determination to fight, her constant calling back to how she 'wasn't listening to Angel either' had made one thing obvious (though perhaps not what the girl wished): Angel had gone above what Gustav asked for in trying to help her. He'd cared -- did, it was obvious -- and that was astonishing. Less astonishing when you put together she was in school with his boy. There was even a challenge in Angel's eyes with the half-accusatory question. Arching an eyebrow back at him, he said nothing else, patient as ever.* 

 **Angel:** *Convoluted answers to convoluted questions. Was there ever a time in which he had been bored by normal life? He could stand a little more boring to tell the truth. The real question underneath all of this was almost impossible to discern. Did he trust the man? No. Did he trust what he would do with the information? No. What did D'Grey want? He didn't know. The only thing he did know was that it wasn't the same thing as Gustav. Was the enemy of his enemy his friend? He wasn't too inclined to agree. This presented the dilemma. It wasn't often that Angel had no clear answer to a question. Time to go out on a limb.* Yes.

 **D'Grey:** *As the silence stretched, he was left with the distinct impression he was caught in one of those staring contests you played in grade school. Dare friends to deny base instincts and brave pain for the simple reward of getting to say you were better than the other. That wasn't too far off, actually. The single word answer pleased him, and he smiled. Still. He didn't blink.* All right. Let's see then. *He takes a few steps forward, standing straight as he pushed off the wall. With a quick gaze to the ring he knew was there already, he looked next at the small desk, eyes on the picture frame. Ruffling through his jacket as he did so, he pulled out a rolled up Prophet, rubber band unbroken. He held it to Angel without looking away from the photograph.* This, was for you. Two weeks back edition...your Minister is in..some trouble, it seems. Even if I'd had news to give you myself, I rather assumed you wouldn't trust me or believe it. So there. Although. *Abruptly chuckling,* I suppose you can't call the Prophet unbiased... *He pauses, his hand over the frame without touching it. Now he looks at Angel, question calm.* May I?

 **Angel:** *He took the prophet from him without looking away at first, but in order to look at it he would have to. His gaze dropped to the newspaper, as a moving picture showed Shane Stuart moving through what looked like Mungo's without paying any attention to the endless amount of reporters. No, the Prophet was far from biased but oddly enough, any stories against the Ministry itself, given that the paper was in its pocket, were far more believable than the other drivel. His son then. Angel wasn't sure which boy specifically had been harmed. Looking up again, he realized what D'Grey was asking and pushed back surprised at the man having been the only one to ask, and nodded.* Go ahead. *He rubbed his ring absently with his thumb as he looked back down at the page and kept reading, even while being accurately aware of D'Grey.*

 **D'Grey:** *Nodding his gratitude, he let him read silently a few moments and swiveled back to the photograph. It was clearly more than a few years back-- Angel's son was still up barely up to the shoulder of the blonde woman he presumed must be his wife. Brushing his thumb over the glass on her face, trying to remember why he knew her face...he realized abruptly.* Lyndsea. *Looking back up, his eyes were wide as he put them together, and batters down a chuckle of surprise, thinking it in poor taste.* This summer she held a charity event for...ah. *He only said that aloud to make it clear he had put it together; otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. Her husband's name- the man in front of him-took a few more moments to remember before he said calmly,* Why Harper, she has your name on every one of those lifesaving potions of yours. Well. The ones she knows of, at least. *And oh, didn't this just get oh so very, very interesting.* 

 **Angel:** *For all his insistence, Angel didn't think that D'Grey would have gotten to the correct conclusion so quickly. He looked up from the paper at the mention of his wife's name, and nodded, trying not to let show visibly how affected he was because of a single name, her name, Lyndsi's. He'd known about that charity, Gustav had attended and later had returned to gloat but that small detail had been denied.* Not that difficult to put two and two together and come up with four, is it?

 **D'Grey:** *He didn't think he'd ever seen the man respond so quickly to him (or to anyone there), but considered for a moment and kept his back straight, not reacting himself. Chuckling once, he quips just as easily,* I did always excel in math. *Harper Brackner. Well that did make sense: if he remembered the charity event properly (and not merely the enjoyable evening) she had spoken on his behalf. Tilting his head, he adds lighter to buy himself the time to process and understand,* Did you know you've been awarded an Order of Merlin? She mentioned that too. 

 **Angel:** I've heard. *Often things like that happened when an innocent bystander got caught in the crossfire. At least he had actually excelled at something, so the Ministry didn't have to grasp at straws to find a merit.* I've always thought it such a pretentious award. You throw enough money their way, and you could get one too D'Grey.

 **D'Grey:** I think I'll pass. *He chuckles as he sets the frame down, eyes still on it.* I never could abide standing upon ceremony. *He was looking at the boy, wondering if he too was familiar. Though he was so young in the photograph...and he had not been at the charity. Asking after him would only worry Ang--Harper, further, and D'Grey knew he was pressing his luck to begin with. So instead he said simply,* Olivier. That's my first name. *And he held out his hand to Harper, eyes holding his unblinking again. It was up to him if he chose to shake it.*

 **Angel:** *It was one surprise after another it seemed. He looked at the outstretched hand with wary curiosity, as if it were a new thing for him. Actually, it might as well been for him. He took D'Grey's hand after a few seconds of contemplation and shook it firmly.* I'm Harper. *He just wanted to say it, out loud.*

 **D'Grey:** *His smile flicks to hear it aloud, actually a bit surprised and impressed by the sudden strength in his handshake.* Harper. *He repeats it just as the man seemed to need that.* Nice to meet you. *The sarcasm in irony's honor was obvious in his expression: lips twisted wry beneath bright eyes. Shaking just as hard, he lets him go and then folds his arms on the desk, still observing him with curiosity. Harper Brackner... Jesus, he'd known Gustav was ambitious, but this was...this was...well, he could acknowledge it was impressive. And even more arrogant and foolish than he'd initially thought.* I'd say you could rest assured I have no intention of harming Lyndsea...but I doubt you're actually assured.* What a tangled web. How had he gotten himself mixed up in this again?* And the girl's name? *He asks first instead, still well aware he was making the man more wary with each question. He gestures,* Trust the Prophet to avoid that detail: after all, it's much more important to deride the Minister's wife's' shoes. *Granted, it was likely in other articles, papers, missing posters....D'Grey had only decided he gave a damn five minutes ago, and he had to admit: it probably wasn't in the way either the girl wanted. Harper on the other hand, he seemed to understand the futility of appealing to his 'better nature' as a sole reward, and that was much more useful to D'Grey's aims. That held promise. Lightly, he adds, almost teasing,* Apologies for missing your funeral, by the way. I'm sure it was a grand affair. Lyndsea seems quite adept at organizing those. 

 **Angel:** *He chuckled, lips flicking in a brief smirk.* Yeah, you too. *As laced as it was with sarcasm and irony, the exchange was one so common and so prohibited to him that he actually enjoyed it.* Pretty much. *There was nothing anyone could have said to reassure him of that fact. For a few seconds, he wasn't sure who D'Grey was referring to, so immersed in the article that he was. After a brief look up to the man again he decided to answer.* Nadia Tudor. *Maybe D'Grey, Olivier rather, could tell her for Angel couldn't.* No one better. *Though the thought of the funeral left a bad taste in his mouth. He held up the paper.* Can I keep this?

 **D'Grey:** *Unlike Angel's name-- rather, Harper--Nadia's had no moment of illumination for him. Nodding slowly, he decided he would have to investigate her further (or both of them, actually), when it occurred to him that Gustav might have lied to Harper. It was what he'd have done, after all.* Thank you. *Only after he'd spoken did he realize he wasn't mocking the polite words as usual. He meant them, if meant to intrigue him (for arrogant he might be, but foolish enough to believe the man could trust him, he wasn't) as well.* Of course. *He flaps his hand away from him, grin flicking,* That's what 'this was for you' meant -- I know, it might be a new concept, just bear with me here. *Relaxed, he glances only briefly at the shut door. He wished they could be having this conversation in his own home, where he knew the wards and spells, but Roswell would never let him take Angel out of the manor, and Harper Brackner much less. Instead, he flicks his gaze back to say genuinely, another hint in his veiled gaze,* Well. Lyndsea is lovely. I understand why you would not allow anything to happen to her for someone you've never met. *He nods briskly, despite the fact that his eyes remained sincere over a deriding tone.* Cowardly as it is. *Because of course, if anyone was listening, they had to hear him insulting the man only. Yet every blatant word was laced with the double entende,* And disappointing you -still- don't seem to understand the concept of making new friends. After all, friends, *And he cocks an eyebrow,* often feel obligated to protect each other's family. *He tilts his head--adding just as sincerely, eyes darkening despite his tone,* And helping one another out, of course, when they ask. 

 **Angel** : Just making sure. *Almost everything he had, was given to him by Gustav and the Death Eaters, even the majority of his pictures save the one he brought with him, his ring, his wand, and the gold tube of lipstick that had been the last thing Lyndsi had given him. Those were the most precious items he owned. Watching D'Grey's eyes flick to the door, he realized his train of thought. Lips pursed, he took the insult this time with a grain of amusement eand then simply nodded once after a chuckle he managed to make sound completely bitter. Maybe Nadia's opinion of the man wasn't wholly incorrect, maybe.* Good thing I don't have friends then.

 **D'Grey:** I suppose it does make for an easier life. *Pleased the man seemed to follow along, it only served to cement the fact he wasn't wrong in deciding to visit. That wasn't to say of course, that D'Grey was flatly going to help him: far from. It simply meant that should he choose too, he expected them to be mutual beneficiaries. He saw why Gustav had forced the man's loyalty--it was clear he was brilliant. Perhaps D'Grey just never got past the stage of wanting to take other's toys. Yet, there was more here, Olivier thought, as he remarked casually, brisk and offhand,* If an ultimately a less safe one for Lyndsea and the boy. *Protection was all they required for Harper to be free to retaliate; they both knew that. Gustav certainly planned for betrayals...but Harper he didn't think capable, and D'Grey knew he could use that...* Should the time come. *He said aloud, with a telling smile.*

 **Angel:** Only time will tell on that front. *He had to swallow on a dry throat for that, as the thought was a familiar.* So until that day, D'Grey. *He motioned to the door with the hand holding the once again rolled up Prophet, eyebrows raised.* Thanks for the paper.

 **D'Grey:** Look at that. *Battering down another chuckle, his voice is passably bitter as his hands lift in faux, amused surrender.* You do one small act of kindness like offer the paper, and suddenly you think you dismiss me? *Oh, but how delightful a shift that was. Shrugging both shoulders, a hand slips into his pocket again, adding drily even as he moves to the door,* Busy day of brooding over her picture?

 **Angel:** No, merely, and politely, showing you the way out. I've not lost all manners. *He drops the paper on his desk and then smirks, shrugging his shoulders.* Busy day of tackling the improbable and achieving the impossible. *He hadn't said that in a long time.* What is you do with your days?

 **D'Grey:** *There was something about the clipped and weighted words that told him that had more meaning to Harper than it did to him. It had a hint of..adoration, so he decided to let the man have his moment. Lord knew he had few enough of them, and if he'd given him that feeling of warmth, all the better for Olivier.* Oh..*carelessly,* Something ..half as impressive as that, I wager you're not interested. 

 **Angel:** It sounds half as exciting. *He said dryly, funny enough given his natural curiosity actually. Whatever D'Grey was up to, he was very interested in it indeed.* You'd have made money on that wager.

 **D'Grey:** Oh, except. *A darker glint appears in his eyes as he chuckles. Hand curling around the silver knob, his thumb fiddles with the lock as he turns back, and he lifts the other hand, pointer finger extended to the ceiling.* Entertainment is also in the eye of the beholder. *Gaze searching, he stills and smiles as he sees a hunger in Harper's eyes, eyes that had so often appeared nothing but dead.* In the company of friends. That's how. In this case, an old mate who you know quite well. Mm...and indulging. And in abandoning my reputation to confound others-*he points around Harper's general self,* which I wager I've done fairly well. *Both brows wiggle again over a tight smirk, asking brightly, letting the door go and standing up again,* Did you have a question, Harper?

 **Angel** : I suppose. I'd argue over the eye being the right organ at work there, but the analogy works nonetheless. *Ah more of D'Grey's friends. He wondered if the man threw the word around as often as Gustav did before he concluded, no, he probably didn't. It was a different style, a different method, not one that would suit him, it would seem. Then again, he should be careful about coming up with more assessments about the man when he so clearly enjoyed proving everybody wrong.* Right again. *He as well, had been proved wrong at least in most points.* Oh dozens of them, but none you could answer for me. *Not at that moment anyways, not so brazenly.* Besides, I wouldn't want to detain you from your, ah, friends.

 **D'Grey:** Ah, of course, you are a scientist. *This time, he doesn't chuckle, despite clear honest amusement. It wasn't a joke: in one way, that was simply what Angel was, what Harper became. Calmly, he cocks an eyebrow. No, he probably could not, not now. Besides, it was better that his words simmer in Harper's mind, let that hope...ferment.* As it happens. *He says lightly, gaze flicking to the frame for another instant,* My friend is in your country. Presently, anyway. On business. *One way to put it. His smirk flicks.* I'm meeting them in the Ministry--if I see Lyndsea, *he gestures at the frame*, I'll be sure to say hello. Since you-uh. Can't. *It was only half meant in seriousness; he was going to England, but he said it more simply because he knew it was more likely he was being listened too. And well...he was entirely amused.*

 **Angel:** *Yes that was exactly who he was now, a scientist, entirely devoted to his twisted work because that's almost all he had left. Almost.* England? Wasn't aware dreadfully gray was such a desired weather. *Business, he could almost choke on the word for how loaded it was.* How thoughtful of you. Goodbye, then.

 **D'Grey:** Admittedly, it does seem more in tandem with -your- mood. *He returned it easily, flicking the door open with a wave of his hand and stepping through it, chuckling to himself.* You should cheer up -ah-*he catches himself, in the hall again,*- Angel. It doesn't have to be so grim all the time. Especially not experiments with the ah- impossible or improbable, then. *His brow arched, meaning of course something entirely different than those (apparently) loaded words: he had another reason to be more cheerful. Then Olivier turned and walked down the hall at ease, comfortable, and proud. Only at the back of his mind did he wonder...what Harper was thinking now, and allow himself to wonder about the revelation of who Angel's previous identity.*

 **Angel** : *He watched Olivier leave his room, the younger man's words buzzing still in his ear like an incessant fly. He scratched it subconsciously and then lifted the paper again. He smiled at the fact that scrunched in the bottom of the front page was the results of the world gobstones championship. Life went on in the midst of all the chaos. He sat down, his legs too happy to do so. The visit threw him for a loop or two, and while neither Angel or Harper had ever written the muggle contraption they called roller coasters, he felt this is what it would feel like. He murmured under his breath.* Damn Italian bastard.


	23. Everyone Has A Guardian Angel

_A family of five seemed to be gathered in a large parlor, sitting room more likely, each with a drink in hand. She assumed they were a family, because they were so jovial in nature, taking teases at each other, laughing with ease; one woman punched a shoulder with a smirk on her face, and was met with nothing but laughter. Their faces were unknown to her, though for one face, the crinkled lines around the eyes seemed so familiar to her._  
  
“Obnoxiously polite,” a pair of men said in unison to a woman that feigned ignorance. It was hard for her to do with such a bright smile on her face. Her manicured hand, sporting a gleaming diamond ring and wedding band, lay intertwined with the man that could only be her husband. The happiness in her face was by far the brightest and most shining thing in the room, brighter even than her own white golden hair.   
  
“Your throat okay? Is your herpes acting up again?”  
  
Another blonde woman, dressed in jeans and a tank instead of an elegant dress teased the second man there, as the youngest of the group, just a boy, laughed. He was sitting in the middle, seemingly unable to choose between looking at the pair of joking friends or the sitting couple entranced by each other. The latter won out, it seemed. He spared any opportunity to just watch them, a tiny smile always on his lips, almost with a hint of disbelief. He was their son.  
  
The blonde clad in jeans spoke after taking a sip of her beer. “All I’m saying Max, if you end up needing to amputate your arm over this, I’ll be singing I-told-you-so off key and very loudly in your ear and you won’t have a hand anymore to cover that ear.”  
  
“Pleasant description,” the husband spoke. “Fortunately, I could grow back that arm.”  
  
“The level of loving concern you all offer is astounding. Really. I’m feeling smothered. I think you should give me a potion to save one from choking on the love and affection.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that exists, in the form of ‘go see the Healer.’” The wife spoke up as well.  
  
“And why should I do that when I can just ask my genius of an older brother?”  
  
And the other man was his brother, all a family. They were simply sitting around and taking jibes at each other, laughing together, teasing together, and fussing over each other. They were at peace and they were happy, and the image of it brought tears to the girl was seemed to be looking on from a distance.

Blinking again left the girl in the cell where she had been for what seemed forever. She had no other memory of a different place and yet she had seen a drawing room as plain as she saw the cell. Where her memories coming back?  
  
She had been writing in her journal when she must have dozed off and seen that, that memory, whatever it was. Was that her family? She tried to think about it again but found the images drifting away from her, and that left her with renewed terror.  
  
“No, no, no,” she muttered to herself as she picked up the pen again and tried to write down as much as she could from the memory. Damn, no names, but there was one said, it started with an M, or an N or- and they were all related, she thought. What were they talking about? She just remembered laughter and smiles. Tears dropped onto the yellow parchment of her journal, and a hand went up immediately to wipe them away.  
  
She wanted her memories back, she wanted them back, and she didn’t want to be here anymore. She scrunched up her eyes as she heard another scream, over and over and over again. Make it stop, she wished silently to herself. Her hands trembled as she raised them to her ears. She had so badly wanted Angel to come back soon, so that she might at least ask him to give her memories back but she hadn’t seen him since that she’d told him to leave her alone. She missed him, and missed D’Grey as well, missed human interaction and listening to something that wasn’t screams.  
  
“Help! Help me! Can anyone hear me?!”  
  
She looked up as a voice seemed to slide into her cell from across. It was very close. Standing, she made her way as close to the bars as she dared and then spoke up as well. “Hello?”  
  
“Hello?! Hello! Please get me out of here! Please!” The voice belonged to a frightened young man, but she could only barely make out his features through the darkness. She stood up again and grabbed her candle from beside the bed and set it beside her as she sat in front of the cell doors.  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” the truth of those words made more tears slip down her eyes. She was genuinely sorry; she would help him if she could. But there was very little she could do stuck there. But in time, the moment they decided to release her and carry out their attack, she would help then. “I’m stuck here too.”  
  
Her calm words didn’t seem to do anything for the boy, he still screamed in desperation, in fear, yelling for someone to come for them. She had never done any of that. Her suffering had been in near silence, her tears never loud enough to leave the small space of her cell. Angel had warned her the first day she had been there: don’t scream. Once you start screaming, they won’t let you stop. But she understood that once you did start, the best thing to do was to just let it out. So she stayed sitting there on the cold floor as the boy kept yelling for help. She was just glad that he didn’t try to touch the bars.  
  
Once he quieted down, she tried to talk to him again. “What’s your name boy?”  
  
It was quiet for a long time, apart from the sobs that left the boy’s chest before he answered her. “Wallace.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Wallace- careful. If you touch the bars you get burned, trust me.” She knew from experience. She traced the scar on her cheek absently. “I’m sorry I don’t have a name to give you…you can call me anything you like.”  
  
“Why don’t you have a name?” Wallace sniffed, keeping from touching the bars. She saw his pale face, his equally as pale hair as they stared at her through the bars. He couldn’t be any older than her, maybe a year or so…must be.  
  
“I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything.”  
  
“Are they going to do that to me?” he asked with sudden terror. She exhaled, knowing that no they wouldn’t. She was a special case, but he had worse things to worry about.  
  
“No, Wallace…are you magic?” she asked hesitantly, knowing that if he wasn’t he’d think her insane and if he was then she would be able to explain things a little better.  
  
“Yes, yes, I am…my grandfather, he’ll be so upset. I left the house, you see,” he explained, sniffing and with shaky breath. “He told me to get out and I left. I was walking down to the pub for some chips and I just…I woke up here.”  
  
She breathed out and nodded her head. They probably wanted to recruit him then, that seemed likely. If he left, no one would be looking for him. So they grabbed him…but would they just toy with him? Or would they try to break him? She wiped at her eyes again, unsure of how to phrase it. “Wallace-“  
  
“Am I going to die?” he cut her off with his question.  
  
She stilled and felt a shiver run down her spine. The cold was back, enveloping her in its thick clutches. Wallace shivered too and he didn’t have a candle with him. She wanted to give him hope, to take away his fear, but something stopped her. She couldn’t lie to him.  
  
“Maybe,” she answered, her voice hoarse. On the other side of the bars and the narrow hallway, Wallace started crying again. Her tears fell with his, but hers were silent. He was shouting again, asking for help, to be left out.  
  
“Don’t do that!” she urged him quietly, shaking her head. “Don’t let them hear you scream, never let them hear you-“ she jumped back then, knocking the candle over as a pair of legs clouded her vision. She hadn’t even heard footsteps down the long narrow hallway.  
  
“Shut up, mudblood!” the voice rang out, aimed his wand at Wallace and then casted a spell. Her eyes were wide as she heard the screams now louder than before, the pain, the suffering was raw in his voice. Her candle had gone out when it hit the floor but the light from the wand was enough to be able to see the twitching limbs, the blood. She breathed heavily as she backed up as far as she could until her back hit the wall.  
  
Tears fell and didn’t stop falling as she saw the boy writhe and sob, while the man just laughed. She couldn’t stand it.  
  
“Stop it! Stop it, stop hurting him!” she yelled at him, standing up. Her legs barely kept her up right, and they were in serious danger of giving away as the muscled man turned around to face her, his wand still in his hand. He wore leather trousers and heavy boots, a tight black shirt appeared like a second skin rather than an article of clothing. His long brown hair ran down his shoulders and covered parts of his face. He grinned at her and she grew colder. She didn’t know exactly why the phrase ‘Satan in a Sunday hat’ passed through her mind, but it seemed to make the most sense at that moment.  
  
“You want to be a hero, girl? Tap in for him?”  
  
“Boss says we’re not to touch her, Rhys,” a voice rasped behind Rhys. She hadn’t even noticed another man was there.  
  
“Gustav said keep her alive,” he waved his wand and the bars melted; her heart fell from her chest to a pit in her stomach and stayed there as she took a step back again. “I’ll leave her alive.”  
  
Rhys stepped into the cell, and she took another step back. Her breathing spiked. All he did was grin at her, feed off her fear and the widening of her eyes, as if she were some kind of prey for him. Actually that was exactly what she was in his eyes.  
  
He grabbed her by the hair and yanked him to her, a high gasp leaving her mouth as she crashed against him. She held back a whimper only by biting down on her lip. Her tears were back to collecting in her eyes as Rhys moved her back and out of the cell forcefully, and started walking down the hallway, the other man following behind silently. “Poor baby, all alone, frightened like a rabbit,” he mocked near her ear as she tried to squirm away, kicking her legs behind her. It didn’t work. But she wouldn’t scream, she couldn’t.  
  
“Don’t worry girl,” he dropped one hand to grip around her waist and lift her off the ground to walk faster. “I’ll make sure you never forget me.”  
  
It left one hand free. She reached into the jacket pocket and took out the knife. One swift flick, just like she practiced and the blade was out. She swung behind her, felt the blade pierce soft flesh and warm blood spurted out, landing on her hand. An angry yell rang out and she fell to the ground, the knife still in her hand. She didn’t stand looking backwards, just scrambled to her feet and ran forward. She didn’t know what she was going to do, there was a probably a dead end somewhere up ahead but she couldn’t stick around. She something buzz past her ear, burning it and she gasped again, holding it with her hand. She chanced a look back and saw the other man chasing after her, casting spells.  
  
She kept running forward, keeping low, trying to dodge the multitude of spells that bounced off the stone walls. Seeing a turn suddenly, she took it, and then another, and another, unsure of where she was going. She didn’t want to hear the screams, the shouts, the curses, just kept running, her breath and heartbeat the loudest thing she allowed herself to focus on.  
  
She ended up reaching a dead end, and the black wall cut off all hope in an instant, feeding her with desperation. She looked around and pushed through a wooden door and locked it behind her. Turning to survey the room, she almost gagged. Chains and blood were everywhere. People still pinned to the wall by shackles were barely alive. She looked around and as the door rattled behind her, knowing that her knife wouldn’t be enough. She pocketed it, and grabbed the nearest weapon to her. Heavy in her hands, she went back and stood next to the door, her back pressed against the door. Then it exploded outward, the man passed through and she swung. The spiked club made contact with the man’s stomach with a disgusting spurt. He screamed and dropped to the floor, the weapon still imbedded into his body.  
  
She made to walk over his body but Rhys stood at the door, his left eye a mangled mess that dripped blood. He sent her flying backwards into the wall. A scream left her throat, unconstrained and loud as a sharp blade protruded from her left shoulder. Movement of any kind was a living hell, and she screamed again after trying to move herself off it.  
  
“You miserable cunt,” Rhys yelled, stepping over the man, not paying him a second look. He waved his wand again and she was pulled off, eliciting another scream from the small girl. The blood seemed black as coal against her jacket and the dark floor. She dropped to the floor and held her shoulder. When she pulled it back, red blood coated her fingers, visible even through her tears.  
  
A loud rattling sound caused her to look up, and the next moment her wrists were manacled and she was hanging from the ceiling, her toes barely able to touch the ground. The pain in her shoulder was constant and stinging, and another scream left her mouth. She was screaming, because she wasn’t strong enough. It just hurt so much.  
  
“That’s it baby, scream for me,” his wand moved through the air again, and the split second before the spell made contact with her, she knew which one it was going to be. Knowing didn’t prepare her for the immense pain. The one at her shoulder was nothing compared to it. She screamed and screamed, moving back and forth while hanging. She wasn’t sure what fell more readily, her tears or her blood, but they both left her body in gushes.  
  
Once the pain stopped, it didn’t bring relief. She could still remember it, and the evil power of it still coursed through her veins. And then in started again, and the accursed cycle began.  
  
He tired of his wand after a time, once her screams began to die out when her throat and lungs couldn’t bear to spare another breath. Rhys pocketed the wand and stepped forward and started swinging. The force of every blow knocked her back through the air, her wrists held by metal shackles bore the full brunt of her weight, leaving them raw and bloody as she swung to and fro, like a human punching bag. A human punching bag, that was funny. She laughed for some reason, blood coating her teeth and mouth, the copper taste heavy on her tongue. She regretted it a second later when a heavy hand struck her face. She could have sworn her head had turned full circle before it came back again.  
  
She had stopped pleading for mercy a long time ago as he kept hitting her, hurting her, destroying her. She tried to apologize for his eye, she was so sorry about his eye but she had been scared, she wanted to get out. She would do anything, anything just god please let the pain stop.  
  
Now as a knife ran down her chest and cut through the fabric of her shirt, she was back to pleading. She tried to swing to kick him away but she was weak and bruised; he wasn’t deterred. Tears continued to pass through eyes that were swollen and bruised and fell to the ground as she shook her head insistently. He ignored her and pressed his mouth against her. It was disgusting, the taste of it, and it hurt. She made a gagging sound as his rough hands viciously twisted and pinched sensitive skin. Her renewed screams fell into his mouth and in return he groaned.  
  
She was helpless to his assault, helpless as he held her to him and squirmed against her. Her throat felt as if it were on fire as she screamed, as if it were bleeding as well. Nothing was safe from him, nothing at all. She whimpered in a sob as she looked up at the ceiling, the darkness of it was more comfortable than ever before. Let it be over, let it be over she pleaded with a sob as the knife cut through different fabric. Stop this, she begged as she heard the sound of a zipper through her cries. Let it end, she implored, as he held her legs apart and pressed against her.  
  
The pressure went away with a shout and she was released. Her eyes opened again and she tilted her head to see what was happening. She gasped as she saw a huge brown wolf baring her fangs at Rhys on the floor; they were dripping with red.  
  
“Nadia,” a voice spoke and she turned her head lazily to see Angel there. She regarded him with curiosity. Who was Nadia?  
  
Her shackles dissolved into smoke, but he caught her easily and conjured a blanket around her. She didn’t realize how dizzy she was until she leaned away from him and threw up on the floor from the movement. She apologized.  
  
“What part of don’t fucking touch her did you not understand?”  
  
It was a woman’s voice. Looking up, there was a nude woman where previously a wolf had stood. She landed a kick at Rhys’ face.   
  
“Boss said to keep her alive,” he groaned out with a hiss. “She needed to be taught a lesson.” The woman with olive skin tone delivered another quick to Rhys’ face.   
  
“How sweet,” the woman’s voice drawled on. “You think Gustav’s the only one in charge here.” She bared her teeth and prominent fangs were visible.  
  
“Allison,” Angel spoke out, but all Allison did was growl before delivering another kick. Unabashed by her nudeness, the woman strode towards the both of them, concern in her face.  
  
“Get her to your room, fix her up. She looks like shit,” she looked over her shoulder with disgust. “I’ll deal with tweedle-dumb and his dead friend.”  
  
Dead? Dead friend? The other guy…he was dead? Had she killed him?  
  
Angel didn’t need further words, he moved out of there as quick as possible. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest as he carried her down the hallway and out of the dungeons. She wasn’t able to register anyone stopping them, but she was sure it must have happened at least once. She was too busy trying to block out everything, every sound, every sensation, she just wanted it to go away. She wanted to throw up again.  
  
The next time she opened her eyes, she was on a bed much more comfortable than the one she had been sleeping on. It was a bedroom, an actual bedroom, with a pillow and a lamp and there was a bookshelf. She started crying again.  
  
Angel sat down and tried to reach for her but she kicked him away violently, screaming at him not to touch her. She didn’t want to be touched, she couldn’t bear it right now. Everything hurt, and all she could picture was the feel of dirty fingers dragging down her stomach.  
  
He kept his distance and she only noticed that he had started healing her when the pain started to fade, and sometimes when the pain began anew. Bones snapped into place in her chest and on her face. Her shoulder burned so badly when he started to heal it, she screamed again, hot tears coating her still bruised face. It ended soon enough, but she wouldn’t take off her jacket as bloody and ruined as it was for him to check.  
  
“Just leave me alone, just leave, I want,” she was breathing out and sighing, her tender head finding comfort in the pillow and her eyes losing the battle against her falling eyelids. She let exhaustion take her over as she fell asleep after a murmured name left her lips.  
  
Devin…

 

&.

 

“Nadia!” 

The name burst from cracked lips crying out for water on a throat hoarse and weak, with a fury that lifted it from whisper to thunderous shout. Or so Devin imagined. Almost as soon as he had gasped it forward with heavy eyelids fluttering and fingers grasping, twisting, clasping thin sheets between forefinger and thumb, he groaned and shut his eyes anew. Hard. Lights were spinning overhead -- that made no sense, his eyes were shut -- flashes of and rushes of broken glass, of crimson eyes, of a moon so fat it lit the forest in a haunted halo. 

Only...why were there sheets in a forest? He yanked up on them and thrust forward, hoisting up a head that felt like it was a marble bust still being chiseled on. It landed against his knees, shaking as they were. Another groan left cracked lips, but he forced his eyes open, barely seeing more than wires and white knuckles around paisley fabric. So he was in a bed...but he’d been in a forest, he knew he had been. It was important. He’d stepped forward in fury and terror and then had been lying in dirt and blood, there had been blood, so much of it. His own...

“What...” 

“Easy.”  The quiet voice that answered his second try cut him off, a hand appearing on his shoulder to force him back. The grip was light, but Devin felt himself flinch away, hissing through clenched teeth, eeriely reminded of claws. He lands on pillows, reinforcing the idea he was in bed, and whatever the pounding headache and dizzying lights, he forces his eyes open once more. 

The man wasn’t wearing Healer robes. Those were golden. He was in grey and navy, a sweater and trousers, sans robes at all. Breath quickening with suspicion, he ceases blinking by narrowing eyes to slits. 

“You do too much, too quickly, you’ll fall right back asleep.” 

The man smiles at him, and it occurs to Devin it was the kind of smile Lynn got when she was up to something. The kind he had sometimes...what made him called Devious by Nadia. 

That made him find his voice. 

“Who are you? Where’s Nadia?”

The man’s lips quirked up, as if amused by the questions, but he doesn’t answer. Devin lifts a hand to rub at his sore throat, swallowing convulsively. There was a thin wire extending from his wrist, he realizes, attached to his pulse. Hospital. He was in the hospital. That should concern him, part of him thinks, but the more he remembers, the more Devin is determined he get an answer from the man before he bloody leaped out of the bed to make -him- need a hospital bed.

A loud beep interrupts his thoughts, and he cracks his neck sideways to see what it was. Immediately he wished he hadn’t, a  firework exploding behind his eyes. 

“Careful.” The words were as smooth and calming as before, even as the man rose to fetch a suit jacket. He spins, bright blue eyes locked on Devin, abominably bright. He flicks his collar up, but he continues to be reassuring, “Your heart is going to take a few days to settle--“

Devin snaps forward again, tearing his gaze from the resolutely beeping machine. Memories were assaulting him. Alcott transforming in front of him, the crimson eyes staring at him overhead as claws sank into his chest, a thick snout burrowing in his neck whining with it’s inability to bite, but Nadia, she --

“I’ll be damn fine as soon as you tell me where Nadia is,” His voice is suddenly twice as strong, breath burdened with desire. He paid no attention to his pounding headache, the crick in a protesting neck or even an apparently undying thirst. 

“You need to calm down.” 

There was concern in the man’s voice, flashing across his startling eyes. Devin couldn’t hear more. He raises a hand to his neck and brushes a dry thumb over a delicate tear in his ear. Stroking the flesh as dim voices echoed in his ear, he struggles to hear them and tune them out at once. He could hear his mother’s ravaged with anger and devastation -- _it’s all right, we’re here...please baby, wake up_ ; his father’s, shaken and steady at once -- _i don’t tell you enough, how proud..._ ; his sister’s, insistent and heartbroken --   _if you don’t wake up now, i will, i swear, don’t think i won’t, please Dev_ ; his best friends -- “ _you really trust your sister and i working together?” and “don’t do this to me, mate” and “it isn’t about you, alcott!”_ followed swiftly by the unmistakable sound of Eliza whacking his shoulder. The thought makes him smile. He hears his cousins, a quietly pleading Alexa and a lighthearted Trevor, or maybe that was Uncle Symon - they seemed so alike in that moment. Irene swore to sneak him fire whiskey, Nick said something about pushing his luck, Hols was ranting in Spanish, Rory informed him he’d taken notes for him as Alcott’s were shit -- goodness, he even thought he could dimly, dimly hear Sienna. It was glaring, the obvious absence. 

And if he could remember all of them, snippets that were already threatening to fly away, then he knew he’d goddamn remember Nadia. Eyes fluttering open once more, he startles a third time to realize how close the man is again.

“You aren’t a Healer,” Devin’s words are low, with a dangerous undercurrent. It didn’t matter to him anyway: he couldn’t think about his condition, couldn’t wonder about the wires and headache, the bandages. Not until he knew. 

“That’s a matter of opinion, really,” the answer clearly doesn’t amuse Devin, but the man continues anyway, “But no, I am not employed here. It’s St. Mungos’, by the wa--”

“If you aren’t employed here,” Mungos. That figured. How long had he been out? Thoughts to process later. The logic is cool, even as he picks up on the Italian accent, “you’re here for another reason, and that means you know what happened to Nadia.” 

“Insistent, aren’t you?” The man’s chuckle is unexpectedly warm, a strange kindness appearing in those cold eyes. He seems to search for something, flicking a tongue over his bottom lip. The smirk that appears contradicts the warmth, making Devin’s brow furrow. 

“Relax.” The man leans forward, squeezing his own wrist, as if to reassure without having to touch Devin himself, “Everyone has a guardian angel looking out for them.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Devin hisses, eyes slits once more. He didn’t like this man, he realized abruptly.  There wasn’t one characteristic about him which Devin thought he could trust. Not that devious smile, not even his warm chuckle.

“It means I’m sure you’ll see...well, whomever Nadia is, soon.” The words are calm, undeterred by the anger in Devin’s gaze, “And it means that you need to take it easy, for you’ve already overtaxed yours quite a bit.” 

He gestures to himself. Arrogance, how original. Did he really not know who Nadia was? Well, Devin reasoned quietly, that could be good. Perhaps the reason he couldn’t remember what she’d said to him was only because what he remembered of idle dreams...she was already in every single one of them. Maybe those flights of fancy had been built on her actual words. Maybe she was fine then. It meant she wasn’t in the hospital: she hadn’t been ravaged by the beast he fought. That thought calms him more than anything yet. 

“You’re my guardian angel. Mate, I’m flattered, but the girl I’m asking about -- she’s my life.” 

He was given only chuckles, and a hand raised of submission in response. A twinge in his heart, Devin cracked a smile too before asking softer, “Are you saying you healed me?” 

The man smile softens as he considers his response. As he deliberates, Devin wonders why he asked. Did he trust the response? He didn’t think so...but he was curious, and it was telling whatever answer he gave. 

“I helped,” the chosen words are cordial, “in the end. Your initial wounds were treated, saved by -- I believe her name’s Alisha, yes, that sounds right. But you wouldn’t be here it seems your sister’s mind and her boy’s uh -- quick actions.”

“My sister?” Incredulity clouding his already breathy tone, he blinks away glistening drops in his eyes. He heard Lynn again, a much quieter plea echoing in his ear. Please brother, I need you...

“Let’s just say I wish I paid more attention in Herbology,” He said lightly, smirk back. “She’ll have to tell you the rest.” 

The man pushed him back down again. This time Devin let him, abashed and suspicious yet at once. And now he wondered when Lynn had gotten so into his head. Had she been reading him conspiracy novels while he was asleep? He only let him push him into the sheets and pillows because it hurt to keep his head up, he reasons. Nourishment from the spell and potion attached to the damn wires wouldn’t have done more than the bare minimum. 

Vision spinning, Devin struggled to keep his gaze on him, breathing easier now. The man wasn’t moving, he thought, but to his hazy gaze, his “guardian angel” might have been a world champion gymnast. 

“What did you do?” He asks, forcing more breath into his lungs. It occurs to him suddenly, was he imagining this man?

“I helped,” The man repeats with a glint in his eyes over his smile, “I wouldn’t let you die.” 

Devin was startled only that the heart machine didn’t take off again. Or maybe his heart wasn’t beating. Die. There was a word he hadn’t expected to hear. And what did he mean, intial injuries and Lynn later? The “boy” had to be Nick (oh almighty, he owed him his life? wonderful), but why should there have been something later? What was going on?

“Who are you?” He didn’t know why he asked again expecting an answer. The man hadn’t answered before, or the time before that, and had he asked three times already? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing time and time again, expecting a different result. Devin refused to be insane. Maybe this was another dream. But...no, if it was a dream, Nadia would be there with him. 

A widening smirk answers in a condescendingly polite tone, 

“A friend.” 

It was sincere, or so Devin thought. Before Devin could get more than, “A fri--,” out, he heard another door burst open. Ow. The echoing crack only was amplifying the pounding headache. Swiveling his gaze to the door as he heard his name breathless and squealed, he saw golden robes, a flash of scarlet, and then that damn red hair was half stuffed in his still open mouth as his sister buried her face in his neck. He realizes why a startled second later as he feels tears fall on his neck. Lynn was crying from relief, and joy. 

“Ah.” He coughs, and she loosens her tight grip only briefly, a murmured ‘sorry’ in his ear. 

“Wait--,” Devin tried to choke out, eyes over her shoulder. 

“What?” Lynn’s eyes are miraculously clear when they left, sitting on the edge of the bed. There were healers behind her, the symbolic wand and bone glistening on their robes. He saw Nick hovering a few steps behind her, and Sienna hovering near the door...wearing glasses. That surprised him, but he was still struggling to find him, even knowing it was too late.

The blue-eyed man in grey -- the “friend” who apparently had helped heal him -- was already gone. 

Devin frowned, then decided to tell his conspiracy-driven sister about him later. He lifts a hand to rub over the cracked lips, and brings his gaze back to his sisters. He knew his parents would be there soon, he really was hoping one of them would think to bring water even as he tried to file as much information about the man’s appearance away as he could. Perhaps his father would know something. 

Lynn was rubbing her cheeks as well, eyes glassy and chasing the single tear that hadn’t obeyed her with a painted talon.

“You scared me, Dev. You scared all of us.” 

Devin smiles weakly, and he drops his hand to hers. Squeezing firmly, he shakes his head a fraction of an inch without lifting it. 

“Hey-- hey, shh. I love you too.” He smiles briefly, knowing she hadn’t said it but then -- she didn’t need too. For once, his sister hadn’t needed ten words to say what her eyes were saying for her. 

“I’m fine, really Lynn. You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” 

That question makes her laugh, which makes his smile widen. 

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Of course,” Devin nods agreeably, not taking his eyes from hers. The fierce addition only makes his smile widen.

“Yeah and still, you do that again, I’ll kill you myself.” 

“I expect nothing less.”

&.

 

 **Eliza:** What’s that?

 **Alcott:** *A vial turning between his forefinger and thumb, he’s sitting on the ground. His knees are up to his chest, back against a tree in the courtyard. He hadn’t moved or blinked: he heard her approach a mile away, her scent one nearly as familiar as Hols was. The simple question makes him scoff out bitterly through a wry, twisted smile.* Poison. Probably.

 **Eliza:** *She stops dead, hands unclenching her chiffon skirt. Wariness in her gaze as clear as exasperation, she hardly gets out more than,* Alco-, *before he interrupted her.*

 **Alcott** : The answer’s yes. *He perks up, palming the vial with ease. His smirk only widens.* I’ve gone insane.

 **Eliza:** *Darting from the glass now hidden from her to his eyes, she wonders if she should be reassured by his good humor or dismayed by it. As ever with him, it was probably both. Her friend lived in contradictions -- a Brackner trade, he had often told her, prideful and willful. A sheepish smile appears on her own lips and she approaches again.* Well. *Fidgeting with her fingernails, a lightly curled fists prods her thigh.* I suppose it was only a matter of time. 

 **Alcott** : Probably. *He agrees easily, smirk widening as he looks up at her. Whatever their words, there were easy smiles on their faces now, genuine delight in their tease. Before he could gesture to the ground beside him, she’d sat, knee-highs laying on top of each other. She always could read his mind too easily.* 

 **Eliza:** *The moon above was half full, half empty, and the night still. Soft,* Did you hear?

 **Alcott:** *His easy smile fades in an instant, eyes darkening.* That Devin was poisoned?

 **Eliza:** *She can only nod. The look in his eyes frightened her even as she felt her own burst of anger.*

 **Alcott:** Oh, I heard. *And he probably should not be holding this glass while he did. He slides it into his pocket, more than happy to let the little vial slide from sight. Catching his forehead with his palm, he bites out,* He should be awake soon though, right? Matter of hours?

 **Eliza:** *She nods encouragingly, wary and reaching for his wrist. As she squeezes in comfort, her face is broken in sad understanding he doesn’t think he can look at.* 

 **Alcott:** This should be happy news. *His brows furrows, hand falling back to his knee.* Why doesn’t it feel like it is? 

 **Eliza:** It is happy. *She squeezes again.* It is.

 **Alcott:** Sure. *He nods, disgruntled,* It’s wonderful. I mean sure, it means he was definitely being poisoned by someone intentionally, most likely his own cousin. Sam. Fabulous! And that’s not the best part! I mean, you know, I just can’t wait to tell him we have no fucking clue where Nadia is!

 **Eliza:** *Her nose wrinkles, breath catching, even as her face further crumples in sympathy,* Al--

 **Alcott:** *He yanks away from her, letting her hand fall from his shoulder. Yet even as he waves his hand and shakes his head, he can’t find words. He was glad Devin was waking up...but he couldn’t get what Hans had said out of his mind, anymore than he could what Hols had. Sam had declared war, Victoria was following as ever...but he wouldn’t have, he never would have if ... Alcott swallows tighter. He was surprised the vial in his pocket didn’t glow suddenly.* 

 **Eliza:** *Her hand hangs in the air, then lands on the tree behind him. She lets him take a moment, and then continues non-deterred and forceful as ever.* Don’t you dare blame yourself.

 **Alcott:** *He lifts his gaze to hers shocked, neck jerking abruptly. The question of asking how she knew what he was thinking dies on his lips.*

 **Eliza:** Of course I know what you’re thinking. *She answers that unspoken question too, with a thin-lipped determined smile.* You’ve been my best friend since I was seven. 

 **Alcott:** *A sharp exhale through his open mouth is his only response before he tips his head back to the tree and lets his eyes flutter shut. Nostalgia, he thought briefly. Nick could probably tell him what that meant in Greek. All he could think of was that it was bloody painful..to dwell on what he couldn’t have, could never go back to, could never stop desperately wanting. What he wanted most...the single thought makes him swivel back to how he met Eliza instead. Well, he supposed, re-met her, they probably (considering their mothers were best friends too) had known each other for long before that. 

He remembered that day as clearly as she did. Eliza, all dolled up in a torn tunic and blond hair piled on the top of her head, determinedly telling him she could do it. She could ride the pony by herself, she didn’t need his help. The memory makes him smile. That was always how Eliza was to him. She’d been the same when she introduced him to Sienna: wagging her finger, stalking in the heels she stole from her mother, and then darting behind him painfully shy whenever anyone else approached. Sighing, he thinks briefly that he wanted Sienna to be there too, if only for the moment to think that the three of them...they’d get it. But when he opens his eyes again a half heartbeat later, it’s with the heavy knowledge that nostalgic or not: he couldn’t go back. And who he truly wanted to remember with him...well, she was already right here.

And wasn’t that part of the problem? Of course he was fucking blaming himself, it was his fault. Eliza, his oldest friend, the only person who had been there since he’d lost his father -- he could hurt her. Just as it didn’t really matter if he hadn’t been the wolf to attack Devin - because it might have been him, it could have been him. It would have been him. If not for...Hols. That single name always made him breath easier. She didn’t judge him for who he was now -- Hans was wrong in that aspect. She could handle this -- she, he couldn’t hurt. She was the one who made sure he couldn’t hurt anyone else. And she was bloody kick-ass, heart-stopping, and just...necessary to him, on top of it. And his parents -- well, his mother, his uncle -- neither had reacted angrily or disowned him. Alcott had been honestly pleasantly surprised to realize Uncle Max wasn’t going to use this as a further excuse to drive him out of the house -- leave his mother to have only him to turn to. A moment after he finishes the thought, Alcott feels sick.

He had to stop doing that, he thought miserably. As angry as he was with his uncle, he cared too - he had been more hurt than anything when he put it together. After all, it was five entire bloody years later, and it was over. He had to stop thinking he was Hamlet. Hols was bloody no Ophelia, after all. She would throw -him- in the river maybe. Or stab him behind a curtain. Why did these things make him smile? Pressing a trembling lower lip to his top one, he says quietly,* Eliza, of course I’m -- it is my fault!

 **Eliza** : No, it isn’t.

 **Alcott:** ...if I hadn’t...if I hadn’t been bitten, if I hadn’t attacked -Sam-...

 **Eliza:** Don’t. you. dare. *The bullets she bit out stopped him dead. He blinks at her, astonished.* You think I don’t remember this? You could say that the reason Sam went into the forest that night was because he was concerned about me - 

 **Alcott:** *irritated* He isn’t concern--

 **Eliza** : I’m talking now, Alcott. *She cuts him off and puts her other hand over his mouth. He stifles his snigger against her palm, surprise in his wide, brown eyes. A tiny bit surprised at herself, she offers an apologetic grin, but continues without letting him go.* I know he isn’t. Anymore than it was my fault he yelled at me because I didn’t wear the dress he’d pointed at. Stop it. Sam makes his own choices, Alcott, and he’s wrong. You-- *Her words are emphatic and bright, and she leans in closer.* You, did not do anything wrong. 

 **Alcott:** *She held his gaze without blinking. Warmth spreading in his gaze, he nods slowly, waiting until she lets him go to smile at her. She rubs both hands together, looks away embarrassed and then back to him. He doesn’t take his gaze from her.* You’re right. As always.

 **Eliza:** God, I always forget to have a recorder handy when you admit that!

 **Alcott:** *easily* I’d just erase the file anyway.

 **Eliza:** Oh no you wouldn’t. *Nodding,* Irene and I have it all set up, see. There’d be a copy I’d have, one that I’d give to Sie, and then it would instantly record to her device too, and she’d give copies to Alisha and to-- *She abruptly cuts off.*

 **Alcott** : *His easy smile fades nearly as instantly and he nods absently at the ground.* Well. I pity the person who tries to take you and Rene on at once.

 **Eliza:** Don’t pity them. *She forces herself to be brighter. Perserverance. That was the word she strove to live by.* They’re clearly an idiot.

 **Alcott:** Clearly. *He chuckles.*

 **Eliza:** *Sitting in comfortable silence with her best friend for a few minutes, she finally can’t contain herself any further.* Now. What the bloody hell did you mean by poison?

 **Alcott:** *He snorts. When her eyebrows tell him that is not a satisfactory or acceptable response (Lord, he needed Devin back), he pulls the little silver potion out again. He couldn’t explain why he felt so strongly about it. He supposed it had to do with what Hans had said the potion could do, but it just .. it seemed to be more than that, especially because there was no way Hans was telling the truth (was there?). Holding the vial in his hand simply seemed...to make him feel warm, like it was familiar, like he’d seen it before. (Well, of course he had, it was a simple vial, and it was warm because he’d been holding it for hours). He holds it up to her, saying slowly,* I know you’re right. But just because I haven’t -- I could hurt someone again, Eliza, I always could. No amount of lionesses and Wolfsbane potion can change the fact that I’m forced to turn...and it’s always going to be a risk, it’s always, dangerous, and I always could wake up again and have hurt someone...someone I cared about.

 **Eliza:** *Basically, everything that Hans had said. Her heart skips a beat even as her nose wrinkles. Arrogant little know it all, wasn’t he? Well, all right he was taller than her. She nearly folded her arms, but that require she let go of Alcott, so instead she squeezed his shoulder again and said calmly,* It might always be a risk - but I have faith, Al. You have this. And Hols can kick your wolf-furry-backside, and if she doesn’t, then, then I will.

 **Alcott:** *He chuckles and he frowns and he snorts, shaking his head, incredulous and impressed with her. Even as he felt a flash of fear.* Eliza, I-- I could even hurt you.

Eliza: You won’t! *desperately, insistent, through a smile.* I know you won’t. You make your own choices too, Alcott.

 **Alcott:** That’s the thing! *His hand slams down, shaking his head in half desperation, half hopelessness.* I don’t! I can’t! The full moon controls me!

 **Eliza:** *Her face falls as she hears that, more from his desperation than his actual words. It breaks her heart. If ever someone deserved to be in control of their own destiny, it was her dearest friends.* I’m sorry, it -- I know. *She reaches a hand to her eyes, rubbing at them, throwing a tear away.* It’s not fair, it isn’t fair - it’s never been fair. 

 **Alcott:** No, it isn’t. But then, life isn’t. *He looks back to the vial, spinning it around and around and around in his hand again.* ...But this...this, supposedly puts that control back in..my hands. I don’t know...how or the specifics but...it would let me turn at will. 

 **Eliza:** *She startles, hand falling to his shoulder again and gaze darting to the vial. He was spinning it so fast, it made her dizzy and nauseous.* Is that even possible? 

 **Alcott:** I don’t know. *He admits honestly.* Like I said. Might just be poison. Hans gave it to me.  

 **Eliza:** *That name makes her gaze dart back to him, and she drops her hand from his shoulder as breath catches in her throat.* You went to see Hans!?

 **Alcott** : *Surprised by her abrupt mood shift, his face floods in defensive confusion,* Er, well- yeah, earlier tonight--

 **Eliza:** Alcott Matthew Brackner! You can’t trust him!

 **Alcott:** I don’t. *Just as firm, even with bewilderment in his eyes.* Hang on -- didn’t -you- go see him?

 **Eliza:** *Caught, her lips gape as she searches for words and eyes dart. Then she resettles, prim and upright,* To tell him to stay away from you and stop accusing you, yes, I did. 

Alcott: The first time. *Agrees easily, but his eyes are narrowing,* And the second time?

 **Eliza:** That doesn’t count! *Her voice hitches, waving a hand in the air.* He walked up to me at the bar, what was I supposed to do, pretend he was invisible?

 **Alcott:** *He shrugs a shoulder, smirk appearing.* That would have been amusing at least.

 **Eliza:** Oh, you absolute -hypocrite- *breathing rather harshly, she thinks, endeavoring to stop it as fast as humanly possible, envying Alcott’s speed in such cases a moment,* --so, I can’t talk to him, but you can?

 **Alcott** : Look, I’m just saying, I can’t be turned twice but you--

 **Eliza:** Flattered as I am by your protection, *she says swiftly,* you still went there to ask for his help! That’s entirely different!

 **Alcott:** I’m not blindly trusting in the guy! *His voice rises too,* It’s just -- he understands! 

 **Eliza** : -He- understands?! *She gapes at him, unable to think of another thing to say.

 **Alcott:** He’s like me, Eliza! He knows! I’m sorry - I know you try, but you can’t...you can’t understand, not the same way. Even Hols -- the transformation, it’s, it’s painless for her, it’s a gift. This is a -curse-, and he...knows what it’s like. 

 **Eliza:** *Her voice breaking and face crumpling,* Alcott--

 **Alcott:** Only, -this- potion or not -- he clearly has much better control than I do. He’s accepted it, he’s -learned- ...the moon doesn’t control him. Nothing does, no one does! Whether he can turn at will or not. And I, I want that -- I need that, Eliza!

 **Eliza:** Alcott, I understand-

 **Alcott** : No, you don’t. *He shakes his head, and just continues to shake his head. Fiercely breath seems to explode from lungs too powerful to fit this chest, a hand lays over his breast.* Eliza, I have no way of explaining how much that it -hurts-. My bones break. They just snap out of place, like I’m some jigsaw puzzle for that bitch Artemis’ amusement. My skin -*He brushes his hand over hers*- you think it feels I’m on fire right now? It -boils-, when I’m transforming -- I think it would melt itself right off if fur wasn’t insulating it. I don’t -want- you to understand. I never want you to understand. I never want -any- of my friends to understand -- I can’t watch you go through that, let alone be the one to make you! 

 **Eliza:** *Her heart jittery and her voice shakes as she reaches for his hand and squeezes it.* I know that, of course I know that -- but Al, I won’t. You won’t hurt me. Or Rory, or Sienna, or Rene, or any of us -- bloody hell, Alcott, you, you -can’t- hurt Hols. You didn’t hurt Devin!

 **Alcott:** But, *miserably quiet,* you don’t know. You hope. We -hope- that Hols can contain me, and, I did hurt her last night. I might not be able to curse her -- but I could still kill her. *Even quieter, his heart seeming just not to beat.* I -tried- too that night.

 **Eliza:** But you didn’t. *Breathless, wary, latching onto it,* Al, you didn’t, and you won’t. And you know what Hans was doing last night?

 **Alcott:** *That confuses him, and he looks back up, shaking his head from side to side without blinking.* What do you...

 **Eliza** : He attacked this girl. Woman. Kylee and her boyfriend, Sebastian. For no reason. And he has red eyes when he’s transformed--

 **Alcott:** How could you -possibly- know this? *Eyes wide* 

 **Eliza:** *Voice still shaky as she emphasizes every other word,* Well, I was Christmas shopping, because I still have to find something for Rory, I mean I have two gifts but nothing that’s -perfect-, you know?

 **Alcott:** Eliza. *Tiniest bit amused smirk appearing.* 

 **Eliza:** Right-- and I saw her bump into him and then she panicked, just, dropped her shopping bag and backed up and he just walked away after this tiny little apology --

 **Alcott:** ...that doesn’t seem to qualify as attacking someone - you hit me more than that, Eliza.

 **Eliza:** Hush, I’m not done. *She shakes her head again, wide-eyed and insistent, knowing the silver vial was most likely...exactly what Hans said.* So I help her pick things up and she says she’d had this nightmare, where she was attacked by a beast with red eyes. 

 **Alcott** : A nightmare.

 **Eliza:** *Eyes narrow,* So -you- are going to say it was a coincidence? Besides, he didn’t even deny it!

 **Alcott:** *startled* So, you spoke to him a third time? 

 **Eliza:** I -- well I -- he was in the square and he called out so I confronted him, and don’t change the subject!

 **Alcott:** What -is- the subject?

 **Eliza:** Your -friend- here, who -understands-? He attacked innocent people for no reason! That’s not understanding - that’s not going to help you!

 **Alcott:** *He hardly hears her, as his brows were furrowing with sudden epiphanies and says quietly,* Eliza, last night wasn’t the full moon.

 **Eliza:** I know that -- *huffing*

 **Alcott:** If what you say is true, then he -- his pack and him -- they -can- control their transformation.

 **Eliza:** *wrinkles her nose, biting out,* That’s what you got from that story?!

 **Alcott** : Was Kylee all right?

 **Eliza:** *forcefully,* Well, her shopping bag was filled with bandages and antiseptic and --

 **Alcott:** But she was walking, talking, everything’s fine?

 **Eliza:** That’s not the point, Alcott!

 **Alcott:** Yes, it is. *Earnestly, eyes wide and breath heavy,* If he was transformed and she saw him -- by all rights, she should be dead. But she’s not. 

 **Eliza** : *Tears appear in her eyes, but she looks down, admitting she hadn’t thought about it that way -- and then sickened by the fact she admitted it.* 

 **Alcott:** She’s fine. *Awed even as he is horrified, he looks back down to the vial in his hand. It seems to glint, highlighting his desire.*

 **Eliza:** She is not fine! She was hunted for sport!

 **Alcott** : Yeah, by a werewolf. *He snaps it, and looks up at her again. Judging by the way she stiffens, he realizes amber flashed across his gaze.* You think I don’t have the same urges, Eliza?

 **Eliza:** *That was news to her, and hushes her abruptly, spluttering. Hans did understand tis better than she did, she thought quietly to herself. Damn him. And his compliments and his blue eyes. And especially damn the Carmine ones. But it doesn’t cut him off.*

 **Alcott:** And if it had been me, if I had been the one to find her -- she’d be dead, or at least in the hospital or maybe even bitten herself -- but she’s fine?! *Stubbornly,* A few scrapes and bruises all right bu--

 **Eliza:** It is not just all righ--

 **Alcott:** \--and if he can teach me how to do that, por favor--

 **Eliza:** \--sacre bléu -- are you kidding me right now?!--

 **Rory:** Eliza! Alcott! *He calls cutting them off across the courtyard, and then bends over. He’s breathing hard. Both of them look his way abruptly, incredulous gazes of the other’s lack of understanding forgotten. Alcott leaps to his feet, pulling Eliza up with him--and in an instant he has them across the courtyard. Rory’s eyes widen. Alcott lets her go hesitantly, realizing how fast he’d just moved. He’d never done that before, he didn’t even know how to ... do that again. All he knew was that with how fast Rory’s heart was pumping...he needed to know as fast as possible. Rory obliges with only two single words, looking at them wide-eyed and with a wider smile.* Devin’s awake. 

 **Eliza:** *As Al releases her, she teeters on her heels and clenches her skirt back in her fist -- but the moment Rory speaks, she breaks into a sudden, wide smile herself. Laughing in absurd relief, she stills,* Oh my -- oh thank -God- --*She throws her arms around Rory, kissing his cheek and burying herself against him in total relief. He holds fast, sheepishly pleased himself.*

 **Alcott:** *A triumphant relief takes him too, and he chuckles once under his breath. His smile wide, he nods: Good. That was good. Whatever was going on then -- it could wait a night. Alcott smiles to himself, shrugging both shoulders and looks to his shoes, and lets Eliza pull him into a “group” hug before releasing them startled to chastise -them- for making her wait to go see him. He follows. The silver little potion was hot in his hand, and his gaze casts over to it. Then he slides it in his back pocket. Devin was desperately going to need alcohol he figured, and Lord knew, so did he.

&.

**Rachelle:** *She counts the galleons and sickles she won off of Zach, stupid boy. He should know better by now than to go against her. He'd also lost money betting against her before; maybe now he'd learn. After all, who was she but the most gracious of older sisters? The thought made her smirk as she slid the last galleon into her Prada coin purse though the smirk faded as she heard a quiet pair of heels clacking against the floor and her nose told her who it was.* And who invited you? *The scoff from her dear sister let Rachelle know she heard her.* And here I was having a good night.

 **Allison:** I'll make it even worse for you if you don't shut it. *To anyone else who bothered looking their way, she must have looked demented, threatening the air like that. She was still in the hallway when she spoke to Rachelle, and it took several more seconds for her to reach the room.*

 **Rachelle:** *The moment she stepped in, Rachelle moved at supernatural speed to grab the woman by the throat and shove her against the world.* Now sister. Threatening me? *She tuts and shakes her head* Not very nice.

 **Allison:** *A growl caught in her throat before she kicked Rachelle away from her, landing on her feet on the other side of the room.* Don't touch me again.

 **Rachelle:** Words you should use more often sister. *She sat back down at the table, picking a magazine and dodging the fork that had been aimed her way without even looking up.* Why are you here? You're supposed to be at headquarters.

 **Allison:** *snaps* I don't have to answer to you.

 **Rachelle** : *Flips through the pages, rolling her eyes. Pretty soon she would attack Allison, just for something to do.* Just a simple question, zut alors.

 **Allison:** *Ignores her, her anger from being greeted with a shove against the wall still present, and having trouble receding.* Where's everybody else? *She asks through gritted teeth.*

 **Rachelle:** *Mocking* I don't have to answer to you. *She raised her eyebrows at her over the magazine.* See how useless that makes conversation? *She shakes her head, licking her fingertip to flip another page, mainly just for show.* Out for a run, most of them. Ansel's playing his part. He should be back soon- oh! And the Brackner kid showed tonight. Alcott. *She jingled her purse full of coins.* Won me some spare change. *She grins.* I could give it to you if you'd like to get a better wardrobe. *She paused.* I forget, you don't have much use for clothing.

 **Allison:** *With bared teeth and golden eyes, she snapped at the woman.* I swear to god, Rachelle-

 **Hans:** Swearing on my account? *His voice is brisk as he enters the room from the other direction in long strides, patting a few strands of the boy's hair off his coat with manicured nails. They still were tinged pink and red. It isn't until he hears and feels the room's flurry still with his arrival that he ceases motion himself. When he deigns to look up, there's an easy smirk on his lips and he speaks lightly,* How wonderfully flattering to be invoked for such minuscule disputes.

 **Ansel** : Oh I don't know. Wars were fought over much less in Troy. *He appears at the door Hans entered from, hands in his pocket, smirk wide. He'd met with Hans (and Dillon of course, the poor boy had stared at him as if he was confused for his own hatred) on the streets.* Though I'm afraid dear sisters, neither of you are any Helen I'd launch for.

 **Hans:** Eloquent as always, Ansel. *He chuckles, rolling back his sleeves as he resumes walking to the kitchen.*

 **Ansel:** No offense meant of course. I'm simply not... *His gaze hovers on Allison before he turns to shut the door, smirking as he finishes,* inclined to share. 

 **Hans** : *Running cool water over his warm, red hands he doesn't take his eyes from them an instant, though his words are still light.* Or particularly incestuous.

 **Ansel** : Oh but, *He chuckles, taking a few feigned jogged steps down to the sitting area, smirking to show he wasn't serious before. Was he ever?* what a pleasant surprise, Allison. I have missed you so, sister. *He hugs her. Now his grin was genuine, as he flops back on the couch with more grace than should be legal for such a careless action.* This town is so...incredibly dull. 

 **Hans:** *Standing at the sink still as he swipes a toilette across his cuticles, he appears absorbed in the task. Yet despite the crisp words, there's an undercurrent to his casual question of danger,* Ah yes, which begs the question, aren't you meant to be with our associates? 

 **Ansel:** *Faking sympathy through a smirk,* City of love get too tiring? 

 **Rachelle:** *She restrains herself from rolling her eyes at the comment, turning away from Allison to look at Hans and Ansel.* Well, that just made sex awkward, if I'm calling out your name as often as my lovers'. *She wrinkles her nose.*

 **Allison:** *She scoffs at Rachelle, shaking her head in disbelief. And yet the woman had the audacity to mock her. Hypocrite.* Oh I have missed your kind words, Ansel. *She spoke dryly, a corner of her mouth curling up in amusement.* 

 **Rachelle:** *She chuckles at Ansel's antics before fixing her gaze momentarily on Hans.* Do you think he'll ever grow out of the two year old toddler "mine" stage?

 **Allison** : The same moment you do. *She adds innocently enough before smiling genuinely as Ansel hugs her, returning the hug. Though the next moment she's turning to Hans, sensing the alpha tone underneath his question.* And I will be soon enough. I had to get out of there, before I killed someone. *grits her teeth.* So see, I'm being thoughtful.

 **Rachelle:** Sister, what have I told you before? *Flips another page of the magazine.* Getting rejected is no excuse. Unless you were humiliated, of course-

 **Allison:** *Cuts her off before she gets angrier than she already was.* Some hijo de puta Death Eater almost beat the girl to death. Had her chained up. *growls* I almost did kill him, the worthless cock.

 **Rachelle:** *There was no need to elaborate on what girl Allison referred to.* Her death would have made things problematic.

 **Ansel:** *Wiggling both eyebrows, he flicks one hand up over his heart as if to say, 'you wound me.' His chuckle is cut off and his eyes cease ping pong-ing between his sisters, at the sudden angry words.*

 **Hans:** *Going still once more, a shiver emanating from his spine throughout the room, breath non existant. Whatever the implied threat to his tone before, he hadn't truly been concerned. At least, not concerned with her: Allison wouldn't have left for no reason, his sister wasn't an idiot. Dismayed by the news, his gaze lifted and eyes darkened.* Where is Nadia now?

 **Ansel:** You should have just killed him. *Feeling a shiver creep up his throat, chilled by even the tone of voice, his own is a feathery lilt through the air meant to dissolve the tension as ever.* And we should have kept the girl with us. *His lips flick.* I'd have kept her company. Would have killed the time.

 **Hans** : *drily* Yes, that would have been a lovely conversation to have with Alcott after he found her bound to a wall. *His head perks with his smirk,* Sorry mate, we found her wandering and took her in; *matter of fact* the ropes are just to keep her warm? 

 **Allison:** With Angel. *She answered easily enough. We found her together *she ignored Rachelle's eye roll* and he took her up to heal her. She was in bad shape.

 **Rachelle:** *She shook her head, agreeing with Ansel on this; Allison should have killed him.* Raped?

 **Allison:** No. Nearly. *But too near, and that just set her teeth on edge. The rage she had managed to tame, threatening to come out again. She looked at Hans.* Gustav chose not to deal with him. I figured you should know as soon as possible.

 **Rachelle:** Fuck, -I- want to deal with that idiot. *She rolled her eyes and put the magazine down before she tore it to pieces. Hans' imagery though had her scoffing and tilting his head, agreeing.* 

 **Ansel:** That man does have his uses. *Agreeably, eyes grazing over Allison as they land on Hans, adding light and mocking,* And so the heavens bestowed upon a poor family- *Both eyebrows wiggle, snorting in amusement of 'poor',*-a blessing of angelic aid. There was much rejoicing, *Waving his finger through the air as if it's a baton, and then stops, pointing off amused,* yet the Angel still seemed strangely not amused. 

 **Hans:** *He wasn't listening to Ansel; letting him (as he often did) fill the silence. Though his lips quirked in base amusement at the end there; no, the man did seem rather ungrateful. But then, Ansel didn't know first hand what had given the angel his scars from hell. It was Nadia's fate that concerned him now. As Allison looked at him, he nods grateful, if small.* Thank you, Allison. *drily with the understatement.* Such a shame Gustav has so little control over his subordinates.

 **Ansel:** Well, *snorts* that's what happens when you are a miserable, atroche con. 

 **Hans:** And you're not? *Forcing himself to relax, he looks to his brother with an understated smile.*

 **Ansel:** *Laughs,* I'm not miserable. *As Rachelle stands,* Excellent! Let's go together, sister. About time we have a little fun...a proper hunt.

 **Hans:** *He rolls his eyes; battering his own anger down and then shakes his head just once, rubbing at his lips.* You're not going anywhere, I need you here.

 **Ansel:** We have two whole days before the gala-

 **Hans:** -yes and, *lightly, spinning back towards the kitchen and fetching them all a beer,* since when have you limited sport to forty-eight hours?

 **Ansel** : *He laughs, catching the beer tossed across the room, and cocks his head between his sisters.* Ah, fair point. 

 **Hans:** *He casts his head back, pulling the steak out with the other hand. He looks at Allison, speaking calmly,* Luv, fetch us a bottle of wine, would you please? We have an Italian joining us.

 **Ansel** : Another one? *His brows wiggle.* Tell me it's the sister. The one with the hair hanging past that gorgeous arrière.

 **Hans:** One blonde underage isn't enough for you, brother?

Ansel: Never. *claps his hands together, smirk wider as he looks to Allison,* Though speaking of whom, you have to ask him about Eliza.

 **Rachelle:** *nods, agreeing with Ansel's rather amusing analogy. He wasn't a very joyful person, but Rachelle understood why he wasn't. Her own time in the dungeons was short compared to the years and years the man had.* 

 **Allison:** *She nodded at Hans' spoken gratitude, though it did very little to quell the anger. Suddenly the prospect of a hunt seemed really enticing.* Maybe we should teach them a lesson.

 **Rachelle:** I can't believe these words are passing through my mouth but, I agree with Allison. We should all go. *That plan was quickly knocked down. Instead she catches the beer Hans tossed her and popped the cap off with a flick of a finger.* One time, Hans. That happened, one time. We were gone for a week.

 **Allison:** *Catching the beer, she plopped down next to Ansel, twisting the cap and taking a sip.* Either way, I suppose he's suffering a bit. *tapping her nails against the glass.* Girl stabbed his eye out.

 **Rachelle:** *She turned around to face Allison, eyebrows arching in equal surprise and delight.* Did she?

 **Allison:** Yes, before she ran to the torture room and skewered another guy with a spiked mace. *she smirks and then shrugged.*

 **Rachelle:** I like her already. *grins*

 **Allison:** Sure. *She stood again and headed to the wine cabinet. Italians were rather choosy of their wine, even more than French. She rolled her eyes thinking of her "dear" sister and picked a wine, walking back to Hans to hand it to him.* I will never understand what it is you see in mere girls, Ansel.

 **Rachelle:** The same thing you see in anything with a cock between in its legs, sister. *Grins wide before her eyebrows rise at the name, her gaze turning to look at Hans.*

Allison: *Her eyebrows rise as well after shooting Rachelle a dirty look, her curiosity rising.* Who's Eliza?

 **Hans** : Did she. *That wasn't a question; he merely mused aloud as he sipped the beer. Quietly impressed, he chuckles under his breath even as he merely continues to prepare the steak, licking the tips of his fingers after he flicks the flames on. Pity D'Grey detested things raw.*

 **Ansel:** Spiked mace? *Flicking the bottle cap back and forth, he spins it as if it's a coin. His smirk is wide, as he lounges back to speak with Hans, head upside down.* How delightful. And there's no talk of recruiting her?

 **Hans:** *His thumb pops from his lips, feigning regret.* Mm,no-*He shakes his finger,* -she's not up to Roswell's standards. Muggleborn. 

 **Ansel:** Oh, and how will she live with being such a disappointment to him? *He snorts, rolling his eyes.* I have lower standards.

 **Hans:** *Sarcastically in an amused low undertone,* The only surprise in that statement, Ansel, is you have any at all.

 **Ansel:** *Mming as he takes a sip of the beer, he suddenly stands, supernatural speed running to follow Allison: one bottle of wine tended not to be enough, and he preferred his own.* Ah--mere girls are simply the window dressing. Pretty to look at. *He shrugs a shoulder, picking through the wine, smirking sideways at Allison,* Eliza Simmons.

 **Hans:** *He had stilled over the brazier, but was otherwise not turning around, not deigning to respond. He could already imagine Rachelle's expression.*

 **Ansel:** *Lightly,* Blonde. Halfblood Slytherin in the short skirts. Wild. She's our potential's best friend-- strode right up to Hans and told him off. *His brows cock up and wiggle.* 

 **Hans:** *Interjecting without turning,* I forget, Ansel, is she the teenage girl or you?

 **Ansel** : Twice. *winks* 

 **Rachelle** : *She scoffs. Roswell, that pretentious, ugly fuck. Was it too much to hope for someone working in that organization to stage a coup d'état and kill that bastard already?* But not lower standards than Allison. *She piped up cheerfully and sweetly, taking a sip of her beer.*

 **Allison:** *Over her shoulder* Better than growing cobwebs like you, dear. *Allison would hit her, she would. It was just a matter of time. She focused on Ansel's explanation instead.* Which would be a good explanation if all you did was look.

 **Rachelle** : *Oh my, could that have been a brief, momentary, barely noticeable, heart flutter from her big alpha brother? She wiggled her eyebrows and kept watching him work over the steak while taking sips of the beer.*

 **Allison:** He does love them feisty. *She added casually, an amused smirk on her face.*

 **Rachelle:** Hmm, no sister, he likes them with life. I've been corrected on that account already. *Cheers, brother. As if she was going to forget the Vesuvius comment.*

 **Allison:** Twice, you say? Would you say that's brave or foolish?

 **Ansel:** Oh I would say it's...*He muses playfully over another swig, eyes on his dear older brother,* Stunning. Wouldn't you agree? *The bottle tips and swings, between index and middle finger.*

 **Hans** : I would. *Unashamed, appreciating that as he smirks to himself.* If you're going to be as unimaginative as to quote me, you can't be surprised I'll uphold my word.

 **Ansel:** *Easily, grin only widening,* Of course. We're all men of our word of our word here.

 **Hans:** Well, *matter of fact, gesturing with the knife he holds, laughing, even as scarlet appears in his gaze and teeth drip from his gums,* men and women. 

 **Ansel:** *Laughing equally, he too extends his back canines, grey flecks appearing in his green eyes.* In a manner of speaking. 

 **Hans** : *He retracts with ease; having enjoyed that trick since the first time he got that little silver angel-send (as he'd told Alcott).* In answer to your question, it's not dear Arianna. *He flicks his hand.*

 **D'Grey:** *Knocking once, the door swings open abruptly; he's long since stopped being surprised when his friends could hear his heart a mile off. At ease, his hands don't even leave his pockets as he enters, words light and eyes on Ansel's still transformed face.* Oh dear -- not interrupting, am I?

 **Ansel:** *Retracts, and only returns his smirk,* Never.

 **D'Grey:** Good--*in the same breath, his eyes land on Allison, and his chin lifts, smile shifting a bit,* --and ah, so you already know then. 

 **Hans:** About Nadia? *Calmly, shutting oven and front door with the same wrist flick. Smirking, idle,* Cutting some scum's eye out?

 **Ansel:** Don't forget the spiked mace! *Hand up, gesturing as if guilty to D'Grey with a grin,* My personal favorite.

 **D'Grey:** I'm well aware. *His smile quirks as if to allow it, voice tighter before he looks back to Allison, adding sincerely,* Thank you. She owes you her life. 

 **Hans:** *His voice tighter with curiosity even as he smiles,* Have you gotten to know her then?

 **D'Grey:** Hardly, *snorts, responding easily and quickly, eyes flicking to hold Hans'* Only the whole operation hangs on her, doesn't it? 

 **Ansel:** *Lightly,* That's my sister for you: always all for others.

 **Allison:** *She holds back a chuckle, pursing her lips in amusement. Her brothers did have odd tastes, but whatever kept them entertained; she certainly wasn't going to judge them. Tease them? Oh yes, indefinitely.* 

 **Rachelle** : *She was ready to interject that men weren't the only ones here but Hans already answered to it, somewhat. She rolled her eyes and finished her beers. Brothers. She turned her head to look as D'Grey walked in and waved her fingers in greeting.* Allison came right on over, ever so enthusiastic.

 **Allison:** *Her smile at her sister was just so blatantly speaking the word "bitch", she wondered if anyone else could hear it. Turning to D'Grey, slightly surprised by his gratitude she nevertheless grinned and nodded because yes she was pleased with herself, sue her.* Any reason to kick assholes in the face. *She directs her playful scowl in Ansel's direction.*

 **Rachelle:** *She bites back a comment, honestly Allison needed to stop making things so easy on her.* Things would have been messier with her dead. *Was she insensitive by putting it so bluntly? Maybe, but she long learned not to give much of a fuck.* So, special occasion? *She raised her eyebrows* You've never cooked me dinner, brother. 

 **Ansel** : Of course. And it couldn't hurt you were showing off for Angel, weren't you? *His gaze hardens.* You know if he continues to treat you horribly--

 **Hans:** *light and offhand, gesturing with his knife again.* You'll make us all weep with your sappy protective side?

 **Ansel** : He'd weep, I grant. *careless, through a sly little smirk.*

 **D'Grey:** *He doubted that. His conversation with the man still heavy on his mind, he licked at his bottom lip to tug it beneath his teeth and bite back a comment. Harper was...more than Ansel knew. Just as he knew...well, considering how his gaze had leaped to meet his when he had only said Lyndsea's name? Allison had no prayer.*

 **Hans:** Sure I have. *There's a scarlet, sudden glint in his eyes as his gaze flicks to Rachelle, resuming chopping the vegetables. Semantics, wasn't it?* Perhaps not the kind usually thought of, granted.

 **D'Grey:** Charming.

 **Ansel:** *He lifts a hand to pat D'Grey's back once, twice.* Too gruesome for you?

 **D'Grey** : *His own gaze chills into the half instant he looks back. Yet his words are cordial,* Kind of you to look out for me but -- no. You willing to test the theory out?

 **Ansel** : *delighted, grinning wider, he opens his mouth but is cut off by Hans, who heard the skip in his heart.*

 **Hans:** Now now, settle you two- you'll spoil our dinner.

 **D'Grey** : *Not blinking any more than a casual smirking Ansel is.* Ah, shame. *brighter, he turns to Rachelle,* I'll cook you dinner soon, if you want. *His smile widens.* You know, the kind us normal, folk enjoy. 

 **Hans:** How terribly dull. *as if making his point, he licks the last remnant of blood from his finger off the meat.*

 **D'Grey:** *He takes a step back, just as casual and nods, throughly amused. Dull..aha; well, he was a master at the multi-layered conversations.*

 **Hans** : And yes, we're celebrating-a successful evening; darling sisters, I promise you can entertain our next guests. *Turning from the small kitchen, leaving the oven on to finish cooking,* There's just one detal I'm-curious about further...Allison, where did Nadia get the knife? *Only he smirks, side-eying D'Grey while he's speaking to her, like he knows.*

 **D'Grey:** *small smirk*

 **Allison** : *One of the disadvantageous parts of being surrounded by werewolves is that every little reaction became grander with their heightened senses. The minute flush of her cheeks, blood rushing to them to tinge them a subtle red might as well have been a flashing neon sign. How annoying.* I might have been showing off.

 **Rachelle:** *smirk wide, she chuckled at that and shook her head. Oh the world was soon to be over, when Allison blushed. What did she in that tortured, stick-in-the-mud anyways? She might not like Allison, understatement, but she was still her sister, and they were still a pack. Ansel had the right idea about it. Even so-* Oh pipe down, Ansel. Allison is perfectly capable of handling herself. I distinctly remember an ex she decapitated.

 **Allison:** He called me crazy. *her eyes narrow* I'm not crazy.

 **Rachelle:** *Her lips flick at the subtle correction to her words Hans gave her, smirking momentarily.* Fair point. *But still, no actual -cooking- had been involved.*

 **Allison** : *Why was it always a cockfight when there was too much testosterone in the room? Pay no attention to the fact that she and Rachelle had also greeted one another with violence, of course...* Men.

 **Rachelle:** So primordial. *She grinned then as D'Grey turned to her with his offer.* Would you really? That would be great! There's only so much of hotel food I can take. 

 **Allison:** Next, guests? *Her ears perked up in interest, head tilting. She was about to ask more when Hans had a question for her instead.* Oh, I'm not entirely sure. Gustav is eager to pin it on Angel of course, any reason to punish him. *She rolled her eyes.* I'm assuming he'll ask her when she wakes up.

 **Ansel:** Oh, I know that well. *He pauses for emphasis over another sip.* This is me, offering support before you yank my ear off demanding it, mon cherie.

 **D'Grey:** Marvelous way to disprove the charge. *His words were light as he walked leisurely to pull out the wine glasses. It was the least he could do politely: Hans had made dinner, after all.*

 **Ansel** : *Choking back after a single snicker,* He has a point.

 **Hans:** *Lightly,* Isn't it always you saying, D'Grey, that the best course to disproving reputations is doing exactly the opposite of what's expected?

 **D'Grey:** Oh, always. *He twirls a glass, idly.* Are you saying you've been listening to me?

 **Hans:** *A playfully guilty grin appears.* Come now, what sort of friend would I be if I ignored you?

 **D'Grey:** Mm, exactly like the sort you are on every other occasion? Present company excepted, naturally.

 **Ansel:** *Finishing the beer off, he scoffs at Allison's assertion: he misses that Hans eyes goes straight back to D'Grey.* That miserable ghost, take initiative?

 **D'Grey:** *Barely nodding, knowing the entire damn room could pick up his every half inch of movement as clearly as if he'd jumped up over a ten foot pole, he shrugs and says instead,* Do we have to discuss business as of yet? Dreadfully dull talk for a special occasion.

 **Allison** : *She shrugged, brushing the comment off as she'd learn to do about that particular topic. It was a matter of principle and well, she hadn't been  in full control of her wolf when that had occurred.*

 **Rachelle:** *Out of all of Allison's faults, her sanity, or lack thereof as it may be, was actually an aspect she steered very clear of in her teasing. Less she retaliate and Rachelle be forced to kill her.*

 **Allison:** *she rolls her eyes* He's not a miserable ghost, Ansel. *Well, miserable, yes but he wouldn't be if he weren't so determined to be.* But I don't think he'd have given her the knife either.

 **Rachelle:** *Three guesses who, she thought to herself as she finished off her beer while watching D'Grey and Hans exchange poignant looks. Either that or they were eye fucking, she wouldn't discount either.* I agree. Seems all we have is business anymore *she sighs in fake disappointment* not nearly enough fun. 

&.

She awoke with a groan and a whimper that made her burrow her face into the pillow to block out the light. Go back to sleep, she told her brain but it didn’t seem to want to cooperate with her. It was after a few more seconds that everything returned to her in a flash.

She sat up with a loud crack that made her hiss and then put a hand to her shoulder. It was still sore but obviously no longer bleeding, Angel had taken care of that for her. She was still in the leather jacket, ruined and bloodstained as it was. The blanket that had been covering was now bunched at her waist from the rapid motion of sitting up. Her shirt was still ruined and a thin red scar ran from her collarbone to her navel. She zipped up the jacket quickly before moving to stand up.

It was hell, it had to be. This was how hell felt like. Her legs trembled and shook as she stood up right, using the bedside table to support her with her uninjured arm, or rather, the one that was less injured. She felt like jell-o, though she wasn’t quite sure what exactly jell-o was. Once she was able to stand by herself, she looked about the room.

It was maybe four times the size of her cell, more spacious than she was accustomed to, and the walls made of brick much lighter than the naturally black rock of the dungeons. The floor was carpeted though. The fuzzy fabric went between her toes as she wriggled them; it felt nice. There was the bed behind her, a long wooden table that had every inch covered with different vials and tubes of purple and gold and silver and red and green liquid inside. There was a desk in disarray, papers strewn all over it, with picture frames along the outermost edge, turned away from her. And there was a single faded green armchair, quite old by the looks of it. But no Angel in sight.

She looks at the door but she shrunk away from it, unwilling to step foot outside. A second door however, to her immediate right, grabbed her attention. Slow and careful steps brought her in front of the wooden door with no lock. She pushed it open with her toe and hand slowly, even the slightest movement feeling like a wrestling match against a giant.

A light flickered on as the door opened fully, to reveal a small bathroom. A sink and mirror were cramped together close to the toilet, and a shower at the very end. It felt like the room was added as an afterthought, and it might have been. Feeling the weight of all the dirt and grime on her, she decided this was now her most favorite place in the world.

Closing the door, she shrugged off her jacket and hung it over the knob and headed to the mirror, rightfully dreading what was to come. Her face was a smattering of black, blue, and yellow. She almost couldn’t bear the sight of it herself, but she forced herself to keep looking. Every blow to her face seem to come back to her as she poked her face delicately with the tips of fingers that were still tinged with blood. Whether it was Rhys’ or hers, she couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to know.

“Oh honey, who has done that to you?”

She gasped and looked around, neck snapping left to right, her eyes wider than saucers. Who was that? Who was watching her? She reached for the towel and wrapped it around herself, the ruined shirt not offering much for cover.

“Over here, sugar, yoo hoo!” Her head snapped again, fully ahead. All she was her reflection in the mirror. She leaned in really close now. Was the mirror talking to her? Was that possible?

“I don’t need a close-up of those bruises, darlings. They are grotesque, zut alors! And I thought Angel was a mess.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise before a small voice asked. “You’re a mirror.”

“And you’re a mess. Sweetie, you need to go take a well earned shower this instant, and don’t come back until you’re done! Tout de suite, depeche-toi!”

“Err, sorry.” She moved away from the mirror, not at all comfortable with the fact that she was being told she looked horrible. As if that wasn’t obvious? She didn’t need a mirror to voice what she saw, and how she felt. That was a stupid invention.

She hung the towel again and got out of her ruined clothes. She flung them to the far side of the bathroom, as far away from her as possible. He had touched them, he had touched all of her, and those clothes just stank of him. Of vomit, and cigars, and hairspray. But even that didn’t take his presence away from her. The rest of her body resembled her face; a pattern of dark hues splattered against her ribs, and probably her back. There were even bruises in the shape of fingers at her chest and hips, and around her thighs. Like he was still there, mocking her, torturing her.

Bruises would fade though but the scar at her shoulder, where some blade, or was it a spear?, had gone through it, wouldn’t leave so easily. Just like the scar down her cheek. And for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to fade… It was a twisted thought, but it helped her remember. She was so deprived of memories, so afraid for mind, that even remembering such atrocious events was important. She was at war with herself. One part wanting to forget everything all over, and another that kept relieving what had happened repeatedly. How it felt like to sink the knife into Rhys’ eye, the sound the other man made as she struck him with the club, the sight of blood everywhere, of that brown wolf, and Angel’s voice, saying her name.

Hot water helped, soap helped, a body scrub that she used to leave her skin red raw despite how much it hurt, helped too. Not much, but it did. The water had run red and grey for a long time. She scrubbed until she felt like she’d shed off every dead skin cell, every bloodstain, every little molecule of dirt, long after the water had stopped being hot. All through it, just repeating her name in her mind.

“Nadia,” she tried it out loud after wringing out her hair of excess water and wrapping the towel around herself again. She thought it was a pretty name…and she thought she looked like a Nadia too, maybe.

To her surprise, she found clothes had been laid out…in the middle of the air. She hadn’t heard anyone enter, but she’d also kept her head in the middle of the falling water for a long time. It was a simple wool blue dress, with a wide brown belt. It looked like it would hang below her knees, and for that she was grateful. The color reminded her of the hilt of the knife. Curious, she went to her jacket and reached into the pocket to see if the knife D’Grey had given her was still there. It was, and it was…remarkably clean. She didn’t know how she had missed that previously. She was expecting it to be coated in dried blood, but nothing. Not even the blade she noted as she flicked it open again. The ease with which she did that chilled her and she put the knife back in the pocket.

After she dressed, she returned to the mirror. It deemed her much more appropriate now. “See? Better already!” The mirror complimented as she ran fingers through wet curly tendrils of her dark hair.

“I feel better too,” she answered, ignoring how silly it seemed to answer to a mirror. She felt better, but anything felt better than death, which is what she had felt and looked like before. Death, packaged and sealed in the body of a little girl.

She didn’t feel like a little girl anymore either.

She grabbed the jacket, unsure of how to clean leather and not wanting to ruin it more than it already was, and left the room. She wasn’t surprised to find that Angel was already there. He was reading a newspaper and sitting on the armchair. A moving pictured of a surly man moved in front of her, his dark face appearing and disappearing with flashes of white she assumed to be camera lights. The headline read: “Is the Minister No Longer Fit To Lead Us?”, and a smaller line below it read “Minister’s son attacked by werewolf; Ministry determined to place entire blame on Headmaster.” The words made very little sense to her, but the word werewolf reminded Nadia of how Angel had been helping the Death Eaters.

The paper fell and she found herself staring into Angel’s brown eyes instead. He looked pained, for some reason. “How’s your shoulder?”

She rolled it around experimentally; it was still a little stiff but much less so than it had been when she’d recently woken up. “Better. Hot water helped a lot.” She licked her lips before she started again. “Angel-“

“I’m sorry,” he interjected before she had the chance to finish her sentence, promptly shutting her up. Out of all of the things she thought Angel would say, an apology was not one of them. His sincerity was so poignant, so heavy in his words that at first she couldn’t say anything. He took her silence as confusion, so he elaborated. Did he think she’d hit her head too? Maybe she had, but she hoped not.

“I do know about who you are. And I did keep it from you, and I lied to you about it. I knew what they were up to…but I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew that eventually you would have been home, and everything would go back to normal for you. And I’m sorry I avoided you like some sort of irked schoolboy. If I hadn’t, if I had visited you as I normally did, none of that would have happened.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” she said immediately frowning. She shook her head. “You can’t blame yourself for Rhys being a psychopath.” She inhaled in a hiss; his name venom in her mouth. She might have vomited had she anything in her stomach.

“If Allison hadn’t come back from some duties, if she hadn’t heard, if we would have been a second later-“

She stepped forward suddenly, mostly because she was unable to hear anymore of that. The memory was fresh, and she was both relieved and repulsed by that. “I’m fine, I’m-“

“You’re not fine, Nadia.” Her name left her breathless again, and all she could do was listen. “I took your memory and I didn’t think twice about it. I lied to you, and the same thing. You’ve spent weeks down there, hearing those screams and all I did was bring you candles and strawberries. And pessimism, so much pessimism, and very little hope. And now you’re black and blue, with scars even I can’t get rid of. I just keep thinking to myself, somewhere, thousands of miles away, your family’s worried sick about you. Praying for your safe return, willing to lay their lives down for you, hoping that somehow, someway, someone keeps their baby girl safe and…I haven’t. Because…you’re not mine. Because my entire focus has been my family’s safety and it was wrong of me to let you think that your safety was any less important. That you’re no one, when that’s not true. You are the most important person…I’m sorry. I could have helped more but I didn’t.”

Her bottom lip trembled throughout his entire declaration, tears welling up in her eyes, causing them to sting. At the end she could only nod, because words hadn’t come for her yet. She wiped under her eyes and hissed as she forgot how bruised they were.

“Here, I have a balm for that.” He stood up and ran a hand over the wall. Secret shelves with even more vials and jars appeared. Angel found the right one and came over to her, holding it out to her. She took it carefully and smiled, nodding again. It was with a shaky voice that she finally spoke again.

“Thank you, and not just for this,” she lifted the small jar with a yellow balm inside to show it. “Just it was nice to hear that…that I matter.”

Angel nodded after swallowing. “You do. You matter a great deal. And you’re not a casualty, the fact that you’re standing here right now is proof of that. By any rights, with how much damage you had to your organs, to your skeleton, and all the blood you lost, you should be dead.”

Any other time, that might not have been appreciated. She would have shuddered and flinched at the briefest mention of gory details. Now it just comforted her, to know that somehow against all the facts, she had survived. Was it wrong to feel proud? She thought so, but quickly realized she didn’t care too much. That was, until she remembered to ask about the other man.

“I killed him, didn’t I?”

Angel nodded, and then after a moment’s hesitation, raised a hand to her unmarked shoulder. “Nadia, you shouldn’t feel bad-“

“It’s-” she swallowed and frowned as she realized exactly why she was upset, or rather one of the reasons. Eyes watered as she looked up at Angel again. “I feel bad that I don’t feel bad.” And then the tears finally fell, and she found herself against his chest again, sobs leaving her chest in violent exhales. This time it was by his arms bringing her close and holding her there. She cried into his shirt and eventually raised her arms to hold him as well, her shoulder protesting as she did. Everything protested, and so did she internally. He had just complimented her strength and now here she was, practically collapsed in tears.

“I. don’t want to. cry. anymore.” every pause was filled with sobs, her sentence ending with renewed exhales of her sorrow. “So, exhausting,” she sniffed and shook her head from side to side. She’d told D’Grey that she thought being honest about her emotions, allowing herself to feel was a strength, but how could it be a strength when it debilitated her so often and so thoroughly?

“It’s okay to cry, Nadia,” he repeated her name again, and another sob left her chest violently. “You went through hell.”

“No,” she shook her insistently again. “You did, you are, all I did was hide in the darkness and get smacked around for a few hours, they did this to you for -years-. And they kill people down there, Wallace is probably dead, and they’re going to kill so many more, and kidnap more! My own family, my own friends, they’re going to go through so much worse than me if I don’t stop it! What I’ve gone through is nothing, it’s nothing! I hate them. I hate them!” Her hysterics died off into fearful sobs again, but Angel held her tighter. How many of his shirts had she ruined already?

“Nadia, listen to me,” he spoke gently, so gently that he sounded like a different person. “What I’ve gone through, what anyone else has or will go through, doesn’t diminish your own suffering in the slightest. And do you think this beating is any worse than the hours of screams you’ve had to endure? Unable to go to sleep and being haunted by nightmares when you do? Especially when you feel so strongly for these people you haven’t met? Nadia, don’t discount your pain. You have every right to cry.”

“I don’t want to cry anymore,” she repeated and exhaled and inhaled through her nose to concentrate on calming down. It was difficult, though she tried to keep his words in mind. She wouldn’t allow it to fill her mind, though it would be so hard when those arms around her were so scarred, and every time he smiled the corner of his mouth that was turned permanently upwards appeared even more pronounced. Reminders of how much he had endured, and here she was breaking after a day.

She pulled away from him and only realized how much that had hurt her cheek. It was negligible though, especially when he spoke again. “I have every faith in you,” he told her. “You’re going to get out of here, Nadia. That’s a fact, no matter what the circumstances are, and I don’t doubt that you’ll find a way to help. In all of the years Gustav’s been in power, you’re the biggest threat he has.” That surprised her, and she was a bit disbelieving of it but kept listening to him either way. “And he doesn’t even know it. He discounts you, because you’re a girl, because you’re a muggleborn, because he thinks he’s broken you in that cell. He hasn’t. And if you’re half as stubborn as I believe you are and you’ve shown to be about helping, then I believe you will.”

Angel was finally living up to his chosen name. A smile appeared on her face and she chose to hug him again, this time briefly.

“Thank you, Angel.”

“Harper,” he corrected with a small smile. “You can call me Harper in here, we’re safe in my room.”

That gave her pause. “Safe?”

“Everywhere else is bugged with a ward that allows them to overhear.” He smirked and she wasn’t sure what was so funny.

“And not here? Won’t they realize that?”

“Oh it’s still bugged, but my ward counteracts it, distorts the words. They currently think we’re talking about your injuries, or maybe apple pie, I never know.”

She finally realized what that smirk was for. He wasn’t amused, he was smug. That made Nadia laugh and wipe at her eyes again. “Do you by chance have apple pie? I’m starving.”


	24. Rarely What it Seems

“Who’s that from?” 

Head pounding, Sienna had only perked one eye open when she heard a rap-tap-tap. Oh, heavens. Had she fallen asleep on the desk? Leaping up to un-latch the door, an owl swoops in and flutters over to Eliza’s desk instead of the one she’d turned into a pillow. 

Eliza hadn’t stirred at her outburst; not a single strand had whisked over her shoulder, until the small package dropped into her lap. Sienna’s gut clenched in irritation and sorrow. Her friend was (she thought she was, she couldn’t remember exactly, these days were running together), upset with her still, had said she’d ‘told the enemy’, even though Hans had already known that Alcott was a werewolf when he approached her. It was he who had started them talking, she’d argued...but as much as Eliza told her it was all right, that she didn’t blame her, her friend of so many years had not acknowledged the fact that she could tell when she was angry with her. 

Of course she could, she’d known her since she was six. 

Or, maybe it wasn’t Hans. Maybe it was the fact that Eliza had gaped at her for forgetting the apparently two-hour long conversation they’d already had over her parents being in the same room again. Sienna had known how much it would mean to her, had hastened to her side to hug her tightly and firmly. Eliza had startled -- and then gasped when she realized Sienna had no idea what she was talking about. How was it her fault she couldn’t remember? Wasn’t the point that she wanted to be there for her friend? Wasn’t that important?

Apparently not. Admitted, Sienna had snapped and walked off when she was told they’d “already talked about it,” because of course she had, of course she’d talked about it to Alcott - she was sure of that - and to Irene. Wonderful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t know.” Eliza held up the velvet box slowly, a thumb caressing the silver clasp. Sienna shook her head to clear her thoughts. Getting up to hasten to her friend’s side, she leaned against her desk backwards, toying with a long strand of hair that needed a comb. 

When she clicked the box open, both friends gasped as one, 

“Oh my god.” 

&.

“Another. Si, _si_ , rocks, sugar, the works. With a twist.”

It was the last word that did it. Lyndsea stood a few feet behind the bar. Ignoring a cat-caller and the wide-eyed stares, as -- well, she supposed she did look a little odd there, in her stiletto Choos and Paris Original dress. It didn’t matter to her. None of these goggly-eyed men deserved to know the reason she was so comfortable in the pine-smoked establishment. 

Well. She rephrased, if she did march over to one and steal a draft of his cigar, then he could know. She was comfortable there because of the amount of times she, her husband and his brothers had paid homage to the Hog’s Head whilst still in school. Why that man should care, she hadn’t the faintest idea (no one did, no one meant it when they asked how you were, no one ever cared for a genuine answer). 

She was craving that cigar though. 

Her shoes were still stuck with flurries and dirt; she had hurried down the pathway to the bar when she saw Mary through the window. Mary sat atop a bench, empty glass behind her echoed in her wide eyes, arms folded and chin perched atop them. Spit and fuzz clung to the brunette strands, for even in the one minute she’d been watching, Mary had blown the hair out of her eyes six times alone. 

And when she wiggled herself (gracious, she genuinely had wiggled her -chest-) in accordance with “a twist,” Lyndsea had decided. However much she loathed interfering, she had clasped her friends shoulder, squeezed, and denied it for her. 

“Thank you so much for taking such good care of my friend, you are too kind. Cancel that last drink.”

“Lynds... I’m fine,” Mary’s whine snapped against her ear. It had a discouraging effect, considering Lyndsea could smell the whiskey on her breath. 

“Would you be so kind as to call us a cab?”

She ignored the protest from her side and when the bartender gave her a shady grin and a gesture of ‘hey look if she wants more,’ Lyndsea’s patience ran out. Snapping, she briskly informed him, 

“You do know if she’s found causing a public disturbance, than you might be held liable?” Mary’s scoff and eye-roll went unnoticed by either host or friend; Lyndsea merely smiled. It was sickly sweet. “I do hope you have the money to pay for a lawyer. The vultures eat away at your life-savings until you’re still paying them after death.” 

While he gaped, Lyndsea simply snapped open her purse, slid a galleon across the counter to the ingratiating idiot, and hauled Mary to her feet. Tapping the gold with a finger-nail, she said lightly,

“For your trouble calling the cab. You are too kind.” 

“Spoilsport,” Mary muttered at her but when a snow blast greeted them through the door and struck her half-sober, her old friend curled into her suede, hung on her arm, and murmured a quiet thank you. 

&.

**Jensen:** Now, let’s see. *There’s a dry chuckle, a few feet off in the silence,* You would say something clever like ‘fancy meeting you here?’ 

 **Hans:** *The low words of dry amusement stops him dead on the sidewalk. He pauses, the hands he had buried deep in his pockets curling into fists. Now, that was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. Narrow dark eyes riveted their gaze on overhanging neon.* Jensen. 

 **Jensen:** *He steps into the dim light behind him to highlight a navy gaze. The rest he wore was dark as the starless sky above. Darkest of all was his full-lipped smile.* 

 **Hans** : *Tense, he takes a moment to turn. Yet when he does, clasping hands behind his back, a passable smirk has appeared as he half tuts in disappointment.* Fancy meeting you here is a bit bland, I must admit. But points for effort. 

 **Jensen:** *Taking another step forward, pleased by the man stiffening. His expression doesn’t change, words wry.* Why don’t you teach me how it’s done then?

 **Hans:** Now see, *Lacing his fingers behind his back as he tilts his head, his mouth opens in apparent surprised and he licks his bottom lip in delight.* I knew that education in the States had gone down hill. I had no idea it went off the rails. *Taking a step forward as well, he gestures around his open lips,* You move these first to form the letters --

 **Jensen:** Always so witty. *Pleasantly, he stops walking directly in front of him.* 

 **Hans:** Oh you do talk! Wonderful! *He raises his hands, clapping and gripping them together in front now. The hands shake forward twice as if praying for his success. He still doesn’t blink.* 

 **Jensen:** *Exhaling sharply through his nose, his lips press together tightly.* It’s clever, that. You always have something clever to say. To put your victims offbeat, at ease, maybe even catch them in a chuckle --

 **Hans:** Well, I learned from the best. *Pleasantly smiling, he releases his hands. Now they lift, palms flat and open in offering. How humble I am, he thought in amusement. That was what it took, wasn’t it? Humility and Good Works achieve Salvation? Well, it was Jensen Stone he was talking to. He should ask.* 

 **Jensen:** Yes, well, *taking a step again as if answering the offer, he’s invading Hans personal space as he does so,* I must admit I’ve never seen the humor in ripping a person’s heart out to feed on.

 **Hans:** *There were so many misconceptions about wolves, he thought briefly. The general consensus seemed to be that it was only vampires, those pale and dull creatures, who could be cold statues of marble. He disproved this now, chin lifting only a half inch to keep their eyes even. Not another muscle twitches.* As I said. I learned from the best.

 **Jensen:** *He catches the meaning instantly and now even his smile disappears, face darkening. Wisps of snow behind them cease their dance in the wind, calming until they don’t fall further in the magenta light that shadows them. Flakes halt. Breath stops.* 

 **Hans:** *It was generally thought that only vampires thirsted for blood. That might be the most humorous of the lies. Oh, it wasn’t to keep them alive of course. Feeding on flesh itself was their most tender of desires, but it was the blood that gave the delicacy that succulent flavor. Some might gag, others might even vomit -- but he had learned a long time ago to accept the instinct and control it. Years before an angel’s blessing gave them the ability to turn at will, another had taught him to embrace it. A dark, scarlet cloud passes through his eyes, as he struggles to keep his heart calm and breath soft: for there was one thing that was true. Vampires were dead. Wolves were the embodiment of that most voracious appetite: life.* How is Laura?

 **Jensen:** *Flicking his head half an inch from side to side, it casts his face in that neon shadow.* That isn’t your concern.

 **Hans:** No, well, *his voice is dangerously low, but the hiss is wry,* you made sure of that didn’t you? 

 **Jensen:** *He offers a smirk alone for response.*

 **Hans:** *Another glint of scarlet appears in his gaze,* Still. I take it you didn’t kill her after all, even if you were sent to.

 **Jensen:** That isn’t your concern either.

 **Hans:** *chuckling darkly, he cocks an eyebrow as his head jerks up.* No? Well, it seems a lot isn’t my concern, doesn’t it? Come now, Jensen, I care if she’s dead after all -- have to send flowers to the funeral, you know, make my apologies to the family. 

 **Jensen:** Care, do you? Well, this is touching Hans. *Low, a flash through his own gaze,* Do you show such concern for all your victims?

 **Hans:** If you’re insinuating that Laura is a victim of mine, *the chuckle in response is suddenly bright,* mate, you ought to have another chat with her on our particular history, you seem to be missing a few details. 

 **Jensen:** I know what your history is. *snap* And I know how deluded you are. Laura hasn’t ever been reason you did anything. 

 **Hans:** *Eyes narrow,* Of course she’s not. No one’s made me do anything. 

 **Jensen:** Ah, of course not. *Dry* For, you’re the big man, the Alpha.

 **Hans:** Still, *ignoring that,* it does seem to me that she’s the reason I’m still standing here. I’d be dead if it weren’t for her. *And now his eyes were slits,* Think how many of my victims might still be alive had she chosen differently, Jensen.

 **Jensen:** Laura gave you a gift. *He cuts the man irritated, all to aware of his own defensiveness.* The mess you’ve made of it is your affair, a spit to her face -

 **Hans:** *His haughty, high abrupt chuckle is over clenched teeth.* Yes, right as always. Jensen. -I- spat in -her- face. *He licks at the corner of his lip, saliva glistening in response on the tip of his tongue. For a moment, he considers what it would be like to taste the man’s blood. Then he sucks it in, saying calmer,* Yes, she gave me a gift, as she gave so many. Really, Gustav ought to be thanking you, Jensen. She’d be leader if it weren’t for your intervention -- she’d have ousted him you know, considering how many would have died for her. Face it mate, you ‘saved’ the worst of us, *unable to hide the emotion clouding in his throat, he continues in a whisper bare,* and the best. 

 **Jensen:** She’ll still oust Gustav. *The snap is followed by an abrupt staring contest, breath again the only sound hovering in the cold air. Neither look away, neither blink and neither are willing to break the silence before the other. In a way, Jensen had to admit: he was tired of this weighing of moments, an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. He told the truth. That was all he could do.* 

 **Hans** : *His nod is slow, made more of spite than agreement. Despite his smirk of amusement, there was nothing of it in his eyes. Gustav was not Laura’s concern anymore; if she meant to oust him, then she meant to come back, and the thought twisted in his gut. Why would she do such a thing? She’d gotten out.* She left a lot of angry people in her wake, Jensen. *He bites it out and averts his gaze.* Such betrayal...well, leaves a lot of men who as you say, want to dine on her heart.

 **Jensen:** But not you. *Challenging, he lifts his eyes.*

 **Hans:** Not me. *Meeting his gaze again, his words are bright.* And see, you thought you had me all figured out. 

 **Jensen:** You’re not as mysterious as you’d like to believe, Hans. 

 **Hans:** Oh this is always entertaining, *chuckling high again, he shakes his head, shrugging a shoulder,* go on. Jensen. Tell me, what am I? 

 **Jensen:** Oh, my opinion doesn’t matter to you. Never has. No-one’s had. You don’t care. You’ve killed more people than I can list in an instant -- your own father among them, and yet you preach about family honor and loyalty. You’re a monster, *mirroring the earlier slow nod, he’s only encouraged by the challenge,* who doesn’t care who you hunt or who you hurt, the innocent people you leave in your wake. 

 **Hans:** You know what? *Pleased, his words sound as if they’re delighted. It would be believable, if not for his suddenly scarlet eyes, the carmine flecks flashing with every serious word from the man’s mouth.* You’re right, I don’t care. *He shakes his head without blinking.* And you’re just so much better, aren’t you Jensen Stone? *He tilts his head: how arrogant was this man? He’d played God as long as he’d known him. The fact that Hans appeared not to care -- well, as he’d said, he’d learned from the best. _Your heart, it still beats_. Her voice echoes in his ear, an abruptly clear memory. _-For what purpose? Love, compassion? These emotions will make you weak..._ * The righteous, courageous rogue, making all those pesky decisions even the most corrupt of governments won’t deal with. *And he was not weak. Besides, they say to love was to bury right? Emotional entanglements could make one strong when chosen right. In some great irony, it was the man in front of him who he had to thank for teaching him who he could truly trust. That final lesson was invaluable. Jensen might even have saved his life himself! How wonderfully amusing would that be?* 

 **Jensen:** I make no apologies for the methods I choose. *Snorts, amused at the brief attempt to discourage him. His first rebuttal is abrupt, dry,* I don’t fight for the government.

 **Hans:** That’s what rogue means, hon.

 **Jensen:** And I don’t work for myself. *His voice is steady, his words firm and certain.* I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves, on behalf of those who’ve been forgotten, and I save who I can.

 **Hans:** How noble.

 **Jensen:** *Eyes narrowing,* Which, speaking of -

 **Hans** : Ah yes! *He claps his hands together, abruptly bright as much as Jensen was frowning.* What are you doing in this quaint little town? I mean, I know you don’t have a death wish -- *He lays one hand over his heart, patting his chest. Snow litters the ground.* You know you can’t hope to defeat me alone. What are you hoping to achieve? *His voice gains weight, but his expression pleasant again.* She leave you too?

 **Jensen:** *Ignoring, his tone is even, expression equally pleasant.* I’m telling you to give me Nadia, and get the fuck out of England.

 **Hans:** *a slow smile appears beneath widening eyes, back to a calming blue* Nadia, Nadia...Nadia -- you know, she is all anyone asks me about here? What is it with this girl, that she has such a hold over so many hearts? 

 **Jensen:** She’s innocent. *He might as well have spat that with bullets in his teeth.*

 **Hans:** Well, she was. *Non-deterred by the sharp words, Hans shrugs a shoulder. Impressed again as he relays,* Now she’s taken a spiked mace to a man’s stomach, I wouldn’t quite say that anymore -

 **Jensen:** *A growl worthy of the beast he’s talking to laces the heated snap, taking a step forward,* You had better be lying -

 **Hans:** I? *Lightly, unmoving, unblinking,* What possible reason could I have to lie? *Bluntly,* Why, are you not going to save her if it’s true? What if I tell you she carved another’s eye out too? I mean, I wasn’t there, but it sounds like it was quite the scene. Oh, I know. You’ll send Laura, won’t you? It has such poetr-- *chokes.*

 **Jensen:** *The wordless spell burst from his chest, moving up and down in hefty dry heaves. Hand snapping out only a second later, he closes his fist around the throat in front of him.* Tell me where she is, *entertaining a brief fantasy of tearing him apart darkens his eyes, he leans to add in a hiss,*  Now.

 **Hans:** *Spluttering a moment through a screwed up smirk, he coughs against the impalement,* Almost impressive. *Forefinger and thumb pinch the flesh at his throat, claw ripping across a vein as he twists his hand and breaks the man’s wrist. A crack echoes as he shoves him against the wall, faster than the man could hiss. Hans doesn’t move, letting him regain his bearings against the wall.* You’ve been eating your Wheaties haven’t you? *A glint in his eye as he’s lifting the retracting claw to his lips, he sucks clean the hint of blood.* Mm - *His lips smack open,* that is the cereal for that American game, isn’t it? The dreadfully dull one with the bat and people running around a diamond? You know, when I use a bat for a game -- it’s a bit more lively. 

 **Jensen:** *Taking only three seconds to breathe, he snaps his wrist back in place. The crack snakes a tremor of pain up his arm, heat spooling at his spine. Dark scarlet drips from the thing cut, peppering the snowy gravel. He only just slaps the vein against his jacket, muttering the spell. It closes before their eyes.*

 **Hans:** *He ‘mm’s’ again, watching the hatred in the cool eyes as he fixes his jacket’s collar.* Perhaps you do have a death wish after all. 

 **Jensen:** *Pleasantly, leaning back against the wall.* I do. *He agrees, making Hans smirk. That was a mistake, Jensen thinks, but only after he’d acted.* One to see you dead. *With a single flick of his thumb, the grey barrel of a gun appears in the air, smoke furling from the tip as a shot echoes in the alleyway. Snapping his fingers with the barest wince, another shot rings.* 

 **Hans:** *All right, now he was impressed. He could admit that to himself, as he darts one way to avoid one silver bullet so it hisses dangerously close to his ear, and the next so it ripped across his jacket’s sleeve, charred fabric in it’s wake.* You missed. *An instant later, he has his palm covering the bloody gun, the third shot breaking every bone and muscle in it’s path.* Has to be the heart, Stone. *He flicks his wrist and spins a shaking revolver so the barrel points to his assailant. It shivers in his grasp, as if the metal aches to spin back even while it stops firing. Fine. 

He lets the gun spin, kicking the hilt of it into Jensen’s nose, hearing a satisfactory crack.* Well, that makes up for the hole in my hand a bit. *His words are pleasant, light even, as his chest heaves from pain and back teeth clench.*  I know how you value your vanity.  *He lifts the barrel again, and snaps it into his cheek. Pink and maroon splatter the silver. Jensen crashes forward, the hand that recently was broken rubbing over his chest cavity as he chases breath. Hans lets him, pocketing the blasted gun. His thumb brushes over what had recently been a hole, watching bones grow, twist, and snap in place, a network of veins, tissue and flesh covering it. Remarkable, as ever. Whipping out his handkerchief again, he cleans over the wound, rubbing down hard and rejecting the pain. It’s only then he sees the blood on his jacket, and his eyes narrow.* Now, do you know what a jacket like this costs? That’s just downright rude, Jensen. 

 **Jensen:** *Glaring up, he’s popped his nose back into place. A thin trickle of blood traces down his lip, but remarkably, it curls into a knowing smile.* You miss her that much, don’t you?

 **Hans:** *Gripping the man’s throat abruptly, he smacks him back against the alleyway. Canines appearing, they extend over a smirk chilled under eyes scarlet. His heated breath choking his captive. The only reason he didn’t kill him instantly, was he relishes the sudden flicker of fear, the light appearing in Jensen’s eyes that says he’s going to plead for mercy. It burns in his expression, and it was delicious.* 

 **Jensen:** You can’t kill me. *He’s laughing against the chokehold, not caring; he knows he was right, and if anything that infuriates him more. Hans was right on one thing: they did not differ greatly in body count--he had been in the military, after all, and was he not culpable for their drone strikes prior to them having him direct the missions themselves? Where they differed was intent. 

It sickened him to think the beast holding him, with those burning eyes and sharp teeth that seemed to yearn to tear out his throat, likened himself to Laura. She had never been him. She had never been unable to care. It was the first thing Jensen had seen, in the moment he learned his mercy was his Achille’s heel as much as hers was compassion. That flicker of caring that men like Hans had tried so hard to beat out of her was a flame that would not go out even in the midst of a darkness colder than the Arctic winter and longer than the earth went around the sun. In return for her perserverence she had turned savior to others in her situation. And now they blamed her, would kill her in an instant. Even he had to admit he found little mercy for that. But he had lied. 

He hadn’t truly tried to kill Hans now; he fired to force the man to react, the same reason he’d mentioned his father. Alpha male’s did have that irritating need to prove their dominance; Jensen knew that, for he was one. However satisfying hitting him had been, the goal was this moment now. Nadia’s fate was of paramount importance to him -- particularly, if finding her led them to Gustav. 

It had taken Laura a few months before she began to tell him anything. It was her health that lead her to do so: the Death Eaters had long since left.  A year before he’d known Gustav’s name. It actually had occurred to him to drop a letter at the Ministry: by the way, you have an employee who routinely kidnaps, tortures, rapes, and enslaves fifteen year olds. If anyone wants to do something about that. Only he had learned a long time ago the answer to that. Yes, he would do something about that.* 

 **Hans:** *Breath heavy as he indulges in the man’s chuckle, the scent of warm blood beneath tender meat flooding his nostrils -- but it’s not the urge to bite, to kill, or even his hunger he’s focused on. He’d heard him. Oh, how shocking, you can’t kill me. Whatever the excuse was, he’d hear that later. Now, right now he was thinking of the moment he’d met Jensen.

The festival crowds and the regional music that beckoned his heart to ache for home as easily as he recalled the bastard’s arrow sticking from his shoulder. That had been a new one, Hans admitted. Unable at that time to transform freely, his nineteen year old self still had learned to run faster than the eye could see, to hunt and track, to break bones and evade those deadly bullets of silver. Arrows he hadn’t seen coming. Yanking it free had taken a second too long; Jensen had been gone, a heavy door slammed, and so was Laura from his side. And he’d formerly been so enjoying Budapest.* 

Oh now, as you already said: I don’t do what I’m told. You’ve been a thorn in my side for years now, Jensen. I would...so, *he licks his lip, picking the tip of a fang on his tongue,* so enjoy killing you. *Taking a deep breath while he leans in, a tooth scrapes the flesh of his jaw.* I’d even take my time, break each individual bone and savor your every delicate breath. I wouldn’t want you to not have the opportunity to see your beloved.  *He leans forward, gripping harder,* For I wager your mangled corpse would pull the elusive Laura out, wouldn’t it? 

 **Jensen:** Because of your boy. *He wouldn’t admit it; but the last statement had choked something in his chest, and made him hiss himself. Twisting his face away from the sharp teeth and grunting, he cuts out triumphant,* Alcott? 

 **Hans:** *The first remark stills him...and the moment he has a name, his face shifts. Retracting the fangs, he rolls his eyes to the dark sky. Oh, for God’s sakes. Really? Apparently bored, the question is anything but casual,* What about him? 

 **Jensen:** You kill me, you’ll never have him. He’s the reason I’m here. *Catching his breath and rubbing blood from his lip, his eyes are glinting. His words are crisp. * You see, he has an aunt in the Ministry -- wait, sorry, she actually works for the Museum in London. 

 **Hans:** She’s a spy. *Bored by the drivel, he finally lets the man go. Pulling back a few inches, he toys with his collar and wiping his thumb clean again.* 

 **Jensen:** *He nods, lips flicking wider,* Actually, I think you might even know her. Selene? 

 **Hans:** *Genuine surprise crosses through his gaze, so he turns his head to appear unmoved. Drily,* This is just a night for blasts from the past, isn’t it? 

 **Jensen:** Alcott asked Selene about you. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to trust you. 

 **Hans:** I can’t imagine. *His eyes narrow though his words are light.*

 **Jensen:** *His breath is steadier now, so he lifts both hands to shove the man away from him. Hans lets him, and he straightens. With another snap of his fingers, he retrieves his gun, cocking the safety on, slipping it in the back of his trousers, snapping the jacket over it. His eyes stay on Hans.* I wager you need him. If only because you know... I don’t believe Gustav enjoys failure. 

 **Hans:** *Cocking his head, it occurs to him Jensen thinks that’s a threat. How quaint. Like he had a reason to fear Gustav Roswell? Snorting under his breath and shrugging a shoulder, he slips a hand in his pocket,* Anymore than I do, Jensen. Your message was received: I swear, I’ll even be gone from England in a day. Well, thirty six hours give or take, you’ll give me time to get the necessities of packing done won’t you? There’s a good boy.  

*He starts walking backwards, eyes lighter blue than they had been all evening as he leaves the rogue ex-Marine in the snow. His smirk is wide from the simple knowledge he isn’t lying, continuing brightly as he strolls,* As for Nadia...you should find a suit yourself. I mean, I know you can’t afford one like this...* He plucks at the collar of the one he wore, a charming smile in place,* But I don’t believe Finchley lets someone in with leather.  *Ah, what a delightful way he’d ended up able to leave that first clue. Well, third -- Arianna and Dillon’s had come first, and another was resting on Eliza’s window sill now. That simple thought rests a smaller smile on his lips; for a moment he thinks of nothing else. 

Jensen is looking at him with narrowed eyes; his heart had skipped a beat simple saying Nadia’s name. Ah, the man did just have such a blind spot. Hans stops walking. Biting down on his bottom lip, he’s genuine a moment,* Look, she was never meant to get hurt. Whatever she’s endured I’m truly apologetic for. I only told you about the spiked mace because she’s a hell of a lot more impressive than anyone thinks. It’s a fatal flaw of Gustav’s, underestimating females. 

*His brows cock up, a hand that so recently had been sporting a Euro-sized hole clean as if he’d washed it lifts. He resumes strolling away a few steps only to stop abruptly again. As if he just thought of it, he calls back over his shoulder,* Ask Laura. I’m sure she remembers. Oh, and if you can,*a smirk crosses his lips, adding lightly,* she must surely also remember that little black dress, the Versace? *Both brows wiggle in amusement, and he turns back strolling away, calling back brightly,* She just always looked so good in it, I thought. Sexy in that I-can-kick-any-man’s-ass kind of way.

 **Jensen:** *Through clenched teeth and a bright smile, he echoes,* You can kiss my ass! 

 **Hans:** *Snorting, he shrugs a shoulder and answers with all politeness,* Eight o’clock sharp. 

&.

“I’ve lost it.”

 “You haven’t lost anything.”

“Lyndsea, yes, yes, I have.” 

“Mary,” and her eyes darken as she echoes her friend’s tone, “You haven’t.” 

 It wasn’t in mockery, she genuinely wanted to strike through the whiskey-speak to find her friend. The reason for her bar stint had halted Lyndsea cold, and the surreal  nature of conversation was tugging on all kinds of heartstrings she both resented her for and desperately craved. 

“Trust me,” Reaching for Mary’s shoulder again and brushing her hair away from her mouth (lest she continue to chew), she smiled briefly, “Even if you have, it’s not gone for ever.” 

That made Mary look up at her, guilt in her eyes. Lyndsea shifted, shaking her head quickly to discount the guilt and lounged deeper into their couch. Her couch, she reminds herself abruptly, her couch. Harper did not live there - not physically - it didn’t matter that they had picked it out together, it didn’t matter how she had persuaded (bribed) him to go to the store. It certainly didn’t matter the reason they were asked not to return to the store...God, how had she ever been that young? 

Mary’s state was reminding her of it, reminding her the last time she’d found her friend thus - the first month after giving birth to Eliza, mumbling into a cup every detail of Claude’s physicality to her, shameless as always. It had made her blush. At least Harper had pointed pink cheeks out to her when he appeared late, and she’d said simply she was cold. And of course, rather than be a usual gentleman and offer her his coat, her husband had leaned into her ear, whispered a spell of his own creation and in an instant shot fire through her veins. She didn’t think it was only the spell.

“A sixteen year old boy told me off, Lynds. Sixteen!”

Lyndsea knew the thin line she danced always between acceptance and brokenness, how she was a heartbeat from paralyzing apathy. She wouldn’t play that game now, not when she had some control over her life once more, not when she had finally begun to turn things around. Alcott’s revelation was both terrifying and oddly rewarding in that sense. Being a werewolf...had given her back her son. And she knew, she loathed, that by beginning to move on it had given her back -to- her son. 

“And he knows my daughter better than I do-“

“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything, ” Lyndsea shook her head at once, calmly but sadly. “In some ways, I envy it.” 

Though Mary’s eyebrows acknowledged she envied it too, she protests, “What he said though...she hasn’t told me any of that. Any of it! I’m her mother! And she never...” 

“If you knew what Alcott just took seven months to admit to me? You know, even though Holly knew the evening of?” Lyndsea half jokes, smile cracking at the edges, “You wouldn’t be complaining about her not telling you she’d found her father.” 

The words scratch her throat as she expels them; as if anything in this world would have stopped Alcott (or herself) from going to hell and back to find Harper if they could. The ironies and parallels had never escaped either of them, and they didn’t now. Mary notice her discomfort, and squeezes her hand back in wordless, perfect support. 

“They’re teenagers...this is what’s supposed to happen. It’s how you know you’re doing fine, honestly, as a mother: she’s supposed to challenge you now, become her own person...and Eliza, is one of the most beautiful and strongest people I’ve ever met.” 

Mary’s eyes are watery with the compliment but she nods in agreement, fervent and vehement, beaming at her and muttering ‘she’s perfect’ and ‘better than me’ to herself even as she rubs pink off her lips. God, her lipstick had smudged terribly -- Lyndsea quickly picked out a handkerchief for her. She’d already cried twice -- she wasn’t wholly going to be surprised if there was a third. 

“God, just.” Mary shook her head, looking down her front and picking at her sweater as if she couldn’t look Lyndsea in the eyes while she spoke. “She went to France to find him.” 

“Which you knew,” Lyndsea’s words were pleasant, but firm, “and chose not to admit to yourself. It was safer that way.”

Mary’s eyes jumped back to hers, a smile flicking across her face, before she simply nods, asking half in wonder, 

“Why do you know everything?” 

Each muscle in Lyndsea’s face tightens, even as she smiles wider. Casting her gaze down, she squeezes her hand, thumb brushing over the diamond. 

“Guess that’s what happens when you marry a genius,” She shrugs, and then pulls away from Mary. Yanking on a blanket behind them, as she rips it down and snaps it out (it would wrinkle otherwise), she continues, “Which, so long as we’re on that vein -- when are you calling Claude?” 

“What?” Mary sounds genuinely surprised, though Lyndsea expected that. She flicks a sidelong glance at her, as if to be like ‘Gurl,’ but neither of them would be improper enough to say it aloud. Mary gets it, if her sheepish smile is anything. 

“So it’s that obvious?” 

“You were intoxicated in the Hog’s Head, Mary.” Lyndsea chuckles, laying the blanket over both of them, tucking under both of them on the couch. Pulling Mary into her side, her friend murmured. 

“It’s unfair, how good he looks. Sixteen years later and...and he doesn’t appear to have aged a day. I just might as well be old and wrinkled and painted green. Call me Elphaba.” 

“If that makes me Glinda, then I absolutely will.”

“Well, of course you’re Glinda. You’re the good one.” 

Lyndsea chuckles, but just keeps petting her friends hair down, curling them up like they had at sleep-overs and quieting, as her friend continues under her breath. 

“I didn’t realize how much she looked like him, but she does. And...a day, the three of us like we had? God, it was a terrible tragedy, it just...but the fact that I got a day with my daughter and her father...it was like we were a family, a real family...for a little while. And I know, I have no right -- I told him to leave, he left -- it’s not fair of me to -- to want that now but...”

“Why not?” Lyndsea looks down, startled and then continues brisk and prim as ever, to Mary’s astonishment and delight. “Who the bloody hell says, Mary? You know what -I- say? If I’m Glinda, you have to listen to me.”

Mary nods.

“He’s the love of your life, Mary. And you’re his - he’s not married! Sixteen years, he’s still single, you’re still single? You have a beautiful daughter, a perfect, daughter -- and he’s come back to you. He’s here. He is -here-, Mary, he is alive and well, in front of you, and of course you’re furious with each other but oh, I’m going to be furious with you if you two miss this. People don’t just come back like this, it doesn’t happen! You let this chance pass?” 

Her voice was half bitterly sincere, half emphatic with sad, and half endearing -- and yes, she knew that was three halves, she didn’t need Harper to tell her that (even if it was his voice in her head), she could damn well do math on her own. 

“I swear on anything, Mary, you let him go again and I’m never speaking to you again. You don’t let this...this kind of love, true love, just walk away. Ever.” 

&.

“Jefe wants to see her.”

Nadia was standing behind Harper who had opened his door to insistent knocking. Heart pounding painfully against her chest, Nadia felt the pain from her shoulder start screaming in protest. Swallowing on a dry throat, she heard Harper’s gruff voice, the one she learned to associate with his distaste, speak up in her defense.

“Why?”

“None of your business, puto” the man Nadia couldn’t see spat out. Nadia’s eyes widened as she realized she knew that word! It was in Spanish, she knew Spanish! How could she know a language without remembering that she did? Sometimes, all times actually, Harper’s genius scared her.

“If he wants to talk to her, he can come see her himself.”

Nadia stood straighter, nodding once, even though the rude man couldn’t see her still, trying to appear as brave as Harper was at that moment. It was proving difficult as a pit of worry started growing in the middle of her stomach. It wasn’t without reason. Harper was shoved back away from the door, and Nadia stepped aside lest he run right into her. The unwelcome guest strode into the room, pointing a finger at Harper.

“Watch yourself, Angel. Or I’ll gut you right here and take the girl by force.”

Absolutely no one was taking her anywhere by force anymore. And that death threat sounded a little too genuine for her liking, so Nadia stepped up, staring straight at the man. “I’ll go with you, don’t hurt him.” She was so relieved that her voice didn’t tremble or stutter, that she almost sighed.

“I’m coming too,” Harper added immediately.

“Like fuck you are puto. If Gustav wanted you there, he’d have asked for you, wouldn’t he?” the man asked, more irritated than angry, yet Nadia was worried anyways. And she spoke again before Harper said anything that would blow his already failing cover right off the bottle.

“I’ll go with you alone,” Nadia spoke again, directly to the Death Eater.

The man turned to her and grinned then, before stepping aside and motioning towards the door. “Damas primero, señorita.” Nadia risked a glance towards Harper, barely nodding to let him know it was alright (God, she hoped it would be alright) before walking past the Spanish speaking man with a simple ‘Muchas gracias.’

Once the door closed, she half expected him to take her arm and attempt to drag her somewhere. But he didn’t, just started walking and told her to follow him Spanish. Nadia did so, with her chin held high and her curiosity ever growing.

“¿Como te llamas?” Nadia asked his name after maybe twenty seconds of walking. Clearly, her restraint was admirable.

He seemed surprised to hear her continue to talk in Spanish, despite her polite reply when she’d first walk out. Looking over his shoulder, he chuckled and shook his head before looking forward again and giving his answer to the air, allowing it to drift its way back to her in the still atmosphere. “Julio.”

“Nadia,” she responded. “Mucho gusto.”

Julio laughed, doubting the sincerity of her words. And she understood why; it wasn’t a pleasure to meet him, not under these circumstances, not after that death threat, and not after everything she had gone through. It was safe to assume that anyone here was pretty much horrible, and while Nadia tried her best not to judge…it was difficult. After hearing all those screams, after experiencing near death.

“Me impresionaste, sabes,” Julio commented, surprising Nadia by continuing to talk. When she first started talking to Harper in the cell, it took her constant prodding to keep him talking, and D’Grey was no picnic in the park either. Though he had gotten her the apple pie she wanted. She had a sinking suspicion he’d made it himself too. Still, to hear she had impressed a Death Eater?

“Tirándole duro a ese bicho. Toda esa sangre en el piso, y sus intestinos también. A ti si no hay quien te meta miedo, chica. That’s pretty fucking awesome.”

Nadia swallowed on a dry throat. If he honestly thought that she would be flattered by a compliment on how great a kill she had committed- even the thought of it made her close her eyes again. She shook her head before opening her mouth again. “No estoy orgullosa de eso.”

“¿Y porque no?” Julio didn’t understand why she wasn’t proud of what she did. Nadia exhaled, knowing she should have expected that. After all, what was valued here was how well you took a life, how much torture you committed, how many people you kidnapped, how well you placed your own survival over everything, over morals, over decency, over other people-

“El pendejo se lo merecía. Y Rhys?” His name made Nadia’s throat clog up again, swallowing as she continued to keep following him down the dark hallway, that seemed to keep light away forcefully. “A el también le caería bien una bófeta’ en la cara.”

Nadia couldn’t understand why he felt that the man deserved to die in his eyes or why he thought Rhys deserved a slap (obviously, Nadia understood why he deserved even worse, but wasn’t Julio supposed to be one of their own?)

“Lo mataría yo mismo,” he admitted before stopping in front of the door.

Nadia stopped too, but more because of shock than of realizing they had arrived to their destination. Julio turned around, a smirk on his angular face. He quickly realized then that he was young. He couldn’t be any more than twenty one. His face held no lines of old age or even stress, just a scar that left a patch of his eyebrow without any hair. But his wispy black hair covered it up mostly. His smirk was amused at her expense, not kind at all.

“¿Por que?” She asked quietly, eyebrows rising.

Julio took a step toward her and it took all her will not to flinch or step away from him. If anything, she raised her chin higher and held her breath, because that was the only way to keep herself from shaking. In her mind she hoped he wouldn’t touch her, because she knew she would not be able to keep herself from striking out in retaliation which only give him ‘an excuse’ in his boss’ eyes to strike her as well.

His smirk was still on his face as he leaned in to whisper, “Por arruinar una carita tan linda como la tuya.”

Nadia watched him leaned away again, her eyebrows higher than before. She didn’t know what his game was, but she wasn’t playing. She shook her head as he gestured to the door again and said nothing else.

“No me traigas en tus pecados, solo déjame con los míos.” Don’t bring me into your sins, just leave me with mine. She walked past him and into the room, closing the door behind her. It didn’t occur to her that she might have preferred to be outside with a man who had just claimed to want to kill her attacker for bruising her face, than the man who had allowed her in that dungeon and apparently had nothing against Rhys.

“Nadia,” a voice greeted cheerfully from the other side of the long but narrow room. “Come in, come in further.”

The room resembled a hall in shape. Windows that ran the entire length of the right wall appeared so often that for a moment Nadia thought the entire wall was made of glass. All of the furniture, comfortable and plush even from sight alone, was pushed against the walls, leaving her path quite empty. 

By the end, she wasn’t sure if she had walked feet or miles. At the very end there was a single wooden chair placed in front of an empty desk. The source of the voice, was nowhere in sight.

Nadia knew she was meant to take a seat, but she refrained. At least, she did at first.

“Take a seat, Nadia.”

“I’d prefer to stand,” she answered after swallowing a lump in her throat again. But a force took hold of her, the same that had thrown her against the wall and into that spear back in the dungeon, and for a moment she panicked as she was transported back by her memories. Blinking repeatedly erased the dark dungeon though, and replaced it with the deep red wooden desk she now sat in front of.

“What you prefer doesn’t matter,” a voice spoke out, but this time it was directly behind her and it didn’t sound like it was drifting through water or outer space. “All that matters,” the voice drawled near her ear, making her shudder, “Is what I prefer and what I want.”

She could feel hands grasp around the edges of the chair as he walked around leisurely to stand in front of her. Not trusting her head to shake if she moved it to look up at the man, she merely followed him with her eyes instead. Even in the dim lighting of the room provided by the giant fireplace in the middle of the room, his features were distinguishable, and she was making sure to remember his face as best as she could.

The more obvious aspect was his black horned-rimmed glasses that didn’t serve to hide how big and blue his eyes were. Not in the good way either. They were cold, like the Arctic Ocean: unable to freeze over, but still cold enough to suck the life out of you with a single touch. Who knew what kind of sea monsters lived in those deep, dark and treacherous waters.

He had wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, his eyes, and on his forehead. Frown lines that had appeared one too many times and could never disappear again. His hair was cut shot, kept cropped except for a bit at the very top, and it was sand colored. Wet sand, not dry sand. There were no traces of gray though, and that was what was most curious. He couldn’t be any younger than Harper, and yet Harper’s hair had more than his fair share of gray already, then again, Harper had been the one being tortured while Gustav did the torturing.

Nadia’s eyes narrowed from fear into loathing. She wasn’t used to hate, she realized quickly enough, and it surprised her, the intensity with which she was capable of that emotion. She didn’t back away from it though, but embraced it. Would the Nadia from before have embraced hate for a man so readily?

It was sad to realize that it didn’t matter. Because the Nadia that had been, was not the one she was now. And would never be again; never the same.

“You killed one of my men.”

“I should have killed two of your men,” she responded easily, surprising herself with the intensity of her snap.

Gustav laughed at her comment, choosing to focus on his amusement than her gall in speaking to him that way. She could already her hear his thoughts: how dare you talk like that, pathetic little mud-blood? Or were those her thoughts? Why had those words come to her so easily?

Gustav moved to sit on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s almost a shame you’re not worthy of us, Nadia. What a tough little bitch you’re turning out to be.”

Nadia found that statement quite ironic. Given that the appearance of a backbone had occurred in the last, oh, ten minutes? Nevertheless, she said nothing as she fought back tears but at least her eyes were miraculously dry. She would not shed her tears for those that didn’t deserve it any longer. Mind over matter, that’s how it worked right?

Gustav smacked his lips in disappointed as she refrained from making another comment and simply sat with her back ramrod straight, staring ahead. “I’ll get right to the point then.”

A moment later she felt it, some burrowing sensation in her head. She hissed a raised a hand to her temple, screwing her eyes up against the sudden pain. She felt like someone had taken a taladro to her brain and started digging. She couldn’t remember what taladro ended up translating into in English.

“What are you doing?!” she asked panicked as she raised the other hand as well, grabbing her hair in the process. She breathed through her nose, tugging on strands, she shook her head repeatedly. “Stop it!”

“You feel me, don’t you?” he asked the most stupid question Nadia had ever remembered hearing. “Inside you, your mind,” he went on, causing Nadia to nearly gag. The former comment she was sure was presented that way purposefully.

“Terribly sorry about this Nadia,” he apologized as she kept her eyes screwed up. She focused on the darkness of her eyelids and kept thinking to herself in Spanish. She said the alphabet forwards and backwards and in multiples of three before she realized that was too much work. “But children, especially women, are not very prone to telling the truth. So I’m, ah, digging around for it.”

The word digging was entirely too accurate. She whimpered as whatever it was seemed to push in deeper and deeper, sorting through her memories as it went. There was nothing but black for a majority of it, black and emptiness, with her oldest being Harper’s face.

“Angel always does good work,” he commented idly on Harper’s handiwork as he continued leafing through her memories as if it was a book. Eventually he reached the more recent events of last night, intent on making her relieve it once more. She shook her head insistently. “Get out,” she whispered, the sound hoarse as it left her throat.

She saw herself killing the man again. “Get out,” she said again.

She saw Rhys moving towards her and chaining her up from the ceiling. “Get. Out.” She huffed it out, her eyes open now and wide as she stared at a spot on the carpet and that itself.

Rhys torn open her shirt again. “Get! OUT!” she shouted, and suddenly relief came with a small pop, breath coming much easier to her. It took several moments for her to recover, but when she did, all Nadia received was astonishment and anger from Gustav.

“What do you want?” she asked breathless.

Gustav’s smile was blatantly cruel and unkind, no longer trying to hide anything. He had lost his patience with her.

“I want to know exactly what it is you think you’re planning.”

Nadia held her breath again and stopped herself immediately from thinking. She started singing la la la in her mind, finally understanding Harper when he’d told her that her own mind wasn’t safe from these people. She thought he’d meant her memories, but no, now Nadia understood the depth of the meaning.

“Because let me just tell you this right now, girl,” he commented, standing and grabbing a file off his desk without breaking his gaze from her. “Anything you’re thinking about doing when we release you, anything you think about saying that I don’t want you to?” That detail made her eyebrows rise momentarily. “These are the people that will pay for it.”

He opened the file and took out a picture. Nadia saw herself in it, but that wasn’t the person she was paying attention to. She was hugging a woman, who looked a lot like her, the both of them laughing.

“Your mother.”

Gustav let that picture fall to the ground, and Nadia followed it with her eyes, too shocked by the existence of such a thing. Here it was, evidence that she had a family, a mother. Nadia almost started crying, but remembered who she was in front of and forced herself to look at Gustav again. He took another picture and showed it to her. This time it was her sitting on someone’s shoulders in the middle of a pool. They had their arms raised in the air in triumph and something splashed behind them.

“Your father.” He let that picture fall to the ground too. And he didn’t stop.

A picture of her with a boy similar to her, sitting on a couch and poking each other relentlessly and trying to distract the other as they played a video game was used to explain- “Your twin, Chace.”

A twin. She had a twin. She breathed out heavily, pursing her lips, fighting tears again. But no, Gustav wasn’t near done.

“Your sisters, Annabelle and Holly Rae,” he explained as he threw two pictures in the air. “Your brothers, Aaron, Blake, Julian,” he threw three of them.

He continued doing that, throwing pictures into the air and listing off names, providing photographic evidence that he wasn’t lying. He listed family members, close friends of the family, her friends at school, her schoolmates, and her boyfriend. She had a boyfriend.

“Devin,” he threw that picture at her instead and she caught it with abated breath. By then all the pictures had collected around her on the floor, a great big pile even she was surprised of. She cared about all of these people, and all of these people cared about her. Including the boy in the picture, picking her up at a beach and twirling her around before they both crashed into the waves and emerged laughing and kissing. They looked happy. Nadia couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.

“As easy as it was to snap these pictures, Nadia, it would be just as easy to cast one, simple, fatal, curse their way. And their lives are in your hands. All you have to do is everything I say. Or else,” he snapped his fingers all of the pictures caught on fire.

She let go of Devin’s picture in surprise and stared in horror as she was encircled in controlled flames. She didn’t cry out and she didn’t sob but she badly wanted to. Nadia had wanted to keep those pictures, study them, memorize them, try and see if anything came back to her. Instead Gustav taunted her with them before ripping them away. The heat of the flames was scorching even while none of them actually touched her. Nadia just kept incredibly still and watched with glassy wet eyes as the flames roared before dying down to reveal not even ashes.

Gustav stepped forward and walked around her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Nadia stiffened, closing her eyes and biting her tongue.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, knowing how foolish that was, but not regretting it. He grabbed her chin forcefully and turned it sideways to look at him better, a whimper caught in her throat. She would have a bruise on top of her bruise.

“I’ll do whatever I want with you, mudblood,” he hissed before he sent her face back with a shove. And just in time too, Nadia thought as she brought a hand to wipe quickly at tears to ensure they didn’t fall.

“You’re nothing. Leave.”

Gladly, she thought and stood immediately. Nadia practically jogged her way out of the room, glad to be out of there. Gustav had wanted her intimidated, wanted her shushed and didn’t even bother threatening her own life. He had gone right to her selfless nature and threatened everyone she knew she was supposed to care about, and did care about, even without knowing them because, well, they were a part of her, she just didn’t know how they fit into her life, but she would get the chance to find out, she would.

And if Nadia kept quiet, and did exactly as he said, who knew how many of them would be abducted?

Exiting the room, she half expected to see Julio again. Instead, it was Harper who waited for her. She immediately offered him a smile to assure him she was okay, just shaken. He wasn’t inclined to believe her, but nodded anyways before pressing a finger against his lips and gestured for them to walk back to his room.

The moment they were safe behind his distortion ward, she had told him everything and wiped at her eyes as she did. Harper seemed as raving as a maniac at times, but he listened in silence until it was over. Then he muttered what she was sure was an obscenity in a language that she didn’t understand and that she didn’t think was entirely human…

“Harper, I still want to help my family. I can’t let Gustav know,” she bit her lip and then shook her head. “But I still need to help them, to make sure they don’t fall into the trap. Can you help me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds before he nodded. “Yes. At least, I can do something. A mental block, generated by me instead of yourself, given that we don’t have nearly enough time to teach you Occlumency. The moment I cast it, it should last you eight hours. They won’t get inside your head.”

That was more than she thought she would get, and nodded with a smile. “Thanks, Harper.”

Harper nodded and then added easily. “You know, if you had asked yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

Nadia blinked confused momentarily and asked why before she remembered it was probably because just yesterday he wasn’t entirely sure about his faith in her to begin with. But that ended up not being the answer.

He smirked. “Because yesterday the spell didn’t exist.”

Nadia had spent the rest of the day learning as much as she could about the Death Eaters. 

Harper had locked his door and with him sitting on the armchair and her on the bed, she tried her best to memorize every single aspect. The leader of the werewolves was Hans Ricard, and a spell from Harper drew every face on a piece of parchment visible to their eyes only, and his second in command was Ansel Dorat. His two next trusted werewolves were Rachelle De Lamarliere and Allison Vega, the girl who had helped save Nadia. This gave her mixed emotions about the woman, who clearly cared enough to be angry about Nadia being attacked but murderous enough to, well, murder.

Gustav Roswell was the brains of the operation, every single aspect of any plan his choosing. He was the leader, obsessed with power, thriving in cruelty (and she very well knew), but there were obvious factions. The werewolves were loyal to Hans above all, and a group that was more loyal to D’Grey, not the D’Grey she met, but his father. Though when his father died, loyalty trickled down. There were even secret whispers of a group of people secretly loyal to a member who had left years ago, someone they simply called Laura. Nadia knew that Harper refrained from saying any more details about the woman, and she wasn’t insensitive as to prod him for more. She was grateful he was offering her this much information.

Harper interacted more with the pack, so that’s the information she had most of. They would all be at the Winter Gala, where they planned to lure many important people in the world and her loved ones all in with her to attack and abduct them so Nadia was working out a plan. Gustav told Harper where the party was going to be held and Nadia had asked him to draw a sketch of the place to the best of his memory. It turns out Harper had a photographic one, so his doodle ended up being more elaborate than Nadia knew what to do with.

She memorized the plans, the hallways, the entrances, the exits, the corners, the pillars, the staircases, everything. Nadia would use them to her advantage, to get away from whoever was supposed to be guarding her at the party, and to warn her family. Thanks to Gustav, she now had a number of faces she could trust like her parents and her twin, and Devin. She would find as many people as she could and warn them that it was a trap, that the place was full of Death Eaters and werewolves that could turn at will. The trick was to keep the werewolves from finding out, with their super sensitive hearing. Nadia wondered if she could write it down, but Harper had another idea.

“Tactile messages?” she asked quietly.

“Pretty experimental and difficult to get across to someone with a mind trained to subconsciously protect itself. But the idea would be that you could be able to pass a message just by touching the person,” he explained.

It seemed pretty perfect. “Does it work?”

Harper tilted his head as he admitted, “To a point. Short messages, only. Anything too long overwhelms the mind.”

“So,” Nadia frowned and tried it out, “is ‘it’s a trap, DE’s, werewolves’ short enough?”

Harper nodded. “Should be. And it’s also…well, very invasive. I’ve not been able to make it a gradual leak of information, instead of an instant…attack. You could cause panic that way.”

“There’s no other way,” Nadia said before she nodded. “I’ll do it, I’m sure.” 

Harper stood up and headed to another of his secret compartments as he kept talking. “It’s a spell that will work more efficiently if you do it as close to the event as you can.”

That made Nadia frown, suddenly her plans seeming to her even far more of a stretch. This was already all terribly risky. “But I don’t have a wand, and I don’t remember how to use magic.”

“The skill is still there, Nadia. You’ll just have to practice.”

“Without a wand?”

“With a wand,” he turned around and came back towards her, a few cases in his hand. She blinked and then etched closer, her eyes wide. A wand of her own. Hers had been taken, most probably snapped, because they found her unworthy to be magic.

She tried several wands before one of them stuck, fit. “At last,” she exclaimed dramatically, holding up her wand. “My arm is complete again.” She giggled under her breath before she smiled at an amused Harper. Nadia had probably quoted something else without realizing, but she was glad she did. “What is it?”

“Apple wood, unicorn hair, 9 inches even and it’s quite flexible,” Harper smiled softly, a smile unlike any she had ever seen was on his face. Nadia realized that this was his element, truly. As gifted as he was with potions, with spells, with bloody everything it seemed, wands left him more peaceful. She didn’t dare intrude on whichever memory he was losing himself in.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts a few lengthy seconds afterwards before nodding to the wall again. “There, so now just practice. You know the incantation, you know the wand movement.”

Nadia was hesitant. She hid a curl of her hair behind her ear and then asked in a small voice. “Harper?” She waited until he looked at her again before she continued. “Do you think I’m way over my head with this? Doing this all by myself?…Do you think I can do it.”

“You are definitely over your head, Nadia,” he answered gently enough with a smile on his face. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll drown. Like I said before, I believe in you.”

Nadia smiled and looked down at her wand again, twirling it between her fingers. Either way, Nadia thought, she had to try. Just as she wouldn’t play Julio Cortez’ little game, neither would she play Gustavs'. She was not a pawn, or an object, to be used and abused and thrown away. She closed her eyes as the memories replayed again and she felt ghost fingers grabbing her chin and striking her face and forcing her thighs apart. Another exhale cleared those memories away and she opened her eyes, determined.

Gustav was wrong. She wasn’t nothing. And she would prove it. 


	25. A Torn Petal

“Yes, your honor. May I approach the bench? The evidence is so alarmingly abundant, I motion to end the trial immediately.” 

The barrister looks at Eliza like she’s lost her mind. Lacking encouragement from the corner, she drops a sickle less than she was going to in the tip jar (and then relents and adds two). Crinkling the paper bag of chockfull of chocolate-chip muffins in one hand and lifting a tray of coffee in the other, she murmurs abashed thank you, have a nice day, and cocks a curl over her shoulder. By this point the barrister has moved to the customer behind her, and she steals one of the sickles back. 

“And what am I on trial for, luv?” 

Drawl abruptly close to her ear, she wonders why she should bother being startled. Hans had that self-satisfied smirk she loathes and can’t tear her eyes off. Her gaze turns to slits as she gathers the precariously-balanced tray closer to her chest, the bag crumples in her hand once more.  

“For stalking! Obviously.”  

“It’s stalking to get a cup of coffee in a hospital, is it?” 

Hurried, she brushes past him, only to have to still again lest the coffee paint the rug. And it was a nice rug! Plus, she’d made a fool of herself in the barrister already. The woman behind the cashier might have a habit of lousy customer service, but no way would it persist all the way towards “ruining the floor.” It was a hospital, for God’s sakes; weren’t they supposed to be...well, sterile? 

Above a curled hand, picking at nails, relaxed against the table: Hans’ gaze was stuck on her. 

“Oh dear.” So helpful, he pops up, “Let me help you with those.” 

Hans had the tray before she said another word. The damn wolf had it balanced on one palm, utterly at ease. Moving away from the little stand, Eliza stood gaping in astonishment. 

“Come on, sweetheart!” He calls over his shoulder with such lift to his words that Eliza knows he’s still smirking. “I don’t know the room number.” 

Oh sure, I have it, no worries Lynn. There’s no need to come with me. Last time she tried to be so helpful. Devin didn’t even like coffee. Lynn did, but this coffee? Brewed up in the top floor of Mungos off beans that gathered dust in a back room for months on lukewarm water? She suspected Lynn just was being contrary to British propriety. Lord, Eliza hoped they saved lives better than they made coffee. Considering they had made the rather large oversight of apparently missing the fact that they were routinely not healing, but poisoning Devin, her hopes were not well-met. 

“Don’t give me that. I’m sure you know the room number.” She insists, remark heated as she clacks down the hall after him. A chuckle answers her and a lifted tray meant to gesture ‘after you’, even while he opens the door to a stairwell. 

“Ah right. Stalker.” 

For reasons lost on Eliza, she’s certain his smirk lifts at some private joke. It frightened her to think of asking. Instead, she struts past him on her golden stilettos to begin walking down the stairs. Plastic door painted to look like cherry-wood (but wood had termites, and see she paid attention) swinging shut behind her, Eliza doesn’t look back at him. Hans follows at a relaxed gait, watching blond curls bounce to flash a soft, pink nape. 

“Well, let’s see,” she huffs it out, ignoring that her breath is short, “First, you’re in Paris over the summer, where I’m spending vacation, and just happen to befriend and/or seduce my best girlfriend.”

“I do love this new brand of feminism.” His smirk flicks as he hmms, eyes lifting from hers to glance up at the ceiling. “So willing to call each other girlfriends.”

“Then you show up at that bar in Hogsmeade.”

“I’m fascinated by all-Wizarding settlements, you see.”

“Twice.”

“There’s a shortage of bars in that town.” Hans chuckles, hand dropping to his jeans. She’s in a fighting stance now as she walks, her fisted hands hovering comically. Unmistakable though, was a glint of terror in her eyes that belies her defiant, unshaken voice. It’s impressive. 

“Now you just happen to be in St. Mungos, in London, the same day I am.”

“Well,” shrugging a shoulder, the man’s lips flick up in that unbearable look of knowing, “I heard the wonderful news.”  Eliza huffs out at him again, scoffing into the air. That simple statement made her stop walking. “Our good friend Devin had awoken at last.”  That makes her whip around to regard him on the landing. It was the middle one, one of those in-between floors. Hans turns back with languid grace as he continues, looking down at her. 

“It would be rude if I didn’t wish him well.” 

That makes her step towards him.

“Are you serious?” Her curls pop around her head, the chokehold her hairspray had on the blond locks erased. Ironic or not consider for the gesture, there were times he has to wonder if she was even real. “It was rude, for you to,” again she drops into a sudden whisper beneath wide blue-eyes that ascertain no one else (in a deserted stairwell) nearby could hear, “make a snack of him for sport.” 

There’s a flash in his eyes, but his smile remains pleasant. A small frown perched itself delicately on her brows, marring her pretty little complexion with her discontent. It makes Hans tilt his head, finding the flame of curiosity she’d sparked on their last banter-filled occasion fanned.

“Do you mind if we skip the passive aggressive pleasantries and just go straight to me telling you to go to hell?”

“Mm,” the amused chuckle fills her ears, “I have always admired such spunk.” It’s then she realizes he’s in front of her, the warm breath a cloud that flushed her cheeks. The air smelled like whiskey, with a hint of peppermint. Calm oceans float in his eyes as his gaze rakes over her, studies her. She feels her skirt flutter around her knee caps. Dropping her chin to look to it, Eliza grips the fabric white-knuckled until she’d ruined the pleats. Reminded how hard she’d worked to press those, hot breath rises in her throat. Then she looks up, impaled by his steady gaze with eyes that apparently had never heard of the need to blink. 

Her retort dies in her soft exhale that curls against his lips. 

“After all. It’s a rare thing to find such visceral insults offered to one,” His mouth was inches away. At most. Eliza blinks, wanting to rear her chin up and refusing to be the one to flinch at at once. Hans cocks his head, “you know could tear your throat out with the swipe of one nail.” 

Her heart is pounds, and the willpower to slow it fails. From the widening of his smirk, she knows that he can hear it. Sadistic bastard, he probably gets off on trying to give her a heart attack. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Eliza comes to the final step beside him, gaze even on his. 

“You’re supposed to be terrified.” 

Hans chuckles, but confusion still floods that calm blue gaze: there had been no uptick in her heartbeat as she came up to meet him. Only fierce sass and foolish (but brave) defiance.

“Well, sorry, I must have missed that bullet point in that pamphlet, Liaisons with Werewolves Who Attempt To Murder Your Best Friend. Afraid I only had time to skim it,” The sharp retort is matched by eyes that flash, searching his gaze, “before I had to go to the hospital.” 

Eliza might have been searching his eyes, but Hans was scouring himself as he realizes he’s motionless to the retort, breath rising as heat was prone. Settling the tray to balance precariously on the railing post, he stands otherwise still. Without blinking as if a peace offering to give her the opportunity to look as deep as she dare, his head slowly cocks. A brow rises. 

At first he had been merely amused with her, the sharp-tongued loyal friend daring to call him out against common sense. Portraying herself the spirited savior of innocents and protector of friends, even as she was oblivious to the cost of sunglasses that were perched on her head. What better use might that money have been spent on? That thought never did seem to occur to those with more money than ten lifetimes could see thrown away on frivolous things. 

“Ah, well, I imagine that would dampen one’s social life.” 

“A bit.” She chokes on her own three little letters, horrified as she realizes she’d made light of the predicament Devin had been in. Of course, he and Alcott did that all the time (were doing it right now to keep his mind from Nadia, exchanging those bromance jokes that made her chuck pillows at them). 

She was supposed to be the sane one. The compassionate, logical one of the three of them. Or else she simply had this terrible feeling she was the one bailing their stoned, intoxicated, devious asses out of jail some two a.m. And she needed her sleep, as she told them, all this? Here she’d usually raise her hand. This took work. As if she wouldn’t come running no matter the danger. And-- what the hell was Hans looking at? Hand swiping over her lips in case there was chocolate, she refused to look away from him. He might think this whole affair was a game. She knew better. Those eyes of his had a trail of destruction in their wake: blue for fractured hearts and torn throats in red.

“Course, you could spare me that,” False brightly, her hand tucks gold strands behind her ear. “Stop assaulting innocent children. I mean I know it’s a lot to ask.” 

He chuckles because he’s amused, because he’s captivated, because she doesn’t get it, she thought he had lied. There had been no reason to, not to Eliza. To Gustav he would have done so easily; said he was there to ascertain the damage. After all. Devin waking had happened ahead of schedule, the plan interrupted by the boy’s sister demonstrating a use for paying more attention to plants than she did to the subtle nuances of people. Hans was glad. The favor long since fulfilled, until the boy’s eyes had opened he’d been culpable for the petty revenge scheme of a fifteen-year old. Oh, Lord. 

“Now why do you think I’ll make a exception from my busy life of,” he tilts his head, his stretched eyes and teasing grin belying his serious tone, “biting kids, slaughtering toddlers, and ravaging teenage girls... simply to spare you?” 

Oh, for merlinssakes. Eliza stared. And burst.

“Well,” her flat hand flies to point at the ceiling, four fingers still pressed side by side, “For one thing, you’re staring at me like I’m hanging on the Louvre.” She slaps her thigh as he releases another chuckle.

“Oh heavens no, not after the addition of that glass monstrosity.” Endeavoring to look properly affronted and cowed, he clasps his hands and swings them up. “Besides!” Fingers lace together. He gestures emphatically, amusement and sincerity alive in his eyes and smile, 

“You’ve a much prettier smile than dour old Mona.” 

Eliza was, he imagined, what Michelangelo would have captured immortal in a marble angel. Made of all porcelain skin, ruby red lips and gentle curves beneath that golden halo, her sapphire eyes glint with a righteous fire. Perhaps his sister was right; perhaps he ought to read the Bible. Hans was learning: angels were rarely what they seemed, and didn’t that oh-so-Holy-and-judgy book actually depict warriors?  Yes, that description might well paint a portrait of the woman in front of him: the angel on a furious mission of retribution. And he had always had a weakness for genuine beauty. 

She was torn. Breath caught in her throat. On the one hand, her heart had skipped a beat. She judged by the flick in his lips more than anything she could feel; her body was choked by a rush of life. Then again, she wanted to defend the museum (all right she didn’t like the pyramid’s addition either, but was it necessary he know that?). It wasn’t the curator, in any case! And besides. 

“You’re missing the point of the painting. The question isn’t the attractiveness of the smile. The mystery is why she’s smiling.”

“I know why she’s smiling.” Hans answers brightly, an eyebrow wiggling as he sways side to side. “She’s smiling in triumph at her success for having enraptured every generation in the last five hundred and four years with a pointless question.” 

“Five hundred and four.”

“Da Vinci finished it in 1503, luv. Atop that, six million every new year visit our dear Madam to stare in wonder at what a few brushstrokes might achieve with the technique, sfumato, It means “vanished” or “smoky”, by the way, Italian. The -- how would you say it...the joke’s on them. I’d be smirking too.” 

In fact at that moment, he did. Eliza only could blink. Flustered by the unexpected rush of information, her cheeks flush. Him being right in the end only served to remind her the question started with him complimenting her. She’d been at the Louvre that summer, she’d gone to see the painting. It was a tad bit...under-welming, actually. She admitted it to herself as he gaze flicked between his. That was only because they couldn’t get close enough, she’d told an irate Sienna they’d waited so long in line only to crowd in a room with forty others and be held away behind glass and a red velvet rope from a four foot painting.

“How could you possibly know all that?” 

She’s a heartbeat from asking if he had followed her that summer when his honest chuckle and chide cuts her dead. 

“I do know some things.” Shrugging a shoulder through his light words, Hans can’t hold back the tease. Deliberating, “I mean hon, when I got a pamphlet, particularly one as important as how to liaison with murders, I don’t just skim it.” 

Irritation is only outmatched by her abash. Oh, all right then. Twisting her lips as she fights a smirk and chuckle herself, a tiny incredulous one escapes lips sealed tight. Unable for the first time to find a retort, she looks away from him to her heels, eyes darting back and forth across the straps. Then she walks off the step, pulling away from him as if she’s remembering abruptly: coffee got cold. He waited for her rebuttal with eyes flashing over her as she slips away. A quick flick of his tongue wets his lip. Indulging, Hans’ smile softens as he realizes he’d managed to silence her sass. No small feat, he tells himself, and well-worthy of a reward. 

“Besides honey,” turning, he releases his hands to step up behind her, “you all have been remarkably single-minded since my arrival. Do you only consider Alcott by his furry side?” 

The chuckle of ‘furry side’ half out of her mouth, she stiffens when she feels him beside her back. Hans lifts a hand, hovering half an inch over her shoulder, close, but not touching her, not yet. Promises brimming with sin were made with touches, inevitably disappointing taken too fast. Her heart thrums in his ear as if a hummingbird means to escape it’s flimsy cage. Trapped by a thin cloth, it blankets wires to trick the bird into believing it’s night. Hans’ lips curl as he thinks: the bird is always so easily fooled. Heady breath haunts the tender curve of her ear, slipping through a smirk, 

“I thought not. You disdain of insensitivity. So perhaps...” 

She doesn’t move, trying to regulate breath and beat. Gaze darting from the hovering palm to the wall, she tries to remember what she was thinking about and promptly forgets again. He presses a cheek towards fluffed curls, surprised how soft they could be when sprayed so relentlessly. Chanel No. 22 floods his open mouth until the roof drips succulent want to his tongue’s tip, 

“Perhaps you ought not to judge on appearance. Come on, get to know me. Take a chance, Eliza.” 

Including her name on purpose, he’s triumphant as she obliges the unspoken desire; she whispers his in an exhale she’s hardly aware of. Hans... His name escaping her plump prison of lips sounds like a child swearing to mother their hands weren’t in the cookie jar. Her back straightens so they share her tremble, collect as one those shivers up her spine. Coquettish breaths quicken with an intensity intoxicating, and he’s close, so close that he hears even the wind cast off her fluttering lashes. So breathlessly flush to her, he feels rushing warmth radiate from her skin while it paints the neck’s nape red, a red more ripe than the one named so hopefully, Delicious.

His lips grace a vulnerable lobe. Whispers, “I dare you.” 

My, my, was it his imagination, or had her rabbity heart just halted in his ear? It just ceased to beat. In fact, so had her lungs ceased to work. Her breath. Her refusals. Her darting gaze, the creeping pink painting her cheeks so wonderfully warm, and you know, he’d even be willing to place a wager those racing thoughts of hers collapsed beneath wordless desire’s weight. It was the sort of thing that happened when lightning struck. It stopped as if an hourglass had fallen to smack marble, crash mountains of white free and leave in it’s wake a collision it’s wake a mess so slipshod, so thick it could never again be contained, as anyone who’s gone to a beach knows. Little sand grains have a habit of getting everywhere and worse, the bastards are persistent in entrenchment. They stick in the pinch of toes and other pink pockets you didn’t know you had, forcing you to reach, slip, ache and grope to rub the grains free against aching sensitive skin protesting: you’re already afire. 

“You can’t do that.” Her breathy words are so quiet, Hans thinks for a moment she actually does realize how seductive a statement that is. This was rapidly descending into dangerous, he realizes abruptly as she snaps her eyes to his. Then she pulls away, and he exhales sharply with the knowledge she did not. He was smirking. Her eyes  were slits. The rabbit of her heart was jumping over fences and tripping on spikes in the hurry of it’s retreat. And wasn’t all right with the world?

He looks to the ground, clearing his throat and throwing his hands behind his back to clasp them tightly. When he looks up again, there’s a veil in his eyes. It infuriates her, as hers are transparent in their confusion. His question is playful, weighted in the absurdity of his ignorance, “Do what, darling? Challenge you?” 

“Assume that I’m going to forget you attempted to murder one of my best friends because you lean against me, say a few pretty words and define an Italian art technique.” She’s still breathy, but if anything the fire in her gaze roars twice as high. The pocket of skin beneath his eye twitches, his jaw tightening. 

“I don’t make any such assumptions, Eliza.” The sentence slapped the air, while he jerks from one relaxed pose to the next. “If you’re inspired to forgiveness, I assure you, the feeling is entirely your own.”

“Oh, right I forgot, you don’t recite scripture.” She exhales in express disbelief, shaking those glorious curls this way and that.  That thought amuses him. He smirks with the truth of it,  

“True as well. If you’re looking for that, try the Holy Bible. I hear it’s even more inspiring -- I mean, don’t know myself of course.” 

He pinches forefinger and thumb as he gestures, and she chuckles. 

“Oh, well of course, it’s longer than two paragraphs of that lame-ass playbook.” 

“Shamefully remiss of pictures as well,” Hans winks, irritated by the lack of creativity in “lame-ass” more than the insult. Oh, come now Eliza, he chides mentally: you could do better than that. 

“Just stop! I am not flattered okay? Not weak-kneed, not some delicate little flower, and I’m not going to swoon.” She exclaims, wide-eyed and in an instant seemed to be taking up his mental challenge. Clacking heels snap forward, echoing in her sharp tone (oh, this again baby...), 

“You might not recite lines, but I know a player when I see one Hans.”

“If you’re jealous already luv, I should point out, you’re the one with the attachment.” 

“Jealous?!” She nearly chokes on the word. “You attempted to murder Devin. That disgusts me, okay? Then you tried to pin it on Alcott, my oldest and dearest friend, knowing you did it yourself, and you had no reason! You did it because someone else asked you too.” 

His eyes narrow, and jaw clicks.

“Speaking of Alcott, whatever potion you gave him by the way? He’s not going to take it. Because he doesn’t trust you, and I don’t trust you. Arrogance doesn’t begin to cover the fact that you think I’ll forgive and do so without so much as an apology for slicing Devin’s chest open.”

“My apologies luv,” the dry, insincere words are growled while he struggles to clasp his own hands. That soft red flesh was just so tempting an apple to juice at the moment, “What might I do to make amends?” 

It’s clear Eliza didn’t believe a word. And yet still, she snaps instantly, as if it bursts from her chest, 

“You could tell us where Nadia is! How about that, try being honest?” 

“Tomorrow’s Winter Gala.” Hans snaps, his voice a low growl though his mouth his gaping. She freezes in astonishment. 

“She’ll be there and she’s fine. Actually, she’s better than that, she’s a lot stronger than the idiots who stole her thought. I mean not that I’m dumb enough to think you’re going to believe me, but I actually didn’t take her. Just know the person who did. Hell of a grudge in that family, by the way.” The words are laced with thinly veiled amusement, bright as they echo in the cavernous in between. 

Slamming his hand in the air, he shakes as he bites out the necessities, “The House in Finchley, ask Alcott’s mother for details if you need any further. That’s what I was here to tell you, Eliza. Forgive me for not wanting to shout out what seems a ransom in the middle of a hospital stairwell. Whatever you think, I actually do possess some manners. ” 

Eliza is shaking, shuddering with anger and relief simultaneously, confused by his continuing words, confused by the fact she bought that he hadn’t been the one to take her (he’d been transformed at the time after all, she reasoned). Nadia was going to be there...but where was she now? What did he mean ‘stronger’? What --

“You trust me now?” Hans bitter question escapes a twisted smirk. He scoffs, eyes flashing and wry. Heart skipping a beat, Eliza exhales in razor blades.

“No. Thank you for telling me, but whatever you say Hans? You don’t need lines memorized; you’re a master manipulator. You think you’re going to tell us a little about ourselves that you stole from my friend’s gossiping and we’re going to trust you? Or Alcott - you give him a potion and some psychology one-oh-one? Guess what, we have Devin already, and he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you in psych. That’s not how it works. Trust breeds trust. To connect to someone, you have to understand them -- and you don’t, you don’t even try. Because you don’t see us as people, any of us!” 

Eliza steps forward. Hans thinks how easy it would be to snap her neck, but finds further fantasies silenced with the pure shock of her words, “We’re not autonomous individuals, not to you, just little knick-knacks you think you can amuse yourself with. You toy with people, you toy with their emotions, and whatever you blasted think? I am not here for your entertainment. And you,” she spits with the force of breathless words accentuated with her pointer finger, “you are not playing with me. I refuse to be your toy.”

Hans gapes as she swirls away from him, rocking back and forth as he struggles to contain the urge to lunge, desperately tries to process the words that had so infuriated and invigorated him. Eliza doesn’t wait. 

She leaves him standing there with a sudden flurry of activity, gathering her chilled coffee and muttering a spell to keep it warm again, he stands a statue watching. As he calms his racing, roaring heart and stills his lips, the veil in his eyes slips. Understanding clouds the deep blue gaze. He blinks. She stalks away. He waits until she’s in front of the door to the floor with Devin’s room before calling back, 

“Eliza! One last thing. I love your bracelet. You should wear it to Finchley.” 

Stopping abruptly, she looks down with fluttering lids to raise her wrist. Then she spins. As she brushes her palm over the silver band studded with diamonds, Hans rights his head without taking his gaze off her downcast eyes. Her lashes were bare of mascara, he realizes with delight. Her captivating gaze didn’t need paint or glitter to capture an audience. Sparkles would be superfluous to her own radiance. 

“Thank you. Isn’t it stunning?” Her words are brisk, deciding she’d lie. She hadn’t actually had the time to ask her boyfriend if he was her benefactor and author of the poem left aside the diamonds and dress: but it had to be. Though admittedly, it had been odd to find a ball gown on her bed and only just learn there was actually a ball to go too...

“A surprise gift from Rory,” she says lightly anyway. 

Aha. Oh, how precious that statement was to him. Both eyebrows cock and wiggle to answer her. Eliza blinks before exclaiming in wholly unnecessary excitement (Hans thinks). 

“The poem -- it’s Tennyson, by the way. I just wrote it out in calligraphy. Afraid my talent with a quill is image based more than words.” 

She’s scoffing, gaping, eyes wide with understanding, confusion, disgust, and latent desire hidden behind bare denial. The thin cloth covering her caged hummingbird is falling, even as she desperately struggles, fumbling with the clasp. Chuckling while she does, he shakes his head, looking down from the steps, hand curling on the bannister. 

“Oh, don’t take it off, Eliza, you do your wrist a disservice.” His smirk flicks up. “It looks like it was born to be there.” 

“I prefer sapphires to diamonds, I’ll have you know. Or peridot, --” 

“You were born in August?” There’s a hint of genuine interest in the benign question, and it makes her stop fumbling. The diamonds hide behind her gathered pastries and mugs, but her eyes strike his. The smile on his lips softens even as he shrugs both shoulders again. 

“If you were just saying that unusual shade because green’s a favorite color, you’d have said emerald. I wager blue’s your favorite anyway, sapphires match your eyes. So then that leaves Peridot your birthstone.” 

Eliza considers. Then a bright smile appears as she calls up, jerking her chin to highlight the triumphant words, “I thought you didn’t assume.” 

Ah.

“Touché, sweetheart,” what a wonderful rebuttal, Hans thought. Lips closing as he considers, deliberates, he searches her gaze as if it held the answers. The murmur he offers her is genuine and, he thinks, surprised him more than it did her.

“I guess you’re just already challenging me.” 

Scarlet lips part, but her breath barely escapes before she’s turned on her heel and stalked off. It leaves him with a delicious thought; they would taste of chocolate chip muffins in the bag forgotten, like tear stains and could-have-beens.

&.

**Devin:** ...Okay, wait. *He chuckles, a confused eyebrow cocked up.* Run this by me one more time?

*Relaxing atop the hospital bed in sweats with his knee up, hands clasped like a lock around it, his toes flicking back and forth are the only indication to his anxiety. His father was signing release papers, Lynn had run with their mother to set up the bed for him at their house and bring home what they’d left in the ward with him. 

They’d ignored the fact he didn’t want to go home -- incorrectly assumed it was because of the mountain of homework and O.W.L. prep he was behind on. Or, rather, they probably said that purposefully. They didn’t want to focus on Nadia anymore than he could stop thinking about it.* 

 **Alcott:** *Standing at the foot of the bed, his smirk lifts up,* Sure, just, explain the stuffed unicorn again?

 **Eliza** : Alcott! *In a whisper shout of indignation, her hands toying with the bracelet she still held.* 

 **Alcott:** Oh, come on Eliza, you can’t possibly think I’m not going to comment on that?

 **Eliza:** You mean, *She flicks her hand up, the silver band snaps in the air, dangerously close to snagging her hair as she gestures,* did I have some vain, hope that you might demonstrate at least a little bit of sensitivity?

 **Alcott:** Well, *smirk,* that was your first mistake. 

 **Devin:** *His chuckle is warm, and he only realizes as a moment passes that he was smiling honestly.* 

 **Eliza:** You’re right. *Rolling her eyes to huff,* You think I’d have learned by now your obsession with always appearing a dick. Is that because you want people to be sure you have one?

 **Alcott:** E- _liza_. *He laughs in pleased shock, eyes widening.* 

 **Eliza:** *unabashedly shrugging her shoulders*

 **Devin:** It’s been two weeks - *talking over them, for Alcott had opened his mouth again, never one to miss an opportunity to snark, and he was struggling to follow along without feeling the immediate loss of breath.* A little over two weeks rather, and three days after it happened, a werewolf with red eyes shows up in a bar lying through his pointy-teeth --

 **Alcott:** Hey, mate. *His hand goes up, a brow arching over a smirk. Devin ignores this.*

 **Devin:** \-- saying he’s with a pack and knowing everything about basically everything,

 **Eliza:** Thanks to Sienna. *offhand, with obvious irritation.*

 **Alcott:** *rolls his eyes, pressing his lips together.* 

 **Devin:** \-- telling Hols that Sam had “powerful friends,” and you think he not only attacked me, but some how attacked an innocent woman -

 **Eliza:** And her boyfriend. *nodding, biting down on her lip.*

 **Devin:** Even though it wasn’t a full moon that night -- 

 **Alcott:** *incoherant mutters under his breath that makes Eliza side-eye him.*

 **Devin:** \--and now he tells you, we have to go to a party. 

 **Eliza:** Charity gala. 

 **Devin:** All that means, *and he can’t restrain a small prideful smile that he knows, that he’d gone over the summer,*  is full suit and tie. 

 **Alcott:** Sums it up. *Nose wrinkling at the end of that, restraining a wince.* 

 **Devin:** And, *his hand comes down over his knee, face still flooded in confusion,* and. then .... he bought you a bracelet. *beat, smirk* Rory doesn’t mind?

 **Eliza:** I thought it was -from- Rory.

 **Alcott:** Expensive-ass bracelet. *His brows arch, as if to ask her how she thought a farmer’s boy might have bought that. She instantly reprimands him with her eyes.* 

 **Devin:** Solid gold and princess-cut diamonds.

 **Eliza:** *Her face contorts in a surprised gasp of a smile,* Okay wait-wait-why are you two both so caught up on that?!

 **Alcott:** *Eying it in her hand, brow cocked,* Maybe because you should have chucked it?

 **Devin:** At him?

 **Eliza:** Very funny. *She rolls her eyes, dropping her hand again and letting the bracelet dangle from her fingertips.*

 **Alcott:** And mate, First Lynn tries to sneak a stuffed unicorn past me, and now you know the type cut of diamonds? 

 **Devin:** *eye rolls,* Who do you think actually -buys- the diamonds in the relationship, Al? I’d say poor Hols but -- 

 **Alcott:**   *smirk* Oh, -she’d- have chucked it at me. 

 **Devin:** With a lecture probab--

 **Eliza:** Can we get back to the point?!

 **Alcott:** *tiniest chuckle* We had one?

 **Devin:** News to me. *smirks, though his toes flick up and down again, as if he’s tapping in thin air. It should have still smacked and echoed, he thought irritated, as his heart had.* 

 **Eliza:** Oh, *huffs wonderful, you were just taking the mickey out on me then.

 **Alcott:** No, wait Devin, you were wrong -- the fact you didn’t expect that Eliza? -That- is news -- Prophet headlines even, I think -- I mean, not front page or even page two because there was this sale on -

 **Eliza:** Lame metaphors?

 **Devin:** *over Alcott’s snort and chuckling himself,* Though it is creepy.

 **Alcott:** Mm, wait but Devin, my good fellow, we’re supposed to be more eloquent in word-choice now.

 **Devin:** Oh, you’re right. *With fake shock and folding his non-twitching hand over his heart as if to apologize,* I sincerely apologize, Eliza, we shall remedy this immediately--

 **Eliza:** Oh for heavens' sakes.

 **Alcott:** We shall. *nodding.*

 **Devin:** So, Hans Lawrence Ricard being obsessed with you-- 

 **Eliza:** He is not obsessed with me! 

 **Alcott** : *Eyes wide,* He is _completely_ obsessed with you. 

 **Eliza:** He was -your- number one fan Al, not mine-

 **Alcott:** *Eyes back on Devin, in smirk and seriousness,* Abhorrent?

 **Devin:** Don’t think that’s quite -gripping- enough to capture that gut-wrenching horror though...repulsive?

 **Eliza:** Infuriating? *half muttering to herself, eyes narrow and arms folded.* 

 **Alcott:** Tame, Liza.

 **Eliza:** I meant you.

 **Devin:** *Snaps* I got it. Nauseating. 

 **Alcott:** No, no, that’s too graphic --

 **Devin:** Oh you’re right, of course, besides, more insulting isn’t it, thinking he can just get his way like that?

 **Alcott** : Oooh, so close to the grand prize! *Faking waiting for applause* The word you’re looking for is “pejorative,” though we would also have accepted “scurrilous,” or perhaps the phrase, “I’m going to rip his throat out if he tries anything.” 

 **Eliza:** *grumbles* I dislike you.

 **Alcott** : Just me?!

 **Eliza:** He just woke up! *When Alcott’s brows and head cock up again as if to say ‘So?’, she throws another hand up in another indignant whisper-shout,* From a coma! 

 **Devin:** *Laughing and shakes his head,* Yeh come on, don’t be so insensitive.

 **Alcott:** *drily* Oh, way to totally abandon me there, mate -- why did I want you to wake up again?

 **Devin:** Dick. 

 **Alcott:** Hold on, wait --*looking down,* Eliza says I have to check I still have one --

 **Eliza:** Oh, go to hell. *She flounces away from him towards the window and leans against it. The sudden sharpness in her movement shuts both of them up for a second, but when she spins, she’s smiling, smiling wide as both of them.*

 **Devin:** *Flicking a gaze to Alcott and says more seriously,* Actually, though. I do have to say -- besides the obvious...aside. *Was there an arrow sticking from his heart? It felt it.* You seem pretty good, mate. Lot better than I last saw you. 

 **Alcott:** *Abashed internally, he only chuckles and arches an eyebrow, words pointed.* When you last saw me I was mid-transformation into a murderous beast.

 **Devin:** No, no, *easily, smirking,* I saw you that night too, remember becoming a wolf? 

 **Alcott:** *Laugh, incredulous and amused,* Bitch.

 **Devin:** *He has to pause to laugh again (and cough), before saying quieter,* Seriously though man. 

 **Eliza:** *Her hair bouncing off her shoulder as she tilts her head, saying brightly,* Oh yeah, he told his Mum. And Benjamin. Well Benjamin first, and then he pointed out he was being an idiot --

 **Alcott:** Eliza, *thin lipped and dry,* did I forget to tell you Gramps says you’re not off the hook for not visiting recently?

 **Eliza:** \--apparently forgotten that of course he was, he -is-an idiot, and then he told his Mum and uncle when they showed up in the hospital wing. *swivels back to Alcott* What--

 **Devin:** Max too? *Eyes widening, gaze flicking between his friends, mouth half opening in shock. Honestly, it didn’t surprise him he’d told Benjamin too, but...*

 **Eliza:** What do you mean?! He’s upset? Yes, yes, you did for get to tell me that!

 **Alcott:** *As they both look at him now he restrains a wince and sighs, arms coming up to fold over his chest. He shrugs as he steps forward, passing casual.* Well sorry, Eliza, I’ve had a few other things on my mind -- *She rolls her eyes, smirking a bit but says nothing. After a heavy exhale,* Yeah, Uncle Max too. 

 **Devin:** *slowly,* And it’s all ... you haven’t been--*blinks*

 **Alcott:** *Tiny sigh, but he doesn’t blink.* Nah, of course not. I..erm, I .. may have ...

 **Eliza:** He may have forgotten to mention his uncle isn’t Satan incarnate too? *Eyes and lips thin, but her words were crisp and bright.*

 **Devin** : Well, that I know - he got me the -job- this summer--

 **Alcott:** *half glaring at Eliza, saying delicately.* Been a little harsh.

 **Eliza:** *Sweetly smiling through an equally thin expression,* Now who’s being overly eloquent?

 **Devin:** *Smile widening,* Either way, that’s great. I’m glad. 

 **Alcott:** *Nods absently, eyes averting as a softer, sincere smile crosses his lips and he unfolds his arms. A comfortable silence falls for a minute, but as it lets seriousness creep closer to their expressions, their thoughts and with it their memories, he cuts back out to Eliza, nose wrinkled,*I mean, now that he’s not fucking his brother’s wife. 

 **Eliza:** *She winces, tense but doesn’t break his gaze. Without blinking, her voice is soft, gentle, and insistent as ever,* No he didn’t. Something like  five, six years after he lost his brother --

 **Alcott:** *A line in his forehead appears as he narrows his eyes at her.*

 **Eliza:** *Steadily,* He -slept- with his -widow-. There’s a difference, Alcott. 

 **Alcott:** *Jaw twitching,* I doubt my father would care for the distinction, Eliza!

 **Eliza:** I doubt that too but Al, you’re not him. *She winces again as that came out flatly, and a silence fell. Alcott just gaped at her before spinning away. He wouldn’t for a moment look at both of them, and she tried to quiet her heart, knowing hearing her anxiety wouldn’t exactly help him and, of course, he could hear it. Rubbing at her forehead, she looked to Devin, pressing her lips together.* 

 **Devin:** *There was something else between them that had happened, he realized suddenly, when Eliza looked to him to plead for help. As steadily as he’d spoken,* But Max didn’t care when you told him about last April...?

 **Alcott:** *Heavily sighing, his arms fall from his chest and land on his hips. Without turning, gratefully he remarks,* No...he didn’t. *Now he screws his lips up and spins back to them, incredibly calm.* Course he didn’t. *Shrugging a shoulder,* I knew that. ...Well, some part of me did, anyway. 

 **Eliza:** Course you did, he loves you. *She shrugs a shoulder, still tense at the window sill.* And he’s done a hell of a lot more than that for you too. Taught you how to catch the Quaffle, didn’t he?

 **Alcott:** Yeah, he did. And...yeah, I know he has. *Snorts, a tiny smile appearing on his lips. Both Devin and Eliza take the smile to mean ‘and I love him too’, but won’t make him say it. * 

 **Eliza:** *If anything, she was impressed most by how the sudden anger that had raged in Alcott ... had disappeared entirely in two long breaths. So she smiles herself, and adds,* And you know, -I- think you have this under control much more than you admit to yourself. 

 **Devin:** *Blinks,* ...have what?

 **Eliza:** His temper. *brightly* 

 **Alcott:** Oh, Eliza. *He groans, hands falling from his waist to shake his head incredulously at her.* 

 **Devin:** How the hell long was I asleep? *Amazed and smirking.*

 **Alcott:** Hundred and twenty-three years. 

 **Eliza:** *chuckle* And let me guess, the better question is how do you manage to stay looking so good for being a hundred and thirty-nine years old?

 **Alcott:** *As she stole the words from him, he pauses mid smirk, then says pointedly,* Hundred and thirty-eight, actually.

 **Eliza:** Mm, oh you’re right, -I’m- a hundred and thirty-nine. 

 **Devin:** Ah, that is a mystery -- I mean obviously you just froze me --

 **Alcott:** *Nodding,* You didn’t mind spending a century in a freezer with the other raw meats, did you?

 **Eliza:** It -is- really cold in her-- *suddenly realizes what Al said and spins back to him shaking her head incredulously,* Alcott Matthew Brackner! The -other- raw meats?

 **Alcott:** *Another tiny shrug of ‘what?’ with a pleasured smirk.* 

 **Devin:** *Laughing,* Yeah, it is cold. Thermostat over there, isn’t there? 

 **Alcott:** *Going to change the temperature, even though he thinks if it gets hotter in that room he was going to be sweating through the clothes. There was a reason he wore red so frequently.* 

 **Eliza:** *Still shaking her head at him, eyes watering from a need to blink. She wouldn’t shut them. She was too busy glaring.* Seriously, if I have to beat sensitivity into you--

 **Devin:** You’d be a hypocrite? 

 **Alcott:** Well, it is what we eat. Crave, anyway -- raw meat, I mean.

 **Eliza** : Oh, I see. *Eyes rolling, hands coming down and gripping the window sill tightly. The bracelet glints from her wrist.* Just more lessons in what ‘we’ do--

 **Alcott:** *Rolls his own eyes,* It’s the truth, Eliza.

 **Devin.** *Looking between them, still sensing more tension than they’d originally let on and when he realizes they were back in some staring contest he breaks it saying instead,* What’s with you two?

 **Eliza:** *She pauses, then heavily exhales and of course it’s her bright words that answer first,* Alcott is under the impression that it’s a good idea to drink some silver potion that Hans gave him --

 **Devin:** Silver? *Blinking, at the same time as Alcott,* 

 **Eliza:** *waves off* 

 **Alcott:** What reason does he have to poison me?!

 **Eliza:**   Gee, I don’t know, did he have a reason to attack Kylee? 

 **Devin:** Who’s Kylee? 

 **Alcott:** *waves off* I just said Eliza -- 

 **Eliza** : Because he -craved her-?! *Her voice spikes,* That’s an acceptable reason?

 **Alcott:** I didn’t say it was acceptable! I said it was a reason that I understood --

 **Eliza:** That you -understand?!-

 **Alcott:** Yes, that I understand. *snapping* And all that proved was that he -can- turn at will!

 **Devin:** *shocked* Wait, what?! *This interjection finally stops them, as it was accompanied with a suddenly choking cough. They spin and look, but can’t seem to find words, just gape at him as much as he’s gaping at his friends. The tinier question is spoken on a raw throat.* He can -- he can transform at will? *His gaze snaps to Alcott, flooded with the memory of their last conversation.* 

 **Alcott:** Yeah. *He stays tense a moment, then inhale-exhales in a short burst.* Yeah, apparently. Control the entire process, he said.

 **Devin:** And he gave you-- he gave you the how? 

 **Alcott:** *Tension fleeing from his shoulders, he nods suddenly, looking back to Eliza.* Eliza, I wouldn’t think it was acceptable. 

 **Eliza:** *Breathless herself, she nods, small smile appearing on her lips.* ...I’m sorry. *She leans away finally from the window and takes his hand.* I know that. 

 **Alcott** : I just-- I need to learn to control it. Completely.

 **Eliza:** *squeezing* I know that too. I want that for you too -- we both do -- *Devin nods instantly behind her* -- I just, don’t want you to get hurt. 

 **Alcott:** *He doesn’t say anything else, just looking between his friends with a softer, grateful smile on his lips.* 

 **Devin:** *Still wide-eyed, he says brighter,* Hey look mate, I can check it for poisons if you want.

 **Alcott:** *Amused, he shrugs his shoulder.* Nah, I don’t need you too. Did myself already, actually. 

 **Eliza:** *That steals her breath, small smile widening and grip suddenly tight. Hesitant, she blinks at him,* ...you did? *She knew well what that meant to him.* 

 **Alcott:** *Chuckling, and he nods, but won’t say another thing.* Hey, besides. Poison can’t kill me now. 

 **Eliza:** *frowns* Alcott.

 **Devin** : True. *Nodding, chuckling under his breath. Wry,* If you want to kill him Eliza, have to be a silver bullet to the heart.

 **Eliza:** -Devin-!

 **Devin:** Hey-- I thought you weren’t going after me?

 **Alcott:**   --or somehow take my heart -out-- *nodding in pleasant agreement,*  

 **Devin:** \--just woke from a coma? --

 **Alcott:** Or cut my head off. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re just out of luck, Eliza.

 **Eliza** : Oh, don’t think I won’t! *eyes rolling, but she’s grinning again as she drops his hand, relaxed and relieved of quite a bit.* -Silver- poisoning can -- which just happens to be the color by the way!

 **Alcott:** Yeah, but I got my potioneer to whip up an antidote. *Smirking, looking back at Devin.* Or oh, Eliza, I’ll rely on the power of your -looove- to bring me back. 

 **Devin:** *Snorts,* Mate, I don’t know if Hols would kiss you back to life if you were dumb enough to take poison. 

 **Alcott:** *in fake indignation* Oi, course she would, how could she live without me? 

 **Eliza:** Well, how could any of us?! *Just as bright, but a note of sincerity is in her tone,* I know I’d just fall over and collapse if I lost either of you. 

 **Devin:** *His jaw flicked, tenser, saying just as seriously “Yeh” under his breath, eyes suddenly distant.* 

 **Eliza:** *Realizing what she said, she tugs abruptly on Alcott’s hands and pulls him closer to the bed; he blinks in surprise, realizing how relaxed he must be if she could manage that.* Which is why we’re going to find Nadia, Devin. All of us, we will.

 **Alcott:** *nods, just as firmly,* Yeah, we will. 

 **Devin:** *Breathless nod, seeming to come back to himself and looks up at them, as she sits on the bed beside him. He smiles sincerely, glad.*

 **Alcott:** And hey! *Smirk,* Maybe I can satisfy said cravings -that- way. 

 **Devin:** *He chuckles, bitter and bright and nods.* Oh, I’ll join you! *A growl at the back of his throat makes it obvious he was only half kidding.* 

 **Eliza:** I hate you both. *She shakes her head, laughter tracing through her tone as she grins at them, taking Devin’s hand now too.*

 **Devin:** Oh no you don’t, you love us. 

 **Alcott:** I am insulted. *Woah’s as Eliza tugs him onto the bed too.* 

 **Devin:** Wounded. *Scooting to make room for them.*

 **Alcott:** Properly cowed.

 **Eliza:** Shut up, would you?! You’re both going to ruin the moment!

 **Devin:** What moment? *chuckling with both of them, blinking rapidly as she half blankets both of them with her arms to pull them into a tight three-way hug.*

 **Eliza:** The moment where you point out that you two couldn’t live without me either! 

 **Devin:** Ahh...truth. *He winks, and pulls back comfortably.* 

 **Alcott:** Oh I don’t know, Eliza, if I’d say that. *Snorts, looking at her when she wrinkles her nose and prepares a retort he only speaks over.* I’m not one for stating the obvious. 

 

&.

 

 **Daniella:** ...huh.

 **D’Grey:** *At the single syllable that seems to be spoken in lieu of actual words but for the sake that she-must-have-the-first-word-dammit, he only chuckles. Unzipping his jacket, he catches hers as she tosses it over her shoulder without looking back. At least, she didn’t look back until she hears he’d caught it. She had a pout written in those delectable lips telling him, she’d expected he would miss. He answers with a smirk.* Not what you expected, Daniella? 

 **Daniella:** What makes you think I expected anything?  *Her words were hasty spoken through her usual dry smirk, but with unfocused eyes. It was that look that had driven him to offer taking her up, she knew. She’d said as much to him over the insulting offer, snarked back at him as he was ‘rescuing’ her, -- ah, Olivier D’Grey might be a murderer, but he wasn’t going to leave a girl to walk home alone well after the moon’s peak, was he? Olivier hadn’t blinked. Just laid a jacket over her shoulders and unlocked his door.* 

 **D’Grey** : You’re right. *He rolls his eyes, even though he’s still smirking - the quickness to his retort telling him he’d been right.* I shouldn’t read into your dismissive little gasp.

 **Daniella** : No, you shouldn’t. *Wrong-footed a moment, she looks down to them thinking to remedy the situation. One, two -- and her heels were off. She tossed them somewhere, uncaring. Whiskey was still hot on her breath as she collapses on his couch. It hugs her as she lands, letting her sink in a leather embrace and wonder again about his taste in peace. It wasn’t what she was expecting, that much was true. The flat was spare in furnishings but finely decorated, like the person who lived there respected having a single scoop of ice cream with only one -perfect- topping, rather than the half hundred she dolled atop her own dishes. Jangling the key on her necklace, she suddenly startles, realizing he’d slid to sit next to her. Exhaling with heat, she sinks further into the couch and blurts,* Why do you kill people?

 **D’Grey:** *Amazed and taken aback, his face darkens and contorts with the sudden question. He’d only been about to offer her water. Eyes widening, he breathes out, but he won’t answer her, his hands clasped tightly together. He won’t look away from her.*

 **Daniella:** *Seeing his face shift and eyes glint, she narrows her gaze, but doesn’t blink. She won’t blink. She wants to see his anger. Daniella Faye is fearless in the face of his infamous temper. In fact, she loves his fury. It’s a delicate counterbalance with them: he is angry when she is all cool wit and games; when she is furious and raging he is only amused.* I mean, this gentleman’s act--is any of it real? You’ve killed--

 **D’Grey:** Yes, *snaps out at last, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and leaning back to the cushions.* Yes, Daniella, I’ve killed people. And you know what amazes me most about that question right now, is that you’re not the first to ask me it today. 

 **Daniella:** *Breathless, she sits up a little straighter and lets her hand drop from the couch.* Who else?

 **D’Grey:** *He looks at her sideways, and then shakes his head back and forth, very slowly.* I can’t. *He narrows his gaze at her when she does, but his words are honest.*

 **Daniella:** Can’t.

 **D’Grey:** *Considering the fact that she had asked about Nadia in the first place, he remembers abruptly, he ought to tell her. He ought to say something. Quietly musing over particulars, he says instead,* What you called me about.

 **Daniella:** *Blinks,* I didn’t call you--you ran into my on the street--nearly knocked me over actually--

 **D’Grey:** Not tonight. Last week.

 **Daniella:** *Face screwing up with the difficulty of trying to remember, she suddenly nods, straightening.* Nadia.

 **D’Grey:** *He nods.* I’m doing what I can, *And that’s true, he thinks bitterly, that’s utterly true.* And so I can’t, I -can’t- say more.

 **Daniella:** *She bites her tongue.* 

 **D’Grey:** *Laughing out once, he still only repeats himself.* Daniella, it’s for their safety that I don’t--

 **Daniella:** Then why did you mention it in the first place?

 **D’Grey:** I don’t know! *He rolls his eyes, incredulous and irritated by her indignation. Really, he’d only answered her honestly. How much more could she expect from him? Folding arms on his knees and leaning back into the couch himself, he refuses to take his gaze off her.* Maybe I thought it would make you stop asking. 

 **Daniella:** *A tiny smile flits across her lips, and she asks in a hush,* Make me stop asking what? 

 **D’Grey:** *Realizing what he said, he shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck. His eyes shut.* Nothing, it wasn’t --

 **Daniella** : I thought I was the drunk one. *Amused, as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger, watching him steadily.*

 **D’Grey:** *Nose wrinkles, his own snap dismissive as he waves it away,* I had a cocktail with dinner.

 **Daniella:** Mm, so it’s guilt then. 

 **D’Grey** : What? *His eyes snap open.*

 **Daniella:** *matter of fact,* Guilt. If it’s not alcohol making you talk, it must be guilt. 

 **D’Grey** : Guilt.

 **Daniella** : You know, *she lifts one leg and then the other, swiveling until both ankles land in his lap,* that thing that the little cricket on your shoulder snipes at you, poking you with his tiny little umbrella like it’s a javelin until you do what he wants?

 **D’Grey:** Sound’s like a vicious little bugger. *His hand falls atop one of her ankles, spinning a finger around the protruding bone.* 

 **Daniella** : You’ve never watched _Pinnochio_? *Astonished, her hand releasing the strand of hair.* 

 **D’Grey:** No, of course I’ve seen _Pinnochio_. In both the original English and the Italian translation, even. *He laughs, and it catches in his throat so he rubs at it, rubbing at it hard. It occurs to him he’d only met Daniella a few weeks ago, that he ought to take her home -- only she wouldn’t tell him where she lived (he was a murderer, as she was fond of reminding him) -- so he would have to call the taxi instead. When he’d seen her walking down the street, stalking on those high-heels despite the late hour and looking just as likely to kill, it just had seemed silly to take her anywhere else when his penthouse was right up the stairs.* 

 **Daniella:** *Nodding, she toys with the key she wore and spoke lightly,* So why do you?

 **D’Grey:** Why do I--

 **Daniella:** Kill people?

 **D’Grey:** *Frowning, he grips her ankle now as if to lift it and throw it away,* Daniella --

 **Daniella:** *She shrugs a shoulder, the key falling to land on her throat.* I’m not the cops, Olivier, and I’m not your mother. I know why my father killed people. What I don’t get is why you do. 

 **D’Grey:** *Irritated, his voice heated,* You have spoken to me, three times -- 

 **Daniella:** Mm, I’m intuitive and nosy, and drunk. *Sweetly, and she turns further, laying back watching his eyes fall to her skirt and then dart back up with determination. It makes her smile.* So I ask inappropriate questions. 

 **D’Grey:** Yes. *He can’t think what else to say to that, and he clears his throat. He really should move her ankle.* 

 **Daniella:** My father killed people because it was what he was taught he had to do to protect me. And my siblings. Is that why you do?  

 **D’Grey:** I don’t have children. *Breathless, but he keeps his gaze riveted to hers with determination that he not look down once more.*

 **Daniella:** *She laughs,* No, I know that -- I meant, to protect someone. 

 **D’Grey:** *He says nothing. The truth was he was trying to think of how he might excuse himself, and it makes him break eye contact. He looks around the sparse, elegant flat and exhales.* 

 **Daniella:** *Not noticing his distraction, she lets her eyes flutter shut.* Do you think that’s why your father killed? Protect you?

 **D’Grey:** *That makes him laugh. It’s a full, honest, almost good sound that fills the otherwise silent room for a half second, as much as he can sustain the bitter amusement.* Hardly, my brother and I were nearly killed ourselves. *He chokes it back, a series of images flashing through his eyes. He and Tony were far from the reason that his father had ever killed anyone, and their mother...ha. How ironic was all of this? He rubs at the back of his neck, wondering why he spoke at all, except for the tiny nagging thought that might well have been spoken by a cricket: Daniella knew, in someway, what that was like.* 

 **Daniella:** *Eyes fluttering open as she hears the high laugh, she pulls herself  up to a sitting position and falls down the couch looking at him. She doesn’t blink.* That’s not funny. 

 **D’Grey:** *His brows and lips twist up, but he says nothing as he looks at her sideways.* 

 **Daniella:** *Reaching for his wrist, she takes it and squeezes. He’s so shocked by the gesture, that she doesn’t comment on it, saying instead simply,* You have a brother? 

 **D’Grey:** *An eyebrow cocking up as he stares at her hand on his wrist, he nods slowly. Then he says calmly, just as hesitantly,* Power. That’s the reason my father killed. He wanted respect. And he didn’t want anyone to challenge him. Least of all his sons.

 **Daniella:** *Her hair tickles his shoulder, a few strands loose and tangled as they brush under his ear with her slow nod. Her breath is caught, but she asks quietly,* What’s your brother’s name?

 **D’Grey:** Tony. *An honest smile cracks across his lips, but he shrugs a shoulder.* Well, Antonio.

 **Daniella:** Lord, *nearly teasing,* you are Italian aren’t you?

 **D’Grey:** Hey, I’m proud of that. 

 **Daniella:** Ooh, sorry. *She chuckles, glad to see him smiling honestly, her head heavy and spinning.*

 **D’Grey:** Nah, don’t apologize for that. *He winks.* Think I oughta be used to it by now.

 **Daniella** : I wasn’t. *Honestly, bringing her head up.* I meant...I’m sorry that you almost died. 

D’Grey blinks. Her hand seems glued to his wrist, as he realizes abruptly how close she was, that she was leaning against his shoulder and her ankle had only a half inch to swing before it hooks his. She was wrong, he thought lightly to himself: he hadn’t almost died. Or rather...he wouldn’t have been permanently dead. And she was wrong about something else too, he thought. He wasn’t the one who had killed to protect anyone.

“I didn’t realize you cared if I died.”

And he smirks. He smirks at her sideways, lighter, and she can’t help but think she’ll fall, for she recognizes it, thinking about blurry lines between hate and love. She spins, her hand raising slowly until the pad of her finger traces the jut of bone and slight stubble at his chin before settling softly against him. Bastard. Italian bastard. Italian bastard of a ‘D’grey’, at that. 

Hands curling and uncurling at his sides as she touches him, he nods as if the moment won’t find itself burned in the back of his mind, filed away with all the memories he finds are worth hanging on to. There was a second, a distinct stretch of time where her lips were hesitant and yet still against his, where she starts to second guess herself, but not pull away completely. 

“Let’s not bring caring into this,” she says instead, simply, a hiss of heat against his lips. 

She pushes her palm against his jaw until her fingers tangle in his hair, and lets him breath something relieved into her lovely mouth, something akin to the deep breath she took before throwing herself off the back of her family boat and crashing into the navy waves. He lifts his own hand, cupping her cheek delicately, like he’s afraid for an instant to touch, like he’s afraid he’ll leave a mark or break some porcelain doll.

She relishes the thought it it. Of living in that heat of the instance of shattering, where everything beneath the fragile shell burst forth, exploded with fire all-at-once, all-consuming passion leaving in it’s wake red, red, red, marks pressed so deep in sensitive flesh it prints on her soul, an instance of such intensity it was no wonder that nothing could ever fully be recovered again. Daniella relishes the thought of being so broken. 

 He smirks at her still beneath a guarded gaze, and then hisses back, 

“Agreed.” 

The word hits her lips and then, with heat of that promise and lie, with the abrupt passion heady as it matches hers, so dark she thought if she were to paint it they’d both be tangled in ribbons of ebony, so does his mouth.

&.

**Lyndsea:** *Her hair piece had been askew, as the mirror told her in it's polite and crisp French accent while she walked by. Halfway through a discussion on the benefits of such ornamentation, she startles hearing the door open and spins abruptly, the ceramic flower band in hand like a dagger.* Alcott? *She blinks seeing her son (although of course it would be someone who had a key), and only after a second sees Hols. Nervous flutters don't keep away her placeholder smile.* Afternoon. You should be in scho--

 **Alcott:** Yeah, I know, but we -- Ma, *he half grumbled that as she had crossed the foyer to kiss his cheek, but brushes it off (literally),* -- what Gala is happening tomorrow night?

 **Lyndsea:** *blinks* You're skipping class to ask me about a charity event? 

 **Alcott:** *tiny, derisive snort* Yeh-, 

 **Lyndsea:** Are you feeling okay? *immediately, her hand going up to his forehead; then stills* Al--

 **Alcott:** Ma. *He takes her hand off his forehead, a bit abashed but keeping his eyes on her.* It's normal for me to have a fever. *For once, he was glad she could hide her expressions so well; he could hear how hard her heart pounded to feel his temperature.* Trust me. -What- is happening at Finchley?

 **Lyndsea:** *even more confused* I don't know what you're--

 **Alcott:** Because Eliza was just told that Nadia will be there. *bluntly* And to ask -you- if we needed more information.

 **Lyndsea:** *That did in the placeholder smile. Eyes flickering between them to Hols now, fearful on her behalf, her mouth drops open.* Oh God.

 **Hols:** *Had Al's mother been talking to a mirror? Hols quickly shrugged it off, thinking she had more important things to focus on. Like appearing civilized and likable (it was difficult) and not as panicked as she felt. She tried not to be too amused as she saw Lyndsea kiss her son's cheek or as Al answered back with a "ma." Ma. Cute. Normal fussing mother over teenage son. Except the teenage son was a werewolf and they were to ask about the possible whereabouts of her kidnapped sister. She was curious, could Al hear a heart breaking? Because hers had been every day for two weeks and she wanted her sister back _now_.* 

Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too. Bit more colorful. *There was no need to add that, why did she add that?* Mrs. Brackner, have you noticed anything dodgy that might happen tomorrow, maybe some high society Eastern European foreigner with subtle black market connections but of a generous enough disposition to have garnered an invitation to a charity event?

 **Lyndsea:** *The first thought was that she should restrain from commenting on ‘bit more colorful. Play the polite socialite. Only that was far from what she was in truth, and the inclination to swear, bluster, and threaten had only been done in by what now made her angriest. Considering the weight to this news and her level of abash over her previous treatment of Hols led her to say instead, ever prim,* The thoughts going across my mind are a bit more colorful as well. 

 **Alcott:** *At that his eyes widen and head cocks back, surprised at the comment. Looking back to Hols, he murmured only, half-teasing as he did,* A -bit-? 

 **Lyndsea:** There’s no rival to the British understatement. *Her smile might be soft and prim, but she was far from innocent. Glancing back to Hols even as she tried to think,* Or Spanish passion.

 **Alcott:** No question. *Immediately, and then suddenly bites his tongue.* Or..er-*He smirks in guilty pleasure, and shrugs a shoulder,* a comment a little less blatant--

Lyndsea: Nor Brackner bluntness. *smiling honestly*

 **Alcott:** Basically. *Smiling in relief as he always did when reminded of being like the family he lets it go, sliding a hand into his pocket.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Raising her hand to slide the hair band on, she goes over the preparations mentally. And then nods to herself, though her eyes are still wide. Her words were measured and slow,* Well, there have been the usual run of disasters; not enough centerpieces, the building safety codes not being met and having to change location abruptly -- oh and, *her voice got higher,* the caterer was under the misapprehension that _tarte tartin_ was inter changable with an -apple fritter.- 

Alcott: *He just blinks.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Oh, Alcott...but then Harper had never understood it either. Teasing her about her social graces had been half his arsenal, however much he enjoyed eating such delicacies. Particularly...well, she clears her throat. Then adds more helpfully,* But as to Eastern European-- I have the guest list. If you want to take a look?

 **Hols:** *Surprised, she tried not to show it though her lips flicked into a brief smile at the comment nonetheless and quietly shhh'ed Al's tease, trying oh so very hard not to laugh. But as it happened, Al and his mom were quite funny together, who knew? She was glad, actually, relieved really so no, the smile (and half smirk) was difficult to hide and why did she have to again? Brackners. 

She listened to the list of the general snafu that came with planning a party, finding it particular curious that the location had to be changed suddenly. Why? She didn't discount the possibility of whoever had taken Nadia and set Alpha Bitch on Devin intervening to pick a locale more suited for their ill-fated ventures. She didn't think it polite to mention that apple fritters were really good. What was _tarte tartin_?* That would be really helpful, thank you...may I ask why the location suddenly changed? *Building fire? Termite infestation? Outbreak of bubonic plague? Probably not the last.*

 **Lyndsea:** It’s my pleasure. *The polite phrase dropped out of her mouth without thought. As she turned gesturing with her hand to follow to the study, she added with quieter sincerity,* Well, I suppose pleasure isn’t the right word.

 **Alcott:** *He nods to follow, trying to focus on them rather than whatever wonderful thing it was their chef was making (merlin did that smell good). Then he smirks,* Nah, ‘rage’ works better. Ire. 

 **Lyndsea:** *She had arched an eyebrow at Al, after a tiny shake of her head she continued,* Deprecation.

 **Alcott** : ...sure. That word too. 

 **Lyndsea:** *She smiles to herself, as she opens the study door.*

 **Alcott:** Look, I can recite the third law of Priori Incantatem, I don’t need to know -everything-. Should leave some knowledge out there for other people. *He gestures to let Hols go ahead of him, half teasingly to be overly-proper (considering where they were), and half sincerely (well, his mother was never going to let him grow up -entirely- mannerless was she?).*

 **Lyndsea** : Oh, Al. *She murmurs it under her breath, glad she’s turned the other way as she walks to her secretarial desk. The twinge in her heart to hear him remark on his wand lore fascination was one that never went away. Especially when stated in such assumption of arrogance. Like father, like son -- another thought that never seemed far away. Unrolling the desk, she asks as casually as possible,* Who told Eliza this?

 **Alcott:** *His mother’s study was spacious, her desk bare of cauldron or ingredients, exchanged for papers and quills. He had stepped towards the towering bookcases; one thing both studies in the house had in common. Except in this one, wand lore and subtle potion arts were exchanged for cookbooks and binders left by different services. Floral arrangements sat half-done on the table that sometimes sat others on insert-socialite-committee-here. A torn petal lay alone against a vase, the satin-soft skin caught in a tempting breeze as though it died to take off, were it not trapped in glass.

At the question, he stills as well. The stutter in his mother’s heartbeat gave away a lot more than her expression did. It struck him suddenly; becoming a wolf had let him realize the depth of her emotion, when he had been so angry that she seemed so often not to care.* From a...well. He’s...*His throat stuck. He didn’t know what to say about Hans yet. They had no proof he attacked Devin aside from him having red eyes when transformed. And while he was furious, he had to admit Hols description had captured it up pretty damn well. Nor could he shake the feeling that circumstances again that Hans...seemed to actually care what he was going through, because he knew what it was (and no one knew what this was). 

Looking back up at his mother, he swallows tightly. He didn’t know how...well, comfortable she truly was with his inner wolf. Even if she had accepted it without question, the reality of living with it...that was the struggle more than the moment of revelation. So instead he said,* He’s the one Hols described as the eastern european.

 **Hols:** *She walked to follow Lyndsea, thinking to herself that Lynn would have adored her stilettos (Hols preferred boots and sneakers but the incredibly tall and strappy was the show of choice to go out). Her eyebrows rose in amusement as Al gestured for her to walk in first, as if she wouldn't have anyways, and winked at him before walking in. 

Her dad and Winnie's homes (they had several, all across the globe, usually in the mountains) didn't have "studies" not really, her dad did his paperwork on the dinner table because they didn't eat dinner on the dinner table so it worked. And her mom and Brad's house had a study that Brad used sometimes but everyone knew that was their "nooner" room and the children stayed far away. This was what a study should look like...she guessed.* 

I like it. *Wasn't she supposed to compliment the house? But the words "you have a lovely home" would sound totally fake and not at all her. She was looking around the room with curiosity when she heard the question, and as usual her mouth started working before her brain.* Some pretentious egotistical pompous pric- *she cleared her throat, once, twice, thrice in quick succession and rubbed her throat.* What Al said.

 **Lyndsea:** Oh, *she smiles, pleased,* thank you. You’re too sweet. 

Alcott: *covers cough quickly. Hols wasn’t accused of being too sweet often.*

Lyndsea: *That was all she could ever say, when someone commented on their house. She had done the decorating, in this room especially - and constantly endeavored to keep the place running...but she knew it was more in tribute in her heart. If this had not been Harper’s birthright and ancestral home (and thus rightfully that to Alcott as well)...she would have taken their son and moved out years ago, considering the memories she had here. Then again...she craved those memories too. So she nodded, and moved on. 

A paisley binder in hand, her thumb is stuck between rose and caramel colored pages when she hears Hols. Lashes flicking up as she looks over the top of the desk at her, a tiny smile is on her lips as she nods.* I heard nothing else. *It’s half a tease, even if she was surprised by the words.*

Alcott: *Honestly, what had gotten into his mother? Had the world--actually wait, no, the world was pretty damn upside down right now, and had been for at least six, seven months. Hols Graft was his girlfriend, he didn’t consider Lynn Rivers a mortal enemy (and Nick was a good guy; what he was doing with Lynn, he didn’t know, but). And this didn’t mention of course, the kidnapping, assaulted murder, or full-moon-fucking-controls-my-life bits. So, okay. 

...No, it was still it was damn strange to see his mother so...playful?  Light-hearted? Without judgment? Actually maybe he couldn’t put a word on it besides “open.” It was like from the moment he confronted her about the affair with his uncle (and it wasn’t an affair, he chides himself mentally, even though all three of them he felt thought of it as such) things had just...changed for the better. She had hardly batted an eyelash when he told her he was a wolf (for his months of worry), and now here she was teasing his girlfriend. The world was backwards.* That the invite list? *He asks, clearing his throat and uncrossing his arms.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Nods, setting it down on the table and plucking the torn petal up. Holding it between her nails,* Yes. Though most are plus one...it’s a charity, after all.

 **Alcott:** *He nods, brushing that off and immediately beginning to peruse. Lord, his mother’s handwriting looked like it might well have been printed in a book; how did she keep her hand that steady?*

 **Lyndsea:** *Looking back to Hols, she continues steadily,* As for why we changed venues, the committee was alerted the former manor house had been having some work done on it, and hadn’t put in place the proper spells yet to meet fire codes. *She shrugs,* Max would -- I’m sorry, *realizing she did not know if Alcott had spoken much about his uncle to Hols (and she ignores the twist in her gut at that thought), * my brother-in-law --

 **Alcott:** *He barely bites back a comment on ‘did you call him brother when you were fucking?’ by staring hard at the names in front of him, and...literally biting his tongue. A better relationship probably included him not guilting her over it at every turn -- really though, sarcasm was a bit of how he showed he was past it too. Brackner thing, wasn’t it? At least three-quarters of this list were pureblood. At that at least half of them were names he hated. It was fitting.*

 **Lyndsea:** \--*calmly,* he works for the ministry’s rescue squad for such mishaps, he would never let me forget it if I ignored those codes. *He’d bite her head off actually. She smiled a bit, trying to keep herself steady,* Anyway, to insure we avoided that for the next house...*She pauses, her head coming up. Now she said this all aloud, it sounded quite a bit different.* I had them send me the building plans and recent, if any, modifications. I know Finchley fairly well... *A lifetime ago, it was one of the first places an event was held that she had gone with Harper as the Official Engaged Couple (™). Naturally she usually avoided using it...but the fact that she had twelve days to find the new place before the party date, it had left limited options.* They were more than happy to oblige.

 **Alcott:** *How in the world had he only reached ‘E’ anyway? No wonder ‘they’ were going to be able to sneak Nadia in so easily; it was going to be hard to find her in this crowd. Well, hard for others. Her scent was burned into his memory at this point, how long he and Hols had spent trying to pick up her trail. It had led just as suspected towards the boat-house, before suddenly it stopped dead. No one could disapparate on the grounds (he had told Lynn for twenty-two minutes) (and thirteen seconds), but potions or spells might have masked her scent. He suspected that was where she had been transferred to those who had her now, from either Sam or Victoria - and he knew Hols did too, by the remarks she had muttered in Spanish under her breath. Idly,* Who alerted you to the problem with the first?

 **Lyndsea:** Oh it was...no, that’s not right, Margaret was finding music...oh...hm. *She furrows her brows; it had been such a whirlwind lately and considering the...news, from Alcott, she hadn’t been paying as close attention as usual. Honestly, she should have written the menu for the caterers herself in the first place. Hadn’t she learned that lesson by now? Pressing painted lips together as she thought, she brightens upon remembering,* Oh, heavens, right. Ingrid.

 **Alcott:** *His hand freezes and eyes dart up.* Ingrid -Roswell-?

 **Lyndsea:** *An eyebrow instantly skyrockets,* Yes? Why does that--

 **Alcott:** *Exhaling in heat, he opens his mouth, before closing it and leaning over the book. He figured Hols had this one.* 

 **Hols:** *No she wasn't. But she was glad Lyndsea thought so. She shot Al a brief glare, which of course did nothing but disprove his mother's words. And her next words well...sweet wasn't a good word. Gratefully, Lyndsea didn't seem to mind. This was bizarre, but not bad. Oddly reminiscent of how it had felt when she first realized she didn't want to crush Al's windpipe with her bare hands. And now here they were. 

She walked over to the invite list, peering over Al's shoulder before looking back at his mother to hear the explanation. Hols knew about Max, um not in a very positive light from Al, so she nodded along. So, there wasn't any extreme circumstances, definitely no outbreak of the plague or smallpox but that was fine because if there's anything Hols knew about whoever was doing this with Bitch and the Beast, it was that they were great at subtlety. Devin's poisoning for example- okay, when could she start smashing heads together? 

Her head snapped up again. Roswell. Was it possible to literally see red? Oh damn, Al, no, he couldn't leave the explanation to her what if she started going all Pauper on the Princess again?* We have all the reason to believe, and then some, that this is all Sam Roswell's fault. Well, maybe not all, Victoria is definitely involved in it too, and Eurotrash with whatever 'colleagues'- er, point is Sam hates us. He declared war and he's just...*she pursed her lips until all of the profanities had been swallowed back. 

She wasn't sure how much of that she was supposed to divulge but aunt Jay and uncle Shane knew their suspicions, so did her dad.* So it's not entirely out of line to consider the fact Sam might have told his mum to have her change the venue if it had been too exposed or public, or lacking in something...*She wasn't paranoid. She wasn't.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Startled and winded by the simple explosion of conspiratorial information (all of which only served to highlight the danger her child was in), she didn’t blink. Her hand leaps, toying silver chainlinks around her index finger, circling it against the diamond and clasping her wedding ring against her chest. Refusing to speak until she was sure her voice wouldn’t shake, she looks between them, and only half has out,* I don’t understand..., *when Alcott talks over her.*

 **Alcott** : He did so over the summer, supposedly in retribution for last year, *flatly, but saying with a little step forward, his chest puffed up to the point it makes clearly defined muscle lines against his red tee,* only as Eliza just reminded me, and Hols won’t let me forget, *He shoots her half a little smile, thankful. Then he looks forward again, saying flatly,* Sam’s choices are his own. Not because of me he’s psychotic.

 **Lyndsea:** No, that he gets from his bloody uncle. *Her words were equally flat, fury defeating terror in an instant. She believed them instantly, knew what Alcott was referring to now, and though her eyes widen in surprise of herself as the word hit her ears (those left her mouth?), she couldn’t say she regretted them. 

 **Alcott:** *With obvious delight and wonder,* Ma.

 **Lyndsea:** *Pink painting her cheek’s rims she casts her eyes down to the ring she still clasped and slowly, smiles.

**&.**

**Lynn:** Daddy. *Brightly, popping a piece of celery in her mouth,* if you put me in a tower, it just begs Nick to climb up it and that overly romantic symbolism might just lead to what I assume to you were unintended consequences of passion.

 **Devin:** *coughs out the soda he'd taken a sip out and slams his hand on his mouth to contain the liquid and his half-laughs.* Lynn-

 **Lynn:** *Patting his shoulder,* Babe, don't choke, you've scared us enough. *smirking over at him.*

 **Devin:** *incredulous little scoff, he's halfway out of the chair-*

 **Jay:** Up-pub! *Her hand up going up even across the room, without turning from the stove.* Sit down!

 **Devin:** I was just going to set the table-*tiny groan*

 **Jana:** Under the blanket! *bright, but sharp as she points.*

 **Lynn:** I got it! *hops off stool, taking the celery out to pop a kiss on her father's cheek and dart towards the kitchen.*

 **Devin:** *Exhaling, though he reluctantly sits down again. Without the blanket,* I'm _fine_ now.

 **Jana:** One day of rest at home. *Calmly, spinning back as a timer goes off--

though not before she had looked to Shane as if to say 'talk to him' with her eyebrows.* That's not that much to ask.

 **Devin:** Yeah, yeah...*waving off and settling back in the chair, ignoring the fact he actually feels tired, then looking at Lynn instead. Sardonic,* Well, I always enjoy Lynn doing all the chores.

 **Shane:** *he exhales, passing a hand over his face before he lets her name out in one breath-* LynnFelicityStuartRivers. *He shakes his head* That would go  under the list of what -not- to say if you want Nick to be able step foot in this house again. *He looks at Devin after Lynn kisses his cheek (like that would fix anything- yes, it helped) and then points to her as if to say "can you believe this girl?" Underneath his annoyance there was always pride, however. He leans in to try and take a bite of what Jay is cooking, only to be scolded and be pointed at their son, nodding.* Your mother's right, Dev, as usual. *He grins and then quickly grabs a can of salted cashews and sits down next to Dev, offering them with a finger above his lips* Rest now like you're supposed to, so you don't over exert yourself the next days. Or I'm not sure your mother will ever let you out of the house. *He pops a cashew in his mouth with a wink.* Then I'll really contemplate that tower. 

 **Lynn** : This is getting to be a very extensive list. *musing in curiosity as she pulls down the plates one handed, finishing her celery stick (after using it to point 'i'm watching you' to her brother).

 **Devin:** You could try not opening your mouth.

 **Lynn:** *Opens mouth immediately with a comment, then pauses, looks up at her father over the plates, closes it and smiles sweetly at him.*

 **Devin:** *guessing drily* Would have gone on the list?

 **Lynn** : Most likely at the top. *briskly*

 **Jana:** *Had muttered'oh good heavens' under her breath, and now turns pulling out the tray. Her hands go to her hips. She'd offered (okay insisted) to make Devin's favorites before remembering the weird long-foreign words that actually made up most of those favorites and had now been cooking for three hours.* ...Okay. *added one spice, checks the internal thermometer and nods.* Done.

 **Devin:** Sweet. *grinning at his Dad to nod gratitude, and taking a few of the proffered cashews. They perch on his lips when he realizes.* Wait, a few days?

 **Lynn:** *immediately* It can't be a few days.

 **Jana:** *Carefully carrying tray over, saying exasperatedly,* Devin, I am-sure- your teachers will give you extensions --

 **Devin:** It's not schoolwork. *Exhales (honestly he thought about that worry presently to relax), his gaze darts warily to Lynn. They hadn't told them yet what Eliza had said that morning....it would have seemed to ruin the mood (and Hols and Al were telling Uncle Shawn so considering the very capable staff...he just had wanted to wait.*

 **Lynn:** *Getting a look from her brother as she sets the silverware she stills, butter-knife in hand. Then she looks at her father,* Speaking of people who need to be locked in towers. Actually no, towers are still romantic. 

 **Jana:** *mms, frowning with suspicion, but can't restrain,* Not in reality they aren't.

 **Lynn:** *tiny wince* Still, I think dungeon. Below a well. At the bottom of a pit in the middle of a sea. Of fire. Guarded by those little rabbits from Python, that go *demonstrating chattering teeth and gesturing at them,* and gnaw their toes off before--

 **Devin:** Lynn. *Amused and eye rolling at once.*

 **Lynn:** *smiles as if to say 'what?' And then looks back.* I still like mine better than a tower. 

 **Shane** : *He exhales again, passing both hands over his face and muttering something that sounded something like "Merlingivemestrength." Looking up as they both speak up about not being able to take the next few days, he raises an eyebrow. When these two got along, and boy was he beyond overjoyed that he just had them together and teasing each other again (it really wasn't only Jay that wanted to keep them forever in the house after all), it usually meant to trouble.* Speaking of people that need to be locked in fiery pits of doom *motions with his hand for her to keep going* still waiting on this explanation. *He glanced at Jay, they both were.*

 **Lynn:** *Pleased he took her description, she still merely clutched her hands together and exhales. It was just. The Roswells had never been close to her dad that she knew of (quite the opposite considering the political past) but Aunt Ingrid and Uncle Kevan had been fairly...well, allied in the Ministry anyway and--*

 **Devin:** Eliza was tipped off this morning to ask Lyndsea Brackner for information on the charity event two days from now. As apparently Nadia, will, be in attendance. *flatly, with a harshness in his tone he couldn't discount.*

 **Jana:** *When Lynn was searching for words and Devin was blunt it--* What? 

Lynn: By an arrogant wolfie east european aristocrat who we know we can't trust--

 **Devin:** You know that -because- you suspected he knew where she was! 

 **Lynn:** And because he has red eyes, Devin. *flatly.*

 **Devin:** *Exhales, rubbing at his face at something tugs in his chest.* I kno--

 **Jana:** Stop. *Her hands go up, and then she curls her hands around the back of the chair in front of him. She's struggling to keep herself from yelling; Devin's heart could not be subjected to it. But she was struggling; the sharp words and derisive adjectives and clearly some significance to red eyes--she leans over on her hands and then looks up at Shane. To keep her calm.* Start with the name.

 **Lynn:** Hans Lawrence Ricard. *instantly, a bit guilty, then looks at her Dad too,* Have you heard of him?

 **Shane:** *Oh, more things his children were keeping from him. He clenched and squared his jaw, placing the cashews in the table in front of him and standing up. He wasn't going to pace, no. Neither was he going to raise his voice about the keeping-important-information aspect of this again. He could do that later. And he wasn't going to ask why they hadn't come to them the moment they heard, or exactly when they were planning to tell him not just as someone  who cared about Nadia but also as the Minister of Magic. He didn't ask any of these questions, but he had a feeling his eyes were doing it for him anyways.* It sounds familiar, *he places his hand on his waist, moving his jacket out of the way* but you're not getting any information from me until I hear more about this man. I want details. I want them explained and thoroughly. *Eyebrows rise* Has he made contact before this? *He bit back the question of "you do realize that this tip-off is enough to bring him for questioning?" thinking it unhelpful at the moment. Details now, reprimands later. What were these children thinking?*

 **Devin:** *Eye twitching, he looks down to avert the angry gaze from his father. He recognized the Minister's tone, and really that was far from the worst question he could have asked but he still shrugged a shoulder, hand on his throat.* I have no idea. *He decided to look at Lynn; she'd appreciate the fact he couldn't keep a wry smirk from his face. It was as if he said 'been in a coma, little out of the loop.'*

 **Lynn:** I've never met him. *Defensively, frowning as she sees Devin's look. Her eyes narrow back--'that's not funny'--And just why was he looking at her?! Getting along (ish) with Brackner didn't mean she'd become him! (Fine, her lips flicked up at the insinuated joke...not her fault).* He showed up in Diagon three days after..

 **Devin:** After Alisha found me. *He summarizes, for the simple truth was,; Alcott's part in this wasn't going to be revealed by him. His friend hadn't done anything and his life been screwed up enough.* 

 **Lynn:** *She exhales, both agreeing with the brief summarization and a bit irritated that she still had to dance around it (though okay, she could see why Alcott would not want the Minister to know). Her eyes meet Devin’s. Slowly continuing,* Like I said, wasn’t there - but he showed up in a bar...

 **Devin:** *Still locking gaze with her, his chin lifts.*

 **Lynn:** *After a brief lip flick of understanding, she flicks her gaze to her mother, who hadn’t moved except to brush hair repeatedly back behind her eyes like she was fighting to tear it out.* He met Eliza and Alcott...well rather, met Eliza. Alcott, he knew from...reputation. *Her gaze narrows and flicks back to her father, words tighter.* Rather, by his father’s reputation. Which how come I was the last to kn--

 **Devin:** Lynn. *He groans under his breath, then rubs a sore throat. Jana looks at him quickly (her own “Lynn” cut off) hearing the half-cough, and he waves her off.* 

 **Lynn:** Fine, right. So Alcott gave Hans his autograph-

 **Jana:** His autograph? *Despite her determination to both stay silent until they had all the information and to not leap to the attack, and couldn’t  restrain that one. Eyes widening, her hand drops from her forehead.*

 **Devin:** *With an honest chuckle under his breath,* Yeh, yehh--signed a napkin for his ‘number one fan’ since he knew so much about him.

 **Jana:** *Bites her bottom lip, but can’t restrain a smile of appreciation even as it is quickly fades thinking about the blast of information,* When you said -wolf- --

 **Lynn:**   Yeah, it’s not a metaphor. Though I’m sure the metaphor fits. It was....*Presses her lips together and looks at Devin again. Her eyebrow arches, clearly irritated with the fact that he seemed more than willing to accept Alcott’s interpretation of events. Fabulous,* Eliza who put it together. Cause see she ran into him again, *She wasn’t lying anyways,* a few days later, saw him apparently accidentally bump into a woman, who wigged out --

 **Jana:** *Laying her hand flat into her chest she has to restrain from pressing hard enough to break skin. Her heart would not silence.* 

 **Devin:** I -don’t- think that was the word Eliza used. *Breathing much calmer, that this was the way she chose to elaborate. Alcott said he’d come with the pack because of...him, or both of them really: the headline of his attack and them discerning that Alcott was new at this. Still, this was safer. Sometimes he genuinely loved Lynn’s conspiratorial chess mind.* 

 **Lynn:** Eliza helped her pick her stuff up, asked if she was okay because, she’s a saint-

 **Devin:** *Blinks,* Are you saying you wouldn’t have helped --

 **Lynn:** Not the point, *Her hand goes up, with a few stolen cashews of her own now), she got that the woman had...had a nightmare. With him in it. Where she was being attacked with a beast with...with well, red eyes. Looks immediately to Devin.* And so Eliza confronted him over it, and well he didn’t deny or affirm outright obviously, but she--she saw his eyes flash colors.

 **Devin:** *He rubs at his face, over his shut eyes to try and remain calm. It was difficult, when his heart seemed to abhor regular beats, his lungs oxygen, his body movement, his life any sort of rhyme or reason. When he spoke, it was quiet.* Which is what...Nadia, *he swallows very tightly, digging his fingers into his forehead,* told me that...day. She’d had dreams for a few weeks of a beast with red eyes ... attacking...someone. *Tiniest bit confused, but he knows as he speaks it’s more to comfort himself.* They were blond in her dreams though. 

 **Jana:** *Breathing furiously quickly and now can’t keep silent, taking a step towards Devin struggling to keep her voice even,* Are you saying this man--he’s the one wh--

 **Dev:** *abruptly,* I don’t know. 

 **Lynn** : Of -course- you fucking n--*hears the curse and pauses, eyes fluttering to her father and nose wrinkling,*

 **Devin:** No, we don’t Lynn, not when he’s apparently here with an entire pack we haven’t met. And it seems like what he said to...Eliza, about being the--

 **Jana:** *Breathing in, out, and blinks again,* He’s talking to Eliza a -lot-... *She’s trying to sidetrack herself, given that she just had the urge to rip the bastard to pieces.*

 **Devin:** Yeh, *shrugs a shoulder without apparant concern,* yeah guess he might have a thing for her--

 **Lynn:** Wait, what? *Her voice squeaks, face contorting with disgust. Her mouth is open. She pauses, swallowing bile and the urge to regurgitate. The revulsion in her tone is nasal, nose and face all screwed up,* Oh -gross-.

 **Devin:** *Tiniest chuckle,* well, yeah--anyway, he told her the pack had come because...because of me. *He shuts his eyes a moment, rubbing at them again tiredly.* That they saw the headline in the Prophet, deduced there was some new wolf, came to try and help him. And considering the fact he was definitely indisposed that night, as would all the pack have been, it could not have been them to physically kidnap. *Shrugs a shoulder, warily,* So no, Lynn, we don’t have proof of anything. 

 **Lynn:** No, we didn’t have proof when he talked to Hols and insinuated like crazy that he might not have taken her but knew where she was, we -do- have proof now considering he cornered Eliza in the-- oh god that’s why he, oh that is _disgusting_ seriously -- 

 **Jana:** *Holding her hand up and she cuts both of them off, rubbing at her forehead. There was clearly a part of this story they were missing, but she first laid a hand on their son’s shoulder and squeezed tightly, asking under her breath to Lynn (for she knew the answer in Devin’s case),* Are you okay? *That was most prevalent. But certainly not her only concern, for good God --* 

 **Lynn:** *A small smile appears and she nods honestly, looking at all three of them with a quick eye swivel,* Yeah, I’m fine. Furious. Potentially murderous- (she ignores the narrowed eye look from father and son at that, choosing to focus on her mother trying to hide a smile), but fine...really. Like I said. Haven’t even met him. Neither of us have. 

 **Shane:** *That was good at least, that was good that she hadn't met this man personally. It made things a bit cleaner as far as procedures and briefing and questioning was going on. He wondered if Shawn and the Aurors knew about this too or if he was part of the Parents-Kept-Out-of-the-Loop club. They should make T-shirts. He nods as they work through the details, knowing the hesitance were changed or omitted facts (he wouldn't be angry, there was plenty of time to be angry about this.) He was about to call Lynn back up focus as she began to stray but was deemed unnecessary by Devin doing it firsthand.

 He kept listening. Eye color was hardly a definitive, but when you added it to the category: werewolf, the list became smaller. Obviously, there was no list as he heavily opposed the registration of werewolves and had cast off any bill proposing it, but that didn't mean this shady Ricard character was getting  off free. Where had he heard that name before? Aside from ancestral trees, and history he meant.* 

But there is the entire possibility that he was the one who attacked you, and he happens to know about Nadia? *Why? Why was he here with a werewolf pack and invited to the Charity Winter Gala? What did they want with a fifteen year old girl?* I have to make some calls about this. *He took out his mobile immediately, knowing that was the fastest way to contact  Chris who -was- at the Ministry at the moment* 

I'm going to need extra security at this ball, talk to Shawn and see if Hols has deigned him with this infor- it's enough to bring him in for questioning. *He was doing the thing where he talked out loud but mostly to himself in an attempt to organize his thoughts as he dialed a number.* Also- *he turned to his children, pointing to both of them* you're not going to this. *His secretary picked up and he held up a finger before beginning to talk quickly, balancing the mobile on his ear and accio'ing some parchment and a pen to him to write a message urgently.*

 **Lynn:** Wait, Dad -- *Stony-faced silence breaks as he goes for his phone, talking aloud as he did sometimes, taking a few steps forward after him only to still, awkwardly. Inhaling and exhaling, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears, adding cooly,* She was going to tell Uncle Shawn, right after she and Alcott asked his mother -- as she organized the event -- for an invite list and if there’s anything...anything else. 

 **Jana:** *Her brow arches and she purposefully lookst away, lifting a hand to her scrunched up forehead, and despite every nerve-ending in her body aching, she can’t bring herself to move from her son’s side, and instead (after waving a hand over the tray of food to insure it was warm; three hours of work was not going to be wasted), she sits. Biting her lip, she slipped her hand in her own pocket, going for her mobile. She was halfway through dialing Amaris,’ forgetting in the haze of information that she could have just pressed speed-dial-one (and usually that was the make Shane would make, not her...) when she heard Devin speak up. And stand up.* 

 **Devin:** Like hell I’m not. *His voice cuts out over Lynn’s immediate protest as well, ignoring his mother dropping her phone back from her ear and turning straight to his Dad.*

 **Lynn:** *Her ‘hold on,’ and ‘dad!’, remarks had been overcut by her brother. Blinking once, she stills and turns back, a scarlet strand fluttering in front of her mouth as she struggled to breathe.* 

 **Jana:** *Immediately standing, she had a step towards Devin only to find his hand in front of her chest.* -Devin-, *Her voice was sharp, but he overcut her too.* 

 **Devin:** No, Mum, look. *Flames had turned his breath to cinders and blasted away worry’s aches. Without blinking, he took a step or two to his father, still mid word, hand still up,* It’s -Nadia.- Okay? I’ve been in love with her since I was -- what, God, three? Born? I finally told her, you know? And she said it back to me and three minutes later the sun’s setting and we’re forced to separate to try and stop our idiot friends from having a party in the Forbidden Forest on a full moon, because that definitely sounded like a good idea, and--and now I’ve been lying in a fucking hospital bed, and she’s nowhere to be found?  They came for me, and they came for her, and like hell am I not going to come for -her-. *His eyes narrow, breathing harsh and heavy, lungs still weak and useless against the splitting fire in his chest. He clenches his teeth, hand coming out wider now, saying honestly,* If they could get to us at school, it doesn’t matter how much more security you put on us anyway - and I know, I understand you want to protect me, us, but she couldn’t have been taken if not for me! 

 **Lynn:** *Breathlessly, as her face breaks at that last and she winces, muttering,* Dev...

 **Devin:** I was there! *Hopelessly, rubbing at the back of his neck and then dropping his hand to slap his thigh.* I was there, the last thing I bloody remember besides red eyes was hearing her shout my name! I was supposed to protect her, I thought I was, but it wasn’t the wolf that was the danger after all was it? He, she, they were a distraction, it all was, just to get me to turn my back and -

 **Lynn:** *Despite her breathless gaping, at that she snaps,* And ravage you just because?

 **Devin:** \- and take her! That’s it, that’s what their plan had to be. And I fell for it, like an -idiot-, even though honestly, I should know wolves aren’t inherent monsters -

 **Lynn:** *Her eyebrows merely skyrocket.*

 **Devin:** But they did get one thing right, Dad. *He takes another few steps, still talking furiously fast and abruptly, angry and hurt. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. Merely stood just as tall as his father did, searching his eyes evenly and pointing himself at the ground.* It took a werewolf at full strength at the peak of it’s transformation to make me take my eyes off her for three seconds, and nothing less. *

He’s breathing heavily, but his face is ravaged suddenly just as Lynn said, with anxiety and loss, fear and spite.* You know, I really want to meet this Hans who thinks it’s okay to toy with us, toy with Al and Eliza, toy with any one of my family. He needs to learn that I am -not- just some little kid they can manipulate and bribe anymore into ignoring what’s important: I know what is important. I know what I care about. So unless you want to throw a wolf at me Dad, I love you? But I am not going to stay away. 

*There’s a long silence as he looks at him. Shuddering abruptly once as the weakness in his limbs take over, his face crumples a bit and voice shivers, but he stands just as tall. His eyes are clear even as he adds brokenly with a tiny voice,* It’s _Nadia_. 

 **Shane:** *He expected protests, of course, but the word protest was more than a little lacking to explain Devin's reaction. It was wholly insufficient. He was driven to silence, a complete and total silence apart from excusing himself to Lisa and putting the phone on mute. He listened. That's what had been wrong before right? Last year, when things had gotten so low for their boy...he hadn't been listening. To what Devin wanted, but his son was making himself heard now. His 15 year old, fresh out of a coma after being ravaged and poisoned, was spewing out words like he would bullets. No longer was the his son the quiet smart guy at the back of the class, and Shane had noticed the changes over the summer but it had seemed to culminate to a point right then. 

One point did annoy Shane with its accuracy- Hogwarts being the safest place on Earth was a lie- ha! What a damned lie, always had been (the headmaster was weeks away from resigning though). Everyone had always joked about Devin and Nadia being married since they were in diapers, but that paled in comparison to Devin's own words, his feelings astronomical and incapable of being held back and that's exactly how it was supposed to be. Granted, he'd only felt like that about Jay, and he hadn't met her at 15 (he shot at look at her now because what wouldn't he do for her?) but there was doubt in Devin's voice about this, including the blame he placed on himself. He was hurting, that was obvious and he hated to see that look in his eyes; Shane had been dreading it. 

He also hated seeing how devastated Amaris and her entire family were because of this. A devastation he had shared, added to his own. Even with all that, he wasn't sure it matched the look in Devin's eyes at that moment. Breathing heavily by the end as well, he swallowed a lump in his throat before he put a hand on Devin's shoulder.* Son. I don't think I've ever been prouder of you than I am right now. *He swallowed again, squeezing Dev's shoulder once and nodded after another look at Jay.* Okay, but- *he raised a finger* and this goes to both of you, no wandering, I'm assigning you personal guards, and no solo hero missions. You find something out, Hans makes contact again to anyone, you seem something dodgy, anything, you come tell me. Fair enough?

Jana: *Barely looking at the hand her son raised to hold her back, she had stood rigid, amazed, awed, saddened and proud at once to hear the words coming from Devin. Lynn had often exploded in such anger, and more frequently exploded in visceral delight, but Devin, even as a toddler he would swallow back words while looking fondly at Lynn talking ten miles a minute. The only person she saw him truly talk to when he was little was Nadia -- and she still remembered how aggravated Hols had been when he was going through the stage of “do not touch me” and only let his father and Nadia hug him. 

Now Lynn stood in equal silence and amazement, a tiny smile on her lips with clear clouding emotion in eyes that usually blazed fierce -- and sure enough, as Jana flicked her gaze to her daughter, Lynn had turned away to rub under her eye, pretend it was a fly she flicked away. Jana stayed quietly, listening ever, batting down the urge to yank all three of them into her arms right this moment. To see her family, a family she had never believed she could have (even when she saw the little pink plus that led to Lynn) like this stopped her heart. It still seemed surreal, especially at moments like this, to think she could have anything to do with creating such beautiful, strong, people  -- let alone have a man care about her as Shane did, so equally to how she felt for him no matter how she’d fought and railed against it. Her family...well, it was necessary to her life. 

Her gaze flicks to Shane as she sees his eyes flutter over Devin’s shoulder, and holds his look in understanding, gratitude, acceptance. When she was fifteen - well, she’d been a fighting with her mother and sneaking off to weekends in the mountains with her first boyfriend. In her husband’s eyes was a flicker of that irritant and undying endearment “protectivism,” the one he had reopened her to by simply refusing to play the usual rules. As much as hearing Devin blame himself broke her heart (for she couldn’t help but think...how often and how long had she does that for Llian?), and as much as she knew that had she been married to Shane when she was taken, it might not have changed a damn thing -- she also couldn’t help but feel like...he wouldn’t have given up on her. Maybe because in nearly nineteen years now, after all she had done, he never had. So in the tiniest flicker of the corner of her lips, she mouths the simple “i know.” 

Just like she wouldn’t let anything happen to him -- and Lord help anyone who took one step near her children ever again. Two way street, this one, her eyes said back to him. A wider smile breaks out immediately over a pounding heart as her husband speaks, and she nods, in agreement.* -We- will find her, Dev. *She says it softer, taking a step towards him hesitantly and smiling to see Lynn follow. 

 **Devin:**   *As his father spoke, he’d reared straighter and stopped shaking even internally. His lip still fought to quiver from this, the overwhelming anxiety, heartbreak, the hell of purgatory and the heaven of a triumph. For all of it, Devin finally let himself blink, in relief and with a calm thrill. Nodding twice himself, his smile could not be contained, however small it was. He lifted his own hand to his father’s shoulder, squeezing himself, answering wordlessly without taking his eyes from him. For all the pressure and squeezing of his shoulders though...for a moment, Devin had felt perfectly light.* I’m glad, Dad. 

*He said that rather than ‘thank you,’ both because the latter was superflous and the former expressed better...well the brilliant flame of acceptance that had flashed so violently to encompass him. With all that he had gone through the former year, all he had seen lately (and his chest still ached, from heartache’s loss or a wolf’s claws he figured it was both). After the briefest look to his mother and Lynn, he nods, eyes still pulled back to his father.* Yes. That sounds fair. *Of course he couldn’t say it was entirely possibly, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t had bodyguards before (well, Lynn did like to shake them off even when she was six).* 

 **Lynn:** *It struck her abruptly that if her father had said that and it had been Nick, she’d have said much the same, an eruption of anger blossoming in her pink throat. She touched her sapphire necklace to comfort herself.* ...Yes. Reluctantly. It does. I, *and she lifts her finger to her father, winking,* pinky-swear.

*Torn between pride and tears, she forgot to even be irritated at the idea of body guards, stealing up to press a quick kiss to Devin’s cheek, simultaneously with their mother (an old game of their’s that made him cry foul and push him away. Usually. Now he just laughed -- once, a tinier sound than she remembered, and she looked to her Dad, squeezing his shoulder too.* Hey, look at it this way; finally got me to go to one of these things. 

 **Jana:** *She snaps her fingers, playfully and abruptly, also standing with the four of them, only she slides her arm around her husband’s waist and squeezes. Doing more had occurred to her, but well; public children and all.* Does that mean -I- have to go?

 **Lynn:** *Smirk, immediate,* If I have to go, yes.

 **Devin:** *While his mother and sister went back and forth, he only looked at his father. If he was capable of forgetting why he wanted to go, if he was capable of forgetting Nadia for more than three seconds, he still knew...well there still was a tiny smile on his lips just in the simple excitement of going. Calmly, he added,* Yeah, but Lynn I’d have hoped for better circumstances. 

 **Lynn** : *quick,* Obviously, brother dearest. 

 **Jana:** *She nods, and then looks over to Shane, leaning in to kiss him once- a quick peck before she reminded him in a soft hiss over his lips she’d thank him for this later. Her next words were brisker,* You know this dinner -will- get cold--so, make the calls please?

 **Devin:** *Immediately spinning towards the table again, he tries not to let on how relieved he is to sit down again; the muscles aching as adrenaline quieted. There had to be a potion for this he could take for tomorrow.* Which body-guard though? 

 **Lynn:** Well, I assume Riley... *adding quickly,* And why -do- you know Hans name? *She never did forget promises of deals after all.*


	26. Warpaint and Stilettos

The Winter Gala was tonight and Harper managed to extend the time of his spell to twelve hours. He had to sacrifice some capacity for what could be safely stored, but he knew what information he could leave out of the mental ward without it arising suspicion. He had explained it to Nadia as well, and she agreed. Her thoughts on the Gala were now safe in her mind.

Nadia was ready, as ready as she would ever be he realized. She had been a cowering girl trapped in a dark cell when he first met her, and now here she was, prepared to execute a rescue plan she had basically come up with herself. He’d provided the information she requested, the spells to help her, but without a person willing and able to carry it out, it would not be possible. And she was more than willing.

He had overhead the majority of Gustav’s intimidation. Harper had to restrain himself from walking in, knowing it would be worse for Nadia and himself if he were to do so, but it had been extremely difficult. He half expected to have to calm her down, fully expected more tears, but he was wrong on both accounts. She’d not shed a single tear since the moment she had said she was tired of crying. Harper was not easily impressed, but he couldn’t deny that he was certainly impressed by Nadia Tudor. And more than that, he felt like he could trust her. He no longer felt like he had to hide from her his intentions.

“Nadia,” he began as she kept practicing spells, finding absolute delight in ones that came naturally, that she’d already known before and could perform the moment she said the incantation. She called it “filling up her arsenal.”

“Hmm?” She raised her head from the ‘Offensive and Defensive Spells Volume 2’ book. Nadia hadn’t slept a wink in preparation, and had devoured through the first volume the previous night. Harper noted that she stayed away from any that were lethal or too horrifying.

Harper sat on the edge of the bed. “There’s something else I have to ask of you.” Something that previously he wouldn’t even had bothering asking her opinion about.

“Name it,” she replied immediately, closing the book and setting it aside.

“I have more information for you to share once you’re out. Mainly? Location.”

Harper saw understanding cross her face at once. She had not expected him to know exactly where they were, but he did. The country was easy to discern the moment he was out but everything else had taken a longer time: the region, the city, the exact point, had taken time.

“What is it?” she asked quietly after scooting closer to him. Her hazel eyes, more green than brown at that moment, were wide with expectation.

Harper shook his head. “I can’t tell you. If Gustav spots it in your mind, we’re both dead.” She didn’t flinch at that anymore, and rather than relieving him it just made him sad.

“Instead, I’m going to hide it- differently than I hid the others. These will be in your subconscious, and you’ll learn them as certain words are spoken.”

“Which words?”

He smiles, “I can’t tell you that either.” Harper could tell she was frustrated but she didn’t question it. She knew it was too important to waste time.

“But, Harper, that could take years for someone to say the right words.”

He knew very well, the time it would take for the information to be fully extracted was impossible to discern, but he had faith. “Hopefully, not. What I’m hoping for is that someone will recognize the symptoms of your memory loss, recognize it as my work and…figure it out.” Nadia pursed her lips as she nodded, so Harper sighed and added, “I’m hoping my son will figure it out, Alcott. He’s a friend of yours…he should be able to, if he’s read my research.”

He was grateful, even as he watched smidgens of doubt cross her expression, that Nadia did not voice them out loud, for he was already thinking them. What if he doesn’t notice, or say the right words, or correctly guesses the meaning of each clue. It had to be a clue because he knew that Gustav wasn’t going to leave Nadia alone after handing her over, well rather, he would keep an eye on her.

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll think up something else,” he nodded, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary because he had run out of ideas. And the thought of waiting another near decade for another opportunity left him with a pit of hopelessness he couldn’t dream of crawling out of.

“It’ll work,” Nadia assured him, leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “If Alcott’s a quarter as smart as you are, he’ll figure it out.” Harper smiled before raising his gaze to meet hers. Always hopeful, always positive; Nadia was quite the person.

“I was supposed to have a daughter,” he found himself saying before he thought about it, his throat closing up almost immediately after he started. Harper swallowed and continued, knowing that he couldn’t just stop speaking now. “But Lyndsi, she had a miscarriage a few months before I was taken.” He remembered too well that day, the sorrow and the mourning over a little girl that was supposed to be theirs but no longer. Another person Gustav had taken from him. He also remembered thinking that was the worst day of his life. He wish now he had been right.

Another squeeze on his shoulder reminded him to keep talking. “If my daughter had survived, I think she would have been like you. Strong, determined, compassionate, stubborn.” He smiled as she did, before he added in a tease “But also more of a sarcastic smart-ass. It’s a Brackner thing.”

Harper laughed under his breath as Nadia giggled and crawled even further to pull him into a brief hug. It felt natural now, though he would always find himself wishing for a different pair of slender arms, pale not tan belonging to his wife, or the muscular ones of his son. Sometimes, he swore, Al looked more Max’s than his. It was those Spanish genes that had completely bypassed Harper; he had looked so awkward at 15.

“I’ll come back for you, Harper.” For a moment Harper forgot who he was talking to. For a moment he was transported to a dirty prison cell, and the person who was saying the words wasn’t a teenage girl, but rather a woman no older than he, with hair as red as the blood she’d spill from him.

“Stay alive,” she had told him before cupping his face with hands so soft despite how hard they struck and placing a kiss on his brow. “One day, I’ll come back and wipe my ledger clean.” Harper had never seen Laura again.

Now there was another female promising him the exact same thing. “We’re going to get you out of here, and get you back home to your family. Mira te lo juro” she kissed two fingers and held them up, and Harper smiled as he recognized the Spanish gesture. Look, I swear it, she had said and continued, “if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It won’t be,” he promised her. She still had a lot of her life to live. He nodded before he smiled and took out his wand. “Now I’m sorry but I have to make you forget I told you about the hidden memories in the first place.” He knew Nadia wasn’t going to be happy about it, but she agreed. The moment he was about to utter the incantation however, there was a knock on the door. With a snap of his fingers, Harper had the spell book hidden on his shelf and Nadia hid her wand in a drawer of the bedside table.

If it was a werewolf, there was no way of covering up the rapid heartbeats but years of acting could pass that off as cowardice, to everyone except, annoyingly, Hans. The man was cleverer than the usual drivel, but he was also still in England, and would be until after the Gala.

Standing, he opened the door and stiffened to find Gustav and the same minion who had fetched Nadia the day before outside. A second later they were inside, having walked past Harper as if he were nothing more than a fly in their path. Harper bit back a sarcastic “won’t you please come in?” knowing that the comment wouldn’t be something that his alter ego Angel would utter, and Gustav would have no problem punishing him in front of Nadia, and Harper would not put Nadia through that. Particularly because he knew now the girl would not just sit and take it, and he didn’t want to give them any reason to further mistreat her. Harper closed the door after them and stepped forward,

Nadia stood as she saw them walk in. She scoffed when Julio offered her a smirk and wink as greeting, and for a brief moment, Harper felt rather proud until Gustav started talking.

“It’s almost show time, Nadia.”

“Show time?” Nadia asked, her brows furrowing. Good girl, Harper thought. 

Feigning ignorance was the easiest way out of this; Gustav expected her to be stupid and had no doubt written her off completely.

“I know D’Grey’s told you what we intend to do with you, and now the time has come. I do hope you like ball gowns.”

“I know I do,” Julio commented easily enough though Harper knew exactly the image he was thinking of. The boy, for he was a boy 18 years younger than him, didn’t care to mute his thoughts.

One more thing Angel."

Gustav turned away from Nadia’s glare to stare at Harper, a happy smirk on his face. A genuine happiness that nearly chilled Harper’s blood. He knew that look very well, and now fear was drawing near, for he knew what came after it. 

“Erase yourself from her memories.”

Nadia’s startled gasp was the only sound in the room for several long seconds. After that, it was she again who broke the silence. Shaking her head, she stepped forward, looking as frightened and lost as she had been the first day Harper saw her. “No, please, no! Don’t, I beg-“

“Beg?!” Gustav was even more pleased and turned back to her, stepping forward. To Nadia’s credit, she didn’t flinch or move away as he got closer and closer. Julio did though, his fingers clenched for a moment, in a gesture Harper wondered if he’d imagine.

“You don’t know much about begging, girl. You’re supposed to get on your knees. Know all about that yet?” He smirked, and now it was Harper who was clenching his fingers into fists. “Well,” Gustav began again as Nadia offered no response, “you’ll learn soon enough. You can even start practicing now. Get on your knees, go ahead, beg and I might let you keep your precious memories of this pathetic, broken man.”

Harper swallowed on a dry throat, 89 hexes crossed his mind, all which would end with Gustav’s long deserved demise. It was torture to have to keep quiet.

Nadia took a half step back and looked down, but only to spit on his shoes. Harper restrained a smirk, and pretended that Julio’s idly hidden laugh was his own. “Fuck you,” was Nadia’s verbal response. It was an odd thing, to be both fearful and proud, but he was. And it wasn’t without reason. Gustav’s hand flew and struck her, making her spin and hit the floor. Before he had time to think, Harper was moving forward. If Julio hadn’t been there, Harper was confident he would have killed Gustav and taken Nadia and left for England right then. Days from now he would regret not having done so. Instead, Julio grabbed his collar and kept him back, hissing.

“Easy, bicho. Antes de que se de cuenta que te importa tanto,” Julio whispered in his ear. That made Harper pause, genuinely stop. The bastard was right. If Gustav realized how much it affected Harper to see Nadia hurt, the man wild only keep doing it. Harper forced himself to relax as Julio let him go and Nadia stood up from the floor. Her eyes were wet, but stubborn tears refused to fall from her eyes.

“One day I might take you up on that offer, little cunt.” Gustav turned to him again, and Harper knew the hate would never fully leave his eyes. “Make sure that memory stays in her mind.”

Swallowing a dry throat, he looked away immediately and stepped past him and towards Nadia. Her cheek was blazing red, adding bruises to an already bruised face. He focused on her eyes instead; they were now a color as dark as knew his own would be. With a non-verbal spell, he triggered the tactile message as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Every memory will return. Trust me.” That was his simple message. Nadia didn’t flinch as the message intruded, merely looked up from his hand back to his eyes.

“Goodbye,” she whispered to him before a whispered spell had her asleep. Catching her easily enough, he put her on the bed gently before taking out his wand and doing the work. The information she had on the Death Eaters, the Gala, and her plan was safely stored where no one could touch, for another 11 hours. But she wouldn’t know where it came from.

He stated erasing the most recent, the information he had just provided about his own plan and quickly set about erasing himself from her memories. She would not remember anyone but Allison rescuing her from the Death Eater, would not remember who had closed her wounds, and bandaged her burns; she wouldn’t remember who had given her the new wand, would not remember sharing strawberries or stories or the occasional joke. He wiped himself away from her existence.

Then he implanted the clues in the same process, adding those memories in to be revealed when the veils of his spell would be pulled apart by his son. He believed in them, in both of them. Find me, he thought as he swallowed a dry throat and exhaled through his nose when he finished. At this point, that tiny mental plead was for anyone. But he knew who he wanted it to be, his family.

The moment Harper turned around, Gustav was right there, smiling, closer than Harper expected. “Did you really think you could be a father again, Angel?” Gustav kept smirking. “Think I could have let someone love you again?” He tutted, wagging his finger in front of Harper’s nose and shaking his head as well.

“Oh no, no, only people are awarded those privileges. You, you’re a corpse, a dead man. You don’t exist outside of this world.” He gestured to Nadia. “You don’t exist to her, or to anyone else. Remember that.” He patted Harper’s shoulder condescendingly and Harper thought to himself how easy it would be the break his wrist. He didn’t need to have super human strength to do that.

“Carry her out of here, Julio,” Gustav ordered.

“Don’t touch he-“

“I’ll take her to my room.”

Everyone turned around to see who had come in from a door they had all thought empty. Allison Vega stood there, wearing jeans and a tank, her eyebrows raised. She was looking at Gustav now after sparing a glance at Julio to have him back away. “I don’t want another Rhys mess on our hands.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Julio replied and Harper restrained a disbelieving scoff.

“But who’s gonna keep her safe from you?” Allison still didn’t look away from Gustav eve though the leader had spared a moment to stare at the unconscious Nadia. “Besides, someone has to get her ready for this Gala.”

Harper didn’t think this was possible, but he found herself rooting for Allison to win. At that moment, Allison and Harper were on the same side, and he would take full advantage of it. It took several long minutes of silence before Gustav relented.

“Fine, make sure she’s ready to leave by our 8.” The pair of the men walked past Allison and out of the room before Harper could breathe right again. He turned away, and passed a hand over his face, recatching his breath.

“Hey,” Allison started, placing a hand on his biceps. “Are you alright-“

“I’m fine,” he replied immediately, nodding, and turning back. Allison just nodded at him and took her hand back and jammed it in her pocket. “Just erased her from my memories.”

“More memory spells?” Allison asked with raised eyebrows. “She’s going to have permanent brain damage if you keep that up.”

“She’ll be fine,” he ended up whispering, more for his own benefit than anything else. Moment gone, he turned and struggled to find the next words to say. What was there to say in this situation? Actually, he knew what, but first he would ask a question.

“Why did you offer to take her to your room?”

That wasn’t difficult for Allison to answer; she had a reply for him almost immediately. “Because the next man who tries to touch her is dinner.”

Harper snorted and then laughed under his breath. The nature of the response didn’t surprise but the reason why she wanted to protect Nadia did. He was curious, but curious enough to ask right then.

Allison went to the bed and scooped Nadia up into her arms with far more ease than he had. Remembering something, he waited until Allison was near the door before he bid her still with a simple “wait.”

Harper walked into the bathroom and grabbed her leather jacket, the blue knife given to her by D’Grey and with an uttered spell her wand was in the jacket as well. Her knew to Nadia, it was the most precious thing she carried in this place. And now it would serve as safe have for her two most important items as well, for no one but Nadia would be able to pull out the items, he made sure of it.

Walking out of the bathroom to the incessant shouts of that accursed mirror, he draped the leather jacket over Nadia before looking up at Allison. “Have fun tonight,” he added dryly.

She scoffed and then shook her head before licking her lips and saying lightly. “Angel…I’ll look after her.”

That surprised him. He looked up at her brown eyes, finding them unusually soft and earnest. “Why?” He found himself asking quietly.

Allison tore her gaze away and shook her head. Harper realized that she was either embarrassed or ashamed to say. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“Thank you anyways.”

With a nod and a small smile, Allison was gone and so was Nadia.

Harper sat back on his bed, in the silence of his room. It was hours before the Gala, and then a game of waiting would commence. More waiting.

He laid on the bed, a twin sized bed, supposedly big enough for only one. Harper’s memory attested to the fact that despite their enormous bed, Lyndsi and him had never taken more than the space this present bed allowed. Whenever he did get to bed that was. His wife’s words rang in his ear. I do so hate sleeping alone.

“Me too baby,” he whispered, bringing his ring up to place a brief kiss to it. “Me too.”

&.

**Nick:** *He grins wide, tracing idle shapes with his fingers against the bare skin of Lynn's shoulder, connecting the freckles on her skin with imaginary lines and curves.* He did not say that. No, nope, I don't believe you. Pics or it didn't happen.

 **Lynn:** He did! *Were it not for the fact Nick's arms were so warm, she'd have spun, tossing hair already tossed, insisting until dizzy. But seriously, laying in his bed was like being in a land of milk and honey; she was the honey, of course. And the world was still spinning anyway.* Came right out, told Dad he'd have to throw a wolf at him to stop him. I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't standing right there either.

 **Nick:** *He chuckled, the hot breath caressing the back of her neck as he took in these breaking news.* Are you sure you're not just *adopts a fake British accent while he teases* taking the mickey out of me?

 **Lynn:** Oh-*Now she did turn her head, but only an inch, puffing a scarlet strand out of her mouth as she exclaimed, mid-chuckle,* ohhh listen to you, darling. *Her accent was heavy, touted on purpose.* I think it's you making fun of me, wicked boy. *He was hazy above her from this angle, but lifting her head was far too much effort.* I was proud of him, of course...but. *Breath quiets as she sees the look in his eyes. Smile softening, she finished tenderly,* It made me think...well, how I'd be if it was you missing.

 **Nick:** Wicked boy, mmh, I like that. *He grinned at her, moving a lock of her hair back behind her ear so he could look on her better. His grin softened at her next words, a small smile replacing them before he leaned to kiss her once.* Me too baby...actually, Devin's rather tame for how I'd be.

 **Lynn:** Do you? Is it--*He swallows the half question with a gentle kiss, calming rather than stirring. Pressing her lips in equal consoling, she murmurs teasingly,* "pretty raw"? *Of course hard as she tried, she couldn't mimic his accent. Must be because he was the one from LA.* Well, that's Dev. If he's this angry aloud...God I can't imagine what he's going through inside, this is torturous. But yes, he's tame to how I'd be, Lord knows, a flamethrower would most likely be involved. 

*Her heart shivered. He'd moved a strand of hair away, and now she nods, her head pressing against the soft base of his neck and nose burrowing deeper in his sheets; a single nod of agreement. Her eyes never leave his.* Have I mentioned how much I love how free you are? *Licking her bottom lip in a quick flick to steady herself, she says,* I mean...with your words, unafraid to be precisely who you are; as much as I like how free you are with -my- body. *She winks, toying and teasing,* Touching me, holding, caresses soft to worship me -- I assume anyway, well and to excite you obviously-- or even fix my hair -- just as well really, I suppose I am just your bodies other half. *Her brows wiggle, even as one is wrinkling against the sheet below it.* But i -love- how free you are with your affection in both ways though -- always so compassionate and caring, willing to see the other sides of stories...*Sienna most recently, (although Lynn was still thrown by that girl), and she chuckles realizing how she had rambled (typical of her).* I suppose I just love you. 

 **Nick** : You're getting better at that baby. *he teases before he presses another kiss, this time to her shoulder. He nods, only imagining how Devin must be feeling before he chuckles again* Luckily your mother has one already at disposal. *He smiles and then watches her with soft eyes, the shape of her mouth, the curve of her lips, the flick of her pink tongue through her teeth.* Of course I worship it, and you, every day. Every day I wonder when you're going to come to your senses. *it was only half a tease.* I love you too...I don't know what I'd do without you Lynn Rivers.

 **Lynn:** *Mming, as her skin warms to his lips and (she imagines) a red flush rises in her skin to where his mouth marks her. She chuckles,* Indeed, my mother is one to be prepared for any occasion that might arise,* while lifting their one set of tangled hands. They slide through the tangled, haphazard sheets as she's too lazy to lift her arm, until she's squeezed in tighter in the embrace like a child clutches a stuffed animal with her own action and clasps their tangled fingers tighter. Then she brings his palm to her lips, a tiny smirk of pleasure fluttering across her mouth as he agreed.* Oh, I won't. *Glancing back up, her words were playful but her gaze sincere.* Never, nope, not once, I like being insane too much. It is much more fun, and you have that whole out in case I ever had to plead guilty in a court and get off -- besides, you know you love it. *She kisses their hands again, nuzzling close in the crook of his neck as she does.* Or I you. *It was soft, and the depth of her truth causes her heart to flutter. She continues a bit lighter, but no less sincere,* You don't ever have to find out. *Quietly,* Stuck with me, sweetheart. Guess you'll even have my accent with you in Stanford. *Then she laughs once under her breath, tangling herself with him again and shaking her head in the sheets.* Though hey, apparently if I go to Oxford instead I have a free car waiting for me. Dad is negotiating. 

 **Nick:** The gods are good then. *He teased as she asserted she would not come to her senses anytime soon. He smiles again as she kissed their joined hands and then nodded immediately.* You mean your passion that is frequently mistaken for insanity? Oh, wholeheartedly. *He kissed her forehead now, tucking in closer to her and grinning at the thought of them in LA, Stanford, together.* You should hold out for your own apartment, I think he'd willingly give it to you, though it would have security all over the place I think. At least in California he couldn't have aurors following you around campus. *...Could he? Well, this was Lynn's father they were talking about. His smile softened before he exhaled, biting his lower lip that was still swollen* I'd do anything for you, you know. I think that came pretty early on for me...kind of scary to realize that too. *he chuckled* It was random, I think I might have been...playing with Henry early over the summer when I realized it. I called you like two minutes after when I told you I just wanted to hear your voice. *he smiles* And then of course, Henry thinks I actually share you with him so I had to put you on speaker to stop him from crying but.

 **Lynn:** Mmm nope, that's just me. *She says it instantly, teasing as fairly she didn't know what God she even believed in, but her light-hearted tease just softens as he leans forward over her, to kiss her forehead, press against it and pulls them deeper together again more comfortable (And amazingly actually on the pillow this time.) He was covering her like a warm blanket or one of those Snuggie things.* I like that distinction. Passion -- yes, mhm, yes that works. *She lifts her free hand gently now he's turned them over; the pad of her fingertip jumps to his lips as he bites it, soothing in a gentle sideswipe. Smile bright and honest, eyes wide with adoration,* I think I remember that actually. He was singing the alphabet backwards and we were wondering why Jesse was teaching him to avoid DUIs. *She tilts her head into his hand as she feels his fingers grace a few loose hair strands, wondering how even when tangled this tightly together she still felt too far.* I'd do anything for you too, Nick. And ... everything has been scary about us for me--I mean, God, I can face down asshole purebloods any day but--in heels!-- but...opening up is...terrifying. And yet you made it so easy...I honestly, God, with everything the last three weeks..I meant it. When I said to my parents that the only reason I was upright was you. You actually literally held me up right for that matter. *She presses a kiss to his throat.* And anything you need. Anything at all. Just ask. 

 **Nick:** *He smiles with the memory, nodding his head.* That's right- Jesse still blames you for being the catalyst in his starting to talk by the way. Now he says he doesn't shut up. *It was mostly an incoherent babble though, except for whenever he was reciting the alphabet backwards that was, or trying to. Kristen said it was because he watched too much educational t.v., but Nick knew the real reason, the evil genius: to impress Lynn, the little suck-up. He chuckled again as he continued listening, knowing that very well about her, a hum of enjoyment reverberated through his chest and throat as her lips found his neck at the end of it, his smile lazy.* I will. But I suspect I won't need to ask...you didn't. And I just...knew. *he nodded and then grinned* I have to say, if there's one thing I'm looking forward to about this Gala, is you doing some of that pureblood asshole kicking in gorgeous heels you mentioned. It's been too long since you'v given me a proper show- well *he relented with a brief smirk, wiggling his eyebrows* on that specific front.

 **Lynn:** *With a tiny smirk, she turned the tip of her finger to her own lips, patting a second in thought.* Well, it does sound like me. *Relaxing comfortably in that quiet repose in his warmth, she shivers in pleasure. Her ear lays on him as he hmms, hearing his heartbeat steadily. She adds,* And ah, my father's going to put Aurors on me anywhere we go and end up from now on I think. *She softens at his assertion, and nods absently. It astonishes her, that thought, though she realizes: of course it was true. It shouldn't have been amazing, not needing to ask; she knew her parents didn't.* You did. Frankly? You know me a lot better than -I- know me. *Mostly because getting inside her own head was a bit terrifying at times. To put it in that famous British understatement. Suddenly chuckling, still toying with her bottom lip as her gaze darts up to watch his wiggling brows she protests,* Well, I was going to say -- I thought I put a good show on last nightt...*she hums,* I know I enjoyed yours. *Winks,* ...but really just, wait until you see this dress. Make sure my father's not near you, basically, apparently I'm in danger of being locked in a tower.

 

&.

 

Sienna met Devin in a fierce hug as he appeared at the door and she could tell it shocked him.

“Sienna!” He laughs in her ear, relaxing in the embrace after a few tense seconds. “I’m fine, honestly.” 

By the light remark, she knew he was anything but. She also knew he knew why she had hurried into his arms, why she was rubbing tears off cheeks free of paint. What she didn’t understand was why he’d relaxed at all. How was it possible that he didn’t hate her? Her gaze must have asked that for her, for when she pulled back, he had that compassionate look of understanding something only his text-book psychology might have told him. 

“Sienna, it’s all right.” He assures her, awkward as he brushes a tear from her cheek and squeezes her shoulder. Yet his words, for all the hesitance of manner, were steady and certain, “I swear, I don’t blame you.”

“I blame me.”  Sienna asserts, her voice stubborn as his. “I shouldn’t have --,” 

“Victoria’s your friend.” Hearing the name drop from Devin’s lips made her pause, realizing the bile he swallowed behind them. It was mirrored in her own throat. 

“Whatever happened, I’m sure she played on that. You are not to blame.” 

“She _was_ , my friend.” 

She shakes her head, the hair she’d captured in a pony-tail whisking hard back and forth, whipping Devin’s cheek. He mutters ‘ow’ playful, (and she whacks him again after he brushes the apology from her). He pretends to rub away a bruise on a face gaunt, beneath eyes haunted. He looked like he’d slept for years and never enough. Sienna could relate. 

“And you’d think someone who’d known me since I was eight would have known she didn’t want to play with me.” 

Devin laughs, but it’s clear he’s unamused. 

As he squeezes her shoulder, he says simply, bitter, “You’d think.” He releases her shoulder, and then sits down, tugging her beside him. That shocked her. For one who had just recently gotten from a coma, he shouldn’t have had such strength. His skin was hot, his eyes clear with purpose...and she knew traced with love. Her heart ached, a pang of sympathy for him, knowing how he missed Nadia. She wanted to help. She wanted to do anything and everything for him, after all the hurt she’d accidentally (she was sure of it), caused. Luckily, Devin gave her a way to do that. 

“Tell me everything.” His eyes held her gaze with a fierceness she thought inspired by the Gods, a fierceness that told her she shouldn’t worry: he would rival Zeus’ thunder when he had his hands on the man who had taken Nadia from him.

Sienna cracks a small smile, “Well...one thing was...kind of gross.” 

 

&.

 

 **Sam:** What’s -*startles as a flask drops into his lap. It’s uncapped, so it splashes his front with turgid dark green as he leaps to his feet. It makes him want to vomit.

 **Devin:** Oh, wait. *He pauses, holding himself up and chuckles unconvincingly. Yanking behind his ear without a wince, his eyes are narrow when he holds the strands plucked out to his cousin.* You need this too, don’t you?

 **Sam:** Devin! *An unconvincing pleased smile forced it’s way across his lips.* So good to see you awa—

 **Devin:** Oh, save it. *The false-bright smile on his lips flickers with disgust, hatred glinting in his eyes.* 

 **Sam:** *Fine, that worked better for him. The fact that Devin had woken up before he’d wanted him too was only mollified by the fact that Sam knew what awaited them that night at the gala. He already had his suit picked out; custom print, a gift from Eliza the previous Christmas.* What -

 **Devin:** *Flicking his fingers, to litter the ground and Sam’s fine leather shoes with the few strands of his hair, he shakes his head.* For Poly-juice. Though — oh, so sorry dear cousin, it seems you spilled some.

 **Sam:** *Ugh, he thought he’d recognized that horrid stench. Splattering the ground with a snap of his fingers, he keeps his voice passably pleasant.* I’m afraid I don’t understand.

 **Devin:** Well, see. *He laughs with anything but delight, eyes widening with incredulity that fails to mask disgust. A hand lays on his heart,* Sienna told me everything.

 **Sam:** *His eyes dart up to his cousins, dark.*

 **Devin:** *Undeterred by the glare, if anything he admits to himself, he’s invigorated by it.* Every disgusting little detail. Sorry, I’m not bringing you a lock of Eliza’s hair but - you probably have one saved don’t you? Seems the kind of thing stalkers and creeps do.

 **Sam:** *His jaw clenches, teeth gnashing.* Whatever you think you’re-

 **Devin:** Oh, did she hear wrong? Well actually, it wasn’t her, it was Eliza who overheard —

 **Sam:** *His eyebrow skyrockets, though a thin smile appears on twisted lips as he hisses,* Yet you accuse me of stalking?

 **Devin:** Oh, you don’t want to look pleased. Trust me. *He remarks lightly, despite the twist in his gut with returning nausea.* She was just fetching something from Al’s locker; you’re lucky she didn’t want to interrupt him and Hols’ moment, or that shower would have … well, a decidedly less “happy-ending” for you. If Al had heard your voice, moaning her name? I don’t think you’d ever have kids. And oh what a shame to the world that would be.

 **Sam:** *Affronted even as color disappears from his face, and his chest puffs out,* You litt—

 **Devin** : Me, see, *he gestures to the potion,* I’m different — Al and I are always disagreeing over it, actually, the -best- approach to put a dirty fucking bastard like you down. I think you should have to wallow in your own loserdom, be pushed into the front row, given a hat. *His eyes narrow, even as his voice is bright.* Besides, you weren’t the only one in that shower calling the wrong name, right? Victoria was calling mine? So, there you go. *He gestures at the potion, clapping his hands together.* 

 **Sam:** *His hand is curling into a fist, and even as he tries to tell himself to calm down, to recollect - it launches.*

 **Devin:** *Catching the fist with ease and turning abruptly, he hisses as he swivels Sam around, jamming his arm up under his throat and shoving him against the wall.* And after I was being so obliging, too. *He hisses it, tempted to shove his face into the stone again, smack him hard enough against it he saw stars.* 

 **Sam:** Oh, very obliging. *The world was being cut off from him as he loses breath, and he just smirks, small.* I wager not as obliging as Nadia’s being —

 **Devin:** *Shoving him forward again, he hears the distinctive ‘crack’ of his cousin’s nose breaking. It’s satisfying, but nothing quells the rising fear that chokes him, a flame he wouldn’t quench until his arms were around Nadia and he never had to see this bastard again.*

 **Sam:** *gleeful* Granted, *his head spins, tongue heavy as it lolls in his mouth,* Nadia couldn’t oblige you. Not unless you forced her.

 **Devin:** What the fuck are yo-

 **Sam:** People don’t fuck strangers, is what I’m getting at. *It’s half cut off, for his mouth is swallowing blood and snot, that he spits at the floor.*

 **Devin:** If you don’t tell me where she is. *His breath is hot against his ear, the desire to silence the boy having taken over any good-will he’d felt.* I have no problem breaking every bone.

 **Sam:** *He starts to laugh, a mad sound muffled by the dirty wall half in his mouth.* Oh, go on then dear cousin, get your kicks — we’ll see who’s laughing in the end.

 **Devin:** *He cuts him off by choking him, then shuts his eyes and counts to ten. Breathing out heavily,* I put you in the hospital once Sam, and I know you just did the same to me. You want this to end here. Now. You want this fucking war between us to be bygones.

 **Sam:** If I was the one poisoning you. *He coughs, trying to wrest himself free, breathing harshly,* you wouldn’t have woken up.

 **Devin:** *With his own, high laugh.* Well, you didn’t count on my sister did you?

 **Sam:** I confess, I didn’t know Lynn knew how to do something not on her back -

 **Devin:** *Slamming him against the wall, he only realizes after the fact that he’d done it. His eyes shut again and he lets his cousin go, let’s him fall to the floor. Breathing out heavily after he counts to ten, he points down at him, barely resisting the urge to kick.* You know what I can’t fathom anymore, is why I ever looked up to you. 

 **Sam:** *Dazed, blood dripping into his mouth as he laughs still, madly, it’s the only answer he’ll give him for now.*

 **Devin:** *He narrows his eyes and crouches down, bending over his knee to snarl,* You’re too much of an idiot to realize what I’m trying to offer, aren’t you? Tell me where Nadia is, and if she’s unharmed, I’m willing to forget you tried to kill me. I’ll drop that charge. Otherwi—*His wand comes up.*

 **Professor McGonagall:** Mr. Stuart! *The sharp tone makes him pause, and groan.* What are you doing?!

 **Devin:** Just helping my dear cousin up, professor. *The fist he’d meant to meet Sam’s face unclenches a finger at a time, hand extended to the man’s eyes. His cousin spits on it, but under the eagle-eye of McGonagall obliges the lie. He helps him up, and squeezes tightly, pulling him forward as if to pat him off. Instead, he hisses in his ear the finishing thought before he’ll walk off,* For your sake, you better hope she’s unharmed. Otherwise, well, *He pats his shoulder in a passable condescending manner of checking he’s all right, that his cousin understands, and adds brightly,* I hear Azkaban is pretty obliging to fucking strangers. 

&.

 **Lynn:** *Leaning back against a Quidditch post, she shrugs a shoulder.* I don't believe you.

 **Alcott:** Imagine my surprise, Lynn.

 **Lynn:** It just seems a bit convenient, don't you think? *with her free hand, sticking her lollipop back in her mouth.*

 **Alcott:** Actually, it's incredibly inconvenient. *rolling his eyes, and catches the Quaffle he'd tossed thirty seconds ago.*

 **Lynn:** _Every_ sense is heightened? Every one? What, do you have like, x-ray vision now? 

 **Alcott:** *He chuckles, eyes darting back down and looking at her with his head tilted.* Lynn, I wouldn't need x-ray vision to see through that blouse.

 **Lynn:** *Tiniest chuckle, then seems surprised at herself and bites down on the lollipop. Dammit. It was a new pop. That wasn't fair.* I like this blouse.

 **Alcott:** *Shrugs a shoulder, throwing the Quaffle back up again,* I bet Nick does too.

 **Lynn:** Devin doesn't. *drily, as if she's surprised by this information.* 

 **Alcott:** *catching the red ball again and then slaps his hand against it, looking at her with narrowed eyes* Lynn, what are you doing here?

 **Lynn:** *Shrugs a shoulder at him,* I came to see if you were willing to put your money where your mouth is. *Looking up the post; all the way up, up, and up.* 

 **Alcott:** Run through your allowance already?

 **Lynn:** I did that in the first week. *amused* 

 **Alcott:** But you bat your eyes at Daddy and --

 **Lynn:** Yes, that's exactly what I do. *pointing at him with the lollipop.* You pegged me. Spot on impression.

 **Alcott:** Seriously, Lynn. *Taking a step forward, rolling his eyes and gesturing her with the Quaffle.* What's going on?

 **Lynn:** *amused as he walks closer* That meant to be threatening? Ooh- I'm scared now, Al.

 **Alcott:** *Snorts and stops walking in front of her, folding his arms on his chest.* Look, Lynn, I have it on good authority you take nine hours longer to prepare for this gala thing tonight than me --

 **Lynn:** Too true. *Still gesturing with the lollipop and giggling,* I should get ready for it.

 **Alcott:** *Turning only an instant, as if to gesture at the castle; in that second, her knee slams square between his legs. Hissing in surprise, choking out a swallowed scream, his hands unclenching and releasing,* Ah-

 **Lynn:** *Spinning as he doubles over, the hand behind her back that was hiding handcuffs already tied to the post, she snaps it over his wrist. Then she pats his back, as he's on his knees.* I stand corrected. Sounds like every sense _is_ heightened. 

 **Alcott: *** Tugging on the hand-cuffs, as he catches his breath and glares up from her, on his knees. Breathing in, and out,* For _fuck'ssak--_

 **Lynn:** Hey, I'm taking your advice, Al. I'm just preparing for tonight. If there's an entire pack of wolves I don't know around - if I run into them, I want to be sure I can subdue them.

 **Alcott:** *Growling under his breath, then looks at the handcuffs.* I'm not surprised you have these --

 **Lynn:** Oh, haha -

 **Alcott:** But Lynn, takes a little more than handcuffs to -- *yanks, and then nearly gets thrown against the post himself. He blinks, as she widens a smirk at him in response.* What the fuck?

 **Lynn:** Magically reinforced, sweetie. *Winks* But keep trying, I need to know if the spell is strong enough. *Starts walking away, still sucking on her lollipop.* 

 **Alcott:** *Yanks, and then calls back,* Lynn! *She keeps walking.* ...You've made your point!! *He only growls, though he's half smirking in delight, incredulous. She salutes him with the lollipop halfway across the field. Then she keeps walking.*

 

&.

 

 **Chace:** Could the slit of that dress go any higher, Hols?

 **Hols** : *Walking down the steps of the girl’s dormitory* It’s as high as it needs to be to both hide my thigh holster and provide me easy access to reach it.

 **Chace:** Thigh holds- nope, I don’t want to know.

 **Hols:** Be thankful you’re male, and you have pockets. *She smiles as she reaches the bottom and then grins* Aww, you look so cute in your tie-

 **Chace:** Don’t. *he rolls his eyes.* You know how much I hate them.

 **Hols:** Hmm, I do know.

 **Chace:** So after tonight, think you might tell me what’s going on?

 **Hols:** After tonight, I expect to be done with this problem. Get Nadia back, catch the bad guys, deliver them to daddy’s hands.

 **Chace:** Hols. *he takes his hands out of his pocket and just shakes his head.* You didn’t even want to let me go.

 **Hols:** Yeah, I don’t why I thought –that- was smart…you can still change your mind, Chace.

 **Chace:** She’s my twin.

 **Hols:** *she exhales and nods* I know-

 **Chace:** You’re not the only one that misses her-

 **Hols:** I know-

 **Chace:** And you clearly know more than you’re telling me. Like why the fuck someone would take her in the first place.

 **Hols:** I told you! Victoria-

Chace: and Sam, yeah. Who hate you for reason number 1 and reason number 2 and et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. *He sticks his hands back in his pocket and then shakes his head.* Look, you’ve always had your secrets, I get it.

 **Hols:** *frowning* Chace.

 **Chace** : You have! Who doesn’t? Obviously, I don’t tell you everything.

 **Hols:** Obviously.

 **Chace:** But when it concerns my twin sister? You don’t fucking get to keep that to yourself.

 **Hols:** *taking a step forward* I didn’t-

 **Chace:** No, oh I know the posse. *eyebrows rise* But let’s get something chronologically straight here- I’m older than your boyfriend. How come he doesn’t get urged to stay behind and I do?

 **Hols:** *Because he’s a werewolf and you’re my little brother? She couldn’t say that out loud, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.*

 **Chace:** So no, I’m not changing my mind. Some strange man comes and tells Eliza that Nadia’s going to be at this stupid charity ball? You better believe I’m fucking going to be there. And you better hope I’m more distracted with keeping her safe because you’re not the only one in this family with a violent streak.

 **Hols:** I remember perfectly well the punch you threw at Devin’s face.

Chace: *he winces, not quite proud of that but shrugs.* Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it.

 **Hols:** On that we agree.

 **Chace:** Good. Also, no, you’re not forgiven.

 **Hols:** I didn’t apologize.

 **Chace:** You should’ve.

 **Hols:** *purses her lips and then groans softly* Chace-

 **Chace:** Don’t *takes a hand out to hold it in front of him and shakes his head* that’s not important right now.

 **Hols:** *raises eyebrow* Did you just shush me?

 **Chace:** *smirks*

 **Hols:** You can’t shush me, little imp, I’m your big sister. I shush you. So shush.

 **Chace:** Hols. *grins* You’re deviating.

 **Hols:** Your fault.

 **Chace** : But I’ll accept the apology and or explanation later.

 **Hols:** I didn’t mean to leave you out…funny enough, Nadia accused me of the same last year.

 **Chace:** *chuckles under his breath* I wonder why.

 **Hols:** So I might have a bit of trouble opening up.

 **Chace:** To people who aren’t Lynn.

 **Hols:** Or daddy…and now Al.

 **Chace:** So much for wishing you’d shag him and get bored.

 **Hols:** *scoff* I don’t know whether to be insulted on my behalf or his.

 **Chace:** I’m your brother, the only one you got, technically. It’s my job to want you single and celibate.

 **Hols:** Keep dreaming.

 **Chace:** *shakes his head* Come on, we don’t want to be late.

 **Hols:** We’re Spanish. *She was half Spanish, but technicalities* It’s expected of us.

 

&.

 

 **Nadia:** *She awoke confused and in pain. Nadia sat up and held her jaw, wincing at how it felt when she remembered why that was. Gustav had smacked her across the face, after she refused to beg in front of him. She couldn’t remember why she was supposed to beg…that frightened her.* Nononono *She began in an almost panic as she held her head again. She had first awoken in this place without memory, and now memory was leaving her again. No, she had to go through every single thing that had happened all over again. Every day in that cell, alone with no one to keep her company until D’Grey came to get her and had left her with one thing: purpose. To find a way to help friends and family she couldn’t remember. And then that day…had that day really only been two days ago? With Rhys and the man she killed…Nadia swallowed. And a woman, Allison she recalled, had saved her. How did she know her name was Allison?

In the middle of that name, there was also more information. The Winter Gala was tonight! Some of the werewolves were going to be in charge of extracting persons of interest in the middle of the chaos. And she had to stop them. She had all the tools, the information, the knowledge…

She just didn’t remember how it had gotten there.

Wiping at her eyes again, she finally tore her eyes away to realize where she was. She had been staying in a room all this time. She didn’t think it was this one but she couldn’t be sure. Frustration started eating at her mind, to realize that yet again her mind was being toyed and played with. She could barely handle this, any of this. But she would. After what she’d gone through, she could handle this tiny piece. In the end, she would get her memories back, she trusted in that.

The room was quite disorganized at the moment and only now did Nadia realize that clothing seemed to be flying out of a closet at a way too fast speed that her eyes took some adjusting to. It was bizarre, that was for sure. Where was she?*

 **Allison:** Nadia! *She called out from inside the closet, trying to find something for her to wear. Not the girl, she already had a dress. Allison wasn’t too sure who had gotten it for her but she was willing to bet it wasn’t Gustav because that man was as fashionable as overalls. Allison walked out to see the girl dazed. She expected it. Angel had told her that he’d erased himself from the girl’s memories. Allison only wondered how confusing that must have been, especially considering since Angel had been the only source of human interaction she had that didn’t include Gustav or Rhys. Allison tried to grit her teeth and then smiled at the girl.* I thought I heard you waking. I’m Allison. Resident bitch.

 **Nadia:** *She offered a small smile and chuckled at the chosen title, shaking her head. Nadia didn’t understand the need to degrade oneself but she wasn’t here for a psychology lesson.” Hi. *She stood up from the bed.* You’re the one who saved me.

 **Allison:** The very same. *she looks around for some of the outfits she had tossed to see if she’d miss anything.* Almost killed Rhys too. Anyways, *she puts a hair behind her ear and says easily.* Sorry about your previous treatment. Does your face hurt too badly?

 **Nadia:** Just a stinging. *she smiled before standing. She was glad to realize that she was as steady as she could be.* Soreness has been pretty constant, I’ve been getting used to it.

 **Allison:** You shouldn’t have to. *She shook her head before clearing her throat and smiling again, pointing to her bathroom.* you should take a bath. A real, bath, not that sorry excuse for a shower Angel had to earn. *She gritted her teeth again and if she’d had anything in her hand it would have probably been snapped in half.* I have bath beads, *she elaborated when she saw the girl was confused* those things you put in the water and it turns it into a moisturizing, relaxing, piece of heaven? You’ll like them. Go ahead, we have plenty of time to get ready for the Gala, and I’ve already washed.

 **Nadia:** *She couldn’t deny that it did sound rather wonderful. She supposed if Allison said it was okay…Nadia nodded with a brighter smile as she started towards the bathroom door.* Thank you, Allison. *The woman was right, it was absolutely delightful. The beads had turned the water a milky white color that felt heavenly against her skin and hair. The entire time she was in there, she had forgotten that any part of her hurt. Nadia couldn’t fully relax though, not with anticipation of what was coming, but she tried. The thrum of her heart was probably a concert to Allison’s ears. After she had finished, she wrapped herself in a towel and walked outside, a bit hesitantly.* Should I-

 **Allison:** Oh, no no, not in your dress yet. *She handed Nadia a bathrobe* It’s probably a bit bigger on you; I don’t think I was ever that small. *It was a tease though. Allison probably had been, but she didn’t like to remember those days too frequently. It was hard not to however, with Nadia right there. Once the girl had the robe on and tied, (it reached for ankles because of how tiny she was), Allison bid her to walk with her to a seat on the bureau.* That’s your dress. *She pointed to it hanging next to the full length mirror.*

 **Nadia** : *As she sat down in the seat, her head swiveled around to regard her dress. It was a strapless lace dress, a pale nude color, with a satin black pattern under the chest that tied off into a bow on the left side. The dress looked like it would hug her right until after her knees before it opened up into a flowey skirt that was partially see through. The dress was gorgeous, but* Why do I feel like I’m being mocked?

 **Allison** : *She pursed her lips, nodding in understanding. The color itself was insensitive enough. Nude. Bitches.* We’ll make the most of it. You have great bone structure, and your shoulders are well defined, you’ll pull the dress off wonderfully.

 **Nadia:** *All that she could think about however, was that if she needed to run, the dress was going to trip her up. If it came to running, she thought after a sigh, she would just have to rip the dress up to her knees or cut slits in it, or something. And she had no idea where she was going to put her knife of her wand.*

 **Allison:** *Nadia’s heartbeat was a hammer against her ribcage, anxiety raking her. It was curious, but not without reason she supposed.* Here, we’ll worry about the dress later. *She sat next to the girl and then pulled out her makeup.* Gustav prohibited any glamours placed on you, to hide your bruises, but we won’t need them. The good thing is that we have almost the same skin complexion, so this won’t be a problem. *She took out a few make up sponges and took out the base, shaking it to move it around. It needed to be a little lighter, so she dropped a dollop on her palette and added some white face lotion to it, mixing until she had the right color after trying it on her hand.* There.

 **Nadia:** *She was positively clueless about make-up, or how much of it there was. Allison didn’t even look like she was wearing any. That was pretty skillful. Nadia watched her put some mixture, it said it was a base, on the sponge and then lean in and start applying it to her face. She thought it was going to be sticky or oily by the looks of it but surprisingly it wasn’t. Nadia closed her eyes and tried not to wince as she covered up ugly bruises. Allison was very gentle; it was ironic given that her first memory of the woman had been of her transformed into an enormous brown wolf.* Do you know much about makeup?

 **Allison:** *She chuckled as she continued to apply the cover-up evenly across her face.* I know about covering up bruises.

 **Nadia:** *She swallowed, curiosity taking a hold of her. Nadia really had very little restraint when it came to these things.* Can I ask why?

 **Allison** : *She paused for a moment, wondering if she should tell the girl. It wasn’t anything that the pack didn’t already know, that Gustav or the rest of the Death Eaters didn’t know or would find surprising. And it didn’t matter anymore; Allison wasn’t a frightened little girl anymore. She wouldn’t be one of those people afraid to relay the past and give it power. It had happened, talking about it wouldn’t do anything.* My father was a disgraced boxer, and he blamed my mother for everything. He hit her, and she would hit us. Sometimes the middle man was cut out and he’d hit us too.

 **Nadia** : *Nadia frowned, sickened by that. How could parents do that to their own children? She swallowed and then continued to prod as long as Allison was sharing. Her eyes were still closed.* Us?

 **Allison:** There were four of us. I had two brothers, one older, one younger and a little sister. *She backed away to let the cover dry quickly and then tilted Nadia’s head gently to add the base on her neck as well. Matching face and neck was essential.* My mother taught me the joys of make-up from an early age. And by the time I was 15, I was doing hers because her hands would shake pretty badly, as well as my own and my little sister’s. It wasn’t that easy for my brothers though. I protected Joshua though, the smallest. He was just 3 when I was 15.

 **Nadia:** *She opened her eyes as she felt Allison back away and tilted her head up so she could apply the make up to her neck as well. Nadia couldn’t help but to notice the past tense in all of this.* Where are they now?

 **Allison:** Dead. *She tilted Nadia’s head back to the front of the mirror to show her how she had managed to them up easily enough.* This base helps bring the swelling down. I haven’t used it in a while because I don’t get hurt hardly ever anymore. And almost no injury lasts that long anyways.

 **Nadia:** *She stared at the mirror with wide eyes but not because the purple and yellow was no longer visible, by the first word. The shock only increased as Allison went on to talk about the make-up as if she didn’t care. Nadia knew better than to assume that though, now. Instead, she asked quietly.* How did they die?

 **Allison:** *She grabbed the other make-up: powder, blush, bronzer, lip colors, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara. Nadia was only 15 years old, less would be more. Well, rather, a more that would make it look like it was less, like it was natural, like she was perfectly fine.* Well, my father used to work for a local mob boss and enforcer. He quit, sick and tired of it I guess, but my father underestimated the ‘living hell’ threat. Years later, when my older brother turned 20 and I was 17, he left the house and went to work for that asshole. He went to work for him to try and bring him down, I later found out. Not even a year later, Raymond comes back in the house and finds me first: he tells me to hide. So I hid, a second before the men came through the door. *She looked away from the make-up now and towards Nadia who was hanging on her every word. Allison continued, as if she were doing nothing more than reading a story off a newspaper.*

I was in an air vent in the wall, hidden in the shadow and I saw everything. The man, the mob boss, had found out about my brother’s intentions so he came to ‘do what he had to do.’ *The voice of the man was as sharp as if he were in the room with them right now.* Gustav would be surprised how ingenious that man and his minions were with their torture. My family’s death was slow. My alcoholic father who shit himself, my mother with Parkinson’s begging for mercy, my handsome older brother trying to get revenge who ended up with a bullet in his brain; my little sister…Allison was her name not mine. She was just 15, and I had to watch her get beaten and raped before they cut her throat. And little Joshua, just 6, skewered by a fire poker and hanging on the wall. Don’t- *she added immediately, picking up her wand flicking it to make the makeup waterproof.* Try not to cry, Nadia. It’s okay.

 **Nadia:** How is it okay? *She asked in a quiet voice, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to clear away the tears and keep herself from spilling anymore. It was just so sad, and so horrifying. To think that Allison had to see that happen in front of her eyes and just keep quiet, keep hiding, or else risk being found out and killed herself.* They’re dead.

 **Allison:** But I’m not. *She used a brush to place the powder on Nadia’s face.* I stayed there until the next day, long after they were gone, because I was so scared of them coming back. By that time that smell, the blood, the corpses…*she shook her head, glad that at that point she wasn’t a werewolf with sensitive smelling. Then again, the smell of blood now wasn’t disgusting at all. It was enticing, and damn enticing.* I buried them all and then I went after that bastard. Took me a bit, but having magic helped. It wasn’t that difficult to get rid of his usual prostitute, to pass myself off as the only woman capable of providing him the pleasure he desired. Killing him was the most satisfying thing I ever did, especially after he called me crazy. I cut out his tongue after that, because if there’s one word I hate… *Nadia’s heart was pattering louder than a drum by now, poor girl. It was not her intention to frighten her. She decided to finish the story, given that she was already that far ahead.* And I killed his entire family. If the children had been there, I might have killed them too, I’ll never know. *She shrugged.* 

We were at their vacation home in the mountains, right near the forest. I guess it was the smell of blood that brought the pack over. And here I was, covered in blood, an easy picking they thought. I think they were a bit disappointed that I hadn’t left any killing for them. We enjoy the hunt, the chase, the living, not the dead. And I was alive, I was so alive. The most alive I had ever felt. Not a single part of me was dry from blood. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had killed that bastard, gotten the revenge Raymond had tried for. Thinking about it, I should have taken a tube up his ass to see how he liked it. *The best ideas always came after it was too late to do anything about it.*

I did the craziest thing, as these wolves started gathering around me. That’s how wolves hunt; they circle you, and trap you before they lunge. *She licked her lips, eyes flashed a gold that had Nadia draw an intake of breath.* I screamed ‘Come on!’ at the top of my lungs, as I laughed. I wanted them to try and kill me, I felt invincible. Stupid, of course, but that’s how I felt. And to my credit, I did manage to hurt a few of them before they pinned me and ravaged me.

 **Nadia:** *She didn’t think she had taken a single breath in the entire time she told the story. Not even as she continued applying more make up to even up her face. Nadia was scared, scared of the way she told of killing all these people. How she rejoiced in taking their lives and being covered in blood. After years of being beaten, after seeing her entire family killed…it was no wonder she snapped. And she was snapped, that much was true.* How did you survive?

 **Allison** : You mean why I wasn’t made dinner that night? *She smiled.* Because of Ansel, he thought I would make a good part of the pack. They had wolfsbane potion, they were clearly capable of self-control if they wished…we just seldom wish. *She shrugged.* Anyways, he thought I had proven myself. I never asked if he had difficulty convincing Hans, because I didn’t want to know. At that point, I didn’t care. I was grateful to be alive. Life tasted so sweet, sweeter than death. It was also Ansel who gave me my new name, a pureblood name that I could use.

 **Nadia** : *That surprised her.* You’re not a pureblood?

 **Allison** : I’m a mutt. *The joke made her laugh, but it didn’t elicit such amusement from Nadia.* The pack doesn’t care; it’s only Gustav and his lackeys that do. But if Gustav had known that, he’d have killed me himself. *She shrugged before grinning.* I’d love to see him try now. Close your eyes. *She was ready to apply the eye make-up after the powder, bronzer, and blush.*

 **Nadia:** *She did just that as she processed the information. What she didn’t understand was how Allison could be happy to part of a group that had almost killed her, and would have killed her had it not been for a single person.* Why did you tell me all of this?

 **Allison:** You know, I don’t really know? *She shrugged, tongue stuck between her teeth as she applied the eye shadow expertly.* Haven’t really thought about it, but why not? You asked. Sorry that I scared you-

 **Nadia:** You didn’t-

 **Allison:** Nadia, don’t. *She smiled and shook her head though the girl couldn’t see her for her eyes were still closed.* I can hear your heartbeat remember? I can smell the adrenaline running through your blood, intoxicating smell. *Nadia tensed which made Allison smile again, brief sadness in your eyes.* I’m not going to hurt you, Nadia. *She picked up the eyeliner instead, making the lines thin and dark brown instead of black. It would work best for the gold and bronze palette she was working on.*

 **Nadia:** *Nadia thought about that, if she believed him. Allison had saved her from Rhys, and it was clearly because Allison detested of torture after what she had gone through. She had gone through a lot. And rather than it being time in a cell underground, it had been nearly her entire life. Nadia was capable of understanding why the woman had snapped, but that did not justify the killing of so many people. She was insane now, her lust for blood, and her enjoyment in hunting down other people…and yet still there was kindness. Kindness towards her.* Why are you helping me, Allison?

 **Allison:** *She had finished with the mascara when Nadia asked her question. Angel had asked her the same thing; why she was helping Nadia. The answer that she had thought with Angel had been different than the one she was thinking of now. Allison knew that Angel cared a lot for the girl, and that was the least she could do for him, after what he had done for their pack. And, and she wanted him to realize she wasn’t the evil bitch he thought she was…or rather, not just that. He was so determined in being angry at all of them; that was no way to live. If he allowed himself to be happy, he could be happy here. He could learn to be happy…* I… *But after telling Nadia that entire story, Allison realized the primary reason why she felt so strongly about protecting the girl. She leaned back and Nadia opened her eyes, her heart finally calm enough. Allison smiled.* You look like her, like Allison.

 **Nadia:** *She swallowed, finding it difficult not to start crying again. She reminded Allison of her little sister, the little sister she had to watch die and could do nothing about. Except embrace revenge and malice into her heart, make that her only reason for living. No, Nadia thought. She could have done many different things, she had chosen evil…but she hadn’t chosen it because it was evil, but rather because she mistook it for happiness…Allison said she was so happy with that blood all over her.*

 **Allison:** *She nodded and then gestured to the mirror for Nadia too look at herself.* What do you think?

 **Nadia:** *And back to the make-up. Her head was dizzy from some many back and forths. The face of the girl staring back at her was perfect. Perfect skin, perfect pink cheeks, not a blemish in sight. Nadia both loved it for the relief it offered, and hated it for the lie that it presented. Nadia was far from perfect.* I look-

 **Allison:** Smoking hot. *She answered with a smirk before she picked up a lip brush and grabbed for her colors.* I absolutely hate lipstick. *She commented as she dabbed a soft and subtle pink color on the tip and motioned for Nadia to turn her head again.* Any good professional make-up artist will tell you the same. The face is a canvas; you should work on it with a brush. *She smiled as she applied the lip color* There. It’s stay on, but it won’t dry out your lips. I’ve perfected it. Now. *she stood and then stepped so she could be behind Nadia.* Let’s see what we can do with your hair. It’s definitely going to be an up do, so you can show off those great shoulders and collar bones. And don’t worry about those bruises either, we’ll get to them soon.

 **Nadia:** *She chuckled, nodding softly and breathing easier now, able to focus on her the Winter Gala again instead of Allison Vega, who as it turned out was neither Allison or Vega. But whoever she was, she was great with a make-up brush. Nadia chanced a look at her dress again. The pale nude color lace dress was still hanging near the full length mirror, just waiting for her. How odd, that this delicate thing would actually turn out to be her battle armor and make-up her war paint; that hours from now, she would be informing her family about Allison and the werewolf pack. And when that time came, not even Nadia’s similarity to Allison’s sister would save her from being devoured by a set of sharp claws and deadly fangs the moment they found out Nadia was the one who had foiled their plan. Nadia felt the odd need to apologize to Allison, but she didn’t. Allison had chosen her side, had chosen what to do with her life and so had Nadia.*

 

&.

 

 **Hols** : *She felt like a fish out of water in this place. And not one of those flying fish, who were technically out of water sometimes too. Everything was just so..fancy, and expensive and shiny. Would she let it show that she was out of her natural habitat in this night? Of course not, she had more important things to worry about. She would walk into the ballroom on Al's arm as if she'd been doing it all her life (and silently grateful that she hadn't been.) At least her dress was fabulous. She leaned in to whisper to Al, even though there was technically no need to* Is throwing parties like this a norm for your mum?

 **Alcott:** All I'm saying - *Massaging a wrist, he was examining faded pink skin that had recently been raw red, and a little less recently, spent half an hour clamped by faux silver cuffs. At least until he yanked the Quidditch Post down.* - is someone is going to explain to the Headmaster why they're down a goal post, and it isn't gonna be me. *All Lynn helpfully (oh so helpfully) said, perched from Nick's lap was "Must remember to reinforce the surface too." 

Adjusting his tie with the same wrist, even while he was talking he was looking at Hols. Or more specifically, her dress, and even more specifically wishing for that x-ray vision Lynn had mentioned, because holy-god-damn. It was wonderful that she was going to be on his arm tonight frankly. There was enough to stress about...and all he had to do was look at her, talk to her, and he knew he was sufficiently entirely distracted. Though his flask was still in his pocket, just in case. 

Clearing his throat, shaking out the sleeves and then offering his arm to Hols, he smiles at the question.* Yep. Pretty standard. I'd say 'is that not normal', but of course I know it isn't, and besides that, she'd probably say something about how "extraordinary," he used the air quotes, one handed,* her parties are. It's the little details that count, that's what makes the difference she says -*chuckling through a smirk,* - once saw her basically reduce a waiter to tears because the candles weren't exactly six inches apart. And then just told him he should have his own handkerchief already but she'd "guess" she'd let him have hers...and five minutes later? Was offering him an extra slice of pie because the candles looked oh-so-wonderful now. 

*He pauses abruptly as he hears himself, and presses his lips together with a guilty smile. Leaning in as well, he tweaks the top of Hols nose, saying lightly,* Luv, how exactly did you get me to talk about my mother again? *It was a bit shocking. Maybe more so that it was _fondly_...but he knew why that was. He knew how wary Hols and Ma were around each other. He wanted them to be comfortable...because he needed them both. Kissing the tip of her nose now in recompense he teases under his breath,* Are you going to use these powers for good or evil, darling?

 **Hols:** *Her strong manly man she had commented before on what Al had to resort to get out of that predicament. Hols, after a shake of her head and a disapproving glance at Lynn for Al's sake had promptly asked her friend for a pair of her own. Taking Al's arm, a hint of a smirk still present, she listened to him talk of his mother. Lyndsea was actually not that bad, now that she wasn't judging Hols with every breath in her lungs. Truthfully, his ramble on her was an accident, but she was more than willing to play the manipulative part. She was glad Al was talking about her easier now, and undeniably a little pleased if she was helping in any way though she wasn't conceited enough to think it was entirely her (a shocker; for she thought herself the ruler of the world sometimes.)* You Brackners and your contradictions. *Yelling at a man to tears and then offering him pie. Or maybe that was just women in general. She grinned as he tweaked her nose, batting his hand away half heartedly.* By opening my mouth. It's that simple. *She teased and smiled genuinely for a moment at the brief kiss and then pretended to think about it.* Tonight? For good, definitely. No promises on others.

 **Alcott:** *Letting her bat away his arm easily with an eye-brow wiggling the reminder he 'let' her do that, his smile softens genuinely a moment.* Hey, contradictions -- I'm just doing what my Gramps says I should. Besides calling him something besides Gramps. I don't know, 'grandfather' is a little bit too formal for me I think, and "Benjamin"? *He chuckles.* Though _Abuelo_ works too I suppose. The point stands. 

*With a wink,* I'm supposed to respect my elder's aren't I? *Adding quickly,* Not that they look a day over thirty obviously. *Well, okay, more like sixty maybe - but considering _he_ now looked mid-twenties with this whole wolf-mutation it was all pretty relative and he wasn't...very good at discerning the difference. What he did think was impressive was his grandfather's resilience; he definitely had the _heart_ of a thirty-year old, if not the precise strength. Smirk flicking with her assertion, he lowers his other hand on top of hers on his arm, squeezing as he teases,* I'm terrified. 

 **Hols:** You're such a dutiful grandson, Al. *She teases after an eye roll that might have, and probably was, a left over from his smug look and eyebrow wiggle at allowing her to move his hand away. Please, she would have gotten her way in the end either way, but she never turned down a playful adversity. Except for right now, when the enemy was in the same place, and had her sister hostage and every intention on making her boyfriend part of a pack.* Oh baby, you have no reason to be scared. *Smirks before she adds seriously.* The same cannot be said for all party attendees.

 **Alcott:** I should get more credit for it, really. *Nodding in pleasant agreement even as his lips curl, he looks over her shoulder one last time at the mirror. And okay, okay maybe he was looking more at his girlfriend's back than anything but - hey, he twitched a strand of hair back himself in case his mother saw too. Just how was he supposed to ignore that gorgeous back anyway? Though it was of course a complete coincidence that left him with such a premiere view in front of the mirror -- ahem. Eyes flicking back and smirk wide, he nods.* Yeah, not going to lie, but any other night -- I'd love to see you go lioness on his ass. *Shrugs a shoulder, now tucking a silken strand of _her_ hair back.* Rain check?

 **Hols** : *Oh for Merlin's sake, did Alcott think that was subtle in the slightest? No, actually, probably not. If there was one thing Al was, it wasn't subtle and that's one of the things she loved about him. And it wasn't that she minded, oh quite the opposite. The dress had been chosen on more than what would allow her the most maneuverability while still looking high class and yet decidedly inappropriate (they were tough criterion to match simultaneously.) When he was done appreciating her, a knowing and smug smirk on her lips, she exhales sufferingly but begrudgingly agreed at his words with a nod.* Fine. No Lion vs Wolf. Because you've asked so nicely. *Because he wanted to talk to Hans and her ripping his throat out with her teeth would complicate matters. She leaned in to kiss him once.*

 **Alcott:** Thank you, luv. *The words were spoken properly to tease; after all, they were currently with the Elite Society (™). He had a light in his eyes as he searched her gaze, letting his eyes shut as he kisses her back, breathing out. For the brief second, he forgot all else, and wished he could just whisk her away for the evening. Then he remembered, and in that instant he was glad his eyes were shut, sure amber-gold flashed across them. As he pulls back, he squeezes her hand again and gestures with a head jerk.* Just for tonight though. Then I'm learning to use that video camera contraption thing.  

 **Hols:** *Oh she needed a lot of strength to get through this night. Even with uncle Shane's edict (that had been passed on to include all Tudor children as well) that there be no 'solo hero missions' (it made them sound like they were in a video game), Hols fully expected to have to handle crises on her own. And if she saw even a split second of Nadia, Merlin help whoever tried to hold her back or whoever Nadia would be standing with. She sighs briefly against his lips and then nods again, opening her eyes again and then smiling at his choice of words. She chuckled.* You sound like my mother. *Still hopeless with muggle technology after all these years. The woman could find the rate of decay of a radioactive isotope but couldn't work a blu-ray.* Let's go. We have people to stun with our combined magnificence.

 

&.

 

 **Irene:** *Dillon had been talking to her about this Charity Gala since their outing two days ago (the same night he had decided to play superhero and save a woman from being mugged) but it wasn't until Eliza told her that Hans told her that Nadia would be there that Irene considered going. Was it a coincidence that Dillon had talked to her about it before? It had to be, because what could he know about the plans of these psychotic assholes? Nothing, that's what.*

Don't you look handsome. *Her compliment wasn't for her boyfriend, but rather his best friend and Eliza's boyfriend, Rory. She had just gotten out of her common room, almost ready to leave for this ball.* Men should always wear suits. When I take over the 

 **Rory:** *The suit was borrowed (and hastily adjusted by Sienna when she inquired in that subtle way of hers what he'd be wearing. Eliza had apologized, of course, so earnestly he ceased waving it off to stare at her fondly. It didn't matter to him what he wore. Truthfully, he was just glad Sienna was making eye contact.

Tugging at the corner of the sleeve to adjust, he chuckles at her first remark, eyes of stark blue perking from his vest to Irene. Brows wiggling at her, his words were teasing and pleasant,* You haven't already? Just why am I in a suit then? *Well, he knew, and that made his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he keeps smiling.* Dillon'll be here soon. He had to take care of something -- *head jerks with a sheepish shrug,* -- probably, to try unsuccessfully to talk Ari out of coming for the thirteenth time.

 **Irene:** Shh, you'll give away my secret. *She grinned, comfortable with avoiding the reason he was in that suit and the reason she was wearing this dress with fabulous red heels. Otherwise they'd all be spending the weekend night in one if the dungeons, getting drunk on her liquor: her, Al, Eliza, Dev, Hols, Lynn, Nick, Rory, Dillon, hell even Sienna (at least Rene would have invited her). Getting drunk didn't have nearly as much hold over her heart as getting her precious Mexican chihuahua princess back. She heard Nadia's voice telling her "for the last time" (it never was) that she wasn't Mexican. Or a dog. And that if she were a dog, she certainly wouldn't be a chihuahua.* Bottle of Hodgen's best says Ari still finds a way to get there.

 **Rory** : *Lifting his finger to lay over his lips in that way one does to tease "mum's the word", he chuckled warmly.* Most likely. *Rory says it evenly, agreeable, but the words stuck in his throat. Ari shouldn't go -- he didn't understand why half of them were. He was going because Eliza was, and far from simply needing a date, he wasn't bloody letting her go into it alone - nor would he insult her by trying to talk her out of it. Devin and Alcott were both going and where they went, so did Eliza. And that aside, he wanted Nadia back too.* All I know is, *he cocks and eyebrow, sliding a hand into his pocket and frowning,* I see a hair of that blonde bastard -- *This worked for both Sam and Hans come to think of it,* -- sniffing around, they'll regret it. *He looks sidelong at her, smile small.* Care to join? 

 **Irene:** See, Rory. *she began with a genuine smile on her face and a nod after* That's why I like you so much. Of course I'm all up for it. *It was no secret that half of their group, oh sorry, 9/10 of their group wanted to punch Sam Roswell in the face. And grind his balls to a fine powder with the heel of their tallest, thinnest, stilettos...or was that last one just her? Probably not. However, the other mention of blond hair reminded her of Eliza's description of Hans. Irene had warned her friend she was walking dangerous territory...it was such a shame that bracelet was so beautiful.* So here's the plan: get there, kick some ass, get Nadia back, and then come back and have a planned-impromptu-reunion party to celebrate!

 **Rory** : I'm touched. *He chuckles, even as he extends his hand to shake hers. Make it official, and what not. Having a small-business-owning father taught him that. Of course it also had taught him she should be signing something written down - that verbal agreements didn't hold up - but he had no doubt she had it all covered on her own. If anything he was Robin in this duo. Typical, really, although...actually, Irene would make a killer Psylocke. At the latter remarks, even with further knots in his gut as he thought Nadia might not exactly be up for partying, he smiles.* And that's what I like about you, Irene. *Toying with the penknife in his pocket, he keeps his gaze steady.* Always finding something to look forward to. *Only now does he look over her shoulder, wondering what was taking Dillon so long, and wishing his friend would have just done...whatever this was later. Off hand,* If I can make one suggestion, *as he's still looking around, grinning,* We should probably skip the 'coming back' part, include her parents and godparents and what not in the party -- hey. *Looking back, he thought: maybe it wasn't just him.* Has Dillon been acting strange?

 **Irene** : *She took the offered hand and shook it with all the seriousness she felt, despite the proud beam on her face. At this moment, there was no better partner-in-crime, or rather, stopping...crime, whatever.* You know how I do, boo. *If she had a collar at that moment, she would have popped it. Tapping her finger against her red lips at that suggestion, she nodded* Yes, probably for the best. *She looked up then as he mentioned Dillon, somehow finding relief in realizing she wasn't the only one who had thought it.* You caught that too? I thought I was being paranoid...he has been a little off recently. I mean, he talked to me about this party before the big bad wolf told Liza about it...*she pursed her lips.*

 **Rory** : Oh no, *he chuckles waving his hand despite the not-that-funny topic,* I learned a long time ago that whatever conspiracy theory you and Lynn come up with is just about 110% accurate. Maybe even a hundred and eleven but you know, they say overconfidence is a bad thing. *And wasn't he just oh-so-prone to that as a Gryffindor? Rory cocks his head, eyes darting back to her. Well. At least it wasn't just him? That was why he'd asked, right? Brows furrowing, his words were slow,* He did? He didn't to me...what did he say? 

 **Irene:** *She smiled, a little relieved but then decidedly not, given that they were discussing Dillon's strange behavior. Irene had chalked it out to Justin continuing to ask out his sister but that couldn't be all it. She sighed and waved her hand in the air* He said he wanted to take me- well, no he said he had to take me and that's just weird right? I mean, I know he likes dressing up, or down, for either a role or me, but a -charity- gala? Not his style. Weird.

 **Rory** : *His brows skyrocket. What he'd noticed was Dillon acting cagey about ..well, he couldn't put his finger on it, but the lack of recent Shakespearian recitations had been a bit odd. He'd have assumed this was all right up Dillon's alley (after all, he hadn't stopped quoting Hamlet for a month when Eliza had mentioned Alcott lived with his uncle -- though thankfully he wasn't insensitive to do that around Al himself). Maybe that was it - maybe he was just refraining from being insensitive over such a delicate topic? He blinks.* Yeah...strange. I mean I'd--probably not think anything of it if Nadia weren't going to be there... *It had to be spoken as a certainty. Not that he trusted Hans' word on the matter. He blinks.* Did he say why he -had- to?

 **Irene:** No. *She shook her head, tucking a curl behind her ear before remembering that she didn't like the way that looked (but it was a nervous habit and it was difficult to kick).* I asked him why and he looked...a little lost. I had to snap my fingers in front of his face, but he said nothing and then said he had to leave...*frowns* actually, now that I think about it, he has been a little distant too. I've just been so worried about Nadia and Dev, I hadn't really paid it any attention. *frowns and then starts talking to herself* Maybe he's mad at me about Ansel, but he knows it was nothing. I have friends, tons of friends, he knows that, maybe he thinks he has to take me to fancy places now? I don't like fancy, I like down and dirty, I like being the classiest thing in the room- maybe he thinks it's my fault Justin went after Ari, to get back- but Justin wouldn't do that, painful enough he actually fancies her- maybe Sam's gotten to him! Or something, maybe I pushed him to call me girlfriend to soon, was it too soon?, I mean I'm kinda pushy, maybe I'm just pushing too much, I mean if it was something bad he would tell someone, he would tell you, he would tell Ari, he would tell me, unless he wants but can't because he won't and wouldn't right? *She looked up after a deep breath, realizing she had talked a million words a minute again. Whoops.* Right. Sorry, got carried away. I'm worried. Tons of worry, on my delicate shoulders, it's bad for the skin.

 **Rory:** *He was liking this less and less the more that Irene described. Except then she kept describing...his head started spinning, there was something about her having a lot of friends (he'd nodded at that insistently because it seemed the sort of thing one should do) and then something about thinking he had to be fancy now (he shook his head at that; again as it seemed what he should do). The single mention of 'Sam' made him scowl, and he just kept his mouth shut. Eliza had the tendency to ramble too and the memory of it made him smile briefly as she finishes - or rather, she cuts herself off. He laughs at the last words, waving it off,* Nah, it's cool, I'm good with it. *He always found such rambles to be explosions of passion, and well, that was endearing.* No, he was glad you said girlfriend that quickly. He didn't quite know how to ask. *That was as much as they'd talked about it though, so he just moved on.* And I mean, I don't know who Ansel is but -- he's not mad, I'd know if he was mad. The uh-- rest, okay, so, that was a ...lot of information... *He shook his head, sheepishly, grinning.* But I mean, it's probably nothing. He's been worried too, right? *Not at all sure, but he had to sound he was, didn't he?, he continued with a shrug and dry remark,* It's not like he's never spaced out before. Which is probably what he's doing right now... *he checks his watch, and then his expression clears as he sees his best mate appear on the stairs. Grinning,* Ah, decided against the suit from the thirteenth century, then. 

 **Dillon:** *Distractedly rubbing at his forehead, his expression clears and lips soften into a shocked smile as he spies Irene at the base of the steps. Stunning. Just...stunning. His head was still pounding, his heart might as well have skipped two thousand four beats, but at least this moment had a good reason for it. Adjusting the plaid tie as he walks down, he's still grinning, and ignores his friend in favor of leaning in to kiss his girlfriend, soft and sweet lest he end up covered in scarlet lipstick.* Have I told you lately how -magnificent- you are? *And oh, god, those red shoes. She had stiletto, red heels. And--oh, right he probably shouldn't stare. Eyes darting back, but only for a second he asked lightly,* And yes, I'll save that for the costume ball -- *his heart skips another beat* -- Where's Eliza?

 **Rory:** *A bit confused, but smirking as his friend leans to kiss Irene, he shrugs, frowning only a moment.* She offered to help Mrs. Brackner set up -- she's gonna meet us there.

 **Dillon:** *Amusedly, though honestly he couldn't take his eyes off Irene.* How'd you get out of that duty?

 **Rory:** *He laughs,* I didn't, I made half the replacement tarte tartins, then came back to fetch things and change. 

 **Dillon:** *While lifting his arm to Irene,* Is that edible?

 **Rory:** Apple tarts. *He rolls his eyes, hand still toying with the pocket knife.* 

 **Dillon:** Delicious. *He still wasn't looking around. Was it bad he wanted to tear that dress of Irene right now? If tonight weren't so important... ...because of Nadia, he thought to himself, reminded himself, a nagging thought at the back of his mind bothering him. So he really should take his eyes off her. 

 **Rory:** *Tilting his head in amusement by the love-struck lustful look,* So where were you?

 **Dillon:** It wasn't going to happen any time soon, bu--* What?

 **Rory:** Whe--*he pauses, and then shrugs a shoulder, forcing a smile across his lips.* You know what? Doesn't matter. 

 **Dillon:** *He nods absently, lifting his hand as he held his arm to Eliza.* May I have the pleasure of escorting you, milady? *Playfully as ever, despite an odd flash in his eyes a moment ago.*

 **Rory:** *He chuckles, despite a flicker of unease.* Didn't leave the 13th century entirely then.

 **Dillon:** Not entirely. *Agreeing warmly, pleasantly as he thinks simply: they just had to get through this night, and then it would all be fine.*

 **Irene:** *Right, of course he was probably used to them now after dating Eliza for so long. One time, she and Liza had communicated in fast-speak for a good half an hour and had given Al a headache.* He was? *She beamed, oh good. Too much worry then, just her nerves piling on top of everything. And she was glad he wasn't angry- she was rather hoping for their first fight as a couple to lead to some really hot angry/make-up erotic-* Dillon! *She beamed, relief washing over her immediately. Yes, men should wear suits all the time. She did wish he'd let her get him a black tie suit. She kissed him briefly, raising a hand immediately after to rub away some of the lipstick and then pouted as she teased.* Not lately. *There, breathing easier and now they could begin to leave- wait, she had to reapply. She pulled the mirror out of her purse, thinking to herself Eliza was just too charitable (like Nadia). And tarte tartin did sound good.* A shame they threw those apple fritters away. *She put the mirror back in her purse and looked up at the boys with a grin, equally curious as to where Dillon had been but he seemed distracted-- by her. She couldn't blame him, her spaced out adorable oaf. She sighed and shook her head, though there was still some general unease in her stomach as she took his arm and nodded.* You certainly may. Let us be off!

 

&.

 

 **Nadia** : You again.

 **Julio:** *He smirks, fixing the cuffs on his suit as he steps into the room before he looks her over once.* You look breathtaking.

 **Nadia** : A lie *she answers easily, trying not to be phased* You’re still breathing.

 **Julio** : My, Nadia, are you saying you rather have me absent breath? Surely you’re not insinuating you wish for my death.

 **Nadia** : Of course not. *Dryly, she turns around and walks to pick up the small clutch Allison had given her. All her things were in there, all three that was. Jacket, wand, knife. Though she was glad to know she wasn’t entirely hopeless with heels, especially in this skirt that liked to resemble a mermaid tail every time her steps became too long.* What are you doing here?

 **Julio:** I’m your escort for this evening.

 **Nadia** : *Her eyebrows rise and she turns around quickly, forcing her heart to steady* Escort?

 **Julio:** You didn’t think you would be allowed to roam freely around the party did you, amor?

 **Nadia** : I didn’t think I would have to endure another second of your company. *She frowns* I thought I would be with Allison.

 **Julio** : Gustav didn’t fancy it. *he shrugs* Besides, Allison’s going to be busy.

 **Nadia:** *sarcastic* Great.

 **Julio:** Oh, don’t be like that. I’m quite the capable dancer, I’ll have you know.

 **Nadia:** I don’t like dancing.

 **Julio:** You know, I don’t really believe that. *lips twitch* I think you would make a very passionate dancer.

 **Nadia:** *Fighting back a dozen rolled eyes at this point, she teases a curl behind her jeweled ears.* Well, you won’t find out.

 **Julio:** *he sighs and shrugs* That’s alright, plenty of other things to do. Can you hold your liquor?

 **Nadia:** *Scoffs* Do I look like it?

 **Julio** : Actually, yeah. *smirks* I think you look a lot nicer and sweeter than you really are.

 **Nadia** : That makes two of us.

 **Julio:** *grins* You think I look nice?

 **Nadia:** *quickly* I think you feel foul.

 **Julio:** Odd, I would remember you feeling me.

 **Nadia:** *exasperated* Can we not?

 **Julio** : Not, what?

 **Nadia:** Do this back and forth banter thing where you throw compliments my way to disguise the fact that you’re a sick person who would like nothing better than to hurt me?

 **Julio:** I’m insulted. *shakes his head* I have plenty of other people to hurt, I don’t want to hurt you.

 **Nadia:** …You don’t?

 **Julio:** Don’t you think I would have done it by now?

 **Nadia:** Maybe you just want to try and make me trust you so that if you hurt me it’s more satisfying to you.

 **Julio:** Now that sounds more like my sister, not I.

 **Nadia:** *blunt* I don’t like you.

 **Julio** : *amused* You haven’t even gotten to know me. I didn’t picture you as judgmental.

 **Nadia** : You _kidnapped_ me.

 **Julio:** Technically, that was Gustav and his nephew. And a girl, she didn’t like you too much I think.

 **Nadia:** But you’re one of them.

 **Julio:** Which means I must be a murderous sadistic monster.

 **Nadia** : Aren’t you?

 **Julio:** I have killed people before so one out of three isn’t that bad. Hardly fair, given that you’ve killed someone too.

 **Nadia:** *snaps* I was protecting myself! *Chest rising and falling too quick for her liking she exhaled with a frown* I didn’t like it.

 **Julio:** See? *Gestures with his hands* Circumstances. You don’t know mine.

 **Nadia:** Then tell me them.

 **Julio:** *he smirks and shakes his head before holding out his arm* Dance with me first.

 **Nadia:** *rolls her eyes and then crosses her arms in front of her chest in protest.*

 **Julio:** *he sighs, shrugging; worth a shot* Nadia, de verdad, we gotta get going.

 **Nadia** : *Yeah, she didn’t like that. With pursed lips and manicured nails gripping Allison’s clutch purse (well, she had said it didn’t matter if Nadia kept it because it was Rachelle’s) like a lifeline.* Fine. *She walked forward and looked at his arm warily.*

 **Julio:** It’s not diseased, I’ll have you know.

 **Nadia:** *immediately* I just don’t like being touched…well, not by-

 **Julio:** By a Death Eater?

 **Nadia:** *Silent for a few moments before she relents* I don’t like the way you look at me.

 **Julio** : Appreciatively? You’re a beautiful woman. If you want to look at me like that, I don’t mind. I’ve been told I have a great ass.

 **Nadia:** *She didn’t say anything, or look away from his eyes.*

 **Julio:** …*frowns and then shrugs, looking at the ground for a moment before gesturing to the door.* I’ll honor a lady’s choice.

 **Nadia:** *She snorted and shook her head before nodding and stepping out*

 **Julio:** *Following her out.* But we’re arriving by apparition. So unless you want to touch Gustav, I suggest you take my arm for the split second in takes for us to get there.

 **Nadia:** *She stopped walking. Damn. Lesser of two evils. She turned around and then took his arm with a frown.*

 **Julio:** *He grinned and patted her hand.* It’s almost over, don’t worry.

 **Nadia:** *Yes, it was. She pursed her lips and kept her chin high as they walked.*

&.

**Eliza:** *Adjusting the top of her dress and tucking a long curl behind her ear, she took several, steadying breaths looking herself in the mirror. Okay. It was one evening, and then she could look forward to spending the rest of the night with Rory, once Nadia was home safe. In the meantime, she simply had to dodge creepy exes, psychotically obsessive werewolves, bad champagne, and her parents. Who had yet to admit a damn thing to each other but--breathe in, and out.* Mrs. Roswell! *She says abruptly, swiveling from the mirror. Oh, well, of course she wasn't the only one who would be there early, who would have needed to use the upstairs rooms to change...of course. A smile crosses her lips,* Sorry -- did you need the room? I was just--putting the finishing touches, you know, lip gloss..necklace...*Except the drawer she had open to her jewelry case was bracelets, the diamond one resting within easy view.* 

 **Ingrid:** Eliza, hello darling! *She smiled* It's alright, I'll wait until you finish. I should have knocked, it's been so crazy today, I forgot myself. *Walking over to the girl to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she pulls back afterward to take a proper look.* Oh, you look beautiful, sweetheart.

 **Eliza:** *Sheepish relief crossed her smile, her gaze fluttering down to the ball gown; shimmering shades of blue dancing beneath fingers fidgeting with the skirt.* Thanks, Mrs. Roswell...I-*she chuckles nervously,* feel sort of like a princess in this thing. *Now if it was only for a good reason. When she looks up again, she realizes how close she was, and beams. She'd always liked Sam's mother--actually it was kind of hard to picture any kind of family resemblance--and she was grateful she hadn't held a grudge at her. (Speaking of things that didn't run in the family). Devin's aunt had much more in common with him, she thinks as she hugs her back, blushing at the remark.* Really? *Her heart skips a beat, and she says softer,* That means a lot. I just--I know there's a lot going on but, but my parents are both here, and I thought maybe if everything else around them was...was perfect,--*If she was, she thinks guiltily,* then...then maybe they could stop stammering at each other and actually...talk. I know it's silly.

 **Ingrid:** *Teases with a smile* As you should. You look the part as well. *She, on the other hand, was lacking at that moment. So much running around today especially to make sure everything went without a hitch (and then Lyndsea's odd question of why she'd suggested this place had put her a bit off, not that anyone would notice.) At Eliza's explanation for her hopes tonight, Ingrid softens. A fan of her father, Ingrid had never been, but he was still her father, and he was here now and apparently not going anywhere. As for Mary's relationship with Claude, that was their business, and it was only natural of Eliza to want her parents together, or at least have a better relationship.* Of course it's not silly, Eliza. You'd be surprised what happens when the ambience is right: location, location, location. *She smiles again before she adds kindly* But do try to remember, the problems they have aren't because of you.

 **Eliza:** *Her smile flutters, and she nods, still fidgeting with the skirt but looking around the room.* That's what I was thinking...it's so pretty here, too. *And if there was a chance, that her parents could at least dance together; at least while the rest of them found Nadia--then it was worth it, she thought, the whole charade of a charity function.* I know. *She looks back suddenly, faltering, grateful for the kindness in Mrs. Roswell's eyes even as she was assuring her like a child.* Or..I know that in my head, it's a bit harder...in practice. *She tries laughing it off, sheepish, but the truth was with everything that had happened she hadn't talked to anyone besides a little bit with Rory. Between psychotic exes apparently roleplaying her, (and she winced, remembering it was his mother she was talking to)...* It's just...with the werewolves, kidnapping and comas it didn't leave a lot of room for teenage-parental drama. I don't want to bother anyone, I mean they have--so-, so much on their plate already. And Alcott...I mean, he's being cool about it - but I probably know better than anyone, *her voice raises insistently, pointing incredulously,* how much it has to hurt him to think that my father, could come back to me, when his...*She cuts off and plants hands on satin hips, looking down and choking on her own hairspray. Breathing hard, she cuts off to gasp out with a half-smile,* God, how do princesses breathe in these things? 

 **Ingrid:** *She nods.* I understand. *Though it felt like centuries ago, not decades, Ingrid had been a teenager once, worried for her parents as well, thinking it was her job alone to make everything right in the family. She knew she had hardly reached out for help, would have it shunned actually. (Now...well, maybe she wasn't so quick to admit help but she wouldn't turn it away immediately.) And her circumstances had never been quite so...extreme. Yet--* Your drama is no less important. Sparing someone it, especially your friends, it might end up detrimental in the long run, especially for yourself. *She wanted to offer Eliza someone to talk whenever she needed but Ingrid refrained. Eliza had countless of people to turn to, even if she didn't feel like it at that moment. And Ingrid was her ex boyfriend's mother; she didn't want to make any situation more uncomfortable than it already was.* Through their nostrils, and avoiding deep breaths. *She chuckled, not at all saddened over the fact corsets were no longer normal wear.*

 **Eliza:** Okay--*she inhales and exhales almost half for-show,* right. *Breathing in, and out as Ingrid demonstrated, she cracked a small smile up at her and steadied herself.* Thanks. I uhm. I know this can't be...easy for you either. *She presses her lips together, and then her hands and then decides, if not now, then all things considered she might not ever get the chance (if anything, considering what Al had tried to high-five Dev for that afternoon, this was only going to get worse). Swinging her hands, she makes herself meet Mrs. Roswell's eyes and says slowly, hesitantly* You know you shouldn't--uhm--blame yourself, right? *Her breath catches in her throat, and then it all rushes out at once, her hands coming up to her chest.* I mean just that it -- you know, Nadia, Devin, they've been trading insults and pranks that just kept heightening for personal attacks with Sam and it's -- it's not fair, because I know, I know that Sam is a good person, underneath, he just...he just does some bad things, sometimes, but then we all do, don't we? *She bites her tongue, searching her gaze with her own wide-eyes. Quieter, and with gaining breathiness,* I just-I just think he needs help, and-and I--I can't be near him, after everything but--but that doesn't mean I don't hope that he gets it, Mrs. Roswell, so I thought you should know. *And even quieter still,* I know he has a good heart. Because of you. 

 **Ingrid:** *She was a bit confused by the statement. Difficult on her? Well, apart from the attacks on her son she had to endure from her own "family", but-* Blame myself? *She frowns, for that's not what she expected to hear.* I don't believe I understand... *At least Eliza wasn't trying to pretend her son wasn't being attacked on this. And it was heartening to hear someone besides her defend Sam, even if it wasn't the strongest of them. Bad things? Sure, her Sam could be a little violent at times but what teenage boy didn't trade blows with another in his life?* What kind of hel-- *now it was she who felt like she wore a corset* Eliza, you're worrying me.

 **Eliza:** *She breathes out (and then in, and out, and in, and--it wasn't working).* I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry--, *Wincing at the fear in Mrs. Roswell's voice, a shiver went up her spine and she drops her gaze to the floor. Her words were breathless.* Well, I suppose I did, but because I'm concerned... *Of course she didn't know, of course Sam hid from his mother --and she didn't know if she wanted to...admit to some of what she'd thought. It was his -mother-. Still looking down, sidetracked a moment,* Ooh, I love your shoes.*It was tiny, and soft - but honest, they were great shoes, and she didn't want to think anymore about this- why had she brought it up!? Feeling sweat pearling at the base of her neck, she stills her shivers by admitting quietly instead,* He can..he can scare, me. *She hugs her arms to herself, and her gaze flicks up from the (fabulous) shoes to the woman's eyes, back down, and then back up again with sudden determination.* And he...he insinuated today that, that he knows where Nadia is, used it as a threat. And I-I don't mean to accuse him of kidnapping because that is -so- far beyond some petty school grudge and really, I don't know if he does know something or doesn't and is just trying to use this terrible situation to his advantage because he's lashing out, because he's hurt, I- I don't know, but it's wrong.*That was much stronger.* It's just wrong..to- to do, that, when her family is -so- scared, and her friends, and me, me too--*she rubs the back of her head, trying to take the sweat away.* --and, and then he told Devin that if he was the one poisoning him, he wouldn't have ever woken up, and that's not something to just--to just say! Even if he wasn't threatening him, it just--it's inappropriate, and it's cruel, and it's frightening and so -- I thought you should know, because I don't know why he's acting this way, I don't know what happened, what--what -changed-, and *her voice strengthens again,* I know it wasn't my fault. *She grits her teeth together.* But I'm still sorry if I hurt him that badly. I don't know what to do. I just want him to stop. 

 **Ingrid:** *Normally she would be so pleased at a comment about her shoes but now Ingrid found she could hardly care. Her head began to shake slowly at that information. Sam couldn't know the location of Nadia, he had nothing to do with that, he wasn't in the forest that night, he would never do something like that. Even to threaten that- no, she'd taught him better than that. To be the bigger person, because they were above all of that. Threaten, Devin? They didn't see eye to eye, and she had already instructed Sam to stay far away; that the time for being the bigger person and reaching out for family was over. Samuel wouldn't- Why would Eliza lie about this? She was such an upstanding young woman, why was she lying now?* I...*Was she still breathing?* No, nothing's...your fault...Sam, my Sam? *Did her voice quiver at the end, rise in pitch? That she couldn't allow. She swallowed and then stood straighter.* Thank you for telling me about your concerns, Eliza. I'm sure this is just some...misunderstanding. I'll...*she cleared her throat as silently as she could before nodding once* I'll talk to him immediately. *Get his side in all of this.*

Eliza: *Her eyes went wide as she realized how she'd made Mrs. Roswell waver, and immediately she averts her eyes. It was habit. She knew the woman wouldn't want to admit to (had her voice just cracked the tiniest bit?) the moment. Then she leaned forward, because well, Missy would say she just had too much of her father in her, and hugged her just once. Tightly. And pulls back.* Thank you. And thank you for listening to me, I hope it -- is. *It wasn't a misunderstanding. But what more could she do? So she lets a smile cross her lips again, looking back to the mirror, breathing in and out through her nostrils just as she was taught, and drops the dress. She really did feel like a princess.* I really do love your shoes though...sont tres belles. *Her hands clapped together, smiling something fierce until her jaw ached. Just get through the evening, she reminds herself. The trick was to keep breathing.* 

&. 

Amaris stood staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyebrows were perfectly waxed and arched, her lashes curled up with effortless ease away from her two big brown eyes, and her eye make-up was not a smudge out of place. Her plump lips were glossed with a subtle pink sheen but where otherwise bare of color. Her defined cheekbones were rouge, and using a trick her mother had taught her long ago, she had added some blush a shade or lighter than her powder down the lines of her nose.

The one thing that was unruly, a wild tangled mess, was her jet black curls with golden brown highlights that she had recently cut to the top of her shoulder blades instead of the middle of her back. She had washed her hair, combed it through and then allowed it to do whatever it pleased. Amaris just didn’t feel like she had the energy.

Two weeks, stuck in the same brokenhearted stupor, and she was tired. Anger had ravaged and wrecked her by the end of the first day, and Amaris realized she couldn’t keep that up until Nadia was found. There was never any doubt in her mind that they would find her daughter, because the alternative was unacceptable. Her precious darling, her most innocent sweetheart, taken. And the only lead they had was a stupid school grudge.

If she let herself think of the things her youngest daughter, her youngest child, could possibly be enduring, an unstoppable horror engulfed her, and reduced her to a sobbing wreck. After everything she had experienced, Amaris thought she could handle anything. How wrong she was. She had never felt as weak as she had these two weeks.

When Amaris had first been told, her knees gave out. She could no longer support herself to stand upright. Brad had managed to catch her before she shattered her knee caps against the tile floor. See, she had told him in a whisper as she had clung to him with all her life, should have gotten carpet instead. He had kissed her forehead and reminded her that they both hated carpet burns. Oh that’s right she said before tears had spilled down her face without abandon to land on his torso, drops catching on the his chest hair.

There was no place for her to go where she could wait for her daughter in peace. Their home always felt lonely without the kids in it, and boy did she hate it, but it was even more empty now. So despite her detest of hospitals and Mungo’s in general, when she wasn’t at work, she had been there with Jana. And when Amaris hadn’t been there, she’d been at the Auror Offices, talking with Shawn and Tyler over any leads, but there were never any good news, nor bad news.

Now she was to be found at some Charity Gala, on the words of a werewolf Hols believed responsible for Devin’s attack? She didn’t know what kind of game these people were playing, but there was no coming back from toying with her daughter like that. Her exhaustion was leaving her shoulders easily to be replaced with rage once more. They thought they could get away from enraging a mother bear over her cubs? She would be doing some disemboweling soon.

Brad walked out of the bathroom as she picked up her wand to see what she could manage with her hair. He was freshly shaved, only missing the jacket to be changed. “Did it have to be at a ball?” he asked in distaste as he slung a tie around his neck. Ama agreed; after all this time, they both had a distaste for such events, despite meeting at one similar to this one.

“Just be grateful you don’t have to wear heels to this. This is going to be one of those “standing-always” events too, I just know it.” And who the fuck gave a fuck about her hair anyway. She dropped her wand again and then headed towards Brad to fix his tie for him.

“Remember when we got Belle back together?” Brad murmured as his deep green eyes watched her at work.

Ama smiled briefly, chuckling under her breath. “I think we scared the shit out of that Healer.”

“He deserved no less,” his words held the blunt sincerity she loved (and sometimes detested) about him. His large hands cupped her face and tilted it to look at him the moment she finished. “We’re going to get Nadia back the same way.”

Ama’s eyes reared again as she nodded once, placing a hand over one of his. “I hope so. I could really use kicking some ass right now.”

He chuckled and pulled her into a tight and warm embrace. Even with her seven inch heels, she was still half a head shorter than him. Amaris loved the way he could just swallow her whole in his firm arms. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, letting it serve as a cocoon around her.

“If something’s happened to her-“

“Don’t.” She felt his words rumble from his chest faster than she heard them, at least that’s what it seemed like to her. “Everything’s going to be fine. She’s strong like you. Smart. Cunning.”

“But she’s fragile too,” she whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“A Tudor trait.”

She scoffed and pushed him away at that, attempting to walk away from him. He had a hold around her waist soon enough, and he turned her back around, a soft smile on his lips.

“That’s not funny,” she glared at him. “How could you be amused-“

“Woman, I’m not trying to insult you.”

“Really banged up job you’re doing, -man-.”

“What I mean,” he said after a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, “Is that you’re fragile here.” He placed a hand over her chest, and her heart leaped up in response, as if it wanted to make actual contact with his strong fingers. “Where you’re the strongest. That doesn’t mean it’s a weakness.”

“Damn right it’s not,” she replied quietly, still cross with him.

“Haven’t you heard it’s the most fragile things that are the most beautiful?”

“But they break the easiest.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you suggesting our daughter is going to break?”

Amaris’ pulse quickened, her body rejecting the idea entirely. “Of course not,” she replied adamantly, head shaking in stubborn assurance. “You’re right, she’s strong…where she is fragile. An oxymoron.”

“What did you call me?”

“Brad.”

He smiled to show he was teasing before leaning down to capture her lips in his. Amaris sighed, tasting nothing less than salvation on his decadent mouth that knew her so well. Every doubt, every breathless murmur of worry was erased with his talented tongue until there was nothing left but sheer determination that burned like a fire in her chest.

“Let’s go get our daughter back.”

 


	27. The Winter Gala

Rachelle had actually been excited to see the added security around the party. Every single guest coming in was monitored, making sure that no one without an invitation or a ‘plus one’ could get in. There were also some patrols around the perimeter of the house; they were supposed to be out of sight, quiet but to Rachelle and to every wolf there, they could be no louder. Every small movement in the shadow was a concert in her ears. She knew precisely how many of them were outside and where they were. Each scent was as distinct from the other as much as their own names. Could she leave some of them alive? Perhaps. Would she?

Her lips curled backwards to reveal a wide and ecstatic grin. With her hair put up and her dress charmed to repel any stains, dirt, or other unwanted materials. This was an original Givenchy after all.

Her heels made no noise in the grass as she stepped behind a guard, followed him as a cat would a mouse until he had stopped. She allowed him to turn around because she wanted her to be the last thing he saw before she took his life. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, reach for his wand, or indeed take another breath, she snapped his neck with a quick motion and he fell to the ground with a soft thump.

Crouching, she searched him quickly enough, to see if he carried anything of value to her: not trinkets or jewelry, but rather information and plans. She should have known, however, that whatever they knew, it would be verbal. Actually, Rachelle did know but…maybe that was just an excuse.

She stood again and with a wave of her wand, sped up the decomposition process to the point that nothing remained of him but dry bones. Rachelle decided to leave them there, to give the aurors something to do. The busier they were, the more distracted they were and that would only work for their benefit.

Jumping up to the tree, she hurried along the branch and traveled to where the other guard was on the roof. She landed on the tiles with a light click, smile wide as the man turned around and reached for his wand immediately. She was in front of him in an instant, twisting his arm around and pressing the palm of her hand against his mouth tightly to keep him from calling out in pain. Grinning in delight as he bit her hand, Rachelle could smell the fear radiating from him as he realized he couldn’t move against her supernatural strength that kept him locked.

“I do love a biter,” she whispered in his ear before she spun him around and threw him down on the roof, climbing over him immediately, keeping a heel pressed against his throat, and another down on his manhood. He would have screamed, had she not been constricting his airways. She smiled and crouched down again, taking her heels off him. She grabbed his throat with her hands after he had inhaled once and then dug her knee into his stomach. A non-verbal and wandless spell bounced off the shield she had conjured around herself, making her tut her lips in disapproval and shake her head slowly.

“There’s no need to be like that,” she cooed and once he looked into her eyes, she had him. Hans would be so proud of her, she thought, as she captured the guard in a wandless imperio, just like her big brother had been teaching her. She felt as if her fingers had lengthened to become puppet strings that twisted their grip around the man and she was the puppeteer pulling on them to her fancy.

“I’m going to take my hand off your throat, but you’re not going to call to help. You’re not going to speak a word.” She lifted her knee from his stomach and then let go of his throat. There was a sharp intake of breath and then a coughing fit, but not a word. She briefly wondered what would have happened if she had instructed him not to make a sound, if he would have been able to cough then.

More important matters were at hand.

“Very good, now here’s what I need to know.” She leaned in to ask in a hushed voice her question, and though his voice quivered, whether because of the brutal treatment she had inflicted on his throat, or not, she got all the information she required. Names: Riley, Jackson, Jordyn, Tobias. Rachelle nodded, pleased. Four people to look after one girl? How precious.

“Thank you for your help, dear,” she whispered, raising a hand and watching her nails elongate into sharp claws. The fear ran off the man in showers, and a deep inhale caused her eyes to flash golden. His eyes widened, pupils blown and a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead to the tip of his noise. Leaning in, she licked it up, tasting the salt water and his skin before she sunk her claws in his chest with one swift motioned. He gasped, a strangled gurgle leaving his dry lips as she grabbed a hold of his heart and ripped it from his body. The organ still beat twice against her hand before she let it drop on the tiles of the roof forgotten.

Rachelle smirked and then cracked her neck, raising the bloody hand to her lips and taking a small lick. Every other part of her from her shoes, to her hair, to her dress, was still perfect.

This was going to turn out to be one hell of a party. 

**&.**

**Nick:** *He hated ties and suits almost as much as he hated champagne. And yet he was wearing a suit and sipping on the sparkly water.* --and that's why my  family can no longer set foot in Istanbul. 

 **Devin:** You know, *he laughs once, slipping his hand into his pocket, eyes darting around the room,* you must be able to sell at least some of these stories in. L.A.

 **D'Grey:** Excuse me, *lightly, coming up behind him.* I hope, *smirk* I'm not interrupting?

 **Devin:** *Eyes widening,* ...it's you.

 **D'Grey:** D'Grey, actually, *lightly, extending his hand to shake.* Apologies I could not introduce myself before.

 **Nick:** Tried once, we snuck into Warner Brothers- *he turns around  as he hears the other voice eyebrows rising* Anywhere I go, third wheel. Do I just have that kind of face? *Devin's face though, that was alarming.* How do you two know each other?

 **D'Grey:** *With apparent delight as he keeps his hand extended towards Devin's, eyes flicking to Nick,* The Studios? *Now shaking,* You see Gotham City Hall? 

 **Devin:** *At those simple three words his face contorts, and the handshake (it would have been rude otherwise) he kept firm stills. For a moment he doesn't breathe, and then he shakes hard, a glint in his eye as he lets go. His smile is drawn, voice weighted,* From Batman.

 **D'Grey:** That's the one. My personal favorite. *still at ease, despite a flicker of confusion seeing Devin's look. He holds the gaze; there was a mixture of nostalgia, murder and delight. Poignant. And how interesting... it must be some memory, he wagered with Nadia. Then he flicks his gaze to Nick again.* Oh, of course. I'm sorry--*extends his hand to him too* It's Nick right? I thought Devin might have mentioned--

 **Devin:** *Confused but taut, still chasing away the clutch on his heart.* You didn't exactly give me a name to work with.

 **Nick** : Too busy being chased by security to have noticed. *He says easy enough, though he was eager to drop the subject and get it on the one of who this man exactly was. He shook his hand too.* Yeah, Nick Callaway. 

 **D'Grey:** *tiny chuckle* Ah, true--see, I wasn't sure who might be listening then.

 **Devin:** *Turning abruptly to Nick,* He was there when I woke. In the hospital. *bluntly*

 **D'Grey:** *tiny chuckle* Though of course, I didn't do anything compared to you, Nick.

 **Nick:** *He looked at Devin with confusion, his eyebrows rising at the explanation.* Ah...Lynn told  me about that. Quite lucky she's not here right now, this would be a lot less civil.

 **D'Grey:** Nice to meet you, Nick. *with a bare chuckle, as he thinks how often he says that when others already clearly don't think it is. Manners always had been drilled into him.* Ah...yes, I have heard something to that effect. *Gaze flicks back to Devin,* Your sister does sound formidable.

 **Devin:** *His eyes narrow a bit, but he nods,* She's not the only one of us.

 **D'Grey:** Ah. *Clasping hands behind his back, agreeable.* In any case, perhaps we ought to go somewhere...a bit more private to talk?

 **Devin:** *challenging over a twist in his gut,* You know where she is, don't you?

 **D'Grey:** *Brows perking in feigned ignorance,* Your sister?

 **Devin** : *Taking a step forward, lips curled as if they ached to frown,* Nadia.

 **D'Grey:** *Without a flicker of movement, eyes searching Devin's, then flicking back to Nick.* As I said--perhaps a bit of privacy is called for. 

 **Nick:** Yeah, you too man. *Well, that remained to be seen. Nick was obviously naturally wary of the man who had helped wake up Devin and that knew about Nadia. Lynn would be proud of her brother right now though.* No offense dude, but you must be crazy if you think I'm gonna let you take Devin somewhere private.  Anything you have to say, might as well come out with it now, I'll hear about it anyway.

 **Devin:** You know, I am -so- not in the mood to play games--

 **Tony:** Dude? *Stepping behind them all into the room, a light smirk in place, head cocking.* Really, 'dude'?

 **Devin:** *Spinning, he blinks, confusion only spreading-- but his expression doesn't change: but oh, did D'Greys.*

 **D'Grey:** ...Tony. *The ease of speaking erased in an instant, voice tight and eyes wide.*

 **Tony:** Hello, brother. *smirking, looking at Nick a second as he walks in.* Personally, if you're going to call him crazy, I wouldn't preface it with "No offense, dude." Just..*He smiles, perky.* Go for the throat. *He stops walking, eyes and eyebrows flicking to Olivier.* Isn't that right, brother?

 **D'Grey:** What are you doing here? *Hasn't moved, but has a lighter tone instantly.*

 **Tony** : *Tiny chuckle,* Now, isn't that interesting, i miei amici? *Looking at Devin and Nick,* I think that's what they want to know about you. I mean, *points to himself* they were here first, I won't cut in line. 

 **D'Grey** : This doesn't concern you--

 **Tony:** Oh, I doubt that. *flatly, a trace bitterness in his tone, but keeps smirking.* What concerns me, concerns you.

 **Devin:** *fed up, he slices the air with his hand as he snaps,* Look, I don't know what's between you two here, but, I don't bloody care either. Either tell me where Nadia is or you won't be leaving here. 

 **D'Grey** : *Stills. He's momentarily impressed and his smirk is back, but he keeps a light tone,* You don't want to do that, Devin.

 **Devin:** No, I really do, *snaps*. But at very least, I'm afraid I've been rude gentleman. Shall I introduce you to my father?

 **Tony** : *His nose wrinkled, but he said lightly enough,* Your father...?

 **Devin** : Yeah, you know- the Minister of Magic?

 **Tony** : *Smirks, points to him and looks at Nick.* See. He went for the throat. 

 **Nick:** *Oh, well the more the merrier he thought with brief annoyance.* Yeah, really. Dude. *Not the first time he's been mocked for his American/Californian slang, so. Oh, brothers. Great.* I'm not a very aggressive man, I'll leave the throat ripping to you. *He meant it as a joke, but he was unsure of how true that statement could be. In the middle of a brotherly dispute, Devin had the right idea of it. Bringing out the Minister daddy card was better than...well, Nick had nothing.* Yeah, it runs in the family. *Lynn, Ms. Rivers, Mr. Stuart...he was pretty sure Lady Dalma lunged for throats in her day too .* Look man, we just want to know where she is. Not that complicated a question, and I'm not even getting into the how's and why for's, we really could care less right now, we just want to find her.

 **Tony:** *He chuckles, despite a twinge of bitterness at that thought; throat ripping was a bit literal. Well, so he imagined. If Wolfie and his brother were together somewhere- then he worried.* 

 **Devin:** *He shrugs, eyes narrowed at the brothers, but says false brightly,* Oh, don't discount you either, Nick.

 **Tony:** See! *Claps his hand together,* They don't care if you're a mass-murderer or secret pop artist brother, *cocks head,* They just want to find her.

 **D'Grey:** *Nodding, though his eyes narrow a bit at Tony, which shushes him.* As it happens. *He looks back to Devin,* It's the why of it I do know, not her location.

 **Tony:** *He narrows eyes; see, he was right to be worried.*

 **D'Grey:** *Sincerely and without blinking,* I didn't know who she was when I met her. 

 **Devin:** *Breath quickening,* You didn't ask her name?

 **D'Grey:** It wouldn't have mattered-

 **Devin:** *sharply* And what's -that- supposed to mean!?

 **D'Grey:** *insisitent over him; still calm.* That's what I'm trying to tell you. 

 **Devin:** *Furiously heavy inhale-exhale,* After threatening us, you mean-

 **D'Grey:** *snort,* If I was threatening you, you'd know. I am here, to help. I want you to be prepared.

 **Devin** : You know, you've got a lot of nerve-

 **Tony:** Hey. *Cuts over, eyes narrow a bit, but false brightly,* No need for the attitude. If my brother says he wants to help, then he does. *eyes narrowing*

 **Devin:** Yeah? *Eyes dart to Tony,* And how am I supposed to believe that?

 **Tony:** *After a few blinks,* How do people believe in Santa Claus? 

 **Devin:** *Stepping toward Tony, furiously aware of his beating heart, hand still up,* You know how tir-

 **Tony:** *equally stepping up, eyes glinting--*

 **D'Grey:** *quickly,* Devin. Nadia, was taken by your Death Eaters.

 **Devin:** *That stopped his heart. Ignoring Tony as his finger falls, he looks back to D'Grey and swallows, gaping and breathless, shivering--though the fury in his stomach tightens in a knot, tense as if to loose an arrow.* 

 **D'Grey:** *steady* I didn't know who she was, because she doesn't know either. I did what I could.

 **Nick:** *Oh fuck, how big was this web they were weaving anyways? Personally, while Nick could keep up with it, at this moment, in this situation, a simple and blunt answer. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he put a hand on Devin's chest to hold him back from further steps, though he didn't need to say anything for the next moment D'Grey had talked. Nick was still new to this whole Death Eater/Dark Lord business as the States had been spared such a history  but he still knew to be frightened, because they were supposed to be scattered and few.* She doesn't know- *he interrupts himself, breathless* they took  her memory? *This didn't make sense, it was Sam, Victoria who had taken her they weren't...were they?*

 **D'Grey** : *Still without blinking, he looks from Devin to Nick. He says nothing.*

**&.**

**Elena** : -how about you, Zoe? How have you been doing?

 **Zoe:** *She was going to kill Max. He knew better than to leave her with his mother of all people. At least Benjamin was there to act as a buffer.* I’m good, you know, fighting fires, saving lives.

 **Benjamin:** No greater calling. *He teased her and for once he didn’t have a drink in hand. Maybe this was Lyndsea’s way of managing his drinks- offering up pink bubbly liquid that was less than subpar*

 **Elena:** Of course, of course. *She didn’t look like she was paying attention to her husband* I was just talking to your mother, Zoe.

Zoe: Have you? *Oh good lord, not again.*

 **Elena:** She seems quite dismayed you haven’t found a man to settle down with.

Benjamin: Ah, I was wrong, a higher calling! *he smirked and then laughed as Zoe shot a pointed glare his way*

 **Elena:** Of course, I understand you’ve very little interest in men sexually. Bueno, no entiendo mucho de verdad pero-

Benjamin: Cariño.

 **Elena:** Well, I understand that more than your mother obviously.

 **Zoe:** *She chuckles and shakes her head* It’s just preference, and it depends on the person-

 **Benjamin:** There’s no use in trying to explain it to her again, my dear.

 **Elena** : But well you are 35, sweetheart.

 **Zoe:** *dryly* Practically an old woman.

 **Benjamin:** *smirks* Ancient.

 **Elena:** And Max turning 38 right around the corner-

 **Zoe:** Here we go. *under her breath*

 **Benjamin** : She can be quite predictable can’t she?

 **Elena:** Well! *affronted* If you know what I’m going to say-

 **Benjamin:** Because you suggest it once every month at least.

 **Elena** : *aghast* At most! Look, it’s not that I don’t love my son and Lyndsea, and I understand the living arrangement was the best thing for Alcott-

 **Zoe:** *Hello bubbly pink demon of alcohol. It would help keep her mouth shut about that in particular.*

 **Elena:** But Alcott’s grown to a fine young man, and it is time for Max to make his own life.

 **Zoe:** *she inclined her head* I agree, but-

 **Benjamin:** But you’re defeating the point of that by trying to arrange a marriage to his best friend. *trying not to laugh*

 **Zoe:** Right. *nods* That.

 **Elena:** *she sighs* No one understands me! 

 **Benjamin:** No need to be dramatic, woman.

 **Elena:** They’re already practically married anyways!

 **Zoe** : Hmm *she holds a finger up on the glass she was holding* Except we’re not having sex.

 **Benjamin:** No, that’s part of being married. Well, after a while-

 **Elena:** *She frowns at him, shaking her head in disapproval* You don’t need to! They have that…*turns to Benjamin* what is it darling, those test tubes-

 **Zoe:** *interjects* Okay, this is when I say some obscure relative is calling for me.

 **Elena** : Ah, but-

 **Zoe:** *she kisses her cheek and smiles* Always nice to talk to you Elena. Benjamin *she gives him a kiss and a hug as well*

 **Benjamin:** *hugs her back as he teases* Future daughter-in-law.

 **Zoe:** Don’t joke-

 **Elena:** What is so ludicrous about the whole thing? *As Zoe walks away* Honestly- they could have a secret open marriage-

 **Benjamin:** How about trying to let them find their own way?

 **Elena:** You show me one woman, one, that kept his attention more than a week-

 **Zoe:** *She shakes her head, smiling despite it all and then beams as she finds Hols* Cousin!

 **Hols:** Zoe! *Briefly surprised she leans in to hug her quickly* Wow, you look-

 **Zoe:** As out of place as a cat in water?

 **Hols:** Beautiful. *lips twitch* But definitely not your scene.

 **Zoe:** Hmm, the things I do for love. *She waves her hand* Not your scene either.

 **Hols:** *Repeats, mimicking Zoe* The things I do for love.

 **Zoe:** *amused before she teases* Alcott?

 **Hols:** No, *she breathes out heavily* Nadia.

 **Zoe:** *suddenly stands straighter* Nadia? She’s here?

 **Hols:** Long story. *she breathes out and then looks around again.* I’ll explain later, keep a sharp eye out yeah?

 **Zoe:** Both of them, of course. *She hugs her again, just seeing now how disheveled her second, or was it third?, cousin seemed.* You good?

 **Hols:** Oh roaring, under all the circumstances I mean.

 **Zoe:** Roaring. *Eyebrows rise* Interesting choice of words.

 **Hols** : *smiles and then winks before she moves away from Zoe.* Thanks again.

 **Zoe** : *She shakes her head, looking around. It was a jungle in here. Zoe turned around completely, bumping into somebody. It was the damn heels.* Sorry-

 **Gustav:** Now now, no harm, no foul. *he grins.*

 **Zoe:** *Her face drops immediately* Oh, it’s you. I take it back then. Should have hit you harder. *goes to walk away*

 **Gustav:** *He follows after with a chuckle* There’s no need to be so rude.

 **Zoe:** We have differences of opinion on that. *She puts her glass of champagne on top of the platter one of the waiters carried*

 **Gustav:** *dryly* Obviously.

 **Zoe:** Rudeness is just my first language.

 **Gustav:** Not sarcasm?

 **Zoe:** *ignoring him* Especially towards you. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, this is me trying to get away from you.

 **Gustav** : You’ve been trying to do that for twenty years now.

 **Zoe:** Yeah, you long passed stubborn and creepy and have descended into psychotic- don’t! *She turned around with a snap, taking her arm back and pushing him away, raising a finger to point at him* you fucking touch me!

 **Gustav:** Easy darling *he took a few steps forward again, smirking* You don’t want to make a scene.

 **Zoe** : *she hisses* You touch me again, you won’t get a scene, you’ll get a complete Greek tragedy.

 **Gustav:** *tuts* I was just-

 **Zoe:** *snaps* What? What could you possibly be doing except being a belligerent lunatic?

 **Gustav:** Oh, what a word that was Zoe. *lips twitch*

 **Zoe:** Let’s get one thing straight here: you, disgust me.

 **Gustav:** I know. *he smirks and then eyes her exposed right shoulder, noting the goosebumps on her flesh.* I get under your skin.

 **Zoe:** You little-

 **Gustav:** Let -me- get one thing straight here Zoe- you’re going to regret every insulting thing you’ve said about me.

 **Zoe:** *her eyes narrow* Is that a threat?

 **Gustav** : *grins* Oh yeah.

 **Zoe** : You’re back to threatening women again? Oh, wait, sorry, you’ve never stopped. *eyebrow lift* Afraid of picking on someone your own size? I’ll-

 **Gustav:** Do what? *eyebrows rise* Sick Max on me like a good little dog? *His lips twitch amused* Of course you would, you’ve always hid behind him.

 **Zoe:** *she snaps* I don’t hide-

 **Gustav:** And that’s exactly what you’ll do tonight.

 **Zoe** : *She shivers, the hair on the back of her neck standing up, blood running cold.* You’re crazy.

 **Gustav:** And you’re a bitch. A pretty bitch, but one nonetheless.

 **Zoe:** *she scoffs in disgust and then goes to walk from him again, not realizing they had been talking in a secluded corner of the room, and liking it even less once she did*

 **Gustav:** *Steps in front of her* Curious, have you fucked him yet?

 **Zoe:** *She grits her teeth and then pulls her hand back quickly, hissing as he grabs her wrist none too gently after he dodges it*

 **Gustav:** You might want to get to it soon. While you still can.

 **Zoe:** *She takes her hand back immediately and then spits in his face before walking away from him, passing the shocked face of Ingrid Roswell as she did. Zoe didn’t care, she just needed to get away from that crazy son of a bitch as fast as she could.*

**&.**

**Stefanie:** Ansel. I should have known I'd find you here."

 **Ansel:** Stefanie! What a charming surprise."

 **Stefanie:** "Still following my brother around like a lost puppy? *pause* Oh-sorry, is that insensitive?"

 **Ansel:** "Not insensitive at all dah-ling; just inaccurate."

 **Stefanie:** "True. You have progressed to full grown dog for quite a few years now. How many women-are- in your bed right now?"

 **Ansel:** "-amused- Still thinking about it then?"

 **Stefanie:** "Still pining for me?"

 **Ansel:** "Well see, it's customary to call the next morning. Otherwise you leave a bloke with the idea you were using them for their body, cheri. Not that I mind, but other men might be less understanding than I."

 **Stefanie:** "How thoughtful you are."

 **Ansel** :"Just looking out for you, dah-ling.*sips champagne*"

 **Stefanie:** "So what -is- on the menu tonight? Biting ten year olds? Stealing any candy from babies?"

 **Ansel:** "Of course not. Have you ever tried taking candy from a baby? They make an awful noise, this shriek right in your ear--*gestures with pinky around ear*"

 **Stefanie:** "Charming, Ansel."

 **Ansel:** "Cheri, if you thought you could sweet-talk me into telling you the plan, if there is one--at least buy me a drink. You could not-call me tomorrow. Old time's sake?"

 **Stefanie:** "As tempting as that is, mm, I'll pass. I don't tend to sleep with those who call my brother -their- brother. *taps nail on glass* It's just awkward."

 **Ansel** :"*chuckling* Of course, you have standards. What about our sisters? I'm sure Rachelle would be quite the evening-you won't even notice me, I swear on our family honor."

 **Stefanie:** "Family honor. *jaw clicks* Why -are- you all so loyal to Hans? Should I even bother reminding you it was my dear brother who -stole- your life?"

 **Ansel** :"You know, when you pout...well, *sipping, eyebrow wiggling* you're very fetching when jealous, Stefanie."

Stefanie: "And you're transparent. Be a good puppy and tell Hans I'm looking for him, would you?"

 **Ansel:** "Ah, see, he's a -little- busy tonight. But you're right. *Perky,* I am here to accommodate him-- shall I entertain you while you wait? I seem to recall, *tapping lip* Vodka Cranberry and Duke Ellington?"

 **Stefanie** : "Impressive. But sorry hun, I think more of myself than my brother's toys."

 **Ansel:** *calling through a grin as she spins to walk away from the bar-, "Fool me twice, I know, But honey, the charming third-try is worth it."

**&.**

**Mary:** And then-- and you are not listening to a word I’m saying, are you? Lyndsea? Hey. *Lifting her hands, she snaps, quick and short.* 

 **Lyndsea:** *Her friend startles her eyes back to her.* What? *Her eyes flick over her shoulder again, a frown written in her thin-bones, hands tapping against her champagne glass.* No, of course I am, so --

 **Mary:** No, you’re not. *Pleasantly, amused, spinning her chin as she tries to see what Lyndsea’s looking at, saying with a heavy, fake sigh,* I suppose this is my fault of course, only so long you can listen to my prattle--

 **Lyndsea:** Mary Katherine Culpeper, *she teases, that more than anything tearing her gaze back.* You do not prattle. That would insinuate you had nothing important to say. 

 **Mary:** *Tiniest flicker to smile, soft sincerity coloring her gaze.* Thanks. *She sips the champagne. Then suddenly wants to drown in it, as she spots Claude. Straightening she raises the glass as if it hid her. She hears another rat-tat-tat before she got anything out (and thank heavens, honestly, she was about to point out that Lyndsea hardly needed to mother her, only she was acting like a lovestruck teenager and she knew it).*

 **Lyndsea** : *Uneasy, with brows still furrowed.* Claude? *She guesses, without needing to turn. She had to see if she could spot him -- * Whose plus one is he?

 **Mary:** *Quietly,* Well I suppose, he would be...mine.

 **Lyndsea:** *That clears her mind for a moment - or perhaps only the front, as the back keeps whirling away, eyes still searching the crowd.* Oh? *Eye-brow arching, pleased,* You called him?

 **Mary** : Least I could do after you bit my head off. *Teasing, but her breath is scant as Lyndseas’* ...No, actually this was -- when Eliza told me what she was told -- and would not be talked out of coming --

 **Lyndsea:** Ah. *Her eyes rivet to him and she takes a swig of her champagne, wishing it was something stronger. Her glare speaks for itself, she knows he can tell. Huffing,* We should have cancelled this party. *Evenly, under her tone.*

 **Mary:** *She shakes her head, though a shiver up her spine agrees.* You couldn’t.

 **Lyndsea:** There’s been no -- all these people might be in danger, Al (her heart did a backflip) and Eliza, Benjamin and Elena and Max and --

 **Mary** : Lyndsi. *The sudden, abrupt nickname does just as much to silence her as the snap did. Mary doesn’t blink, she keeps her gaze soft.* ...You couldn’t. 

 **Lyndsea** : *After flicking her gaze to make sure he hadn’t moved, she looks to Mary, trying to calm a jagged heartbeat.* I know. *She said quietly.* I know -- if Nadia really is here --... I know. I can’t imagine what her poor mother...of course we couldn’t cancel. Nadia...she couldn’t be abandoned. *Despite the fact she’d never met her, she’d heard Alcott mention her -- and to hear Devin speak, well.* She’s worth more than that.  *Her pink lips thin, lipstick sticking. All children were, she meant calmly, though her thumb flicks over her ring.*...I still wish Al were a thousand miles away.

 **Mary:** You’d have had to chain him. *But her eyes say she gets it, a twist in her gut knowing she wanted to do the same with Eliza.*

 **Lyndsea:** I can’t lose him too. *A simple, sad statement. Mary had no reply. She moved on.* How did you know I wasn’t listening before? *Usually, she prided herself on appearing interested.*

 **Mary** : *To that, there was nothing she could say. If anything, she hadn’t told Lyndsea the truth - how often she had called Claude recently, how they’d met at a coffee shop for an hour to try and ‘talk’ (which promptly became half arguing and half reminiscing, with zero ground actually made. She couldn’t tell her that yet -- it might be nothing. It might be nothing, and every passing word reminded Lyndsi more the man she loved couldn’t come back to her. After passing her eyes over the diamond still on Lyndsea’s finger, presently resting over her heart, and says lightly,* Oh, well, you started getting this look, like, a little frown and thinning-eyebrows, that look you get when you’re puzzling something suspicious out and are veiling disgust. It’s that or someone’s wearing shoes beneath four inches--but I haven’t spotted anyone so foolish as that.

 **Lyndsea** : *Tiny smile cracking on her lips, sheepish at the thought, she suddenly, she sees Max and she spins back.* Mary, I’ll be right back. I have to --

 **Mary:** Oh no, you can’t -- Claude --

 **Lyndsea** : Go! *She might well have pushed her with the simple look she gave her, taking another steadying swig of her drink before setting it down on a floating tray. Heels clacked her across the floor in what seemed at once no time and too long.* 

 **Max** : Lyndsea, there you are. *He holds up the champagne glass, looking at her with narrowed eyes.* Really? Come on, don’t hold out on me --

 **Lyndsea** : *Without looking at the glass, she takes his wrist and tugs him away from wherever he was walking, then drops his hand instantly.* We need to talk --

 **Max:** *His face contorts with abrupt worry and confusion. His nod is brisk.* Did you see her? Nadia?

 **Lyndsea:** No, I wish -

 **Max:** *Exhales, and the hand that’s not holding the horrendous alcohol lifts to rub across his lips.* ...then what --

 **Lyndsea:** When did you last see Zoe?

 **Max:** ...with my mother, so I - 

 **Lyndsea** : Decided to avoid being asked for the hundredth time when you’re marrying her?

 **Max** : *Nods, smirk widening with guilt and amusement*

 **Lyndsea:** Courageous.

 **Max:** Hey, I’m not an idiot, I don’t put myself in my mother’s warpath. Brothers’ and I  that a long time ago. 

 **Lyndsea:** Mmm, *she chuckles the tiniest bit, as she always did from the simple thought of the Brackner boys living together, and then straightens her chin, eyebrow flicking,* and when are you and Zoe getting married?

 **Max:** Lyndsea, *pleasantly,* just because you organized this party and are my host, does not mean I will hesitate to toss this offense to the good name of alcohol, in your face.

 **Lyndsea:** *Drily, she starts,* An offense to the good name of alcohol -

 **Max** : Why did you want to know if I’d seen Zoe? *He was worried.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She hisses as she’s reminded and clenches her jaw shut. After she looks over their shoulders, she mutters back,* Because I...well I don’t know really what, I saw, Gusta--

 **Max:** *With breath and words of heat and bullets, before she gets the whole name out* What. did. he. do? 

 **Lyndsea:** It looked like they were talking. She spat in his face, and left. *She blinks, but not in surprise. This was the reason she had gone to Max in the first place.* 

 **Max:** That little fuck--*swigging before he realizes, he sticks his tongue out at the glass and chokes as he swallows, face wrinkled and eyes seeing red.* Oh, p-- that truly is disgusting, Lyndsea.

 **Lyndsea** : *Taking the glass from as he offers, she shrugs a shoulder and drinks his too.*

 **Max:** One of these days I’ll be surprised with what you can take down -- *His furious gaze is scanning the crowd, adding under his breath with a trace of hurt and sudden concern.* Did you see if she was --

 **Lyndsea:** She was fine. *The abrupt answer let him know it was quite the obvious opposite. Still, she thought -- considering, Zoe had looked like a champion to her, Artemis walking away from a slain foe.* 

 **Max:** *His face flickers with concern for her, for Zoe, the one person who never seemed to leave him, and he nods.* Thank you for finding me, Lyndsea. 

 **Lyndsea:** *Tiny-smile, she shrugs her shoulder.* Oh, please. I don’t want him here, never did, so I thought I would ... *primly,* take the excuse of insuring he doesn't cause a scene when Zoe beat him bloody. You'll at least take it outside, won't you?

 **Max:**  Oh, I’ll take care of it. *Cuts out, furious but amused to hear Lyndsea talk that way, and he only looks at her an instant to add,* Trust me, Lyndsea. And find Zoe something better to drink while I take the trash out, won’t you?

 **Lyndsea:** *Never quite able to be unladylike enough to ‘snort’, she exhales sharply between lips and nose and then smiles at him. Her nod is firm.* I promise, Max.

**&.**

**Irene:** *Just because she was at a Ministry funded Gala with people who had just as, and probably more, money than she did, didn’t mean that she was going to wear a really long dress that allowed for no movement. Nope. She just wasn’t that girl. White strapless cocktail dress with red heels- it was elegant! And Winter…ish. It was Christmas-y. Without trying to look like Mama Claus, cause that just wasn’t gonna work. Neither was this watered down champagne. Grabbing her flask out of her cleavage, she tipped a generous amount of her own alcohol into it.*

 **Zoe:** Oh god, lifesaver.  *Walking up to the rather gorgeous girl, standing right next to her* Sweetheart, I’d be willing to give you the world right now if you’d share.

 **Irene:** *she grins, restraining laughter* See, this is why I bring alcohol everywhere I go. *She fills the glass for the woman too* Alcohol: bringing people together since we discovered fermentation.

 **Zoe:** Thank you. *She sips the drink immediately, reveling in the cool burn.* Not that I don’t love Lyndsea, but -

 **Irene** : Lyndsea Brackner? *eyebrows popping up* You know her?

 **Zoe:** -You- know her? *surprised*

 **Irene:** Yeah, oh, so sorry. *extends her hand out, beaming* Irene Burns. I’m a friend of Al’s.

 **Zoe:** Zoe Noel. *she shakes her hand, while sighing. Just her luck: underage.* Self-declared aunt to Al. And his uncle Max’s spirit guide slash best friend.

 **Irene:** You know, I think I –have- heard of you. *she pouts* Al hasn’t mentioned me? He will receive an immediate scolding.

 **Zoe:** *she chuckles and shakes her head* Don’t be too harsh on him. I haven’t exactly been around too often either. *Because she had been avoiding the house, in protest. Had until the glorious day Max had told her it was over with Lyndsea. She had sang a Hallelujah chorus that day. Angels would have been jealous. Max had said she broke his eardrums.* 

 **Irene:** *She wasn’t surprised. That seemed to be a common thing for the adults in Al’s life. It’s something they had bonded over, even without her knowing they’d bonded over it at first.* I’ll let him off the hook then. *He wasn’t really in trouble anyways. The last thing any of them needed was more trouble. She was sick and tired of trouble for the moment. She looked around expectantly, as if she would be able to see Nadia through the mass of people.*

 **Zoe:** Looking for someone or avoiding someone?

 **Irene:** Looking- boyfriend. No idea where he’s gotten off to. If I wasn’t the finest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, I might be getting worried.

 **Zoe:** *She laughed, deciding she liked the girl. It was obvious why her and Al got along.* Right. Well, I’m decidedly avoiding. Just got cornered *rolls her eyes before muttering* fucking Roswell.

 **Irene:** *she turns to her, eyes wide, placing a hand over her heart* You hate a Roswell? Me too! Sam Roswell.

 **Zoe:** Gustav Roswell, his psychotic uncle. *rolls her eyes again.* I’m going to kick him in the balls again.

 **Irene:** Oh my God you’re like my soulmate.

 **Zoe:** *she laughs* We’ll team up against them.

 **Irene:** Hear hear! After some more of this *she refills their glasses again.*

 **Zoe:** You’re a darling. Usually Max keeps me well supplied but he’s…*she waves her hand around the whole place* somewhere. It’s so crowded here tonight. So unusual. Didn’t know so many people were eager to throw away money.

 **Irene:** Oh, always. *beams* I have a purse-full of inheritance I plan to donate to whatever this is for.

 **Zoe:** Daddy issues?

 **Irene:** Aren’t they always?

 **Zoe:** Ah, *lifts a finger of the hand she was holding the glass with* I had mommy issues. Dad was the cool, understanding one. Mom wanted me to be a proper little girl.

 **Irene:** All boils down to parents doesn’t it?

 **Zoe:** *she shrugs* I guess. You try to grow out of it but, difficult. My mum’s still giving me shit about being unmarried, and preferring of the same sex.

 **Irene:** Bisexual?

 **Zoe:** Pansexual.

 **Irene:** Ah, gotcha.

 **Zoe:** *She tips back the drink and then sighs* Oh, this was really great.

 **Irene** : Isn’t it? Much better than this pink champagne. *wrinkles her nose*

 **Zoe:** *She chuckles.* Don’t blame Lyndsea though. She’s got good taste, and tosses back a drink as well as any Brackner, but people getting drunk at this type of event? *shakes her head before she pauses* Actually,…it would be a lot more fun.

 **Irene:** Maybe it’s good idea that we keep a clear head tonight. *She said as she took yet another sip. But that didn’t count. Her tolerance was as high as a sailor’s from years of practicing. She’d been drinking since she was 11 after all.* It could get shaky.

 **Zoe:** *She raised her eyebrows in curiosity before simply shrugging it off.* If Roswell does get near again, hell will break loose and I won’t be as nice as to just push him into a group of un-expecting party-goers .

 **Irene:** Amen to that sister- *her eyes widened as she saw Ansel. _Ansel_? What the hell was he doing here?* Hey, sorry Zoe, I think I see my-

 **Zoe:** *she waves her off immediately* No problem. Thanks again for the drink, by the way.

 **Irene:** Of course! *she beams and then hides the flask again before setting out.*

 **Zoe:** *She shook her head in amusement and chuckled, finishing off that drink before she adjusting the dress again. She hated it, as she hated nearly all dresses. She was going to go find Max to chew his ear off about her discomfort because if she had to suffer, he would suffer with her too.*

**&.**

**Julio** : I can’t believe this is what British people call music. *he shakes his head, leaning away from the balcony again and drinking down the pink champagne*

 **Nadia:** *A hidden room. They just wanted to make this as difficult as they could for her. The music was drifting in from outside, well the main area, and she was stuck with Julio as a personal guard. She sighed and sipped at the drink for something to do.* How long are we stuck here?

 **Julio:** Tired of my company already?

 **Nadia:** Tired of it about thirty seconds after I met you.

 **Julio** : *He smirks and then shakes his head before he answers* Not long now, guest of honor.

 **Nadia:** *She swallowed, saying in what she hoped sounded annoyance* I find it idiotic to dress me up to hide me in a room.

 **Julio:** No idea you were so desperately craving attention.

 **Nadia:** Surprised I’m not holed up in a closet, that’s all.

 **Julio:** You almost were. Gustav wasn’t pleased you spit on his shoes. They’re Italian leather.

 **Nadia:** Well, I wasn’t pleased to have been implied to be a whore. *she shrugs and then clears her throat* so why wasn’t I?

 **Julio:** *laughs first and then smirks before gesturing at himself with a shrug* I needed a date.

 **Nadia** : *eyebrows rise*…really?

 **Julio:** *he puts a hand over his heart* I’m insulted- I’m nothing but a gentleman.

 **Nadia:** Yes, and I’m a mermaid.

 **Julio:** Suddenly everything makes sense.

 **Nadia** : *Ignoring his sarcasm she sighs* So you just asked Gustav to let you bring me and he did?

 **Julio:** Pretty much.

 **Nadia:** *dry* Why?

 **Julio:** *He shrugs, taking a swig of his drink and then shakes his head* That’s foul.

 **Nadia:** *She exhales and sinks bank in the chair, finishing off her drink too after scrunching up her eyes.* Something we agree on.

 **Julio** : *He grins and then he laughs as she chugs it down, smirking.* So I was right after all.

 **Nadia:** What?

 **Julio:** You hold your liquor.

 **Nadia:** I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest lightweight around, actually.

 **Julio:** *grins* Prove it.

 **Nadia:** So you can take advantage of me when I’m drunk? No thanks.

 **Julio:** You seem to forget that if I wanted to, I’d already done so.

 **Nadia:** I don’t forget that you think yourself only marginally better than that low life scum.

 **Julio** : You take great pleasure in wounding me, don’t you?

 **Nadia:** I’m not the sadistic one out of us here. 

 **Julio:** There you go wounding me again. *grins* Ah, hear that? A ballad. Come on *extends his hand out* Dance with me.

 **Nadia** : I’m not dancing with you.

 **Julio:** Please?

 **Nadia:** *smiles* Beg.

 **Julio:** *smirks and then starts to take a knee*

 **Nadia:** No, don’t- oh for goodness’ sake *she rolls her eyes* get up.

 **Julio** : *laugh and then stands up, still offering his hand* What, don’t like ballads? How about a merengue? *He pretends to hold the arm and waist of an invisible partner and start dancing.* No? A salsa? *He switched up the steps now, unrelenting despite her pursed lips* Quizás una bachata? De la República Dominicana? *His steps change to the 3 count style before he dips his invisible partner* Oh, I know. Tango.

 **Nadia:** *Despite her better judgment, she was both amused and impressed but she shook her head.* Okay Casanova, where’d you learn all that? *She wasn’t sure who Casanova was but the term seemed to belong*

 **Julio** : *Stops suddenly and then straightens out his jacket before reaching for another glass* my mother was a dancer, now dance instructor. Aside from that- soy de España, cariño.

 **Nadia:** *She rolled her eyes and shook her head again. Man was he cocky. And dangerous, not to mention dangerous.* Maybe I’ll dance with you once we’re actually out of this room. *If only to get him to shut up*

 **Julio:** Ah. *he inclines his head and raises his glass to point at the door* Unfortunately, the moment were out there you’re going to be…paraded.

 **Nadia:** *She raised her eyebrows, a hint of worry in her voice* Paraded?

 **Julio:** Gustav is one for…flair and dramatics. *he winced briefly before he shrugged* What’s the secret behind every magic trick?

 **Nadia:** …What?

 **Julio:** *Grins and then brings his hand with the glass up* Have the audience look at this hand *he brings the other one up, holding her clutch purse* instead of this one. Pretty much what’s gonna happen down there.

 **Nadia:** How did you- *she looks down, thinking she’d had the purse sitting on her lap. She frowns and then stands, walking over to him and extends her hand out* Give it back.

 **Julio:** *puts it behind his back* Nope.

 **Nadia:** I thought I was supposed to be the child here.

 **Julio:** Oh, you’re far from a child-

 **Nadia** : Give it back! *reaching around him*

 **Julio:** *grins* If you wanted to be closer, you should have just let me dance with you-

 **Nadia** : Give it back! Give it *she shoved him backwards, narrowing her eyes at him but all he did was laugh* back! Now! 

 **Julio** : Easy, chica, easy. *He grins and then tosses it to her.* Just trying to get you to loosen up.

 **Nadia** : How can I possibly loosen up when I’m being held here against my will, after my memories were all wiped away, after I’ve been beaten and almost raped, after I was left in the darkness with nothing but other prisoners’ screams for company, when you’re here to kidnap my friends and family because in your eyes I’m nothing more than a chess piece- how can I possibly loosen up?! *she breathes out, her shoulders dropping before she turns away from him.*

 **Julio:** *He exhales, noting Nadia had a point of course but it wasn’t his style to take things seriously. She didn’t really want a question to that did she?* Well, it starts with forgetting and living in the moment.

 **Nadia:** I don’t want to forget. Don’t you bloody- *she turns around again, breathing heavily, her eyes glassy but not teary* every single memory I have, even the bad ones because they’re almost all bad, they’re precious. I don’t want to loose them again, I don’t want to lose -myself- again…*she sighs before she turns away from him again* I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

 **Julio:** *He clears his throat after the explanation and then nods* I was told you were particularly chatty.

 **Nadia:** Oh? *She opened her clutch now, her back to him still. She just had to reach her wand*

 **Julio:** And a naive judgmental little girl.

 **Nadia:** *She scoffed and shrugged, trying to appear at ease, just annoyed.* What a reputation.

 **Julio:** Mostly wrong of course.

 **Nadia:** Is it?

 **Julio:** *He took a step closer and nodded* You’re not a child anymore.

 **Nadia:** *That much was right. She wasn’t a helpless little girl, she would never be that way again.*

 **Julio:** *He took her silence to mean she didn’t want to answer him, so he asked again* So, no dance? It’s now or never. Once we’re out there, chaos is gonna erupt.

 **Nadia:** *For a moment, she felt guilty* Never then. *She turned around quickly, a word leaving her lips quickly* Stupefy! *she saw surprise visible on his face (and was that a twinge of amusement?) before the red spell caught him in the chest and threw him back. He landed on a sofa. Breathless, she held up her skirt to jog over to where he was, to make sure she hadn’t broken his neck or something. Nadia might have killed someone before, but she didn’t want to learn to discount the value of a human life.

Julio was fine, just unconscious as the spell provided. Remembering another spell, she bound him in ropes, in case he woke up sooner than she expected. She should have hid him, but she didn’t have much time.

Silencing her footsteps with a spell, she performed the other spell, the tactile message. Nadia frowned again as she couldn’t recall where she’d learn it, or the layout of the house that would help her get around. More than once she wondered if her memory loss was permanent.

Heading towards the door, she spared the unconscious body another glance before she opened the hidden door a sliver to see that no one was around. The coast was clear: no doubt Gustav thought it wouldn’t be necessary to have more than one person looking after her. She ignored the coil of disgust she harbored for the man and ventured outside. There was no time to waste. She had a party full of people to save.*

**&.**

**Shane:** *He could see the faces of the unsuspecting crowd, the invitees who had no idea of the deeper issue that lay underneath it all. Their expressions were all the same, their thoughts barely contained, they had one question on their minds: was Jana Rivers, the Minister's wife, actually at a Charity function?

It had been amusing for a good five seconds. Well, he shouldn't be so unjust- it had been closer to eight seconds. He could endure pleasantries easy enough and so could Jay, yet he squeezed her hand every so often to remind her that he was here. Not that it needed reminder...maybe he just looked for an excuse to be in constant contact with her.

As they were left by a few socialites, he turned to Jay again before they were approached by anyone else. In the midst of his worry and of growing a dozen more gray hairs in the past day alone, he couldn't keep his eyes off his gorgeous wife for too long.* This is going to be a long night. 

 **Jana:** Mm, and to think. *She lifts a hand (the free one that is, for he hadn't let her hand go since they'd walked in, and she was reluctant to drop it) to his shoulder. Comfortably patting and squeezing, she keeps her remark light as she can manage,* Usually you say if I were there the night would go by faster...

*Honestly, it wasn't as if she'd never been at these events with Shane before: if anything, the entire Winter season tended to be full of them. They simply usually were fundraisers or political events at the Ministry itself - those functions she had to attend. While the elite social class would never (of course not, it was improper), have said aloud that the Minister's wife wasn't welcome -- would never dream of it, she'd also known quite well the reception she'd be likely to receive. And she'd been at them too before...in rather different circumstances. Her eyes flit to the caterers, the bus boys, the waitresses holding their drinks and tries to smile when she sees one has caught her eye. 

It's harder than Jana likes, but she attributes it to the fact that she was worried, worried for Nadia (rather than the uneasy memory of having served as such a waitress at parties herself). After all. As Shane's wife, if she wasn't smiling right now at the girl, she'd be seen as rude, dismissive -- weren't the magazines going to have enough to gossip about? Really. She preferred the fairer policy pieces in the serious magazines -- those that pointed out she tended to be Shane's right hand. 

That thought made her smile as she looked at her husband and found her rabbit's heart quelled by the soft look in his eyes. She tried, she thinks; supporting him, helping him, in fact simply being with him -- it was one of the most wonderful jobs she had. Squeezing his hand, she leans in a little closer to him and tilts her head at the nearby passing tray of champagne, and one of the back rooms.* ...Think we could slip away for a few minutes? Check in with the head of security? 

*For that was the other latent worry that had left her eyes sweeping the main (of a few adjourning) ball room every few seconds during the conversations of socialites. Their children were there. Their children were in danger. And she knew Shane was doubly checking because of the scarlet dress Lynn had chosen to wear. Hence the nod to the champagne.* 

 **Shane:** Usually. *He nodded in agreement, a bitter smile crossed his face for a moment at the circumstances of the night. Why it would actually be longer than most. So far, there had been no sign of anything gone awry. They were stuck in a waiting game, being taunted, toyed with, and made anxious. For Shane fully expected something to happen. No one brought a 15 year old girl to a party like this, a party of the rich and the richer, without an agenda especially when no ransom had ever been received. And all this business with werewolves was strange enough.*

Good idea. *He nodded as he took the glass of champagne. He didn't have a pair of all seeing eyes, but he did have people that saw for him, and reported to him and he was antsy to get some new information, even if turned out to be just that everything was still quiet.* Better make it quick before we're cornered in. *He whispered as he saw a few people with the full intention to approach and he started walking away from the main ballroom to the adjoining room after signaling with an otherwise casual gesture for the head of security to join them. After all, he didn't want to alarm the party goers, lest it turn ugly.*

 **Jana:** Go, go-- *She whispers it back at once, almost teasing as she lifts her own glass of champagne to her lips, scurrying and for a moment she is transported back to a time when they'd spirited away at such an event for a much more pleasant reason. She had been playing tabloid journalist, Jay thinks amused, and coughs back a chuckle. For a moment she had no worry. So she continued in that vein, reminding them of lighter things,* At least I have an excuse to see you in a suit. *

She winks, heels clacking against the floor even as she darts her gaze this way and that, comforted by the fact that she wore much more than simply her wand in holsters on her. As they walked into the more private room, awaiting the security head -- a nice fellow Tracy was, but she still wished the conference wouldn't be so necessary -- she casts her mind around for something lighter to talk about.* 

So, *offhand and passably curious,* is this the sort of party your mother meant to have for our fifteenth anniversary last year? *She toyed with the necklace she wore, the only adornment aside from her wedding bands (she'd long since learned earrings of any kind tended to be distracting in battle). Granted, so did long skirts, but in this case she'd had no choice; her sleeveless gown of emerald that hugged more than swirled, was the most comfortable that would be considered "appropriate" here. * 

 **Shane:** *He could almost see the gossip magazines now and the headline that this would make. Shane's only regret was that this time, it wouldn't actually be accurate.* Since when have we ever needed an excuse?

*It was a different kind of suit from the ones he normally wore though, so he understood. And even as Minister of Magic, he still didn't wear as many suits as Symon did. Sometimes, he wondered if his brother knew the meaning of the word casual.

Smiling as they walked into the room to wait for Tracy, he chuckled at her question (a little distracted by her toying with the necklace, drawing his gaze to that area) and smirked for a moment, willing to enjoy the small moment of lightheartedness while they waited.* Similar. It would have been bigger, and it would have been semi-formal to appease you. *He teased a moment before taking another sip of the champagne.* Well, *he began before he used her own words against her* at least I have an excuse to see you in this dress.

 **Jana:** Bigger? *She blinks in shock she half faked, tapping a fingernail against the champagne. It's pink, it's horrid, but it's light on the way down and she wasn't drinking for taste. The aftertaste wasn't that bad, and Jana had long since learned to open her throat to drown in.* Stuarts. *She teases right back, shaking her head as she sets the glass down on a tiny, circular table.* Always have to just be bigger than everyone else, hm? *Seriously though, there were at least a hundred people through those doors.* Is it because a Brackner planned this party?

*See! She knew something about the (utterly ridiculous) pureblood family feuds and friendships. Sure, more because such knowledge was wonderfully useful for settling deals with the Wizengamot -- though in this case, simply because she'd spent time with Shane's mother, and listened to her discuss Benjamin Brackner in amusing ways -- but she spun back wiggling an eyebrow, hands planted on her skirt. Laughing once at the echoed remark, she shrugs a shoulder,* I guess you do need the excuse more than me. *Usually if she was wearing such...it was a happier occasion. Victory parties for his campaign came to mind. Brow still arched, her words were under her breath,* Though sweetie, it's funny, that look in your eyes usually tends to mean you're not exactly seeing me -with- the dress on...or am I assuming too much? 

*A few moments to themselves, a few moments to breathe -- it was simply necessary. Otherwise, considering the fact her nerves were round tighter than a clock could willingly withstand without snapping and stopping gears from turning; she would simply have imploded.* 

 **Shane:** We don't -have- to be bigger, we already are. *He nods in the arrogance that anyone of his other family members could pull off better than he. Not that he didn't have any at all, he just preferred to call it confidence. The confidence that came with running the country for so many years, and that was necessary to keep it running.* Hmm, that might have something to do with it, yes. *He only hoped that his mother and Benjamin didn't come within 10 yards of the other during this night. Given that this house was so immense, it shouldn't be a problem.*

Yes, I do. Remind me to take you to dinner more often. *He grinned with the slight tease, both of them knowing that whenever he did have free time, he -and they- much preferred to spend it in their comfort of their own home when they didn't have to be consistently stalked by reporters and photographers from the Prophet or Witch Weekly.* You are assuming too much. *he nodded* I am seeing you with the dress on, as much as I am not. I am a master of compromise. *He grinned and then leaned in to kiss her once, lingering.* I don't think I've told you recently, how lucky I am to have you by my side.

 **Jana:** *Mming again, she takes a few steps closer to her husband, letting the sound of her skirt dragging against the floor be her only other response. Watching Shane puff himself up like that always amused her, always made her smile, considering how humble and serving she knew he could be. It reminded her of that softer side of him, the one often only she got to see, when he was with their family. Though, his mention of dinner made her laugh.* Dinner? And not from _Naga Jolokia_ 's? 

*Jana teasingly puts her hands together like she's praying, looking toward the glass to dart her glance to the actual sky. (This was why she'd wanted to come in this room in particular while Tracy gathered his intelligence; she always was better with a view of the outdoors when this panicked. There were a hundred people through those doors at least, a hundred people hiding without realizing it a fifteen-year old girl, accomplices to the crime at the moment...she needed the air.)* Sweetheart, I'd long given up hope. 

*Besides, she did tend to like their Indian/Thai take-out nights when they were stuck at the office. Amused, she adds reluctantly,* Though really, we make the best of it in your office. *He pulls her in and she slides a single arm around him, fingers snaking up his back and toying with his collar from behind, lingering herself as he steals her lips. Nothing but his mouth and hers, her husband taking care of breathing for her so she could simply devote all her energy to him. It was heaven. Just for a moment. When they pull back, she smiles and shrugs a shoulder at him,* We've had a few other things on our mind, love. Besides, *She squeezes both arms around him now, in that way that says she's reminding herself as much as him,* I already know. 

 **Shane** : *he arched his eyebrows, trying to be stern but completely failing of course, as his narrowed eyes quickly turned into a grin.* Are you implying I'm boring? Or worse, that you don't enjoy our choice food? *It was as much tradition for them as the ones he had inherited from his pureblood upbringing. A much more enjoyable one, to tell the truth.*

We make the best of many things in my office, darling. *It was easier to think on that right now, than of the possible attack that was looming over them, than of Nadia's life being in danger as it had been for two and a half weeks now. Licking his bottom lip absently after pulling away from her, most reluctantly, nodding slowly at the truth of her first words (ignoring momentarily the devastating nature of them) before he smiles.* Doesn't mean I don't like reminding you of it. *He set his glass down to cup her neck with both hands, tracing the lines of her jaw with his thumb.* And we'll beat these bastards the same way we've done everything else. Together.

**&.**

**D'Grey:** *His brother's appearance had given him pause. Tony was not the kind to intervene without thought. Unfortunately, he also was not the kind to immediately explain. And when Olivier had admitted to the boy, to Devin, that one had taken Nadia's memory from him (he left Angel out, naturally) -- by the time he turned, Tony had promptly declared the need for a drink. "It would be a long night, it seems," is what he'd said and gone the opposite way as Devin had darting off with Nick. Somehow, he didn't think he meant to go to his father. 

Departing down a hallway far from the main ballroom to check on the state of a few things, he came to a pause and found a smile crossing his lips as he paused to adjust his tie in the shadows. Chuckling under his breath, he leaned against a marble post. This house was beautiful. Not a corner went ungarnished in elegant simplicity; lush peach carpets, glass vases filled with white and pink flowers, white hangings traced with gold embroidery that had a just a hint of a sparkle. He had to give it to Harper's wife...as he'd said to the man, she could plan a party. And it appeared he had to give it to someone else...or perhaps Harper himself, rather.*

Evening, Nadia. *He straightens off the marble, candle light flickering in his reflected blue gaze,* Glad to see I wasn't mistaken. *He cocks his head.* And that Angel's faith isn't misplaced either -- whatever you've planned seems to be going well. Or at least, I doubt you're -supposed- to be alone right now -- *his eyes darts to her hands, seeking his knife with his gaze,* -- congratulations.

 **Nadia:** *It had been a relief to find she could navigate the house as if she had lived in it before. She remembered memorizing it, going over it, drawing a little stick figure of herself and trying out different escape routes with pen and paper...but she still didn't know how she knew any of this.

Nadia kept hoping that it wasn't permanent, that it was only until this night was over, and that it had been taken away to protect somebody else; that maybe even she had requested it, for the sake of whoever had given her the information but that was wishful thinking.

Now she was headed towards the main ballroom in a route that was probably the most indirect ever. The trick was to lure whoever was looking for away from the main ballroom and tell them the information, without being caught by the Death Eaters, werewolves, -or- whoever was here to keep her safe. The moment she was 'safe' was the moment she was unable to help, because she doubted they would let her keep walking around.

It was a bit more difficult than she had thought. Clutching her tiny purse with an extension charm, she almost had a heart attack as she hears a voice. She was going to have to do better than that. If it had been anyone else...*

Oh, hello D'Grey. *She smiled, trying to appear at ease, calming herself down after thinking she'd been caught already. Confused as he kept talking, she tilted her head. Angel's faith? Was this a religious thing again, like the knife she had in her purse? (Though she wish she could keep it somewhere more accessible but given that the dress had no pockets). No, she wasn't supposed to be alone, that much was true, and as pleased as she was to hear he was mildly impressed, she was still more confused.* ...Pardon? Angel's faith?

 **D'Grey:** *He chuckles,* Impressive. *Her look of confusion, he meant. Of course he didn't expect her to trust him -- he didn't expect anyone, to trust him, rather. Daniella had told him 'you have to give trust to get it,' and well - didn't it just make sense then? He didn't trust anyone. Toying with a few pieces of spare change in his pocket, he continues simply,* But I'm not going to tell, Nadia, whatever it is you and Angel planned.

*There were more security here than he'd expected; of both kinds. The two sides of the war he'd mentioned to her, cloaked in glittering silks and Italian suits (none did it better). To alert someone that Nadia was there - alone at the moment, would simply cause battle to erupt. That, he imagined, was likely Gustav's eventual plan - and wouldn't help avert anything. So he was being honest. Tilting his head up, he adds,* You do look beautiful, by the way. In a deadly sort of way. 

 **Nadia:** *An actual admission of being impressed, wow. She was flattered, and almost thanked him except she wasn't sure exactly what he was impressed about because she was just confused, unless he actually meant impressed by her managing to sneak away from Julio. There it was again, Angel. An actual person, but she...was she supposed to know an Angel?

She'd been frowning, mouth opening and closing slightly in further confusion but before she had a chance to speak up he spoke up again. If anything, it was the deadly part that meant more to her. When he'd first seen her, she'd been a crumpled figure sitting alone in the darkness whom he had been nice to (and then she repaid that by being a meddler but details) and she'd been grateful. Now, well, it was nice to hear that she didn't look as helpless as she had been.* Thank you. *Nadia told him with a smile, and she meant it. Because even if she was confused, he had said he wasn't going to tell she was here. See, maybe she had been right about him after all.* D'Grey? ...Who's Angel?

 **D'Grey** : *Waving a hand at her gratitude far from ill-received (simply a waste of time to dwell on), he stills at the question. Brows furrowing as he searches her eyes, he thinks: why should she pretend not to know Angel? He'd said the chosen name, even though he believed she knew his given one, knew he'd been Harper Brackner first (and, D'Grey thought, still foremost). There was no reason to pretend...*

...Ah. 

*He realizes it abruptly, in sad surprise. Though it shouldn't have surprised him, D'Grey chides himself: Gustav would never have let her near anyone with knowledge that Harper Brackner survived. Heavens, his wife and son were in this house. When Lyndsea had greeted him, Olivier had smiled, kissed her hand, said 'how-do-you-do', and his mouth had hung open for a half second longer than usual. A diamond had glinted on her hand, nestled against a familiar gold band. Her wedding rings. Were he the sort to have words tumble freely, he thought he might have told her then, told her he'd seen the man who gave her them. It was lucky he wasn't that sort, he thought as he'd closed his mouth and moved on, smiling at ease. Presently, there was nothing he could do to return her husband to her; so he would not put that burden on anyone. Not yet. 

And now it seemed, he had that choice again. It was ironic; she didn't realize the double-meaning in her question. Who is Angel, she asked, and D'Grey knew she didn't mean "Who did he used to be?" Nadia meant 'how do I know him?' Nadia meant, 'When did I meet a man calling himself Angel?"

For Harper had taken her memories again, it seemed, and D'Grey honestly thought he would have to ask him about it later. It wasn't that he thought he cared -- though Harper erasing himself could not have been easy on the man -- but rather, for a moment he thought how clearly Harper had gone to incredibly lengths to protect her from her own knowledge. Biting down on his lips, he smiles and says instead,* My apologies, I thought you must have met him, I must be mistaken. Angel's no one, Nadia. 

*He wasn't lying, he thought at the back of his mind: Angel was a front, a chosen name, an alter-ego for the truth of a man desperate to hide. What would be a lie is to say he was unimportant.* Who is, someone though -- I saw your boyfriend. 

 **Nadia** : *It felt like he was lying to her with the truth. Not that she claimed to be a good judge of character (though she had a suspicion she was...mostly), but he didn't sound insincere with his sentence. Years of practice, she figured. Normally, under different circumstances, she would have questioned D'Grey because his answer, while seemingly sincere, was anything but satisfying. However, there was very little time to spare, and the last time she'd try to get anything out of D'Grey, it had taken a good half hour, and it ended in a shouting match. There was simply no time for it- after this was over (if she was still...well), then she would seek him out again and ask him then.*

Devin? *Her heartbeat began to race. The only thing she knew about her boyfriend was the brief moment she'd had with the picture Gustav had given her. She was anxious, Nadia realized, to see the guy she was supposed to be dating but couldn't remember. She was nervous about seeing everyone else actually, all these people who cared about her, who were waiting for the same Nadia that left them to come back and instead they were going to get...well, her. And what if they didn't like this Nadia? She hadn't had much time to think on it, had been stowing it at the back of her mind actually rather than dwell on it, but it was certainly not the time now. If anyone would believe her and not try and stop her from her plan then surely, it would be him right? He seemed a good person to start with; her left hand clenched and unclenched, as if tense with the message it was dying to give out.* Did you see where he went?

 **D'Grey:** *How curious: one name had been exchanged for another. Another eyebrow arching, he nods,* Yes, Devin. *Last they had spoken, she hadn't known even her own name. Now...he'd known that Gustav had spoken to her, after the whole...catastrophie with Rhys; he hadn't expected her to be so instantly aware of who "her boyfriend" was. In fact, he'd stated it that way half-expecting that had he said simply 'Devin', he'd have been asked 'Who is that?' again.* I saw which way he was going -*he gestures over his shoulder, though considering the hall only went one way it wasn't very helpful*- he's looking for you, Nadia. And despite the way I met him, he doesn't seem very inclined to accepting my help, so I didn't shadow him. 

*In this instance, any mention of "who?', actually only referred to that most basic of questions, "who are they to me?" As she looked over his shoulder, D'Grey's lips flicked as he decided to answer who -he- was to her instead, albeit in a roundabout way.* When you do find him, I'd be much obliged if you tell him I meant no harm. *Calmly, then,* He was headed away from the bar, that's all I know. 

 **Nadia:** *She looked over his shoulder (it was relatively easier to do with her heels because otherwise it would have been simpler to just look around him) and nodded. She knew where the hallway lead, where it broke off into smaller hallways that led into small rooms except who knew who was in those rooms. Nadia looked back to D'Grey, more confused. What did he mean by the way she'd met him? Sigh, this man. Always giving her more questions than answers. Nadia would find that annoying, if she had time to think on that.

Her eyes flicked back to D'Grey at his request, now thoroughly curious. So this 'saw' was actually spoken to, and Devin had for all intents and purposes weighed D'Grey and found him wanting. Nadia pursed her lips, knowing of course it was smart not to trust in complete strangers. But, she trusted D'Grey, at least in this matter, when their goals might not be exactly the same, but the path to them was. She nodded.* I'll tell him. *But would he believe her? That was something entirely. She was without memory, and passing on a message from D'Grey, someone who even if he had no part in her kidnapping, was an accomplice simply by being aware of it and doing nothing about it, was enough to make anyone suspicious of her mental state. What was that spell that took control of another person? They would probably test to see if that had happened to hear.* Thanks again, D'Grey. *She smiled and transferred her purse to her left hand so that she could squeeze his arm without transferring the mental message as she walked past him.*


	28. The Charitable Kind

**Rachelle:** Well don't you look dashing. *To a normal human being, she might have just appeared out of thin air but she knew Hans was better than that. Taking a sip of her champagne, she licked her blood red lips after with a quick grin.* Made new friends yet? I have.

 **Hans:** *Patting with a linen, the tip flashes over his lips' corner as it curls.* Rachelle luv, has anyone ever told you sneaking up on someone can lead to somewhat..*He hmms, folding the cloth as he muses, then darts his gaze to her,* embarrassing, situations, if you're not careful? *His eyebrows pop and wiggle, but only once.* Did you? How marvelous. *How loaded a question it was,* What are their names? 

 **Rachelle:** It's a good thing I'm always careful then. *She answered easily.* Marvelous indeed- such a dedicated group of people as well. Riley, Jackson, Jordyn, and Tobias. Acquaintances my new friend Lynn and I share, it seems. *She wiggled her eyebrows before she added.* You've not complimented my dress. What's a girl to think?

 **Hans:** Ah... *Committing the names to memory, pleased. One ear seems to swivel away from them, listening hard for trace of the names, but he makes no other movement except to smile.* Wonderful, it does always make things easier when new friends are already acquainted with friends, Makes things less...mm, awkward. *He tucks away the cloth, idle and amused,* I believe a girl might think me humble, so as not to compliment my own purchase. *Now his gaze flicks back up to her, inclining his head.* On the other hand. You look simply stunning. That, I had nothing to do with; the dress is a simple scrap of cloth, unworthy.

 **Rachelle:** *She agrees, bemused with a nod of her head.* Indeed, it does. *She twirls a strand of her hair with her finger to keep the curls tight, smirking before she takes a sip of her drink again as she hears the word humble. Yes, and she was the Queen. She was pleased with his next words, a compliment so true. What a sweet talker, Hans was.* And this is why you're my favorite brother. *She beams and kisses his cheek.* It truly is a parfait nuit, c'est vrai? *Rachelle hadn't felt this good in weeks; being stuck in that hotel was just not her style.*

 **Hans:** You flatter me, *He chuckles idly, still smirking as she kisses his cheek,* I just speak the truth. *His gaze is momentarily stayed as he realizes Eliza was across the "tiny" grand ballroom (as it was billed in the floor plans). Speaking of stunning. Gaze trapped, his blue-eyes soften as they take in a shimmering bodice of the same color, strapless and neglecting to cover a flushed neck, nor rosy cheeks. He forgets to listen, either for RileyJacksonJordynTobiassomebody--or for a moment, even his favorite sister, though the clipped French translates belatedly. His bottom lip hovers open and he breathes out - ah, yes, it was a perfect night, oh he quite agreed -* C'est vrai...*He hums under his breath, holding back a chuckle. She'd spotted him. It amused him to be so gently reminded of her irritation when she narrows an equally captivated pair of eyes back at him. As she pushes on, pointedly turning her back his lips quirk, and he flicks his gaze back at Rachelle.* Only to be improved upon at that, darling sister. 

 **Rachelle:** *Oh the attention span of a man besotted was so small. Well, besotted was probably a strong word for Hans, but he was giving her the same treatment darling Nick had bestowed upon her when she'd made small talk. Men. Her lips flickered amused before she took another sip, eyebrows arching briefly.* Of that I have no doubt. *Immediately after in a playfully curious tone* Tell me, have you graced dear Eliza with your lavish words yet? 

 **Hans:** *Eyes flicking up to the ceiling, he sucks on his bottom lip as he contemplates (using the ornate carvings above to refocus himself, but whoever said he shouldn't multi-task?). If he were capable of being abashed, he might have blushed, only his words were laced with too much irony.* Oh sister. *He leans closer to her, flicking her nose playfully as her tone,* Always sticking this where it doesn't belong. Mm...*He drops his finger, looks over her shoulder and continues drily, off hand,* Course that is part of what I most love about you. 

 **Rachelle:** *She scrunched up her nose after he flicked it, amused, and then smiled.* Are you insinuating there exists a place in the world where I don't belong? Pish posh. *She waves her hand dismissively, joking before she adds again.* You know better than I the timing of tonight- brother I know you. *She wiggles her eyebrows* You would never forgive yourself if you refrain from requesting a dance. Dancing says oh so much about a person, after all. *She finishes off the champagne quickly, the liquor nothing but half bubbly water to her increased tolerance.*

 **Hans:** How foolish of me to forget. *His hand slides into his pocket, thumbing along the seam in a repeated drumbeat as he continues to search the crowd. Eliza has one curl loose. His fingers itch to tuck it back in place.* Do you know what, sister, you're right. *He takes her champagne glass as she finishes it - spinning to deposit it on a nearby tray.* Excuse me, chap. *He pats the server's shoulder, eyes boring into him before he has a chance to object to the condescending touch. The wordless imperius was second nature to him now, but he's still careful not to blink.* 

Fetch my sister whatever she asks for from the private stock. *As the confused and captivated man starts nodding, he casts his glance over his shoulder back to Rachelle.* A gift for such a wonderful idea. *He winks, and then swivels straight back around, his voice lowering as he continues to bore into the man's eyes.* And then my good friend, you are going to go into the kitchens, and ruin one of their desserts. Then find a boy called Rory and ask for his help putting it right - tell him his girlfriend mentioned he had a talent for such crises. 

*That would keep him occupied and guarantee a better dessert, Hans thought. He truly should get points for ingenuity sometimes.* 

&.

**Ansel:** Dearest sister, if that neckline plunges any lower, *his voice is lilting as he leans against the doorframe, arching an eyebrow,* you're going to be swimming with Jules Verne. *His gaze flicks up at hers, smirk appearing.* I approve.

 **Allison** : Your compliments are always so one of a kind, Ansel. *She turns to him with arched eyebrows, nevertheless a grin on her face.* A simple "stunning" would have been enough.

 **Ansel:** Hmm, but then I'd be boring, and complacent, and quite simply not me. *He winks. Both shoulders shrug as his smirk widens,* Well, you're not quite twenty-thousand leagues yet but I do believe you've met Poseidon. If you see a little red-haired wench swimming around, point her my way would you please? She owes me. *Unfolding his arms now as he leans off the door, still grinning.* And speaking of people who owe me, *brow arching* We've got company tonight. I mean, *waving his hand amused* besides the extra warm bodies Daddy Minister brought. 

 **Allison:** The whole world would crumble, obviously. *She shook her head, amused with his continued analogy of deep sea journeys and tales.* And encourage your womanizing nature? Go fishing without my help, brother. *Company? Her eyebrows rose in curiosity.* Who's decided to grace us with their presence?

 **Ansel:** My world would, so, *his head jerks, still saying lightly despite the fact it wasn't all that light a topic for him,* I entirely agree with your analogy. *Stepping to the window, his hand lifted to tap against the window pane. His green eyes were pierced to the arriving carriages below (how quaint weren't they?). It was easy to see, despite the lowering sun, but then, Ansel always had preferred the light of the moon. Hmming,* I suppose there's no need. Rachelle will be bringing us such a scarlet wench won't she? *Delight colors his tone,  and he cocks his head back, looking at her steadily.* Stefanie. 

 **Allison:** *She nods after pursing lips, adding lightly* If she succeeds, yes. *Allison was hoping she failed, just to knock her down a peg or two. She was tired of the pack thinking Rachelle walked on water.* Stefanie's here? *Her surprise was evident. She hadn't ever expected to see the woman ever again.* Does Hans know?

 **Ansel:** *He chuckles.* Always so competitive, sister. I suppose in that case I'd have to content myself with the blonde -- truthfully? *He shakes his head, shrugging a shoulder.* It's a shame she's so young; she has... mmm..*He cocks his head as he deliberates, alighting on the word as his whole body transforms, face bright.* Fire. *Ah, right, he knew he should have told Hans first..but honestly, that was what Stefanie had wanted and he wasn't that inclined to listen to her.* It's possible I've lagged a bit on telling him. *Musing, he looks back to the window.* He's been a bit distracted, of course, busy, busyyy night. 

 **Allison:** *Dryly.* When has a simple thing like age stopped you before? *it certainly didn't seem to stop their alpha with his new plaything.* If you were hoping I would take that job off your hands, you are sorely mistaken. *She smirks before adding brightly* But I'll be happy to watch. 

 **Ansel:** *He chuckles, casting his gaze up and thinking,* Mm, she does seem  to have experience too. *Truthfully, only another thing that reminded of himself -- perhaps that was it, she was a bit too close to his own recollections. He remembered another not much older, another blonde with fire, too much of it in the end -- and then shook his head to clear the thought. Tapping the pane of glass, it cracks beneath a yellowed nail.* Ah. How many duties must I have in one night? What - *he turns and cocks an eyebrow,* does our brother have planned for you, any way? *Rachelle and he were tasked with the retrievals (aside from the one Gustav was arranging with his bitchy mate); Hans was focused on their new pup. Yet Allison...Ansel was cleverer than to think she wasn't equally tasked. Shrugging a shoulder, he asks lightly,* Care to tell me so I might get a good seat, sister?

 **Allison:** *Men and blondes; she rolled his eyes. Nearly as annoying as men and redheads. Letting the conversation of the underage blondes drop, she smirked at Ansel's question.* That question practically answers itself brother. What's my specialty? *She wiggles her eyebrows and then noticed the sad lack of alcohol on her person.* Anything better floating around than this pink tea?

**&.**

**Hans:** Tony! *false brightly; clapping him on the shoulder* What a wonderful surprise.

 **Tony** : Hans! *mimicking the bright tone and shoulder clap* You're here too!

 **Hans:** *he chuckles, a bit distracted as his gaze darts over the bar* Oh, leave the clever remarks to those better suited.

 **Tony:** Like that one? *drily*

 **Hans** : Eliza, darling!

 **Eliza:** *Had been looking for he ID and comes to a sudden stop* Seriously? *Pause, exhale and moves to the other side of the bar* I just am getting a drink.

 **Tony:** *eyes flicking back and forth between them, and then blinks rapidly a smirk appearing noticing the discomfort. He leans a little closer to Eliza.* This guy bothering you?

 **Hans:** *chuckles* Are you the white knight now?

 **Tony:** *blink* Ai, mi madone--no no, I look too good in black.

 **Eliza:** *swivels abruptly* You're Italian too?

 **Tony:** *delighted* Parli?

 **Eliza** : Poco. *gaze darting between them*

 **Tony:** *extends hand* Antonio D'Grey, Miss Eliza. Friends call me Tony.

 **Eliza** : *eyes on Hans, who is nursing the whiskey and pretending not to look back, but before she says a word--.*

 **Hans:** Ah, I'm a friend now then? *without looking up* 

 **Tony** : Fair point--psychotic werewolves also call me Tony.

 **Eliza** : *blinks; and then leans closer to him and asks with narrowed eyes* Which D'Grey are you?

Hans: *had rolled his eyes and now smirks* Careful, friend, Eliza has a habit of picking up on those little details.

 **Tony:** *amused, sticking his pinky in the drink and then pulls it out, hmming while he sucks on it.* I'm whichever one -didn't- give you cause to be angry.

 **Hans:** *dry laugh* Courageous.

 **Eliza:** *eyes flick over Tony's shoulder to level a little glare while still speaking to Tony* Do you know where Nadia is?

 **Tony:** Nope. *Finger pops out while he smirks* Dying to meet her though, she seems to have quite the hold over a lot here.

 **Hans** : *not blinking, holding Eliza's gaze*

 **Eliza:** *breath shallow* Well, she's a pretty special girl.

 **Tony:** Mm, it appears she's not the only one with quite the hold on those usually...less inclined to attac--

 **Hans** : *abruptly finishing the drink* May I have a dance, luv? 

 **Eliza** : *startles, and frowns the slightest bit, eyes darting; breathy* 

 **Hans:** *holding his hand out, amused, under his breath.* I am sure the boyfriend won't begrudge a dance.

 **Eliza:** His name is Rory. *eyes narrowing at him, still breathy*

 **Hans:** One dance. *raising his index finger* 

 **Eliza** : *breathes in and out, trying to stay still*

 **Hans:** *lightly, as a slow, triumphant smile of delight spreads* I promise I won't bite.

 **Tony:** *snorts and covers mouth as he tries to prevent whiskey coming through his nose*

 **Eliza:** *huffs, barely noticing Tony; resettles herself and lifts a hand to his slowly, nodding* Fine. One dance. 

**&.**

**Nadia:** *It was nearly impossible to navigate here unseen. Beforehand, she thought it would be safest for her to stick to the sidelines, but the opposite turned out to be true. Instead she lost herself in groups, prayed that no one in it recognized her. To most, she was just another girl in a pretty dress, easy to forget. And if she did turn a head or two in curiosity, she never stayed there for more than a second. Always moving with the crowd, that was the key. Until she found someone she could trust to act on her information, before Julio came to and raised the alarm on her disappearance, before the Death Eaters started attacking. She was just glad the main room was so crowded, otherwise her heartbeat was sure to bring some curious wolves to sniff about her, no pun intended. 

Nadia searched for Devin mainly, but could not locate him. Instead, she spotted someone else. A redhead, wearing a gorgeous red dress. Her name was Lynn, Nadia was positive of it. One of the various faces Gustav had shown her, a friend of the family since birth- Nadia recalled those she'd heard first, and the one she'd heard last easiest. Her left hand clenching in expectation, she left the huddled mass of one group and approached Lynn from the side. Her left hand outstretched and reaching for her wrist.*

 **Lynn:** *Typical. Nick had gone to get (real) drinks (and not this pink crap) and promptly vanished just when she wanted to dance. And just how was she supposed to show off this red gown  -and- look for Nadia another way? Granted, her father wanted her to do neither. He was tolerating them there with half a dozen different guards (Jordyn and Tobias were flirting adorably with each other; Jackson was dodging an ex she just happened to point him out to; but bloody Riley was hovering the wall behind her, watching much more closely). And he'd thrown a dozen of her mother's shawls at her pleading she cover up - but cover up what? 

Everything important was covered: both knives were out of sight, the pair of magically reinforced-handcuffs that she'd tricked Alcott into wearing to prove wolves couldn't escape them were down her bodice, her wand was strapped to her thigh...she had to be able to reach everything! Besides, a femme fatale was always in red (even in the old black and whites, you could tell), and it was a role she was born for. Lynn was honestly hoping desperately one of the bastards give her a reason to play whe--* Nadia! 

*Her hiss of surprise was loud, but drowned out in the din. She turned abruptly, but whatever the jostling crowd she'd been trying to dodge Riley in -- she'd recognize those black curls anywhere.* Oh my god is that re---are you--oh thank god -- okay that dress is gorgeous -- Nadia are you -- *She reached for her each word breathless and running together, but it seemed Nadia had the same idea. As her hand closed around her wrist, Lynn took her other hand and stared into her blue eyes, breathing out,* Thank. God. What hap-- *But before she could get another word out, she gasped abruptly; images and words overwhelming her mind until it protested. It was squeaking as if the gears that kept her strategic mind whirling had a wrench thrown in them and were simultaneously asked to spin twice as fast. 

Clutching Nadia's wrist harder, she winces and let's her eyes shut, trying to will herself to remember how to throw such an intrusion out when she realized -- she didn't want to. Her hand frees itself as she reaches for her poor head, rubbing hard into a sweating forehead. Faces were swimming to the surface and then dashing quicker than roadrunner, met with words like "wolf" or "death eater"; and over and over again she heard simply "it's a trap."* Nadia! 

*She exclaims it again, wondering when the hell she'd picked up that little trick and realizes -- she's clutching someone else's wrist. Throwing it away and making an apology, she spins, through swirling skirts and high-pitched laughter that rang insincere, through stepping stilettos that nearly tore her skirt, bouncing pearl necklaces, talon-shaped red nails -- she looked through so many people, but no Nadia. Breathing harshly with fury and fear, she stops turning abruptly, realizing who she stood in front. Rachelle. Oh that li--see! Nick was never allowed to tease her about conspiracies. Or Devin wasn't, rather, Nick's were enjoyable. And with Nadia's message in her mind's eye, she drops her hand again and smiles abruptly,* Oh thank god- a friendly face -- you know, I think I might be claustrophobic? 

 **Nadia:** *It was relieving to see Lynn acknowledge her so, even if her voice happened to be incredibly loud at least in Nadia's own hearing. To see the relief, the happiness that overtook Lynn's eyes for a split second threatened to bring tears to her eyes. But no, not right now. She relayed the message, her fingers almost zapped like a surge on contact. Lynn's hand held her wrist tighter, and a voice in her head, unknown yet familiar, spoke information she had momentarily forgotten- the message could be overwhelming. Taking her hand back, prying it off, Nadia almost wished she could stay around but there was no time, and she saw someone familiar headed this way. So she left once more, turning her head to hide her face and disappearing into the crowd again.*

 **Rachelle:** *To hear the girl's name come out of Lynn's mouth was surprising. It was almost like a whisper in the crowd, but it reached Rachelle's ears and so she weaved her way through the crowd expertly until she came about the flustered face of her target. Her heartbeat was elevated, her breathing erratic.* Bonjour, Lynn...*she chuckled, pretending to be a bit put off though it was hardly difficult to do so.* Are you alright? Maybe you need some fresh air.

 **Lynn** : *Rubbing at her throat, she still smiled, calmed with the knowledge that she was right. She'd been right! Oh, sure, common sense might say she should be frightened - nervous, upset - but see, now, if she was any of those things she'd be caught right that moment wouldn't she?* I'm fine. *She shrugs a shoulder, still calm, even as she forces herself to take a deep breath to give another reason for her steadiness. With every appearance of dismissing-on-the-want-not-to-impose...* Mm...no, no fresh air. *Lynn knew how this game was played. If she'd agreed too easily, she'd be caught too. Caught by a werewolf with admittedly fantastic fashion sense, who could transform at will and was in league with kidnapping Death Eaters -- see, nope, they could not judge her conspiracy theories again ever. A slow smirk spreading across her lips, she continued with a firm head nod, teasing and without hesitation,* I need a drink. A real one. And Kris has vanished. Don't suppose I could impose on you to help me find one? 

 **Rachelle:** *Curious, much curious. Maybe the girl had been caught in a moment after all, for her heart rate was lowering back down to normal and her breathing steadied as well. The hesitation to trust her was still there, Rachelle noted with amusement. With good reason, she thought as she chuckled at Lynn's continuation of the name Kris for her boyfriend. She smirked as well and then brought up her hand, in which there now held a flask.* Raided their alcohol already. *Well, her brother had instructed someone to do it for her but same old. Besides, she wanted to know if Lynn would accept an unknown drink from a seeming stranger.* You look great, by the way. Tres belle!

 **Lynn:** *Eyes widening at the flask, her painted lips quirked up as they followed her fingers down it. Hm. Well, that either wasn't an actual silver flask, or she was hell-ass strong (and it was probably a little bit of both). Aloud,* Oh my god -yes-, thank the Lord. *Taking a few steps and clacking forward, she flicks her gaze and says brightly,* Where to? Show me, I owe you already. *She flicks a scarlet strand back with her scarlet nail, and snaps it with her thumb so fast she's certain it'll tear. She kept her thoughts focused on one step at a time, no matter how many steps ahead she could see (thank you Nadia) - because she realized abruptly: it was likely that Rachelle could do Legilimency, and it was dead _certain_ she was well-versed in the Unforgivables. Her mind had to be focused.* And thank you! You look beautiful - if I could steal that dress, I would. *She winks.*

 **Rachelle** : *Ah, smart. Show her the location of the alcohol, not take from the flask herself. She lowered the flask again, and as she did so it disappeared again, just a neat little trick.* Oh please, think of it as a thank you for that coffee. *She giggles and then tilts her head to show where (she extracted the information from a waiter walking past her), walking at a normal pace.* Merci, you are too kind. *No, she was just being accurate; Rachelle did look good, especially tonight but it was sweet of the girl to say so.*

 **Lynn:** They do have fabulous coffee. *She teases and agrees easily, listening to the way her steps clacked and using it to steady her heart to match the rhythm and let that fill her mind. Occlumency, the one time she had tried on a whim with Hols to learn, she'd given up as the fact was: she couldn't shut either her mind off or her heart out. Imperius on the other hand, that she had a decent guard against -- just in that she couldn't imagine how anyone but her could stand to be in her head for too long. Amused at the statement, she casts one glance over her shoulder, toying with a scarlet strand and seeing across the room Nick (holding glasses). Rachelle could pick up a head shake. Hm. Instead, she tugs on her hair, shaking it back and blowing, saying exasperated,* It never stays up. No matter what I do. You must tell me how you got that hair style, because you look fabulous--*And all the while, she meant it, but while she was shaking her head, her eyes had trained on Nick a few seconds before looking back sideways at Rachelle and gluing a strand behind her ear by pressing her nail into her own skin. Hard. And she smiles honestly, amused at the irony.* Too kind? Oh... hardly. *It was light, teasing, playful -- and utterly coy, and she winks at her.* You wouldn't say that if you knew me better. 

 &.

“So are you going to tell me like, the name of the piece, the movement and how many people the composer slept with?” 

There was a light in Hans that seemed to spark with her words; had she truly surprised him? How she hoped so, how she wanted to take him aback, yank the needle out of the spinning disc so hard it left a silvery, thin scratch deep across the grooves. Laughter peppered with heart pricks her ears up. He squeezes her hand. 

“Why,” he spins them, “ do you want to know?” 

“Not particularly.” Her words were prim as her neck was straight. It was a self-defense, distance forced into her words to spite warmth from the arm he had close around her waist. Scarlet lips pressed closed at his amusement. She flutters her gaze over his shoulder and tried to remember the rest of her thought.

“It just seemed on par with your…” Breath catches as a warm-throated bassoon interrupts her throught. “Your master plan.” 

“Oh, my master plan?” 

It occurs to her there’s a youth in his light tone. Eliza wills her cheeks not to blush. And if they did, it was the flush from his bloody wolf’s body. Alcott went through at least two shirts a day — more if he was practicing — and his shower’s were longer than  even hers.   

“Yes, your master plan.” She reasserts as if it wasn’t a silly idea, as if she weren’t embarrasse nor distracted each time they spun. Damn supernatural strength (as if she wasn’t a witch). Each turn drew her closer and lifts her higher, her steps so light her heels seemed not to touch the ground half the time. Wrapped in his fever, like his arms were ribbons on a Christmas yule log he’d already lit, she thinks to herself: they might be a ballroom couple in a snow globe. Spinning forever to a violin straining to reach a note already dying in it’s resin, shaken, living in a cloud of white. 

When her eyes slide over Rory standing near a pillar with his head tilted, looking puzzled and amused, she remembers. She swallows on a dry throat. 

“You know, your master plan to make me believe you know everything, to make me see you as a worldly gentleman of class instead of the-…” she remembers he hates the word ‘monster’, “-animal who attacked my friends.” 

“Ah, that plan.” His chuckle is so light, so airy, that Eliza thinks abruptly of a tiny bird that didn’t realize it was caught in a mad wind but spread it’s wings in anticipation of flight. 

There’s a breathless pause before she says, “Impress me, then.”  

“Naturally. An animal like me would assume your good opinion is so easily won.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Sarcasm colors her words as he lifts their entangled fingers and sways in place, “you don’t ‘do’ expectations, just —,” 

“Honesty.” 

“Original.” 

There was a peal of laughter that drew Eliza’s gaze across the checkled marble floor. Her dry aggravation was making Rory amused. read on his face. On the far wall, in those black tails he toasts her with a golden drink in hand, mouth curled sardonically. Boistered, Eliza tilts her head back to Hans. 

“You know,” she says, “blunt truth can be the coward’s way out. Saying something you know you shouldn’t, to absolve yourself of all responsibility.” 

“Have I indicated I seek absolution?” There’s a touch of irony in his voice,but his tone was more serious than she’d ever heard it. If she’d meant to respond, he takes that too as the impulse drowned in the retreat down the marble dance floor.

“Well, are you a slave to temptation?” 

“Certainly not.” 

Hans immediate words were curt. Eliza bats eyes of dusted mascara at him and gives a modest little shrug of her shoulders, even knowing modesty was a contradictory characteristic to exhibit as she spoke to understand him.  

“If I were such a slave,” his gaze was steadily on hers, “your effortless beauty would have driven me to ravaging, a temptation to which I’d have to surrender.” 

The abrupt sincerity shakes her, steals her ability to blink even as breath drifts away in one, long, slow exhale. There was a sheen on his perfect, bronzed face and the twinkle in his dark eyes. Foolish, she tries to say, wanting something that wasn’t his to have. Then she thinks he has no need for claws or carmine eyes. Surely the suffocation in his presence was enough of a weapon. 

And so she attacks herself, “Why did you tell the cook Rory could fix the dessert?” 

“I wanted to dance with you.” 

Was it a credit to him or a curse that he didn’t deny it? It irritates her. She’d felt so clever. When Rory had kissed her cheek and assured her he wasn’t upset for her sharing the secret of his culinary genius before darting off, Eliza had stood still. She was made a statue of awkward delight and guilt for accepting a kiss in gratitude she hadn’t earned. The only person she’d told had been Sienna — and of course, that answered it, she must have told Hans. 

But it was aggravatingly difficult to attack him for something he freely admitted! 

“Then you ask me to dance.” She says, “You don’t — you don’t treat people as if we’re objects you’re pushing around a board.” 

“I’m not treating you that way.” Hans brings her in against his chest, then twirls her out, fabric swirling around her feet so quickly she’s startled she doesn’t trip and tangle herself. “In that particular proverbial game, you’re sitting across me playing yourself.” 

Eliza blinks. It pleased her to think he would consider her with that respect. Only as clearly, did Hans regard anything else so highly? Struggling to think of something to say, Eliza finds herself lost for retort and dizzy for air, and he rescues her with a lilting concession.

“Though you are right, come to think of it. Honesty isn’t my most treasured trait. That would be loyalty.”

Irritation seems everywhere, from the high promanade draped in mistletoe to the three-door wide archway disguised in rich ornamentation. Pink skin pebbling with the addiction, she snaps spitefully, “Well, I’m loyal to Alcott. And Rory and — ” 

“And Devin, Sienna, Irene yes…,” warmth reverberates in her ear, “I know.” 

The hum was more lively than their dance. Steps perked beneath her shimmery skirt, she realizes they weren’t waltzing. That was one-two-three (one, two, three), as her mother twittered at her seven-year old self while chiding her to stop asking about the music and focus on the dance. Six steps to the beat, fluttered and fervent, each clack of her heel echoes in her heart. 

“Though in regard to possession,” He smiles at her, a full-lipped glowing smile, feral in want yet soft with desire. “There’s nothing I cherish greater than the ability to choose. I wouldn’t dare deprive you, or for that matter anyone, and certainly least of all myself — freedom.” 

If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken the look in his steady gaze for earnestness. He couldn’t be, though: he was a chess player, an alpha wolf who fancied himself a King, addicted to pushing pawns around a checkered floor. Dared as she realizes the ivory and ebony diamonds beneath her swishing skirt, each step forwards and backwards to ever higher, ever tightening violin strains lands half-ways and in between. 

“I swear to you, Eliza. I hold no gun to your back.” 

Tips of his fingers caress the netting drapes against her lower back. Eliza thinks madly she should warn him he’ll wind up coated in glitter, but can’t find the air to support words as she meets his serious stare in determination. Held in his warmth, captivated by the lightness in his gaze, she misses Rory’s puzzling gaze turn knowing. Painted red lips hang half apart tasting hints of something frizzled and bubbly. 

She does believe him. Slow nod casting a strand from graceful pile on her forehead, the blonde curl traces over her cheek. Heart jittery, she lets him sweep her along the floor, caught in the dance as a small smile writes on her lips. Hans chuckles again. The tip of his lips graces the shell as they dance, pushed closer by violin strings plucked and played ever faster, and suddenly her ears are filled with his breath and words.

“Scherezade, the second movement, opus thirty-five…” 

She’s laughing in surprising, but she keeps it quiet from honest curiosity.

“Rimsky-Korsakov, a Russian, wrote the sensuous violin melody coupled with the harp is meant to represent Scheherazade, the wife of a Sultan in the old folktale. The Sultan, insulted by his unfaithful first wife, is said to have married a virgin each night, only to execute the previous wife the following morning in punishment.”

Eliza knew the tale. Scoffing, she arches an eyebrow as she says, “What a monster.” 

“Mm,” Hans’ little smile twists the right corner of his lips up in a way that says he understood her insinuation, “until Scheherazade. She was an exceptional woman of remarkable beauty and endearing wit. A thousand he’d known, but none of her caliber and none that inspired love to rush as a single trickle to her endless oceans.”

Why was she blushing?

“She was a storyteller, you see. A courageous one, for against common sense and against her father, she volunteered to spend a night with him and asked to be allowed to tell her sister a story. The Sultan listens in, enraptured with the vividly portrayed tale, but as dawn broke she cuts the story off, saying there was no time to tell the end. And so he postpones her execution so that the next night he could hear the end, and does so again, and again. A thousand and one tales she tells, until he’s revoked his bloody business all together and they reign in harmony over a time of prosperity. All for the love of a woman.” 

Eliza knew they were swaying, but she couldn’t hear the music. She couldn’t hear even her own breath. Her chest is frantic, pressing her gown and skin against his white linen, and she knows she could feel her heart racing away from her. Inspired by the weighted pause, she offers only a smile and a quiet nod to Hans’ soft little smirk. 

“I  do apologize though, for I’m afraid I don’t know how many people Rimsky-Korsakov slept with.” Squeezing her raised hand and brushing a thumb over her pulse, he winks. “Hopefully fewer than the Sultan.” 

“Hopefully.” 

&.

**Ingrid:** *The news that Eliza had shared with her was troubling enough -her smiles were forced to the point even Pamela had asked her if she was feeling well- but it couldn't be accurate. It shouldn't be, and while she detested of bringing this up at a party, the thought wouldn't stop pestering her. Spotting her son entering a hallway, she excused herself from a couple of friends and approached him.* Sam, Sam! *Her steps didn't hurry, her voice went just loud enough to get through the music and chatter. She reached him, and then instead of asking anything else, she inquired out of curiosity* Where are you headed? It's not smart to wander off tonight of all nights.

 **Sam:** *Adjusting his tie, he didn't miss the well-pitched voice of his mother approaching with her uncanny ability to command attention and avoid causing a scene. Pressing his lips together, he looked hastily to the mirror to insure his nose was clean (it was still sore from where the bastard broke it), and then looks back with as convincing a smile as he could manage.* Good evening, Mother. *He leans to kiss her cheek, as was right and proper (shouldn't he be joyous tonight?).* Hm? Ah - I was just going to say hello to Uncle -- is everything all right? *She looked...he couldn't put it finger on it; harried.* Why tonight of all nights? *The trouble with keeping family in the dark, he thinks briefly, grateful his uncle had chosen to confide in him.* 

 **Ingrid:** *Ah, his uncle. Truthfully, she wished Sam were less fond of Gustav. It was horrible of her to think, never less say out loud so she didn't. It wasn't that Gustav hadn't always been a good uncle, it was as a person that he was less than able.* The extra security is here for a reason...*She pursed her lips momentarily before she exhaled and admitted* I've been meaning to talk to you, actually. Eliza has told me some...alarming, things.

 **Sam** : *Oh, he knew why the security was here (it was making him gleeful), but he made sure to have his face passably concerned--something that wasn't hard at all as his mother continued.* Eliza? *Honestly frowning as all thoughts of making an excuse disappear, his brows furrow and he leans forward, obvious concern in his voice and face contorted,* Is she all right? What's wrong?

 **Ingrid** : *His concern was true, he did care about Eliza after all. Ingrid didn't think he had gotten over the break-up. A typical male reaction really, to realize the value of something after it was already gone.* She's frightened, with everything that's going on...frightened of you Sam. She's under the impression that you've threatened Devin, that you've implied knowing where Nadia is. Sam, why would she think that?

 **Sam:** *His face didn't shift from concern, but a vein in his forehead threatens to pop all the same. Frightened of him? Surprised, he glances over his mother's shoulder as he exhales heavily with the words,* Why would she b--I wouldn't hurt her... *That much was entirely true; he wanted to be there when she was hurt, he wanted to protect her from it, was it his fault she didn't believe him? Eyes darting back, there's a darker glint even as his jawline remains soft,* Well, Devin would say that, he'd say anything to get back at me-- and of course I have -no- idea where Nadia is. *He didn't. Uncle Gustav had simply taken her without a word of protest, and really, he didn't give a damn if he ever saw the girl again. Bringing his hand up to his scrunched forehead, he mumbles in confusion,* I didn't want her to be frightened of me...

 **Ingrid** : I know you wouldn't. *He wouldn't, of course he wouldn't.* But there's a reason why she's scared. *Why she said she couldn't be there for Sam anymore. A reason why she had suggested he needed -help-, what could possibly be going on among these teenagers? Ingrid pursed her lips together. She didn't know Devin to lie, but neither did she know her son to lie either, and yet there was something he was keeping from her right now.* Sam, you know you can tell me anything, right?

 **Sam:** *Still mumbling in confusion under his breath, he's biting back anger. See, this was why she had to come with him; his damn cousin's had poisoned her against him, just as Alcott had (and shocking a mutt would be so uncivilized), and even Sienna had now -- he just, she just had to be away from all of them and then she'd see, surely she'd see...* Hm? *His hand drops from his forehead as he shakes his head to clear the thoughts. A frown crosses his lips before he purses them in as soft a reassuring smile as he can, reaching for both his mother's shoulders.* I know that. Mother, it's fine, I'm fine. Really...I'll talk to her, ask why she thinks that...I'll straighten this out, I swear. I hate to see you so worried..

 **Ingrid:** *Her brows furrowed, about to ask if he was even paying attention at all, when his next words proved he had, at least she hadn't been dismissed. He would of course be distracted with the news she had just told him, it had shocked Ingrid as well. Still, she was not as reassured as he'd like her to be.* I certainly hope so, Sam. *She puts a hand over her son's and squeezes once before raising her head again.* And I'm repeating it again- this fighting with Devin, it stops now. What do I always say? Be the better person...grudges are for the easily wounded. *She straightens his tie and pats some dust off his jacket to distract herself from the emotion that wanted to choke her.* You're a Roswell, and most importantly your father's son...remember that.

 **Sam:** *He was able to speak softly, even though anger flashed through his gut - for it was easily mollified with the knowledge that it was all going to be fixed tonight.* I'm not the one holding a grudge, Mother. *Nodding, his back straightens: he was proud of both facts, more than anything, how could he forget it? How could he ever forget anyway, when it felt like he hadn't gone more than a few days in his life without hearing a version of that mantra?* And I wasn't earlier when Devin accused me -- though I'm not surprised, no, that he'd lie to Eliza, when it was he who tried to choke _me._ *Then he straightens, squeezing her hand back, voice even.* But I didn't retaliate; I let him walk away. So, see? *He smiles briefly.* I listened, I swear. 

 **Ingrid:** It was only a reminder. *She nodded afterwards also, pleased to see him take her words to heart though it did little to help her ailing heart. Ingrid thought talking to Sam would clear away any doubt, but it hadn't. She doubted the words of her own son, what kind of mother was she? Maybe it was the look on Eliza's face; how pained she'd look when she'd told Ingrid about Sam. The sincerity in her tone and words vastly outweighed Sam's at the moment. Doubt crept in at the back of her mind, wondering how many moments before had been laced with this half genuineness.* He _what_? *She breathed in through her nose, breathed out the same way.* Well, I'm proud of you for doing so. *she smiles as well, holding his gaze unwaveringly and cupping his cheek* Are you sure you're okay?

 **Sam:** It's all right. *Shrugging a shoulder, he says lightly with every inch the forgiving nature that everyone said he'd forsaken,* He's just woken up, he nearly died, and with what he loves missing -- it's understandable he's on edge. *He smiles wider at the thought of course, proud to have seen the reaction from Devin, and glad that his mother was smiling now too.* Devin's family too, whatever he says now. When he wants to apologize, of course I'll accept it. *As he searches her eyes, he falters a bit at the question and then shakes his head a fraction of an inch.* Well... it's been a little difficult lately --everyone so on edge-- but it's nothing I can't handle. I know my family supports me, that's what matters. 

 **Ingrid:** On edge is one thing, further violence is another. *His smile at the end of the statement didn't seem to fit him or the situation right there, and yet it was familiar to her, from somewhere. Ingrid couldn't quite peg it down. Casting aside the thought for now, she nodded again, glad to hear he would not hold Devin's actions against him and then exhaled at his words, glad that she had received more than another reassurance.* Soon, this difficult time will past, and things will return to normal, you'll see. *She dropped the hand again to his shoulder.* Of course we do, wholeheartedly. We're on your side, always.

 **Sam:** I know. *He nods, squeezing her hand and pulling away after a simple,* And I'm grateful. *So, impossibly grateful, but it was his uncle he meant now, for Uncle Gustav had stepped in when he didn't think he'd ever been more upset, and offered a way to make it better. He was more than grateful for that, come to think of it; but wasn't he holding his end of this deal up too? He was about to excuse himself, eager to fix things after all - when he sees his father and stills abruptly, back ramrod straight, but smile steady.*

 **Kevan:** *If there was one thing he had not expected to see tonight -- a night already promised, it seemed, to have numerous fireworks in the forms of supposed werewolf intrusions, the Minister's wife deigning to share herself for all of five minutes (and his daughter, wearing a dress better suited for the Netherlands), and fifteen-year old innocent girl returned from kidnapping though no ransom was made -- Kevan had not expected to see his wife clutching their son's cheek. Brows furrowing, lines forming on a face already well-lined, he took a polite sip of the champagne and excuses himself from Lyndsea's side. Ingrid's face was one of genuine concern, whatever her sudden bright smile -- he knew her better than that. 

And he recognized the look on his son's face too, though he wished he did not. He would never tell his younger brother he _couldn't_ spend time with his nephews, of course not, but Nigel's scoff at the idea of visiting him had rather pleased him (not that he would tell his brother that either). Samuel should have spent more time at the Ministry with him this summer he thought - not off gallivanting. He would have to correct that the next holiday. ...Besides, he wanted to spend more time with him, he wasn't blind to the fact that their family had been sorely disjointed with the recent surge at the Ministry; he even missed his wife, and she laid in the bed with him every evening. 

Not a flicker of this showed on his expression. Clearing his throat as if it might clear the worry he felt for both his wife and son, he was across the room in an instant, despite his quiet steps never being out of place.* Is everything all right? *His own hand reaches for his wife's shoulder to squeeze in reassurance, though his eyes were on Samuel, shrewd*

 **Sam:** *Just as calmly, he nods.* Fine, Dad. *With a tiny shiver in his breath seeing the narrowed eyes, his sore nose seeming to wince in protest. He wouldn't put it past his father to be able to see his nose had been broken despite fixing it.* Tonight promises to be a good evening, doesn't it?

 **Kevan:** *Evenly, surprised at the words,* Well, one might certainly hope. *And there was no way Samuel had meant that Nadia might appear by it, but he pushed that off to turn to Ingrid and leaned to kiss her cheek. Still steady,* I wouldn't deprive your friends of your company any longer, then.

 **Sam:** *Nodding, relieved and pleased to be let go, he inclines his head gratefully at his father with an honest smile flitting across his lips,* Thanks. I'll see you both later. *He scurries away, but tries to emulate the ease with which his father had walked.*

 **Kevan:** *Narrowed eyes watch him depart, before turning back to his wife. They soften almost at once, as they almost always did when laying on her beauty - but he was not deterred.* What is it? *He asks in a low whisper, grateful for the party buzz in the other halls letting them speak openly. Or, as openly as they ever did. He squeezes her shoulder, searching her eyes in earnest,* Ingrid, what is it? 

 **Ingrid:** *The iron rod that had kept her back perfectly straight was in danger of disappearing entirely the moment Kevan was at her side, yet simultaneously had never been stronger. His hand over her shoulder, she noticed both warmly and sadly (the contradictions remained) gave her more assurance than her son could ever hope for at that moment. Consequently, she let her own hand drop entirely from Sam's shoulder, reminded that they were in public and such approaches would have been better left for the privacy of their own home, but she couldn't have possibly waited that long. Ingrid smiled as her husband leaned in further to kiss her cheek even as a voice in her ear whispers to her, what friends?* Don't wander. *She instructed again softly, more of a reminder really, as Sam walked away from then. Ingrid exhaled again, turning to look at her husband and his searching gaze.* Is my distress that obvious? *That was unacceptable. She shook her head softly and spoke just as softly, unwilling to let her words carry.* It was Eliza, she spoke in concern over Sam, she fears he's gone in a bad way, that his actions frightened her. Doubt lingered and grew, so I confronted him...and Kevan, he is keeping something from me, from us, I saw it.

 **Kevan:** To me, it is. *He says it without looking away from his son's retreat, though there's a curl in his lips. He's pleased to hear it; that she agreed showing such emotion was inconceivable at present, but even more so to feel her relax under his hand.  Turning back at the whisper, he frowns now. Eliza? He was well aware of his son's...infatuation, but displeased to discover she was still so prevalent; and the thought of him frightening her? He pressed his lips together.* Passion tends to run deep in this family... *He says it simply, despite the weighted words.* There must be some misunderstanding. *There must be. A teenage girl might easily mistake desire for fear (or vice versa); so easily impressionable were their minds. He was pleased to think that at least it was clear Eliza cared, that a friend would have spoken for him. Kevan takes a breath, searching his wife's eyes, thinking how easily again it would be to drown in them, like she had a talon-ribbed hook to his very soul and squeezes her shoulder, smiling briefly.* He's a teenage boy. I'd be more concerned if he was telling us everything, darling. 

 **Ingrid:** *Of course. After so many years, there was no hiding anything from her husband. He knew her too well. She nodded at his words, knowing they were true. Still waters ran deep was a perfect saying for this family. The world accused them, Kevan mostly, of being cold and unfeeling when really the opposite was true.* That's what I said, a misunderstanding, Sam would never. *Threaten? Well, boys threatened every day but his own cousin with his life? They'd taught him better. No, Eliza must be mistaken...there was no way her boy could be like that. Perhaps Devin truly was speaking up against Sam to set Eliza away from him. Ingrid detested being unsure. She smiles again as she feels his hand squeeze, and allows herself a chuckle.* That is true. You're right, of course, I suppose the stress of the past weeks have caught up with me. *She smiled again for a moment and squeezed his hand over her shoulder briefly; not it was her turn to reassure.* I'll be right as rain again, as soon as this Charity is over I mean.

 **Kevan:** Perfectly understandable. *His words were cordial through the ever-present almost-smile. His wife and sons were among the only privileged enough to see actual smiles; distance in public was a habit long past engraved in the stone of his personality. His mouth would hint at smiles, threaten to, but it never quite reached his eyes. Lowering his hand as she chuckled it away, he nods saying only,* Of that I was never concerned. You've always been incomparably resilient, sweetheart. *That was certainly true. Again hinting at a smile he leans a little closer to half-joke beneath his breath,* Certainly more so than me. *And it was a half-joke. The truth was resilience wasn't a talent of those who'd had everything come to them easily, whether through superior strategic planning or natural advantage, until they were twenty-five. It was Ingrid who'd been his inspiration to put a life of service back together when he'd failed -Lord how he hated that word- to become Minister. Whatever was going on with Samuel would be addressed when they returned home. For now he gestures with his arm to offer her it, saying lightly,* Shall we parade? I believe Clara is signaling us in that -subtle- way of hers. *The Culpeper matron was indeed making her displeasure with their apparent remiss despite the fact he'd greeted her already.* 

 **Ingrid:** You flatter to calm my nerves. *She raised her chin, nevertheless pleased to hear him say such things to her. She relented after a twitch of her lips, allowing with a soft voice.* It's working. *She took his arm, a gesture that was so natural and so fluid, that it was hard to believe she had ever needed to practice.* Yes, let's. *She walked out of the hallway and back into the main ballroom, her husband in arm, as if nothing had gone amiss.*

**&.**

**Irene:** *Yes, that was definitely Ansel. She recognized that head of hair that looked like it was permanently disheveled in that just-out-of-bed way, but not messy enough to be labeled just-had-sex hair either; it was something he and Dillon had in common. What was he doing here? She didn't think he ran in these social circles.* And just- *she walked up to him, the glass full of her own liquor in her hand* how did you manage an invitation?

 **Ansel:** *It was easy - so incredibly easy - to feign surprise.* Rene, dah-ling! *Green eyes widening to hold her blue ones, he didn't need to feign delight. He wasn't surprised because he'd kept track of her every movement since she entered the ballroom; he _was_ delighted, because he was genuinely happy to have her approach him. Taking her hand (the one that wasn't holding liqour -- truthfully, he didn't see why was "so bad" about this pink champagne, he quite enjoyed it), he brushed his lips over her knuckles, both eyebrows wiggling.* Have I surprised you? I told you: say the word, and I'll take you anywhere in the world. But then it seems I'm not the only one keeping family wealth secret, *he lowers her hand, smirk flicking up a bit,* what are _you_ doing here? 

 **Irene:** *Alright, fine, there were two types of women in this world: those who liked chivalry and those who lied.* And it remains as tempting an offer as last time, sweetie. *Though right at that moment she wished she could take everyone she cared about in the protection of her loving arms and move them to an isolated tropical island to drink mixed drinks with little umbrellas out of hollowed out coconuts.* Spending some of daddy's 'hard earned money' to make the world a better place. *Truthfully, for all the money in the world she wouldn't have gotten an invitation without her connection to so many pureblood families now, otherwise her muggleborn ass wouldn't have been on the list. That was alright, she had plenty of time to school wizarding society on the mistake of excluding her from any social gathering; no party, raunchy and dirty or classy and sophisticated, was a real party until Irene Burns had flaunted her stuff up and down the chosen vicinity.* What about you? I didn't peg you for the charitable kind.

 **Ansel:** *With a glint in his eyes, so that they resembled an emerald a moment as he let her go, his thumb brushes over her pulse. Musing,* You must tell me how it is you make rejection sound so sweet, Irene, it's a unique skill. *His thumb comes up to brush over his lips, winking at her. He was listening closely; her heartbeat was far from steady but then, to be expected. She was there (whatever her words) for Nadia -- it was touching -- without having any idea she would be taking her place. In a bit of a more...permanent, sense. How thrilling. It wasn't odd that he was looking forward to telling her the truth (though beside omitting certain facts, he had not once lied - a favored game), so he didn't care to inquire after his own reasoning. He chuckles,* Ah - *lifting his hand to gesture to the auctioneering table, his eyes stay riveted to her,* what shall it be, Irene? The yacht? Romantic all-inclusive trip to Paris for two? *His lips quirked at that, turning to look at the photograph. It was moving, of course, showing the moon-lit view of the the Champs-Elysées. His eyes on it, he hmms under his breath, watching the wheel spin over the Tuileries that had been his playground. His lips flick, and he tilts his head.* Wouldn't be very romantic for me I'm afraid, more...nostalgic, returning home. *His jawline hardens, and he turns only his gaze, not his body to look at her.* Oh, I'm wounded. I'm very charitable, Irene, downright generous...willing to offer my aid, and -*he winks again, teasing* always willing to share. 

 **Irene:** If I told you, it would no longer be very unique, would it? *Actually, her rejections would never be categorized as 'sweet' but then again, and it was a bit embarrassing to admit, she wasn't well-versed in rejections. Especially not against men as charming as Ansel was but then again, it wasn't difficult at all to tell him no, despite his flirtations. If she were truly put off by him, she would have been crude by now.* Definitely leaning towards the yacht...though the ski trip in Nepal, sounds good...maybe all. *She nodded, thinking Dillon could skateboard (obviously not to semi-pro Chace's level), so maybe it would make it easy for him to snowboard, had he already been snowboarding? She was getting sidetracked. Irene followed his gaze to the photograph before turning to look at him instead. His look was rather...odd.* Which reminds me, what are you doing talking to me in English? I thought we discussed this- I need at least a quota of 3 French words per sentence. *She nodded, finally taking a sip of her alcohol and then chuckled before looking down at his pants.* They're about to catch fire, liar liar. *She looked back up at him before she reminded him.* You told me you weren't the sharing kind, remember?

 **Ansel** : I suppose not. *His tongue flicks across his bottom lip. How remarkably close was that statement to what he'd said to Allison earlier in the evening? Wonderfully, he would get the opportunity to know her better -- much better, soon enough, though not in the way his dear family kept implying. Perhaps less wonderfully, she would soon ... dislike, him he imagined. Ah well. Part of the hunt.* All? *His brows cock up again as if surprise, surveying the different offers on the table, all laid out so neatly by their hostess. She was a few feet away, hovering as if to insure no cheating; her eyes shrewd. He wondered briefly what she knew - what the Minister would have told her with all the security floating around, knowing very well she was their new pup's mother - and then flicked his gaze back to Irene.* Seems you've been hiding quite a bit more than just "some wealth" then, mademoiselle. But then, I suppose we have had an unspoken agreement -not- to talk about our pasts. *The irony of the statement was making his lips curl up.* Now you're tempting me to want to break it... *He winks again, amused as she surveys the suit trousers.* Ah, I did...and I wasn't lying - that's true in most areas -- or rather, all, except for one. I will share...*And with that he waved his hand around himself. And smirked.* Otherwise, if I give a gift, I hardly expect to use it myself - that's not much of a gift at all, is it?  

 **Irene:** I said maybe. Depends on how satisfied I feel by the end of the night. *If they really got Nadia back and she was unharmed and no one else was harmed either then she would fucking throw money in the air like confetti. But not here, with all the wealthy, no she would probably buy a blimp, fly over the entire British isle and just gradually throw it while saying 'fly, my pretties, fly!'* Well, you've never asked, sweetness, I don't mind talking. See unlike you, I -am- willing to share. *She nodded, thinking that was mostly right. Irene chuckled, amused.* True enough- but are you implying you're a gift, Ansel? Or just-- *she waved her hand to mimic around him, mimicking his not seconds before, eyebrows arched*?

 **Ansel** : Then I guess I'll just have to insure you're very, very satisfied. *The words roll off his tongue, tasting sweet even as he surveys the room over her shoulder. What appears to be a cursory glance was taking advantage of his heightened sight; counting guards in this room (for he was on now, he knew, and nothing could be left to chance), pausing to flicker over the sight of his alpha dancing with some amusement, and then lands straight back on Irene as if he just couldn't bring himself to look away. Well, one of them would be satisfied anyway. He smiles.* Ah, well in that case. *He extends his arm to her, nodding at the dance floor.* Might I have the honor of this dance, s'il vous plait? *With ease,* So that I might get to know you better? *Chuckling at her mimicking gesture, he replies easily, with the same lilt,* Not at all "just", only pointing out that use me as you will, mademoiselle, *he winks* I'll still be sure to feel pleasure.

 **Irene:** *Oi vey. She laughed, shaking her head. Honestly, it was a good thing that Dillon wasn't around to hear that, and everything before, and probably what Ansel would continue to say after because while she was behaving (quite admirably in her humble -not so humble- opinion), Ansel was not. Actually, where had Dillon gone off to?* Sorry babe, there's nothing you can do to ensure my satisfaction- not a challenge, just a fact. *She looked around the floor as well, taking another sip before her gaze dropped to the outstretched arm instead. An invitation to dance coupled with a few French words, bloody Frenchmen were just too smooth sometimes. Looking around again, and trying not to get worried about Dillon given that at the moment she couldn't see any of her friends, that it didn't have to mean anything horrific, she returned her gaze to Ansel's and nodded.* Alright yes, you may have the honor. *She put her glass down and then took his arm as she added with an amused lift to her lips.* And leave to another the opportunity to use you for your pleasure.

 **Ansel:** Ahh right. The elusive boyfriend. Sorry, not elusive- *his lips flicked as if he just remembered, his index finger going up,* - the do-gooder, saving a woman from mugging? *Hans always was so eloquently ironic in his covers. Casting his glance around the room again (as if he didn't recognize Dillon), he said lightly,* Well, if he appears, point him out to me, I'll be sure to let him graciously cut in. *Of course he would. It was rather, after all, what one might call "the plan." He takes her arm, and chuckles as he leads her out to the dance floor, voice still lilting,* Oh darling, it wouldn't be simply -my- pleasure. That would be jus-- *Only he was cut off, as Eliza appeared - though she didn't know him, and didn't look at him. His eyebrow rising slowly, he listened to her distracted breath and fluttery heart, eyes flicking over her shoulder to see Hans standing in the middle of the dance floor.*

 **Eliza** : *One dance, that was all he'd said. She'd agreed because... ...because... ..because it was a way to gather information, right? Yes. Only the moment she had laid her hand in his warmth shot up her spine (but he ran a constant temperature just like Al did, that was all it was surely), and sure, she was acutely aware of her rapid heartbeats and non-existent breath, but did that man ever blink? As the song ended, she pulled away, darting her gaze between his innocent smile and wide, blue eyes and then--wonderfully, saw Irene. The briefest 'excuse me' to Hans later, she was in front of her, laying her hand on Irene's free shoulder, barely looking at the man beside her (was he familiar?).* Hi -- I, can I steal you? I--*she clears her throat* need girl-time. *Her gaze flicks to her escort, saying feverishly with a teeny, teenage-girl smile,* Is that okay? Do you mind?

 **Ansel:** *Oh, Hans did that look back thing too well -- really, Eliza was missing out not spinning around, but no matter. Unhanding Irene at once without looking away from her himself, he chuckles and shakes his head.* Not at all, I understand. I do have sisters.  And see, *his gaze flits back to Irene, saying teasing,* now I've shared as well. *Lifting her hand to his lips again to kiss-goodbye, he says lightly,* Au revoir, mademoiselle.

 **Eliza** : Thanks. *She says it breathlessly relieved to him. Actually, he did look really familiar. She blinks as he kisses Irene's hand and her eyes widen, blinking and thinking she might not be the only one that needed girl time. He seemed to melt into the crowd as she turned her head -- noticing that Hans was still looking back at her and had a tiny smile on his own lips, and she swivels forward to say abruptly, smiling now, steadier.* Rory told me that he loved me. *Her smile widens with sincerity, heart skipping a beat just at the memory.*  Last night. I'm sorry, I jus--I just couldn't wait any longer to tell someone.

 **Irene:** He's not- *elusive, right, yes, good of him to correct his own mistake. But do-gooder was just not the right word for it in the slightest.* The hero, you mean. *And she'd gotten to help him by conjuring ice to put on that lip and had rewarded him for his valiant deed later. However, he was straying more often now and it left her with Ansel. Whatever smooth and flirtatious comment the man had however was quickly interrupted by her best friend.* Liza? Of course baby, you know you can do with me what you will *It was only a second later that she realized she had taken that from Ansel. Hell, now she looked like a copycat. No matter. She turned to Ansel without apology at the slightest; her girl needed her, that came first. Her mouth opened in surprise at the detail dropped, her finger coming up to point at him* You- ooh, tease-- words. later. *And of course he took her hand again. She sighed and then waved her hand; he was persistent.* Ta-ta then. 

*She turned to Eliza again, her mouth dropping again at the information before she squealed, loudly. She cared not for the eardrums of the people around her- they were just lucky she was in heels and incapable of bouncing (actually, she could if she wanted to but she refrained)* He did?! Tell me- *she took her friend's hand and led them away from the edge of the dance floor. Near one of the table, she only took Eliza's other hand and waved them together. Her voice could be best characterized as whispered screams; Al would be so proud of her contradictions.* Oh my God!!! He did- last night?! It's been nearly 24 hours- how have you been silent?! Oh baby, you should have told mee! Somebody! But mostly me!! Good news is so so good right now, so so good! Oh my drunk leprechaun, did he- oh my sparkly gay fairy godmother! Details! Quickly!

 **Eliza** : *Letting Irene pull her to the table, she blushes rosy as a Macintosh apple, that brighter shade of red that always seemed to hint towards pink at the squeal. Giggles pepper her breath and she squeezes back, for a moment forgetting everything else that was occurring; her parents' presence, what she'd said to Mrs. Roswell, Rory's disappearing act, dancing with Hans -- all of it, even if she knew none of it was far from her thoughts. In fact, if she pictured it, she could see a little green cloth barely hiding Nadia as it fluttered this way and that and another curtain with an irritating diamond-buying good-dancer werewolf who was all "don't worry luv, pay no attention to the man behind this screen" over in the other corner, and-- and she slammed the curtains shut mentally, ripping imaginary rings across imaginary silver pipes. That squealed too - but she expected that was from her own mouth. 

Leaning on the table and squeezing Irene's hands,* I -- I _know_ It-- well I was still in shock and then with everything that's going on and then Lyndsea needing help setting up, and -- and now Rory's in the kitchens trying to fix dessert and all I want to be is in there with him, but, I can't, because I know that Mr. Stuart wants to talk to Hans, and I was going to try and point him out but I don't know where Devin's father went -actually I don't know where most of them are right now and it's kind of freaking me out, _and_ I talked to Mrs. Roswell because, because she's - she's always been so nice to me and my parents are here, my parents. My mother and my father, in the same room, making eyes at each other and right now - *she's looking* - right now apparently even talking, over champagne -- and I don't know -- they haven't been in the same room since I was a few weeks from being born and now I'm sixteen? And so I wanted to tell her - Mrs. Roswell I mean - that well, her son needs therapy, so he can get help and be _out_ of our damn lives for good and -- and it's just _with all of this,_ I really just kind of want to rewind 24 hours. 

Except not really. I suppose I want to fast forward twenty-four hours so that Nadia's with us and we can all have this conversation over a bottle, because I so sorely need that but -- *She takes a long, long, deep breath, and then flickers her gaze up from their joined hands to Irene's. She breaks into a wide, blushing smile again and nods, echoing under her breath.* And yeah he told me...he told me last night when we were...*She looks both ways to see if her parents had moved closer or anyone who might tell them were nearby. Even though no one was there, she whispered it when she looked back.*

I mean, you know, -- and we were at the Quidditch pitch, so after he kind of- gathered me up in his coat and took me to the same spot we'd sat the first night where I accidentally fell asleep and he took _such_ great care of me and he got all...tongue-tied and adorable and it kind of burst out of him, out of nowhere, and of course I said it right back!! Because, I do. I mean, I've known forever. I just -- I...I couldn't be the one to take that step, not again, not this time, he -- yeah. *She smiles and rubs under her eyes, chuckling and laughing even as she feels happy tears pearl at the edge of her eyes.* Okay, yeah. *More giggles and then she leans and suddenly pulls Irene into a tight hug.* God, Irene baby, I don't know what I'd do without you -- you are flawless and -- oh mon dieu, je pense mes parents juste **_snogged_**. *She blinks.*

 **Irene** : No, no, no, nonono, let's not focus on the furry pink werewolf in the room- *the idiom usually called for the elephant in the room but...details* because I was having a successful time blocking all that out- happy details! Aww, okay, never mind, your parents -are- happy details, Liza!! And why am I telling you to censor yourself anyway- God, *she shook her head, shuddering at herself* horrible friend award! Horrible- keep going! *She followed her eye contact watching her parents too* Those are sex eyes honey, those are complete and total sex eyes and you watch, they're going to be all over each other because they look like protagonists from a freaking Harlequin book cover, and they will totally -totally- make this work for you- after the verbal smackdown Rory gave them?! After the years they've spent apart wondering what might have been?! Everything's gonna turn out, you'll see. *She nodded quickly, her words having been just as quick, so as to only semi-interrupt Eliza in the middle of her rapid rant that she followed along easily and effortlessly. Irene was more of the mindset that Sam needed a good gelding rather than therapy, but she let that quickly bypass because eww, Roswell on her brain? No thank you, speeding that along after nodding in total agreement over a bottle of liquor that was totally necessary. She was all smiles and beams as Eliza got to the details Irene was dying for, smirking.*

Mutual diddling? Spanking the dirty monkey? Bumping nasties? Hitting a homerun? Hot beef injection? Taking good ol' one eye to the optometrist? Playing hide the salami? Going to the boneyard after being super mantsy, you blanket monster! I know! *She giggled under her breath and wiggling her eyebrows but her amusement was quickly replace but actual glee and happiness for her dear friend. She nodded, understanding her need to let Rory say it first (and of course he would, he's- hang on, why wasn't she saying that out loud?)* Of course he'd say it though! Liza, he is so heels over head for you, fly to the moon and back for you! I mean who wouldn't, you're you but *she squeals again and tries to keep it semi-silent this time before she grins to meet Eliza in the tight hug.* Me too baby! Merlin's chipped toenails, I'm so happy for you! Ugh, you two are so perfect- *she blinks too at the interruption.* My knowledge of French is limited to 'bonjour', 'liqueur, garcon' and 'voulez vous coucher avec moi', but I did hear parents! and I did hear snog! Are you seri- *turns to look with her*

&.

**Olivier:** You want to tell me what you’re doing here? *Relaxing against a pillar, his arms are folded across his chest, but his eyes are narrowed.*

 **Tony:** *Speaking to the bartender, he signals while leaning over the stool, speaking behind his raised hand,* Oh -nooo-, buzzkill brother alert.

 **Olivier:** *Snorts, rolling his eyes as his lips quirk up in amusement and spite,* I know you’re not drunk, Tony.

 **Tony:** That is sadly true. *His hand comes down and slaps the table, making the caterer bartender (a young boy of eighteen, nineteen at most) jump. Olivier doesn’t budge. As his hand curls around the glass in front of him, swirling whiskey back and forth, he stares at the liquid with a bemused frown.* Why don’t you tell me what -you’re- doing here first? *Eyes flick over at him over the glass.* You making a charitable donation, improve the family name? 

 **Olivier:** *He chuckles, arching an eyebrow slowly but doesn’t look away from his brother nor say a word.*

 **Tony:** It’s a silent auction, right? That’s the way it’s working? Think if you buy another yacht people are going to forget the family legacy? 

 **Olivier:** It’s your legacy too. *His words were low, but calm.*

 **Tony:** I know that. *He half spits it, rolling his eyes,* What, you think I’m an idiot? Course I know that, *he scoffs again and instantly taking a swig of the drink. Then he sets it down, clinking hard against the wood. There’s a pause.* I could do with a yacht.

 **Olivier:** *Incredulous, a dry little chuckle escapes parted lips as his hand comes up off folded arms, then slapping back down idly, head shaking. Repeats quietly, but fevered,* You know you shouldn’t be here, Tony.  

 **Tony** : *Snorts,* Oh, sorry. *Simpering, eyebrows darting this way and that as he nurses the drink, half-glaring at the brother.* Did I put a kink in your secret master plan? 

 **Olivier** : You know why, Tony.

 **Tony:** It’s dangerous, right, I’m not cut out for it. Little rebellious brother, always sticking my nose where I shouldn’t, porca miseria—

 **Olivier:** It _is_ , dangerous, Tony.

 **Tony** : You and that wolfie going to -steal- the yacht, that it? *Irritated, taking another swig.* 

 **Olivier:** *Evenly, though his eyes narrowed a bit.* I’m here to back up my friend. You’re here to screw with me.

 **Tony:** Yeah, you’re damn right — *Stands abruptly, moving towards him — the bartender scurries further away down the bar, as if he realizes they need a private moment and mutters something about fetching glasses.* That’s exactly what I’m doing here, Olivier, I’m here to make sure you don’t make another fucking mistake and damn yourself —

 **Olivier:** *Jawline hard,* A mistake? That’s what you call it?

 **Tony:** Why is that such a surprise? *His hands go out to his side, palms stretched and eyes wide.* My life? Not your responsibility, brother! So whatever deal, you’ve made? Unmake it, you do not get to do that - you do not get to just own me and my choices, I do, -me- - 

 **Olivier** : *He rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint in his eye and he pops off the column, taking a step towards his brother.* I’m not trying to -own- you, I’m trying to save you.

 **Tony** : Well then stop that! *Stops stepping forward as there’s nowhere left to go, and he’s searching his eyes back and forth. After a loaded, quiet pause, he exhales harsh and lifts the drink back to his lips, taking a sip.*

 **Olivier:** *Exhales, eyes narrowed taking a shallow breath.* I can’t—

 **Tony:** Yes, you can!-

 **Olivier:** Well, then I won’t! *His voice finally peaks in aggravation, glaring at him and he lifts his hand to point.* The woman who grabbed you before -

 **Tony** : I remember vividly, *breathing scant and heartbeat scattered; maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought,* bitch liked chains, and not in the good way —

 **Olivier** : She’s here. Tonight. *Bluntly, and it shuts Tony up, irritated.* And the whole damn organization is going to do this again, to another city, another capital, another country. I let it happen once. *He’s breathing out hard, his lips pressed together so he’s speaking through clenched teeth in a dead whisper,* I let it happen before because they took the one person from me that I couldn’t lose. 

 **Tony:** *He exhales sharply, but his shoulders drop and so does the glass, taken aback by the words.* 

 **Olivier:** I know, that you hate me? *Quietly, asserting with certainty,* And I know that you blame me? But you’re my brother Antonio, and if you think I’m ever going to let anything happen to you then you’re an idiot. 

 **Tony:** *His eyes narrow, and he hisses,* What you do —

 **Olivier** : Whatever it takes. You want to be involved, you want to be here? Then, *snapping, and then he raises his hand,* you better get used to that, because — hey! *He snaps his head sideways to get his brother to keep looking him in the eye. It takes a long searching moment,* People have gotten hurt, people have died — but it wasn’t a mistake to save you. *He hisses and then his back straightens and his head comes back.* And it wasn’t a mistake to refrain from ripping her apart. It was a mistake to help them. It was a mistake to let them worm their way into my city — -our-, city, Tony. 

 **Tony:** It’s not your city! *Snaps irritated,* That’s Father talking —

 **Olivier** : He was right! *His hand goes up and crunches his waist and then he shakes his head slowly, very slowly.* That’s not the point — the point is, I made a mistake, and I’m going to rectify it. *His head comes back up and he meets his brother’s eyes. Both are glaring, gazes fierce and on fire, but their jaws are slack as their expressions meet. A bit quieter,* Now, will you let me do that? 

 **Tony:** *After a long breathless pause where the fight and drink seem to leave him at once he nods. It’s slow. His frown doesn’t move, even as he sees his brother relax and then watches him walk away. When he’s near the door, he calls back,* Hey! *He watches Olivier still, takes a steadying swig, tilting head and neck back and finishes it off. Clink, gasp. And then he sets the glass down and finishes, shaking his head,* I don’t hate you. But— *tiniest shrug, and smirk* Anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me.

&.

**Olivier** : *A small smile cracks across his lips honestly, and he just nods.*

 **Alcott:** *Er. So, Uncle Max was looking at him. And that was a bright, vivid, shiny flask in his hand that certainly did not contain even the terrible pink champagne his mother had said he could have a glass of, let alone pumpkin juice. After a breathless, tense moment, his uncle toasted him with his own crystal flute, gestured at it while mouthing 'disgusting, isn't it?' and then downed it. Breaking into a relieved smirk and chuckle as he toasted back, he almost choked and missed Devin hitting his upper back. Amber liquid splashing free,* Oi, he--Stuart!

 **Devin:** *Rolling his eyes as he hears his last name, he promptly steals the flask to take a shot himself. It burns, and that's good. A little too hot, but good.* What--*Or, okay, a lot too hot--dear Go--*

 **Alcott:** You're going to steal a wolf's brew, be prepared for the aftertaste. *amused as Devin coughs, and then hits his upper back to help choke it out.* 

 **Devin:** *With a gasp, he stands back up.* Oh just, be indignant later. *He shoves it back in his hands.*

 **Alcott:** *Smirking his good-natured displeasure, his head shakes with open-mouthed incredulity.* You're lucky I like you. 

 **Devin** : Yeah, I thank God every day. *Rubbing away the burn in his throat with his own chuckle. His was bitter.*

 **Alcott** : As I'm gonna thank Him that Rene didn't just hear that. 

 **Devin:** *Pauses, tilting his head and shrugs a shoulder as he puzzles out why - momentarily distracted with it,* Because she'd say something about being on my knees? 

 **Alcott:** Yeah, I think my quota for the gay-jokes was filled with the Breath of Life series. *Takes a quick shot himself, then caps the flask and slides it in his back pocket quickly.* 

 **Devin:** *Laughs out in surprise,* The Breath of Life series?

 **Alcott:** Ye'h, *smirking,* You in a coma? Oh, Eliza's helping Rene's publish it.

 **Devin:** Mate, if you're telling me you tried to resuscitate me when Eliza was right there too--

 **Alcott:** Oh, is that how it is?

 **Devin:** And I'm being too gay right now? *His hand goes to fix his tie again subconsciously; he was still having trouble breathing. It had nothing to do with the fire-whiskey.* 

 **Alcott:** *Mms under his breath after a snort of appreciation, a nod of 'touché', eyes busy sweeping the room. He frowns abruptly.* What's going on ther--*But he's cut off, as Devin swivels back abruptly.*

 **Devin:** You remember the man in my hospital room? 

 **Alcott** : Your gay guardian angel? 

 **Devin:** Give it a rest, would you?

 **Alcott:** When you set me up _that_ perfectly --

 **Devin:** He's here.

 **Alcott:** He's here?! *Throughly distracted now from watching Sam with his mother, choking himself on the words and spinning back to look at Devin.*

 **Devin:** Yes. Introduced himself as D'Grey --

 **Alcott:** Hang on. I know that name -- *eyes widening, his mouth opening just as abruptly with the incredulity.*

 **Devin** : Yeah, so do I. But it's not who you're thinking of - no fangs.

 **Alcott:** Do I want to know how you know that?

 **Devin:** *ignoring,* And he's here with his brother, called him Tony -

 **Alcott:** *Blinking,* So now you have two guardian angels?

 **Devin:** Hardly. He said -- he said Nadia was taken by the Death Eaters, Al. And that's-

 **Alcott** : _The Death Eaters_? *His eyes going wide as he chokes on that particular revelation too. This was good; where alcohol failed to intoxicate or shock him anymore, apparently he just needed to listen to Devin tell him what was really going on around the world.*

 **Devin** : Yeah. *His face contorts with tight-lipped fury, eyes dark with acknowledgment as he breathes in, and out. His voice is taut as he mutters weighted,* And that's not all.

 **Alcott:** You're telling me a defunct, murderous organization from the last decade whose master was defeated three fucking times - the same organization who has a member who -winked- at me after invading my house and-- 

 **Devin** : Yes. *Flatly, cutting him off, still breathing harshly, words loaded,* That's what I'm telling you.

 **Alcott:** *Breathing in, and then out, his eyes darting back to Sam. Sam was walking away from both parents now.* 

 **Devin** : *Abruptly realizing as amber flashes across his friend's gaze, he reaches for his shoulder to hold him.* Hang on--mate--

 **Alcott:** *Not caring a wit, he's stayed only because he has a question.* What else? What's "not all"? *As if that wasn't fucking enough.*

 **Devin** : *Following his gaze, to see his cousin smirking at him and raising a champagne flute, his nails dig into his friend's shoulder, as if he would curl a fist through the padded jacket and straight through his flesh. Why was he holding him back? Biting out,* She might not ... recognize us, they took her memory. And my dear cousin? He told me earlier, he said she wouldn't oblige, *his voice was dripping disgust as much as terror,* a stranger. 

 **Alcott** : Oh, that is fucking it. *It takes only a shrug to launch Devin back a half step. As he does, he takes the few steps towards Sam to enter the other room. Ah. Perfect! No one here.*

 **Sam** : You _summoned_? *Drily, taking a sip of the champagne.* 

 **Devin** : You're going to te--

 **Alcott:** *Abruptly, decks him. Hard. Words took too long. Not realizing the strength in his arm, Sam was flat on the floor in an instant. He didn't realize the glint of scarlet satisfaction in amber eyes anymore than he heard the sudden hiss of another party-goer (dammit, weren't they alone in here?). Then he turns to realize it's only Devin, who had a smirk to follow the whistle of appreciation.* 

 **Devin:** Al -- *Startled, but grinning wide as he looked back at him.*

 **Alcott** : *Fixing his collar as his eyes return to normal, he shrugs.* Hey, couldn't let you get the only hit, mate. Close the door, would you?

 **Devin:** Yeah. *Grinning wide still, he moves to shut the parlor's glass door.*


	29. When Exactly Did You Turn Into a Bad-Ass?

**Rachelle:** *The extra security was diligent, if not inadequate. She heard them better now that they were away from the ballroom, scrambling around outside  trying to figure out the murderer. And here she was, walking with the Minister's daughter, tailed by an equally dutiful guard who was so quiet she only picked him up by scent. In the midst of the wooden, fruity, and tart smell of the wine there he was: sweat and musk.* Ah, here we go. Much better offering than that champagne. *She picked up a wine off the rack and held it gingerly. Everything seemed so fragile in her hands nearly all the time, everything  so easily broken. She looked over her shoulder at Lynn.* Chardonnay is a favorite of mine.

 **Lynn:** *Since she was a little girl, borrowing Daddy's old set and setting the marble pieces up as soldiers in a war against her stuffed animals, she had loved chess. The Queen's gambit was an old hat trick ever since she'd bluffed Devin with it-- but her personal favorite was the Two Knight's defense, a variation on the Italian Game, that at the last minute changed the third opening move to direct attack. As they walked, Lynn kept a simple smile on her face, mentally inventing a new style for that Givenchy, of marble pieces and checkered ivory. Rachelle was clearly a bishop, she thought idly: the powerful piece that moved to any lengths necessary for their King, in an irregular fashion--but was ultimately stuck on the same track. Lynn always had fancied herself a knight.* The Chardonnay? Oh, I approve. 

*Twirling her finger around her lip, she keeps her gaze steady on Rachelle and hitches her thumb towards the shelves behind her.* I'll get glasses. *Only she did so innocently by drawing her wand to accio them, purposefully loud and overzealous. Glass flutes shot off the shelves and scattered the ground. Lynn leaped back in faked shock, not needing to fake her giggled-shout and skyrocketing heart as a glass piece had zoomed over her head.* Oops. 

*Then she hops up, catching two more of them with ease of Quidditch-born chasing, placing them back down atop one of the barrels. She smiles apologetically at Rachelle,* ...maybe I've had more to drink than I thought. *Dizzied, she uses her wand as if a baton,* So maybe youuuu should...actually be the one to open it? *She uses the wand to point at Rachelle innocently as she says so, still giggling as if lightheaded and sheepish.* It, has been the most ridiculous day. *The broken-glass reflects a glittery charade of Lynn's smile, fragmented.*

 **Rachelle:** *She watched on amused, stifling genuine laughter as the glasses Lynn had set herself to get zoomed past her head and broke against the floor.* Apparently. *Oddly enough, she hadn't seen the girl take that much to drink, but there had been a timeline she couldn't account for. We're she not in a wine cellar she'd be able to see if there was any scent of liquor radiating from her breath or pores but they were surrounded and, not that she wouldn't admit, was having a hard time distinguishing. No matter. She grabbed the cork with her teeth and yanked it out easily enough; it was making it look like a little strain that was more challenging. She smirked and placed the bottle on the table to let it breathe, following the wand with a raised eyebrow, commenting after a chuckle.* Maybe I shouldn't be giving you more to drink then. *But she picks up the bottle and pours for them both nevertheless.*

 **Lynn:** *Eyebrow arching, Lynn didn't have to feign impressed amusement.* Damn, girl. Hell of a bite. *Oh what large teeth you have, she thinks amused at the back of her mind and takes a step closer to her while she pours, tapping the side of her lips with her wand as she deliberates.* Hm. Clearly spending too much time with Nick. Having a boyfriend from LA...oh how I hope the American slang is all that I get, and oh--oh God, oops. 

*She went wide eyed, shocked. And then a supposedly guilty grin appears on her lips, even as her eyes oddly momentarily seemed fixed over Rachelle's shoulder. It turned pleased without missing a beat, and she waved her hand dismissively, the one with her wand.* Oh it's fine. Happier not to have to lie to you anyways. I am so sorry, 

Rachelle, *she purses her lips like she was begging her father for a car as she looks at her,* I -- confess, I didn't really trust you. Well I don't trust anyone. *Her words were sincere; it made smiling in faux apology easy.* And well then...you didn't know who I was and see -everyone- always knows who I am, my paper's been in the pic-i mean, my picture in the paper, since I was five, and I just... 

*As she talks, she talks innocent steps and then motions until she's inches from Rachelle, every hand flap exaggerated and leaning towards her in that way girls do when they're amidst heavy confession at sleepovers.* My father's the Minister? And...yes my brother was just attacked so-I am a little paranoid. Though he'd say I've always been. *Idle shrug, but earnest.* I liked you when we met. Still do. So I just...I just wanted to be someone else for a little while...so I lied about who I was. *The hand not holding her wand is draped in a sapphire bracelet that glints off the broken glass as she offers it to Rachelle.* Can you...maybe understand that, a little? Forgive me? I'll buy you extra Chardonnay! 

 **Rachelle:** So I've been told. *She grins, thinking that honestly no she hadn't because those she bit, well, they didn't exactly get a chance to say anything else. She arches her eyebrow, smirking internally at catching Lynn at her own lie and then just giggles as an explanation come through quickly, just waving her hand* It's okay, I'm a stranger, I get it. Though I think I might have flirted with a Nick earlier, sorry. *grins sheepishly and then purses her lips amused and then her face "dawns" in "comprehension"* Oh! Yes, I knew you looked familiar. Well, no wonder you're here then. *She chuckled, tilting her head as she thought about it and then shook her head* No, not really. But you're forgiven either way. *she raises the glass and offers it to Lynn.*

 **Lynn:** *Letting out a breath,* Ooh thanks or --er--*She takes the glass, pretending to take a sip (if Rachelle had meant to lure her down here, she wouldn't be surprised if the girl had pre-poisoned the Chardonnay.* -- merci. *She couldn't do the French accent any better than she could do Cali...but Hollywood was missing a star right now. Well, two. Offering a relieved little chuckle she says brightly,* Oh, that's all right. I think Nick's more loyal than a golden retriever, frankly. One of the things I love about him. *As she lays her hand over her heart, she seems to "remember" it and brightens, lifting her wrist.* 

In fact! He bought me this. It goes with the necklace he gave me for my birthday, that one's a family heirloom --*eying the bracelet critically and then looking at Rachelle's _Givenchy_ again, lips pursed in amusement,*...and you know, I think it goes better with your dress. I am in scarlet...here, let's see--I don't mind. Always wanted a sister to share with. *Apparently fumbling with the clasp, she giggles, lightly,* The necklace was from the Shah of Iran but this one's more recently bought, still pretty, though --*she reaches to slip it on Rachelle's wrist, snapping the clasp shut with ease*- imitation really. Oh! But it does look pretty. 

See, I was right, you definitely were meant to wear it. *And it was imitation. Lynn kept a firm hold on her wand, having pick-pocketed the other girl's as she 'fumbled', as she sobers instantly, backing several steps up and smirking. 

The bracelet had transformed into her handcuffs, already locked around the (reinforced, thank you Alcott sweetie) shelf. Now she looks over Rachelle's shoulder, holding both wands up and beaming, saying lightly,* But then I already do have my _real_ sister too. Hols dear, *for of course that is who she was looking at, that was who had helped secure the room,* is it _bad_ form if I steal her shoes? They're just...so posh.

**&.**

**Chace:** *He had seen Nadia, he was sure of it. His twin had been near the whole night, near but out of sight, and he felt it. Not one to have believed much in twin psychic connections before, he'd practically forced himself into belief because at least that way, he could still be with her, somehow and she with him. But not thirty seconds, he'd seen her. Weaving out of the crowd, with her head down but he knew it was her and he followed to a hallway that led away from it. The only reason he didn't break out into a run was that he didn't want to draw anyone's attention but it was difficult. 

He was about to turn a corner when he felt a grip on his collar, and for a moment's hesitation, foolishly thought it would be his sister until a fist collided with his face. Stumbling backward and gasping in pain, he reached for his wand, a spell out of his mouth quick enough but his wand flew out of his hand. Arms up, he protects his face and chest as more fists come flying, blocking, trying to get a few of his own punches in to no avail. 

A kick comes flying through his defense, striking his chin, vision blurred. This time the gasp of pain was choked off by a hand around his throat, throwing him up against a wall. He heard a loud crack in his ears as the back of his head made contact with the wall, his vision bright white.*

 **Julio** : Nice try. *He's huffing, breathing heavily through his nose, teeth gritting. His brown eyes were narrowed nearly into slits.* Where is she?

 **Chace:** *Chace claws at the man's hand, trying to tear it away, kicking at his shins. He tasted blood on his mouth but any attempt to swallow caused him to choke.*

 **Julio** : *Hissing as the boy tried to keep hitting and scratching his arm, he brought a knee up to his stomach, a groan somehow escaping from the smaller boy, along with spittle and blood. He exhaled, trying not to let panic come over him. If Gustav realized he'd allow the girl to get away-* Where is she?! *He hissed.* I can see it in your mind, you've seen her- _where is she?_

**&.**

**Stefanie** : *She raps her nail against the champagne glass. _Veuve Clicquot_. She wasn't surprised most of this crowd seemed to be missing the point of tulip shaped glasses, the little sweet and savory delicacies, but she knew. Lots of little white grapes had been sacrificed and overpaid for to make these bottles just so they could be derided. Taking a sip, she pauses to avoid the bubbles going up her nose when she sees her. Her eyebrow clenches down around her eye, but she smiles. Clacking her way over,* Hello. I'm -so- sorry to interrupt - but I saw you were talking to my friend, and I'm a bit curious. If that's all right? 

 **Irene:** *Okay now where exactly did _everybody_ seem to go off to?! Seriously, why was not one of her friends in sight anymore? Not that she couldn't navigate a party by herself (she thrived in independence especially when it came to this nonsense that you always had to go out with a group. Er, no you didn't.) Pausing in her steps as she was approached by a pretty blonde in a gorgeous dress for the second time that evening, Irene felt for the first time no desire to mingle and she already had half a dozen excuses prepared (they were worthy of publication) but the moment the woman spoke, Irene's curiosity got the best of her. She smiled, though was unwilling to cover her confusion because why should she?* Sure, I'm Irene Burns. *She held out her hand and then asked, finally* Which friend?

 **Stefanie:** *Okay, so 'friend' might not have been the best word -- both understatement and overstatement -- but it had the girl take her hand, so she let it stand. Shaking, she said lightly,* Stefanie. *And of course, with her darling brother there, she knew she had to leave the last name out for now. Oh, what a twisted web he weaved, and what a twisted game she played.* Lovely to meet you. *Letting her hand go, she took a sip first and said softer,* Hm. *Her gaze darted around the room to see if she could spot him; for if he was within eyesight, he'd hear. No matter how many people were between them. That was part of why she wanted to warn the poor girl...and oh all right, perhaps there was a _bit_ more than that.* Ansel Dorat? *She tilts her head, smirk lifting.* How do you know him? 

 **Irene:** *Stefanie was a name Irene would pick for a woman that looked like her, actually.* A pleasure, I'm sure. *Whether hers, or Stefanie's, that was yet to be determined. Out of all of the people Irene had talked to that night, for some reason it hadn't crossed her mind that it was Ansel the woman was referring to. People invited here knew by name? Just how important was that little sharp tongued scoundrel?* I met him earlier this year at a bar. *For all his forward-ness, it was she who had introduced herself first; she made it her prerogative to meet new people.* How do you? *She was beginning to think that friend might have been inaccurate.*

 **Stefanie** : Mm, *she chuckles under her tongue, clucking it to the roof of her mouth and inclines her head,* sounds like Ansel. I might have met him in much the same -- in fact I almost did, but my brother appeared and distracted me. Warned me. *She lowers the champagne glass from her lips, and looks straight at her unblinking, willing her with her mind to believe her.* And now it seems I'm doing the same for you in a manner of speaking. *Though as usual, Hans made it difficult. She exhales. She still hasn't blinked.* I am sorry, Irene. It's just..you reminded me of me, a bit, when I first met him. *She presses her lips together and then says in a much lower voice,* Has Ansel told you about Colette? What happened to her? If he has, then it's my mistake and I'm sorry for even approaching you. *She waves her hand away carelessly.* I'll flit away with the wind and you can say all manner of catty things behind my back. *As if she would be jealous. If she just wanted Irene away from Ansel all she had to say was her last name, did she not? Mention that little fact of his full-moon-condition and Irene would utterly change her tune in an instant. Instead she was being honest.* But otherwise...

 **Irene:** I hear that's what brothers are supposed to do. *Gordon hadn't ever been particularly protective over her in the boys department...in any department really. She looks up, eyebrows arching* Warning me? Hon, I've handled worse. *And will probably continue to do throughout life. The woes of a woman. But as far as Ansel was concerned, he didn't seem bad, just naughty. She looked up at a name, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion and more importantly more curiosity.* No, he has an unspoken no talk-of-past rule. *Apparently. The only thing she knew was that he was French and had sisters and oh he was rich, apparently.* I wouldn't say them behind your back *Well, maybe, but she would also say them to her face if she didn't like the woman but at that moment there was no reason to, except for of course saying Irene reminded her of herself which was blasphemy because Irene was Irene was Irene was unique.* So who's Colette? *She wasn't strong enough -not- to ask even while knowing that really it was none of her business, she had to know especially if it was enough to warrant "warning her"*

 **Stefanie:** To my face then? *Smile quirking, she let out a low exhale.* I always did appreciate that. Mm, shame I'm meeting you under these circumstances then, I have a feeling we would be friends. Hopefully that's not...entirely, out of the picture, then. *She lifts a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger and bites her bottom lip at the direct question. Her eyes yank from Irene's again, spying Ansel across the room. He was looking at her, narrowing those devilish green eyes with just a hinted-at frown. Stefanie smiles at him, toasting him with the champagne glass.* His girlfriend. *She looks back to Irene, and then cocks her head.* Well. Ex. But see, saying 'ex' like that seems insensitive considering what happened. It was...gruesome. *Stefanie shivers, clutching the champagne glass a little closer.* They couldn't find...most, of her body. So see, I'm just, *her eyes had flickered back to Ansel as she takes another sip, inhaling the bubbles as if they were sparks,* trying to prevent him getting his ...mm, claws, into you too, Irene.

 **Irene:** We'll have to see, then. *After she was told because now she was curious and maybe a bit anxious but okay mostly curious. The fact that Colette ended up being a girlfriend wasn't surprising in the least, but that she died, was. The word gruesome was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her eyebrows arched as the information, which was threatening to make her heart either stop working or work itself into a heart attack, actually became second.* What exactly are you playing at here Stefanie? Warning a complete stranger because she reminds you of yourself? Dropping hints? *claws, that stood out. Werewolves were on her mind.* Tell it to me straight, otherwise you're gonna be talking to my retreating back in ten seconds.

 

**&.**

Much as he enjoyed Sam being hit, after locking the doors, Devin had been two seconds from waking his bloody (literally) cousin up when Al stayed his hand. Instead, Alcott flicked metal rings against each other, wiggling eyebrows at Devin. Lynn's hand-cuffs. Now, Devin was glad, so glad. Alcott was right: they could get answers from Sam in the morning, once they had Nadia -- the name sounds choked even in his own thoughts -- then they could make sure Sam paid for it. In the meantime, they knew Sam wouldn't tell them anything and Dev was certain now -- if it was Death Eaters? Sam didn't know a damn thing.  Or to put it the way Lynn would: whatever his link, it wouldn't extend to actionable intelligence.  

So they pushed (/kicked) him out of the way of the windows, cuffed him to  something called a Devonshire Credenza ("Don't ask" had been Alcott's response to his smirk), and wiped their hands off, locking the parlor door behind them. 

Only to run nearly headlong into Nick. He'd said only his sister's name and something about a look on the ballroom floor before Devin was off -- he knew where she'd go. Four guards were still circling him (he could hear one off down a hallway chasing him), but he paid it no mind: that was what they were supposed to do. And for all Dad's rules "no hero solo mission" was the only one they'd decided to bend if need be. He'd been pacing in his room back and forth, knowing damn well if he had any information he wasn't going to sit put -- "The guards are welcome to come along but-", he'd said, and Lynn had grabbed both of his shoulders. "Sure they can." She'd said, eyes blazing, then grasped his hand. "But we're not solo anyway." His sister asked him if he'd trusted her, and honestly if there was anyone left he did -- he knew it was her).* 

"Blast it, Lynn." 

He mutters under his breath, eyes wide. There were two things here, he thought as he steadied a vase he'd nearly knocked over and slowed. If Lynn had seen something, then she'd seen Nadia. Where _was_ she? 

Apparently he wasn't the only one asking that question. As he rounded a corner, he stalled - a hand raised and then shut his mouth to forcibly swallow back the 'hey!' Warning them might be the gentlemanly thing to do, but Devin was far past that. Anger burned in his gut to mask desperation. Mouth tightening, a vein in his forehead pops and this time when he raises his hand, it isn't empty. Blasting the stun spell, even Devin's eyes widened in surprise seeing how powerful the red expulsion was. It sent him spinning into the long table. Glass and wood broke under the weight, twisting so he was sure shards were peppering the man's back. 

So much for the vases after all. He made a mental note to apologize to Mrs. Brackner.

Whipping his wand down again just in case, he put a shield back on himself, one on Chace, and spared his girlfriend's twin a harried glance. Eyes still wide he asks breathily, 

"You okay?" 

A silly question, Chace was bruised and bloody, but it wasn't what he was focused on anyway: and he knew he'd hear "fine." Chace was just as focused as he was, he was certain. 

The words were hardly out of his mouth before he'd started forward after the man he'd blasted backwards, hand coming down to hold his wand to his throat, the other on his chest. Paralyzed or not, he wasn't taking any chances.

"Two things." 

He asks through furiously tightly clenched teeth, 

"Who are you? And what _was_ the plan before Nadia got away from you?"

There was a glint in Devin's eyes as he put the pieces together: Lynn had seen her, and a man there was asking the same question they'd been for weeks -- a man he'd never seen before, who was hurting Chace. It was pride. Oh, _Nadia_ , he couldn't help but think: _that's my girl_ , as if he'd had anything to do with it at all.

 **Chace** : *Air had flew right back into his lungs so fast that it was physically painful. He dropped down to his own feet, his hands holding on to his knees as he coughed and winced. Rubbing at his throat, he looked up, waving his hand  in Devin's direction and nodding his head as answer. He would have replied but words wouldn't have come out, just another cough. Stupid fucker had the grip of giant, he thought as he wiped his mouth and nose. He knew that personally- thanks to a mountain excursion with Hols but that wasn't important at the moment, hell, his head hurt.*

 **Julio:** *He winced and groaned as he crashed through the table, feeling wood splinters and glass shards digging into his back. He didn't have time to be annoyed because the next he had a wand on his throat and he was laughing.* Casanova. At least, that's what your girlfriend called me. *And that wasn't a lie.* Champagne. Chocolate. Dancing. Candl- *he groaned again as a foot made contact with his side.*

 **Chace:** You're not the only one who gets to kick his ass. *He rubbed at his throat, spitting more blood out and coughing again, his gaze narrowed at the fucker laying down.*

 **Devin** : *He was grateful to Chace for multiple reasons really; otherwise it had just been too entirely tempting to choke him. Still holding down, he dug the wand deeper into his throat, his lips flicking up in a smirk.* Yeah yeah... *drily, his eyebrow arches,* you know a funny thing happens when you spend half your time listening to Alcott and Hols. Or having Lynn for a sister come to think of it -- you forget the rest of the world isn't really that clever, Casanova. *With feigned surprise,* but excellent! You know who I am. *His gaze narrowed even as the back of his mind thinks: how long had he tried to avoid that spotlight? But this was different. This was Nadia.* And when Nadia told you to fuck off -- well, she'd be more polite about it than I'm being, *he shrugs a shoulder, but his eyes narrow,* -- _then_ what? 

 **Julio:** *He laughed again, and if he could shake his head he would have. Fucking teenagers, thinking they were so together.* Kiss my ass, puto. *He grins.* I ain't telling you shit. By the way, those shields? They don't block everything.

 **Chace** : *He screamed suddenly as he landed on his knees, terrible pain coursing through his entire body, making the broken nose and dislocated jaw nothing but paper cuts. His skin felt alive, on fire- no, not just his skin, everywhere. Tears welled up in his eyes as the pain grew, his throat going hoarse before it ended suddenly, his hands holding himself up from the floor as he continued gasping and coughing, as the aftershocks of the pain coursed through his body.*

 **Devin:** *Hanging around Hols had taught him that word too, was Devin's first thought before he grimaced abruptly and bent forward choking. His wand tip dug into the man's adam's apple, the other hand fell to the floor beside his head. A fine sheen of sweat broke across his skin instantly as it lit aflame and Devin gasps, coughing out a scream as two perfect teardrops appear in his eyes. Then he blinks them away. All his focus, all his energy, he diverts to insuring his stun spell doesn't break -- but through clenched teeth he muttered the counter-curse. It came out through stutters and spits, but he lifts up again -- and his fist hits the bastard's face. And then again. And then again. 

He rips open the first few buttons of his shirt, suddenly not caring for the impropriety of it as it was still damn hot. He removes the tie that had been a gift from his father -- and barely resisting the utter urge to choke him with it, he pockets it. Then he yanks the bastard up by his throat, adrenaline dulling his pain and fury making it worth it. Pinching the sides of the thin windpipe, he snaps,* Thank you. I had been wondering why I spent any time with my dear cousin last year -- thank you for giving it a purpose. 

*He lets him go so his head smashes back to the floor, and brings the wand back up - pointing it at him.* You're not the only one here who knows the Dark Arts, idiot.* His fist is clenched tight around the wood, his father's ring abruptly visible. He knew if he tried - he could cast the Cruciatus curse in a heartbeat at that moment, his terror and panic for Nadia overtaking him - but something held it back. Perhaps the thought of what Nadia would say if she knew he had. So instead, he pulls a vial out of his back pocket and holds it over his eyes, letting the slow-moving volatile liquid shine over the dark, maniacal eyes of the bastard beneath him.* 

You know what this is? It's an unimaginative name really - "exploding fluid" - comes from the horn of an Erumpent. *His finger unsnaps the top cap, words equally cutting,* The vial has a sticking charm on it of course - you're not going to be able to pry this from my hand. For all our safety naturally - you have to be truly careful with it of course - because you know the thing about Erumpent horns? Is that anything it's injected in? *He narrows his eyes at him, holding the rim beneath the man's bottom lip.* Has the tendency to explode. See, I said it was an unimaginative name. 

*It was false brightly, despite his sore limbs, wracking headache and fine-sweat. He still did not blink, though his eyes were watering (it was just because he hadn't blinked, not because he remembered talking about acquiring this very ingredient with Nadia). Devin refused to miss a word. Breathing hard, he added,* So you better hope my hand doesn't slip, and you better start talking. 

*Honestly, a bit lighter,* You want to anyway. She got away from you. I don't think the Death Eater's are going to take too kindly to your failure, are they? Start talking, and maybe my father will listen to you. Or stay silent, and you can either try this potion, or I'll leave you here and _they_ can deal with you. *A tiny smile flicks across his lips.* Let's try this again, shall we? Your. _name_. And _what did you do with my girlfriend_?

 **Chace:** *He raised his head again to look at Devin and the fucker (he was currently too angry to come up with any more colorful insults) having to fight off the urge to hit the man. Even if he hadn't, Chace doubted he would be able to get through to the guy if it meant getting past Devin. His sister's boyfriend was unmovable, and threatening, and angry. Ignoring the threat of using dark magic, Chace was actually, a bit begrudgingly, impressed. He had no idea what an Erumpent was, but this was the first time he was paying attention in Potions. Exploding liquid, now that was promising. And all to get his twin, Devin's girlfriend love of his life according to the world, back. Alright, so, maybe out of all the blokes in the world for his sister, Devin wasn't a bad choice.* When exactly did you turn into a badass?

 **Julio:** *The guy packed a powerful punch, powerful enough to knock off his concentration but all Julio could do was laugh. Laugh in the middle of his wincing, as his cheekbone and nose broke, as blood flew from his mouth, he laughed, his teeth coated in red but his grin wasn't shy. Even as he was grasped, laughter choked off with a sickening gasp for a moment, his grin returned after the loud smack against his head. He groaned, closing his eyes as the world spun in front of him and grinned again.* Man, you talk a lot. *Exploding liquid, he'd take his chances.* My name is Inigo Montoya. *He grinned wider realizing Nadia's twin got the reference; ah good, someone was brushed up on their classic movies.* And nothing actually, nothing at all. Well, escorted her here but apart from that, didn't do anything to her, or with her- oh no, lies, we shared a drink. 

*He was nothing if not truthful.* Go ahead. Blow me up. *eyebrows rise* Or better yet, keep pummeling me in the face. You're strong enough- *he swallows a bit more of his blood* -shouldn't take you more than a minute to kill me. I won't feel it as much though, thanks to that nice head injury. Thanks for it really, feeling kinda good now, despite there being two of you. Though I have to say, if this is really going to be the last face I ever see, I'm terribly disappointed. You're not really my type. But, we're both know you're not going to kill me, Devin. You can't even do your worst. *he drops his voice to a hiss* that was a challenge, in case you didn't figure it out.

 **Devin:** Had to learn to get a word in edgewise -- you're lucky you haven't met my sister. *The dry words were crisp, but he cuts them off as the man starts answering him. The little chuckles and retorts fall on deaf ears as if even his ears could hone in simply on the relevant facts and details. Though he couldn't deny it - his heart was skipping beats every other word from that jealous-fiery-terrified little pit that worried what a fifteen year old girl would go through at the hands of these monsters -- it wasn't like "chocolates and champagne" wasn't loaded enough a statement. He gritted his teeth, willing himself not to breath further bones in the man's face - his hand was hurting enough. Rapidly, he was realizing one simple thing. He nods slowly, very slowly, eyes screwed up; oh he'd gotten it was a challenge, it just wasn't one he'd rise too. 

Half spitting,* You're right. I won't. You're literally not even worth the breath. *And he wasn't. He was too low down on the totem pole, this Inigo Montoya Casanova persona - he wouldn't have been told of their plans. Eyes narrowing, he takes another deep breath while his thumb caps the potion again, and mutters a single word - the spell one scrawled in the corner of one of his books to knock the bastard unconscious. Sitting back, he rubs over his eyes, stretching out sore knuckles rubbing the blood from his lip. The moment he does he seems to realize how much that damn spell had hurt, how much his body was shaking - and heard himself all over again, hearing what he'd said. He blinks, a tiny smile crossing his lips uncertainly, hesitantly, with amused disbelief in his eyes and he shrugs a shoulder to look at Chace.* I...er. I have no idea.

*Well, he didn't. A dry chuckle escapes his lips. Leaving the paralyzed bastard for a moment as he gestures at Nadia's twin, saying simply,* I can fix your nose. *And clear some of the blood off, pop his jaw back in - but he couldn't do much more than that he thought bitterly, mind still processing everything at the back of his thought. As he brought his wand up again he muses aloud slowly,* We need Eliza. She's brilliant at memory spells - no doubt he knows Occlumency, but he is unconscious - she could get in. *Then he pauses and realizes -- and an embarrassed smile crosses his lips, and he adds offhand but sheepishly,* ....whose Inigo Montoya?

 **Chace:** *Death Eaters. Death Eaters were behind all this? How did Devin even know that? What exactly was going on here? He was too tired, too anxious, and now too pained to ask anymore. Questions would only lead to more wasted time, time they could use to find Nadia, as he had still seen her come this way. He shook his head, and it took some effort as he wiped under his nose again. If he hadn't been attacked with his back turned, he knew none of this would have happened; he could have taken the guy. Looking up again, he chuckled along with Devin and then nodded.* 

Thanks...*Oh bloody hell-* And thanks for stepping up- I mean, I had it under control *his lips twitched* but thanks. *He only nodded along at the mention of Eliza as he tried to gather enough strength to be able to stand up again and continue walking and then chuckled again at his question.* A character from the movie The Princess Bride. Belle's made me watch it a billion times- *he winced as he stood and held himself up with the wall.* Nadia came through this hallway, not long back. You go get Eliza if you want, I'm gonna keep looking down this hallway.

 **Devin:** Don't mention it, mate. *He barely bit back a snort, half a laugh escaping the brief smirk as he nods,*  Course you did, obviously. *Yeah, he'd had it about as handled as Lynn was sweet and Hols was docile and Alcott was modest. Devin cocked his head, saying graciously,* Just couldn't let you get all the glory of course -- then how could I be your sister's hero? *It was wry, a brow raised -- but his lips went dry at the very thought. 

Rubbing sweat from the back of his neck, he stayed kneeling an instant trying to catch his breath, which was promptly knocked right back out of him. He didn't know how he launched to his feet, but he had, and suddenly his knees were shaking for an altogether different reason: he was itching to run down the entire hallway.* You've seen her? *Bloody hell was he getting tired of hearing news from everyone else's lips. Gaze darting both ways, he exhaled slowly - barely registering he'd thought the guy was a movie character, asking with heat,* Which -- way did she -- was she alone? Did she look okay?

 **Chace:** She's been her own hero by the looks of it. *He spared a glance at the man lying down on the ground unconscious thinking about how proud he was of his sister for getting away from him. Chace should have known something like this would have happened though; when it came to his sister, Devin had a one track mind. He pointed behind him.* Headed that way, she was alone. I only caught a glimpse, no more than a half second, but I know it was her. She looked like she was trying not to be seen. 

 **Devin:** I'm not surprised. *He asserts it quietly, thinking in all goddamn honestly she'd long been his hero a lot more than he'd ever been hers. The thought twists his stomach. He won't look at the man on the ground again. But he would kick him. It was too satisfying - even if he was half sure he was going to break his toe if he did it again. Man was too kind a word anyways. Following Chace's finger he nods, then bites down on his tongue.* Lynn saw her too. I don't know more than that - besides the signal she gave Nick; she found one of the wolves. And I know where she's going -- the wine cellar. *Rubbing a hand against his forehead still sweating, back and forth he exhales,* All right - Casanova here didn't know anything - I'll --*

He pauses, hearing over his shoulder a call of "Mr. Stuart!" and snorts, dry smirk reappearing - especially as Andy snapped in surprise 'you were attacked'? Without looking around, he answered brightly,* No, I did the attacking. When I rounded the corner and saw him attacking already. Probably something you should be here be _fore_ -hand for, really, but don't worry - I won't tell my father, Andy. See, you have perfect timing as it happens.* Now he turns around, hand driving into his calf as he says fervently, biting out orders just as he'd seen his father do a hundred times.* 

Provided you tell him right now you've captured one of the Death Eaters --and that he was with Nadia tonight. *Andy looked ready to interject, but Devin just held his hand up.* Just let him know, make sure the bastard doesn't wake or get away from you. He's unconscious, so you should have less trouble than with me, right? *Before he could hear another retort, he jerked his head to Chace and muttered simply,* _C'mon_. Show me where, please?

 **Chace:** *Yes, he had been warned about the werewolves involvement at least and nodded along, finding himself worried on Lynn's behalf and then wondered where Hols was because wherever Lynn was, Hols was never far behind and vice versa. Oh, he was just about to ask about his supposed extra guard when one of them showed up. Pleased that it wasn't one of uncle Shawn's aurors, he merely looked on in a little amusement. He thought Devin was supposed to be the quiet nerd here and Chace the outspoken 'sass-mouth' as Nadia called him sometimes. Swallowing a wince at the pain around his throat, he was still rubbing it too soothe it, his face, and his entire body then, he nodded as Devin turned back to him after having smack talked the man into silence, only continuing to be impressed.* Yeah, let's go.

**&.**

**Nick:** -Death Eaters, there was no mistake of it. *He relayed the information D'Grey had shared with him and Devin under his breath knowing that even that might be futile.* And they wiped Nadia's memory. Lynn's gone down to the wine cellar, she gave me the nod and Devin and Chace caught a DE, he's in custody right now.

 **Alcott:** So it worked. *That was all he said, listening hard to the recitation. The wine cellar -- that didn’t eradicate his job in all of this, whether or not it had been successful. Cold eyes locked on Nick said plainly: he knew what he had to do. It wasn’t even half a chore, part of him had been palming the silver little potion all night, contemplating taking it regardless. What was a pity was the only thing he’d had to drink all night besides bubbly bitter pink was the liquor pilfered from his grandfather.  

His flask was already empty, and he hadn’t felt a buzz - nothing, that kickstarts his heart and sets his chest aflame the same way half of what Nick had just told him. He’d stayed silent. And it was only after he heard another approaching heartbeat that he realized: he wasn’t even surprised. Except for the fact that Chace and Devin had successfully apprehended one -- but that just made him smirk.* And that leaves...

*Of course it was the Death Eaters. Of course this was them -- and punching the daylight out of Sam (it wasn’t like there was much to begin with) didn’t staunch his fire. They had been defeated, he’d argued with himself mentally: all his father had fucking done for the cause?! But of course, of course they weren’t gone at all. He’d known that since the day he watched one with shiny shoes and a bright gold watch disappear, escape his father’s wards. 

Rubbing sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he’s mid nod when he stills, and then rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Without turning around he says half-brightly,* You know, sneaking up on someone isn’t really a way to get someone on your side. *He smirks, tilting his head over his shoulder, gaze narrow as it zeroes in on their apparent company.* Not really the act of a friend.

 **Hans:** *Their conversation had been too interesting to announce himself: the informative spree something he found himself admiring even with the slightest frown. Hands clasped behind his back, he walks slowly from the shadows, lips pursed in a half smile and nodding absently.* Ah, we’re friends now? 

 **Alcott:** *Hans’ bitter chuckle only sets his teeth more on edge, gnashing them as he steps forward too, half in front of Nick, hand on the little potion in his pocket. His words are still light.* I was just saying. Know you don’t have many, thought it might be a useful tidbit.

 **Hans:** Mm, *he stops walking a few feet from Alcott with an upturned smirk, unblinking eyes focused on the pup,* leave the style tips to the trashy magazines, Alcott, they at least have the actresses to look at. *He hadn’t looked at Nick: that boy meant nothing to him. Head cocking up slightly, he licks his lip as his mouth opens in amusement,* The wine-cellar? How intriguing. What little scheme has-- 

 **Alcott:**   Rivers isn’t my concern. *And the words that leave his mouth are so natural to him, practiced from half a hundred times he’d said them sincerely anytime more than half a year ago, that he almost breaks his smirk just to hear the bitter tone in his own voice. His eyes narrow at Hans.* And I don’t give a damn what she’s up to -- she always has some conspiracy theory up her sleeve.

 **Hans:** *Oh, amusing. He didn’t believe a word of course, but the pup was sincere in one thing at least. Casting a glance briefly at Nick now mid-nod, he says lightly,* That assumes she bothers to wear sleeves.

 **Alcott:** *He rolls his eyes, but steps forward again.* I, was looking for you. I want to know how this works. *He still continued honestly - perfectly honest, despite that not being what Nick expected to hear (he assumed). He hadn’t actually told anyone that - that if the opportunity presented itself, he did want to ask, did want to find out how this worked.* Vague answers, lilting promises -- I don’t buy it. *Slipping the potion free and holding it up, he arches an eyebrow and then throws it at him, saying bitterly,* You think you can just give me some potion, _say_ it lets me change at will, and I’m going to believe it? If you want to help me, you can do us all a favor, *he stops walking, chest puffed up and half pressed to Hans as he bores a glare into the man’s darkening eyes,* and get the fuck out of town.

 **Hans** : *His eyes swivel back from Nick slowly, hearing the racing heart from both of them and nodding slowly, very slowly, lips curled up as he meets Alcott’s glare.* You should be nicer to me. *He says it sincerely, brow popping up and then down. The words are a low, fervent promise.* It’s in your best interest, whatever you believe. As for this? *He holds up the potion he’d caught with ease without looking away,* you’re going to want to take it. Trust me, mate...but ah, of course, you don’t trust me - so...shall I offer a demonstration? *Canines extend as he opens his mouth, licking the tip of one in a heartbeat that only Alcott catches, before he springs across the room, appearing behind Nick and pinching his elbows together to his side as if his arms were crowbars.* Sorry about this mate. *He hisses it under his breath near the mans neck, just scraping that delicious flesh with his extended tooth. But his words were light and playful.* Nothing personal. 

 **Nick:** *He was starting to regret being in the middle of a room where a big bad wolf showdown was just itching to occur. He kept a hand inside his pocket,  fingering his wand, ready to draw it at a moment's notice but given that he didn't have supernatural speed, it would be difficult. The mentions of his girlfriend only made him clench his jaw tighter, not bothering with a comment for either of them, though he did hope Al got to punch the other man in the face for him. What was surprising, genuinely so, was to hear Alcott state to considering the potion if more was explain about it to him. Nick didn't understand, but then again, he didn't think he could in his situation. Wand gripped tighter now, it suddenly became futile as his arms were locked behind harshly, making him intake his breath with a hiss and lean away from the hot breath against his neck and a fang he was almost sure could knick his jugular without effort.* Al, man. *He addressed his friend instead of the man holding him after another wince.* Think it might be time to switch up your strategy a little, yeah? Plan B?

 **Alcott:** *Turning abruptly as Hans shot away from him he screwed his lips up. Arms unfold, spring away from him, and slap the air as he shakes his head incredulously,* The hell are you--

 **Hans:** *Amused that Callaway didn't even address him, he mutters,* Good boy. *Then he shook his head and smirked at Alcott, swaying. One hand freed, he tossed him the vial before slamming down to the shoulder again.* 

 **Alcott:** *He caught it. But in an instant he'd sped across the room, and his fist met Hans--palm, it turned out, and hissed as he suddenly felt his wrist break. But it meant Hans had to release Nick with the one hand, and even as the bone snapped he pulls Nick away. And was promptly spun into a choke hole himself.*

 **Hans** : A hero, aren't you? *There's laughter tracing his voice, gripping until he felt Alcott's breath choke off. He'd locked the door of course; even as he knew Al had thrown Nick hard enough he'd fall on the ground. He breathes deep, indulging,* And so angry... Lovely.

 **Nick** : Just don't expect me to play fetch. *he mumbled under his breath, trying to reach the wand in his pocket again. As he did, he almost missed Al speeding over like Sonic the hedgehog, movement too quick for his eye to follow, and then suddenly he's stumbling backwards after a hard push, falling onto the floor and then scrambling to stand and take out his wand, only to curse as Hans has either knowingly or unknowingly used Al as a human shield for the time being. 

 **Alcott:** Nick--get out--*he chokes out, before he breaks off at the elbow crushing his windpipe.*

 **Hans** : Mm, no. I don't think so. *He hisses it in his ear.* See, you're going to want him here shortly. *Amused, he's still whispering it, as if the words were little candied tarts.* Other sweet indulgences.

 **Alcott** : The _fuck_ is wrong with you? *His neck snaps forward and then back as Hans yanks him back.*

 **Hans:** You wanted a demonstration. *Sweetly, eyes that had already dark red still on Nick.* 

 **Alcott:** *Half shaking his head even as his eyes darken himself, he bites out,* Yeah, of how to _control_ it! 

 **Hans:** This is how. *He says it sternly, and throws him away from him too. His hand snaps towards the vial,* Drink it. Because if you don't, *and he takes a step forward even as his steps are casual, swaggering and then he crouches down next to him, eyes flashing. The words were playful beneath his voice, humming,* Nick's not the only one in here I'll break. 


	30. The Two Knights' Defense

**Stefanie** : *Her lips flicked up abruptly, irritation and amusement in her eyes. Oh, they truly would have been best friends in school. She exhales.* I'm not playing at anything -- *Well, she wouldn't be a Ricard if she wasn't working some angle she thought at the back of her mind, but it wasn't devious. It was always that way though; telling someone the truth, whistle-blowing, always ended up more difficult than the lie. Messenger's got killed. She didn't think that was so dishonorable though; certainly she had another motive for telling her. It didn't discount anything in her mind - but intent was oh-so-important in court.* I only was trying to tell you kindly, spare details that would upset anyone. It upset me. *She tilts her head, eyes flicking. Ansel was frozen in a curled smirk, but she knew perfectly well that look. Were not a ballroom of witnesses between them, before she could blink she'd be against that wall. Her heart skipped a beat.*

 **Irene:** Spare me the kindness instead of the details, I can live much easier without the first. *She didn't understand Stefanie's motive in all of this but at that moment, it wasn't her top priority; she could practically hear Lynn now, telling her motive was everything but, for all her Sheila Holmes expertise, the fact was that she wasn't smart enough or focused enough for multitasking at this particular situation.*

 **Stefanie:** *Still calmly,* And I was trying to get to the truth quickly, because there are a lot of facts here I cannot help all of which would make you suspicious and angry at me. Things I had no choice in the matter on. Colette--

 **Ansel:** Now, why are you bringing up things that are long since settled, Stefanie?

 **Irene: *** Turning suddenly, it was a knee jerk reaction given the fact that she was damn sure Ansel hadn't been there .23 seconds ago.*

 **Stefanie:** *Abruptly, she realizes that Ansel has moved through the room in that graceful, loping, silent way of his and is two steps behind Irene. She smiles at him. Her nail taps against the glass again.* I was concerned for her. You associating with another innocent girl, it does sound the warning bells. 

 **Ansel** : *With a dry chuckle, his hand slipping into his pocket.* You're jealous.

 **Stefanie** : You're deluded.

 **Irene:** She looked at him briefly, her gaze quickly searching before she turned back to Stefanie. Innocent? Looking out for her? Did she -look- like she was born yesterday? She shook her head, licked her lips, feeling like she was caught in the middle of a lover's quarrel, and the more she listened, the more she was sure of it.* If you two need to go have a quick shag in the coat closet to gather yourselves, go right ahead, but I still want to know what the bloody hell is going on. 

 **Ansel:** *His gaze flicks to Irene, saying lightly.* I apologize, Irene. Stefanie is behind the times a bit -- but then, so am I.

 **Stefanie:** *Eyes narrow,* No need to mention that, we can see your tie. 

 **Ansel:** *his lips flick with genuine amusement, but he doesn't look away from Irene.* I should have told you -- but when we met, I didn't know it was something I could trust you with, and after what happened, I knew you should only blame me. And...*he lets out a tiny, sigh; honest* I confess I did not want to ruin the easy friendship.

 **Irene:** *Now she turned back to Ansel again, he was offering up an explanation that she was determined to listen to. Well, she didn't exactly blame him for keeping that from her, it was his own personal business and they were just casual friends.* I don't judge, I'm not a judger, and trust me, you'd be surprised how understanding--

 **Stefanie:** But this is touching. *Her eyes are on Ansel with heat, but her words are cool.* Do you always show such concern for your marks? 

 **Irene:** *--she blinked, eyes narrowing before she repeats* Mark?

 **Ansel** : *Grey flecks appear in his gaze; jade flashing as his teeth set. Canines dig into grooves behind closely-tightened lips to keep them from view, focusing on a deep breath and struggling not to growl. The crisp words cut deeper than he allowed himself to show, than he every could let himself show. A tight smile appears, though a hand deep in his pocket tears at his leather wallet as if fingers itch for the old photograph. The thought of it calms him. Brighter, though he has yet to blink away from Stefanie,* What Stefanie is leaving out right now in this story is how she knows of it. She's afraid you won't trust her, *now he flicks his grey-green eyes back to Irene.* If you know her name is Ricard, her brother Hans, my alpha, and dearest friend. *Lightly still,* And then just how could she tarnish my reputation with you? 

 **Stefanie:** Ah, we're back to 'she's jealous'? *Irritated, though breath has caught in her throat. She licks at mauve lips and tastes the champagne bittersweet.*

 **Ansel:** *continuing lightly* I should have trusted you though Irene- well, trusted that you'd hear me out, since now I know how fervently you support Alcott. 

 **Stefanie** : And the tale grows. *Snaps,* I could care less for your reputation, Ansel -- I merely disdain of lies, particularly when they concern my brother corrupting the innocent. 

 **Ansel** : *At that his smirk is genuine,* Oh, I was never innocent.

 **Stefanie:** *She rolls her eyes, prepared to turn on her heel.* That I very well know. *She huffs.* Colette-

 **Ansel:** Is dead. *Flatly, his eyes flashing dark green again.* She has been for years. I would appreciate it, if you left further embellishments on that fact to the Canal plus group at ten o clock. *There's nothing amused about his smile as he looks at her, clipped words cold,* They're more suited for it, though you have no doubt experience with the macabre.

 **Stefanie:** How could I not be?  *Despite a shiver, she won't blink or look away from that intimidating stare. She knew it wasn't fear that sparked in her gut.* Family like mine. 

 **Irene:** *Her eyebrows only rise further up as they continue. Ricard! Hans! Alpha- bitches.* Excuse- *she hits Ansel's shoulder and pretended it didn't hurt her a lot more than it hurt him* You're part of his pack? That thinks-he's-so-smooth-tryna-mack-on-my-best-friend-alpha-bitch?! Don't- *brings a manicured finger up* talk about Al! You have no right to talk about him. And you! *turns to Stefanie* As flattering as it'd be to have my radiance attract you to protect my innocence- *snorts* -long gone, that's how you treat "friends"? Revealing their secrets- not that I'm angry you did, I am so happy to have found out that *turns to Ansel now* that I've been spending my time with a man who actively hunts humans for sport! I take it back- I am a judger, I am judging so hard right now! *She waves her hand in a strangling motion in front of her, exhaling in a deep breath, her hands shaking but she was blaming that on anger, not on fear. She looked up at him.* I'm sorry about Colette. I am, whatever happened, I'm sorry you lost her but this train has passed that station and is arriving into "what the fuck did she mean by -mark-" territory at full speed ahead! So you better give me an answer to put on the brakes, otherwise this bitch train is on a collision course and you're both in the blast radius!

 **Stefanie:** *Far from discouraged at the flying, manicured point in her face, Stefanie barely suppresses a laugh of delight. She's not successful with the smirk.* Why, look at that Ansel -- not fooled by your charm in the slightest.

 **Ansel:** Mm...*He's perfectly stationary, and despite his hardening gaze, the corner of his lips are curling up.* Not so alike after all then, sweet Stefanie.

 **Stefanie:** *Toying with the pearls around her throat, her eyes narrow at that.* I've never been sweet.

 **Ansel** : True. *He hadn't looked away from Irene. There'd been a twitch his hard expression as she too said her name -- damn Stefanie, damn her going there, how -dare- she go there -- but it's long gone. He wouldn't be made a fool of.* I have every intention of telling you everything, Irene. *Shame the hunt had been interrupted to begin with - but now it was kickstarted. The girl's heart was racing, sweet blood pumping fire through veins calling for him to indulge. She wants to slap him, he knew. His gaze flicks to where she hit him as if to consider it, a dry chuckle escaping his throat.* Ouch. *His tongue grace his lip as if to taste hurt.* Careful, dah-ling, *he looks back to Irene, words heated abruptly,* you don't want to make a scene.

 **Irene:** *Was what Al had said? Every sense magnified? Then he knew perfectly how royally pissed off, the American definition of the word, she was right now. So much for excellent judge of character! When she had been making friends with this man who was in league with Hans who attacked Devin and was in league with whoever took Nadia! And not make a scene?* I was born for the stage, *mocking* dah-ling. 

 **Stefanie:** I think that's exactly what she should do. 

 **Anse** l: Oh look at that, *Without blinking, without looking away, another dry chuckle escapes his parted lips. His hand lifts from his pocket slowly, dusting the shoulder off.* Stefanie, not so quick to illuminate now, hm? I'm touched.

 **Stefanie** : *She lowers the glass to a floating tray, hissing.* Don't mistake my giving you the opportunity to own up as affection.  

 **Anse** l: No, *Hushing, his tone trembles with his delight,* I wouldn't dream of it. *She never did what she was told. Especially if it was him telling her.* 

 **Irene:** *Damn him, damn his stupid accent and his stupid charm and most of all damn his psychotic nature!! They could have been friends, the best of friends and instead he just- what the fuck was he even doing with her?! She wasn't a werewolf, he didn't know she had money...or did he? And even if he did, he had some of his own so what the fuck? Who the hell was he?*

 **Rory:** *He'd been carrying a tray out when he heard the end of a bitch-slap that only Irene was capable of giving. Distracted, he turns and had inched around the landing, adjusting his tie.* Hey -- Rene -- is everything...

 **Ansel:** *His chin lifts up. He'd heard the jittery heartbeat, but he wouldn't have needed it; this boy was the opposite of stealth. A sudden lightness takes his face as he shrugs a shoulder, finishing his thought under his breath,* Well, I wouldn't dream of it with you still wearing that dress Stefanie, --

 **Stefanie:** *scoffs, turning as well.* 

 **Irene:** She turned suddenly as she saw Rory, her fury diminishing only as much as to allow fear in as well. No, Rory, no no- she turned to Ansel instead. His expression had changed dramatically, it was a smirk of which she hadn't yet be introduced too. But she didn't like it.*

 **Ansel:** \-- oh, hello!

 **Stefanie:** *Seeing Rory, she stiffens, trying to tell him with her eyes to walk away now. He ignores her. This scares her, because she didn't know what it was Ansel wanted, and his twisted mind always wanted -- not just something, everything.*

 **Rory:** *His eyes narrow in confusion.*

 **Ansel:** It's Rory, right? Lovely to meet you -- I've heard a lot about you. *He holds his hand out.* Ansel.

 **Rory** : *Flustered, hesitant, and still looking at the fury on Irene's face, he nods. But it would be rude not to take his hand.* Yeah, Rory, er- sorry I haven't--

 **Ansel:** No? *The grip in his hand was tight. So for a moment, Rory didn't seem to realize he had his thumb buried on a throbbing vein, crushing his pulse, or that his fingers were twisting, and Ansel smiled. Gaze flicking to Irene, craving the reaction he was sure to get to, * Dillon didn't mention me? 

 **Irene: *** And as he said Dillon's name, she liked it less* Ansel, don't. *Her gaze flicked down to their hands and she winced and gasped as she heard a crack. She meant to step forward to get to him, his name in a worry was on the tip of her tongue, but a hand over it made it quickly swallow it back, breath coming difficult. A shiver ran down her back at his whisper as everything became a literal blur but that didn't stop her from trying to get out of his hold.*

 **Rory** : *Crack. Choking out on gritted teeth, his other hand darts for his elbow as he tries to wrench his hand free, tears pearling in his eyes. There's a brief second - an instant when he locks eyes with the furious, radiantly so, Irene - and then his hand is free, he's doubled forward to land on his knee, cradle his broken hand and wrist, gasping for air as his arm shakes, shivers in rippling pain -- and there's no one there. Eyes wide and cursing under his breath, he looks to the petite hand laying on his elbow.* The bleedin' hell jus--

 **Stefanie:** Don't. You're going to make it worse. *Dammit. Helping Rory cradle his arm, she helps him to his feet and holds his arm against the table. His mutter of gratitude makes her smile, but only briefly. She meets eyes deep blue with a fierce gaze.* Wolves do tend to have a hell of a handshake. 

 **Rory:** Yeah, I'll sa--*gasps out as he rubs his forearm with the healthy hand,* Werewolf?

 **Stefanie:** *Her mouth opens. Abruptly realizing she had no idea how to explain it to -him-, breath catches in her throat, and a guilty smile appears.*

**&.**

**Rachelle:** *She takes the glass offered at the same time Lynn does, somehow being amused by the exchange. She laughs as Lynn refers to her boyfriend as a dog, though more kindly, and she takes a sip of the wine, eyes trailing to the bracelet. It was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, the Frenchwoman in here couldn't help but to admire it, even if it wasn't genuine at all.* C'est magnifique. *She chuckled and shook her head, smiling* 

No, I couldn't possibly...*but Lynn insisted and it was difficult to argue with a drunk person. She tried to reach a hand to help, sighing with a little annoyance and then looking down at it with amusement, and then shocked as it transformed. Handcuffs? Her eyebrows skyrocketed, before she looked up. The bitch had her wand- how did she even do that?!* What's wrong with you? *She stood up straighter as Lynn mentioned someone else. Hols? The pup's mate? She looked over her shoulder, and raised her head and inhaled. Nothing. How was the girl absent a scent, had she already been there- how in the-*

 **Hols** : Baby please, we're a high class act, not street vagabonds. *She stepped up after casting her off her disillusionment charm, going to stand next to Lynn, a proud beam for her friend on her face.* I'll get them for you for Christmas.

 **Rachelle:** *She wanted to scoff, instead she only widened her eyes* What do you think you're both doing? Are you mad?! Qu'est qui ce passe?!

 **Lynn:** High class knights actually, Sir Hols. *For it was the -two- knights defense after all.* And oh thank you! *Choked by a girlish excitement at her success, she cocked her head as she caught her appearance in the reflected and wrinkled her nose. Yanking lipstick out of her cleavage, she reapplies the bottom lip, cocks her head to deem appropriate and kisses the air. Eying Rachelle the whole time, her head stays cocked.* 

Excuse me? What are -we- doing? What are-you- doing? *Snapping the lid over the pink stick, she narrows her eyes and points with her wand at the handcuffs.* Solid silver. Why in the -world- would you let that pretentious prick order you around anyway? Because really, I do have to hand it to you--you're brilliantly good. And -*Lynn lifts her hand,* fabulously dressed. *Her hand slaps her leg.* 

And if you weren't about to kidnap me, I'd have asked Nick to put a call in Hollywood for you. Actually, *Huh. Her head tilts, pointing at the wine cellar,* maybe I will still, we absolutely could sell this story--*Oh, she was drifting from her point. She looks back.* In any case. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist trying the bracelet on --like I said, you have fabulous taste--knew the only way I could pass off being drunk was to come here or you could smell it, picked that little tip up from Alcott. Oh and Hogwarts being down a Quidditch post is because we had to be sure it can hold you--have I mentioned how much I've come to like your boyfriend, Hols? *She smiles sideways at her.* 

Right around the same time his mother gave us the plans of the estate; there's no other way in or out of here, although there is a secret compartment beneath us, smuggler's stash. It'll make a pretty good emergency cell, I think, don't you Hols? *She gestured at the broken glass.* And that was telling her to come and--

 **Devin:** Oh for bloody's sakes, don't you ever get tired of your own voice, sis? *At the cellar door, arms folding on his chest--though he's holding a fashioned silver blade, eyes narrow.*

 **Lynn:** *He always did that. Always.* Well, be content that you ruined my punchline, dear brother. 

 **Devin:** *Shrugs shoulder,* I'm just saying--not a Broadway show-

 **Lynn:** \--what happened to your eye? *Bloodshot and he was breathing heavily for all his perfect steadiness.*

 **Devin:** *simultaneously; ignores* Get to the-point-, Miss Scarlett?

 **Lynn:** Well, if it was a Broadway show, I'm not the star. *Giving him a look, her smirk tightens in seriousness as she looks back to Rachelle.* That would be Nadia. She told me who you are. Who all of your pack are. And still manages to somehow pull off being hot and cute simultaneously. *It was unfair, and true, but it also was only said because whatever Devin believed: she was talking that fast and long for a reason. Her danger had been real, and so had been her fear. And she hadn't gotten every pack name--hell she didn't even know how Nadia had told her anything in thirteen seconds--but Rachelle needed to believe that Nadia was already recovered, had shared information. Which she was--at the moment she was being a kick ass savior. Exhaling heavily, she narrows her gaze at Rachelle and says simply, incredulously,* You didn't actually think you'd get away with it, did you? 

 **Devin:** We are quite meddlesome kids. *Drily in a low tone.*

 **Lynn:** Brother, be glad I'm over here, because the fact that you made that reference makes me want to kiss you.

 **Devin:** What reference? *Brows flick as his fingers uncurl and re-curl around the hilt.*

 **Lynn:**...oh Dev, baby. *Just...shakes her head at him in amused disbelief.*

 **Hols:** *Lynn. Her intelligent, manipulative, strategic, gorgeous, partner in crime. She smirked as her friend checked her make up and then turned back to Rachelle. She really was quite the actress.*

 **Rachelle:** *Her calculated outrage and confusion was slowly turning into an angry smirk, her features turning pleasant and innocent into vicious. As if silver would stop her-* What the...*she looked down at her wrist as she tried tugging it again, harder. The handcuff was unyielding, as was the shelf which it was tied to. She gritted her teeth and pulled again, the silver dug into her flesh, already aggravating it into a pink tinge, but still nothing.* Clever. *She hissed out and immediately set up a shield around her as well; no way these bitches were going to stun her unconscious.*

 **Hols:** Yeah about that *turns to Lynn again* Please refrain from kicking my boyfriend in the junk from now on. You're not just hurting him, you're hurting _me_. *She turns back to Rachelle, who was murdering, savaging, if looks could harm.* 

 **Rachelle:** *She cursed in French, a term too vile to be translated into the pathetic English tongue and growled, a sound deep in her throat that was inhuman. This time she did hear the other one come in, the one her brother had played with, sporting a silver knife. She had to scoff.*

 **Hols:** Devin, you're running her gloating. *She sighed. Little brothers. There was no way Rachelle was getting out of there anyways. No one tries to kidnap her friends and gets away with it. She also beamed in pride for her baby sister, relieved that she was away from the Death Eaters and this pack.*

**&.**

**Nick:** *Noticing how fast he was before, Nick knew there was no way to beat him with a straight forward offense, so he went on the defensive. Begrudging the movies that got in the middle of the conflict and ended up being a nuisance by not being able to prevent getting hurt or taken hostage. He was _that_ guy in this situation.* Why are you doing this?

 **Hans:** I’m doing this because I know what it’s like. *His voice drops, eyes unblinking yet in a low murmur.* 

 **Alcott:** *His amber-gold eyes met the scarlet ones. As he pulls to a sitting position, his knees crumple under him to support him only atop them. The broken wrist he has cradled to his chest is snapping back in place, he realizes, the bone resetting itself. It sets his teeth on edge and the soothing lilt of Hans voice calms him, almost against his will, almost. Hisses disappear in his throat as he listens, breathing hot and heavily as a shiver of pain wracks his arm. But he couldn’t deny that he was listening, and he was listening hard.* 

 **Hans:** *Without wavering as Alcott moved, he didn’t bother looking at the boy who’d asked the question. It was the pup he meant to speak to. Steadily,* To be so filled with rage it consumes you until you black out, until it seems you’re watching another’s life unfold before you, watching them be damned by those you hate as they hurt all those who you love most. *His voice lowers still. It’s weighted with a burden of memory. His words were rank with nostalgia: that feeling of longing for something out of reach but god, how you wished you could go back to days before then.* To have your terror of a celestial bitch only outmatched by your fear of yourself. To think there’s no end to it  to be had: only pain. Only unrelenting torture. *His voice rang with sincerity even if he had blinked, which he hadn’t in a minute and a half. The only thing that happened as he watched pleasantly, complacent as Alcott’s wrist fixes itself, was his eyes lightened back to blue.* 

 **Alcott:** *His breath aside, he hadn’t moved, had forced himself not to blink, trying to swallow his anger and panic for understanding. He failed at it. Whatever his hatred of him...Hans could clearly control it: his claws and teeth had come from nowhere. And Alcott couldn’t deny the deep seeded amorous flame that flickers around his heart, having the control he craved so desperately dangled in front of him. He clenches his teeth.* Yeah, attacking my friends? *The incredulity in his tone was matched in a gaze, spoken through a smirk.* Was a bloody mistake. 

 **Hans:** *Ignores this, and ignores Nick.* You want to control it, Al? *He whispers again, just for Alcott, though his eyes flick to Callaway.* First you have to get angry. Let that fire flood your veins. Be furious. Then master your anger. Let the wolf be part of you, embrace it. _Enjoy_ the hunt, enjoy the bite -- or else it will control you. 

 **Alcott:** If this miracle cure, *breath heady even as it steadies, but he spits it furiously,* means that I will forget even untransformed, the value of innocent lives - the values of friendship - then I want no fucking part of it. *Alcott was spinning the vial between his fingers, but he made no move to part with it again.*But I am beyond _furious_ \--

 **Hans** : Mm. *He chuckles under his breath,* oh yes, yes I know. It’s why I chose to approach you again here, tonight. *Wafting a hand beneath his nose as if he could drink the air,* All filled with righteous fire, noble even, protective of the formerly innocent Nadia and furious. *He exhales.* You came to me, Alcott. You came to me, and you asked how it is we are able to control this, to get control of your life back. You know. *The softer eyes meeting his tell him as much as the determinedly steady beat: Alcott did know. Thus, he didn’t press the point any longer. Callaway deserved no further explanations anyway. With low fervor,* Let me help you. 

**&.**

**Rachelle:** *Hans should have finished the boy off while he had the chance. For thinking of the red headed girl in front of her in pain, the worst kind of pain, was proving to be enjoyable. Not more enjoyable than it would b e to tear their little heads off, starting with the infamous Nadia- or rather, the only person who could have possibly told them about her when she hadn't even met the girl. Her hands shook with the anger, and her eyes flashed golden brown as she growled at them again, revealing canines too long, too deadly to be human.* You have no idea who you're fucking with, _children_. 

*She yanked on the handcuff again with all her strength, and again, and again, drawing blood, the scent hitting her nostrils with an appreciative caress, and she tugged again, and kept straining. The silver would help cut through quicker actually. What was one hand? She'd make their Angel grow it back before she killed him.*

 **Lynn:** Oh, sorry hun -- *Tiniest bi--nope not even a little apologetic, her eyes stay glued to the silver, bleeding wrist as she tried again and again to free herself.* I didn't think Al would go for the bracelet..*at the yank, and growl Lynn took another cautious step back, tempted to snap the bitch's wand* ..and he's still wearing that watch you gave him for his birthday. *Her words remain light.*

 **Devin** : *flatly, unblinking as he looks at Rachelle.* We know exactly who we're dealing with. You're not the first we've taken tonight. 

 **Lynn:** *-That- makes her eyes flick to her brother as her pencilled brow arches.*

 **Devin:** *A seemingly careless gesture points at his eye. It was only because he knew Lynn would look; he didn't take his eyes from Rachelle. Still sternly, but abruptly,* Your uh-"Casanova" was talkative. Not willingly, of course, but. *He gets a cool, thin-lipped smile, tone still unamused.* Not one of your pack either--but seeing as how he escorted Nadia here tonight, I wouldn't be shocked if he actually just let her go, told her everything -- and then panicked. *He shrugs a shoulder, lifting slowly, very slowly and lowering it again with the heavy breath. 

See, Lynn, he could play this game as well as she. 

It had occurred to him while Lynn was talking they had no way of knowing who had told Nadia (his heart ached with the need to see her) what, so it was certainly best to simply sow discord, appear as omniscient as possible. He almost added D'Grey's name, but as he wasn't under arrest - if the man could help them, he wouldn't risk that, not yet. Slowly, his eyes narrow still, his words are even lower,* I _do_ understand that such failure is simply not tolerated. *Flicking a gaze to where she kept yanking on her hand, observing quietly,* It must be even worse than I imagine if you're willing to lose a hand.

 **Lynn:** *Who was this person and what had he done with her quiet-jumpy-prejudiced-runs-away-from-a-spider brother anyway? Startled, she looks back as there's another yank. That was what she was doing!?* Holy--

 **Devin:** *chilled over his sister's curse, he has yet to blink and his chin comes up.* I would point out that there's a third option--that is, come quietly, genuinely help us and make a deal--after all they can't hurt you for failure in -our- cells, they're the safest place you could be. But a, I know that's fruitless and b, I wouldn't trust you. *He exhales, but his eyes are cold.* Though. Right now, Rachelle (for he recognized Lynn's description), if it was one of us handcuffed to that shelf, whose information you need-- what would you do to get it? What would be done to you? *He twirls the knife, waiting a moment, then abruptly pockets it. Monotonous, but sincerely,* We aren't the torturers. 

 **Lynn:** *Half spits, painting the barrel top with her lipstick's pink splatter.* You might not be.

 **Devin:** *Tiny smile,* No, Lynn. Because see, we don't need--and we didn't need--to sink to that to beat them. 

 **Lynn:** *She finishes a long sip of the Chardonnay, and smiles abruptly, nodding.* You're right. Smarter than that.

 **Devin:** *Brightly,* Apparently all we had to do was throw a pretty bracelet your way. That starved for recognition are you?

 **Lynn:** *Seriously; this was her brother? Oh she was so proud.*

 **Devin:** Your pack tried to kill me. You just _may_ live to regret that. *Seriously only a moment, and then he turns to Lynn abruptly, adding lighter,* Ah, and. I'm not convinced Al wouldn't have gone for the bracelet. Eliza does say blue is his color.

 **Hols:** Lynn, babe? You're souring the moment.

 **Rachelle: *** She spat at them, flipping her hair out of her face and then she laughed.* No, you really don't. That little Death Eater is worthless, -*all of them were. And it wasn't them that they had to fear. But she had to snap* You understand, nothing. You know, nothing. *She yanked again, she'd reach the bone, it was time to start sawing through it.* I'm willing to lose a hand if it means ripping all of you to shreds.

 **Hols:** *She takes a step closer, eyes narrowing.* You can bloody well try. *Hols didn't have to break all the bones in her body to shift. She had the advantage in that alone.*

 **Rachelle:** *she laughs, mirthless, staring at the boy* Oh baby, you think you know anything about us because you've eluded death once? *She twisted her wrist to break it, hissing at the feel- but it would let her get this done much faster.* I'm not telling you anything *at that she grins* because I don't know anything. You try to bring this to actual authority? You don't have anything solid against me to hold me. So if you want information, cherie, I would take that knife out of your pocket again because that might be a fraction more effective.

 **Hols:** *She was watching, half amazed, half wary. Rachelle was barely paying attention as she hurt herself, trying to get out of the handcuff. Her fangs were extracted, her face contorted...Hols felt a surge of sympathy for the woman, in the midst of her anger. But Hols knew perfectly well where that was coming from- from the fact that this pack had come for Al, that if it were for them, he'd join them...for a split second it was he she saw chained and angry and fighting, and it chilled her.*

 **Rachelle:** So easy to be smug from over there. *She takes a step which yanks her against the cuff again, grinning* Say it to my face, while you still have a tongue to speak with. I might have forgiven you, my brothers? Won't. *She didn't think she had ever shook this much before. Through ragged breath, she twisted her head back with a crack and again, and again, pulling at her hair with her free hand as delicate and porcelain facial skin gave way for white fur, covering her entire head. It was the face of a wolf that snapped back to face them, while the rest remained unchanged. She threw her head back again and howled, loudly. The call. It didn't matter how far down she was, or whatever spells they had put up. They were a pack. They'd come for her.

 **Devin:** I am far from smug. *Deathly calm, he says only,* What I am is certain you will be in a cell tonight and Nadia home in her own bed. *He was grateful, he realized, that he'd seen Alcott begin the transformation: he was transfixed by the spectacle, but not unruffled.*

 **Lynn:** *It was horrible, what they were watching, and addicting: her feet felt glued to the spot even though she knew they ought to leave. Aged ago. Devin was right- why did she have to gloat, why couldn't she have instantly knocked Rachelle out too? What was wrong with her? Her father's voice came back to her--"no solo hero missions"--but this wasn't solo, and it wasn't guaranteed they'd have been able to identify a wolf: this plan was only there in case that, as had happened, the bodyguards mistook an enemy for a friend. It seemed a mistake they were all destined to make. As the wolf face appears, she hisses through clenched teeth and whips her wand. Her spells rebound off the bloody shield, as she tries to find some chink,anything at all*-

 **Devin:** *-his hand whips,casual as if he was brushing lint from his suit jacket or plucking a handkerchief free. Only a dull _schwoop_ as it embeds makes the remark of his silver blade known. Devin's eyes flash with his anger, but his hand only comes up to adjust his tie. Clipped,* The sound ward was triple-checked but-

 **Lynn:** *Her skin was loose, a shallow covering for rattled nerves and bones. Breathless,* But it's a pack, who knows how they probably can communicate. *Her wand comes down--Devin's knife silenced the howl in a way she hadn't considered-- but as oxygen catches her throat, her voice is strengthened. Damn straight, she wasn't just theirs for the taking. And she had tried to kill Devin.* Devin...

**&.**

Pinching nerves and breaking half a dozen bones in the man's hand was barely the distraction of swatting a fly. His prize was Irene. It had been from the beginning. Twisting, by the time Rory had landed on his knee, he was gone, with his trophy.

"Shh, shh." 

It was a lover's hiss. Pressed against him, his thumb digging into the pulse to cut off breath and palm plastered against her mouth, Irene had those luscious blond locks half buried in his own. He relished that in the instants it took to have spirited her outside.

Her feet kicked out and her arms tried to smack him away to no avail. In another few seconds, it was over and they were outside, away from the ballroom. She was breathing heavily through her nose, chest rising and falling, her blue eyes narrowed at him because otherwise they would be wide and they would be accusing and betrayed, and no he didn't get to see that. Anger, that's what he was getting, and a sharp kick in the balls. They weren't made of steel, even if his grip was.

Wintry-mix blasting them, branches scrabbling as much as her hands were, he cut both off when her back met the wall.

"You know," Ansel keeps her there with one hand, the other readjusting his tie and flicking snow from his hair. A smirk flicks, "And you actually do know don't you sweetheart, we both do -- the size of these homes, the wealthy always can be counted on to buy absurd additions. This Arboretum...it's festive, I'll grant." 

He looks around where he'd taken her, the  second glass structure adjoining the house, his free hand flicking at a holiday light hanging above her head.

"But so large," He looks back at her, saying lightly. "Bit of a maze, isn't it?"

Swallowing her indignant splutters with his palm, he shakes his head at her, "I'll let go. You aren't to be harmed." He presses his lips together, screwing his eyes up and cocks his head at her. The whisper is loaded as his fingers drop from her mouth, tracing those luscious plump curves, 

"Please don't test me."

Irene breathed easier again as he let her go, and then tried to snap her teeth around his fingers as they lingered, "Don't touch me! What the fuck is wrong with you?! 'I'm not to be harmed'?! Gee, wherever would I get that idea?!" 

She licked her dry lips after gritting her teeth and idly noticed her lipstick was rubbed away now. Irene was quickly realizing, she could easily learn to hate him. It was easy to hate that which you feared, someone somewhere said that at some important event in somewhere in time...she thought.

"What do you want with me? I'm not a wolf! What the fuck is going on- you said you had every intention of telling me everything? Then talk!"

He chuckles. Irene's head had jerked like a snapping turtle towards his fingers; it was endearing. Spirit always was, that burst of life that could be no less contained than the wave on the sand was intoxicating. Ansel craved it. Shaking his head still chuckling, he drew a heavy breath in to savor her outburst even as he strode around the room. He locked one glass window with his hand; the click for show. The rest lock with a finger snap.

"Relax, darling. This rate you'll shout yourself hoarse for nothing, and that would be a shame. You have such a pretty little voice." 

He was infuriating, how could she find time to be annoyed by him in the middle of all of this? For the briefest flash of seconds, two of them at most, she wished that she was a wolf, or a vampire, or had some sort of super powers so she could be about to back up her vocal confidence with something more substantial than stubborn will. 

"I could go all night without any damage, so I will fucking shout if I want to shout!" 

Only then did he turn back to Irene, raising to his mouth the fingers that had danced over her lips, been nicked by her teeth. Swiping his tongue over his middle finger, he bites on it himself, smirking at her letting her shout to silence. Then he gestures at the bench that rested away from the windows, beneath a thick holiday pine draped in crimson.

"Sit down. _Please."_ His voice trills, hand in his pocket. "You don't want me to have to make you." 

She crosses her arms over her chest and refuses to move or look away from him even as he starts sucking on his fingers. 

"Thank you for your kind, offer, but I prefer to stand."

Jade appears in his eyes again, and his voice hardens a bit, 

"I know you're not a wolf." His chin lifts, eyes glinting. "You're Irene Burns. Daughter of Delilah and more importantly, Lord Elijah Burns."

He takes a step forward, not blinking, with every new name.

"Your older brother is Gordon, your boyfriend is Dillon - he _was_ a delight to meet by the way - and - oh this is going to get tiring. Shall we just suffice to say you can spare me the filling in of your past?"

It was not surprising to realize how much he knew actually. Her parents, her brother, she felt a flicker of fear for them as well, until the anger returns at maximum power. The thought of Ansel even two feet near Dillon now made her want to walk over and slap him in the face. As it was, she resorted to just imagining it, loudly, in case he was listening in.

"It's a shame Stefanie intervened -- I truly was looking forward to that." Ansel tilts his head at her, lips curled and his pose relaxed, "but of course, that was why she did. She does so love to like things more difficult than they need be."

He sighs, but he doesn't move or blink. The smile on his lips remains chilling.

"None of them are the name that matters in any case, not right now. The one that does - the one that's on everyone's lips - is your best friend, Nadia."

His eyes narrow with bitter amusement.

"Nadia." She repeated her name in an exhale, her shoulders dropping, as the exhaustion of the past two weeks and a half seemed to weigh them down. Her tiny tan spanish goddess.

"Haven't had the pleasure of meeting her myself, but I have heard she's been _quite_ the little firecracker. I'm not surprised. So ... _many_ people here tonight looking for her, aren't there? Makes sense she's pretty special."

Her hands were back to shaking again, which was preferable to tears which were thankfully not even one thousand miles near her at the moment.

"She's here right, that's not a lie?" 

Ansel appears not to have heard, continuing on, "As for what's going on? I haven't lied Irene - not outright - not once." 

The nonchalant shrug and tighter smile gives way as his head cocks straight once more. His words are light, 

"I said I would take you away from here, didn't I?"

"Oh fuck yourself up the arse with an unlubricated pole, you prick. Why, huh? Why me? Is it because of my father- because I'm telling you right now, you won't be able to use me as leverage, he doesn't give a shit." Irene raises her chin. 

"Then again, why am I telling you, you know -everything- about me, oh it's just what I wanted for Christmas!," claps her hands together in false cheer, "My own personal sadomasochistic stalker with great hair- fuck you. You know what, fuck--"

What was around here? Pots of plants? Christmas decorations? Clay gnomes? Okay, well they were now flying towards him.

"Fuck you," a pot smashes, "you little," there's a crash,"cock!"

More objects fly. 

He seems to slink through the air, melting each way to avoid flying plants, pots, ornaments, candy canes -- oh, candy canes. Hand snapping out, he catches that one. In a flash he's back across the little room, elbow cutting under her neck as he yanks her down to the bench. He's sure to catch her, of course. Grey-green eyes or not, he's long learned control. He's long learned to be a gentleman. 

She lands on his lap before he swivels to place her in the bench's corner. Hand pressing down against her shoulder and neck to insure she stays there, the other unwraps the candy cane with a flick of his thumb. He sticks it in his mouth, cracking off the bottom even though he'd mentally thought he'd suck on it first. Ah well. He only had so much patience. Without moving his hand from her neck, he finally answers aloud, 

"I am not in the habit of repeating myself Irene, but I'll make the exception just once." His gaze flicks to hers, cold and voice low, "Call it a holiday present. Don't test me."

It was ironic to note that this was the second time tonight that Ansel had left her breathless....by force. She focused on being annoyed, because it was easier than being afraid. Afraid that she was being moved around and posed as easily as if she were a barbie doll, that she was being taken away by a pack of werewolves who changed at will and used that will to attack people, that her friends were still inside with all of them, that Nadia had spent two weeks away from them and who knew what she'd gone through. It was so much easier, so much safer to be annoyed and angry.

"You've said that already. You call it 'testing' I call it, refusing to be bullied around by a egotistical psycho."

He bites off another end of the stick, chewing slowly and looses her neck one finger at a time, leaving red indents. Irene fake smiles through the wince on his grip. Oww. 

Without blinking, "Nadia is here. She'll be fine, she's played her part." 

"Played her pa- she's not a chess piece!" Neither was she. And if she was, she a queen, not a pawn.

Nodding very slowly, he continued only lightly, "Do you know - I think you're right, Irene. We are all chess pieces or players - it wouldn't surprise me if she were the latter. Just as you are."

"And," he flicks the candy-cane wrapper away from him carelessly, "yes, I know perfectly well your father hardly deserves the honorary."

Voice hardening, but perfectly honestly, "I have no intention of using you. None of us do - everything will be your choice, Irene. As it was for me."

"I am really hoping that your trousers catch on fire any time now, you liar liar. My choice? Well my choice would be to kick you in the balls, spit in your face, and oh yeah, _not_ be held against my will."

Her choice, she still didn't understand anything. Did they want to turn her into a wolf? Well, no fucking thank you. She already had one time of the month, and that was enough. And who would choose this?!

His tongue clucks against the roof of his mouth. As his hand brushes over the tip of his ear he sighs, irritated. His words were idle, 

"See, now I love this song." 

Not that she could hear it. Pity. He, of course, was going to have to subdue Irene shortly as Stefanie's interference had forced him to act earlier than planned - but he did enjoy her company. His brows wiggling at her rhetorical answer, he shrugs his shoulder at her, 

"Ah, well see, you're perfectly free to choose doing so - and in response, I am perfectly free to choose breaking -your- hand as well. See how this works?"

With a terrible smile curling on Ansel's lips, hushed, ragged breath is only interrupted by a light breeze snaking snow it carries to dust Irene's shoulder and twitching bells on a colorful strand.

"I would say I'd dearly love to have you for a sister, but," as he finishes sucking the peppermint, he opens his mouth, letting the bits swirl around extended canines. His eyes darken as his face contorts around his jaw, letting her see clearly before he retracts and pulls back. 

"The price of entry is a bit higher than most are willing to mm...pay."

Her back straightened then as her gaze focused on his clear inhuman teeth. Her hands gripped the edge of the bench, jaw clenching as well as if it would make his close. Soon enough they did, and her hands loosened their grip.

He swallows and adds a bit lower in a hiss, "And that isn't my call."

That was Hans'. He had asked only once - asked he allow Allison to join them, when they found her surrounded by carnage so eerily familiar to him it jolted him human. There was one who'd asked him once to turn her, and if he'd not kept his promise, she'd be alive today. Irene wouldn't suffer the same - not because of him. He drops his hand to his lap, eyes narrowing.

"Civil? Civil?!"

Ansel murmurs with transparent delight for her distress, "That's a no then."

"You broke Rory's hand! You brought me here! You're taking me away after spying on me for months- and you say -I'm- not civil?! You know what, go ahead, try and force me. *leans in, hissing* Try. Because I'm not going to stop kicking and screaming my way away from you. But hey, thrill of the chase right? How do you sleep at night? And don't say, naked on egyptian cotton sheets with a woman on your cock, I am so tired of your smarm! Of your little act- afraid to lose my friendship? Trusting me with the truth? Hearing you out. Well hey, friend, I think you forgot to attempt to explain yourself in the middle of trying to prove you're a badass in power. Congratulations, you can subdue an unarmed woman. Bravo. Should I clap for you or howl?"

Drily, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear as she leans closer to him, "Oh sweetheart, I did a lot more than break his hand."

A tiny smile crosses his lips. The words are clipped, matter of fact.

"I fractured the distal radius, the scaphoid, a piece of the ulna, and pinched what's called the ulnar nerve. Ah, here."

He drops his hand from her gold strands to lift her wrist and forearm. He holds it in place instantly with one hand in case she pull it away and brushes the pad of his fingers over palm as he holds it flat. 

Hadn't she said not to touch her? Apparently nothing was her choice, the lying prick, because he was doing whatever struck his fancy with her at that moment and she was enraged. Trying to pull back her arm only caused him to tighten his grip, causing her to wince. She didn't bruise easily but that right there, that would bruise. And he just kept talking, explaining to her, but she could barely pay attention. She kept staring at his fingers and wishing she'd succeeded in biting them off, or imagining them being ripped off of fed to hungry piranhas while they were still on his hand, his wandering hand. 

Voice clinical, his words are crisp and slow, teaching, 

"It's located right along here, between your little finger and ring, travels all the way up your wrist." His fingers inch forward, pressing red prints deep," up your forearm, your shoulder...pinching or damaging these nerves...causes weakness in the muscle, tingling, burning, numbness, inability to grip..."

He pauses, his fingers digging into her skin and cocks his gaze back up at her.

"It branches here, around your collarbone." His thumb brushes across her skin, paradoxically light in comparison, "The area here."

There was no need to shout. She'd leaned closer; they were close enough he was certain she could taste the peppermint on his breath.

"This little sensitive bundle of nerves is called the brachial plexus. If I had pinched any longer, or flicked my nail and tore it..." He extends his claw as he speaks, from the one finger, brushing only the very tip against that sensitive, warm flesh. His dark eyes glint, malevolent in enjoyment. He's whispering now. "Paralyzes the arm."

He retracts the nail slowly without looking away from her. His breath is heavy.

"Was that enough of an explanation of what I did, or shall I fetch you a dictionary?" His eyes narrow, and now he bites out," You could try to be a _tad_ bit nicer to me and allow me to be nicer to you as well. But I must admit I prefer it if you kick and scream the whole way, little darling." 

Everywhere his fingers touched, goosebumps were left. And after she could no longer follow his hand as it reached her collarbone, she looked at him, wondering how she could have gone so wrong in choosing a friend. He could have a career in Hollywood if he weren't so keen on murder. 

Irene leaned her head away at the claw, an actual fucking claw and scoffed. The little biology lesson (poor Rory) only added to the fire that was her fury, "Damnit man, I'm a miracle worker, not a doctor. Though I wish I was a snake, so I could shed this skin and get a new one, that doesn't smell like dog thanks to you." 

The thrill it gave him to hear that jittery heart, her pounding blood could not properly be described. Ansel knew he ran a constant temperature, but the fever her fury, her flashing eyes, her fire sparked in his own heart made him lick his lips. He knew he should stop doing that - 'creeper' wasn't what he was, she labeled already fairly well the truth - but indulging was a fatal weakness of his. It always had been.

She exhales, leaning even further away from him, shaking her head.

"You must be crazy if you expect me to be nice to you anymore. We could have had it all, Ansel! Greatest of friends, but no, you've ruined it by being a sadistic little bitch. Cheers to you, fucker, I need a drink."

"Oh but Irene."

Irene reaches down her cleavage for her flask. There was no hint of spring in the grey-green eyes now; hunger crowded them, turned them dark even as his words trilled lighter. As her hand dug for her flask, he cupped her cheek, and held fast.

"You already are a snake. As for friends...," still whispering with dangerous malevolence, he tilts his head, "your heart? It's on fire. Such deep passion you're harboring!" There was nothing but a chill in his voice now to spite it.

"Hate me or love me, it's hard to say which I prefer more."

He looked down between them at the flask she was lifting. He chuckles; oh, what a lovely view, all pink and flush with the nectar that was his greatest temptation. 

"Though I would say you should _truly_ be more careful who you make angry," his brows wiggle, "Just advice from a friend darling. Allow me." 

In a flash he's on his knees, straddling her and pinching her legs together. Taking the flask, one hand came down to pinch her nose still holding her head steady, the other forced her mouth open and tilts it down. He'd hold until the gushing silver box was empty, enjoying her thrashing, choking and squirming beneath him as she tried to kick him off. Just as she promised. How delightful. He was speaking all the while, not caring for the spit she coats him with, in a low murmur.

"You see Irene - Stefanie got one thing wrong with her tale."

He barely moved; her struggles were as useless as trying to hold a firework in their hand. Knees pinching her side, he pulls the flask back down, ripping it away and letting it clatter to the floor. He kept his hand over her mouth, glued to the warmth of her painted flesh, growling, "Swallow." He leans back down. When she obeys, he continues. 

"Colette's death? Was an accident." 

Hearing the name fall from his own lips stole his breath, so he captures hers with his lips instead. The hiss quiets as he brings his wet, painted, alcoholic hand up to tuck yellow curls back. A different hunger appears in his eyes as his gaze traces over his motion. His thumb was soft, his petting touch delicate. That thirst that he could never quench, buried deep in the pit of his chest made his eyes soften momentarily, the pink socket twitch as light green flashes, like a single stalk in a world of white, it's petals wet and drooping from frost, and yet undying. 

Ansel exhales heavily, rejecting the chill and claiming the warmth, claiming all he could from it even if he knew (of course he knew, he wasn't insane, Irene had that wrong just as Stefanie had the story wrong) - he knew that his action may well have been the same as his boot crushing that delicate stalk.

"I've learned since then."

His finger brushing beneath her pink chin as if he'd flicked a switch, her head slams back into the bench. Ansel breathes hard as she crumples beneath him, catching her with ease and lifting the girl into his arms. Closing his eyes as her curls crowd his nose, he inhales deep and whispers cooing, "There, there."

There's a trickle of red on the crown of her head that closes his throat and opens his mouth. Brushing it away with one hand, he licks the tip of his finger and smiles to himself. It tasted like life. His hand tangles in her neck and hair, petting, soothing, 

"You're all right, darling. Everything's all right." 

It's quiet, like a prayer of desperation, but laced with the devilish chuckle that always plagued him, loved him, and embraced him. He holds fast and thinks she's lucky in that, that she was all right, for even a miracle worker had failed him.

**&.**

**Devin:** Don't. *His hand cuts through the air. If he thought about it, he'd shake.* She'll be fine, Lynn, I didn't aim for her heart: as Alcott is fond of reminding us--

 **Lynn:** *Her head jerks in curt agreement, not wanting to think about it. Suddenly clattering her heels through the broken glass, she pulls her brother into a firm hug as far from her as possible. As her arms clench around him, she pulls him out into the hall as far as they could before she shuts her eyes to forestay tears and says determinedly,* She was all right. I swear. I only saw her for a few seconds because she...she disappeared into the crowd on purpose--

 **Devin:** *He had to wrench his gaze from Rachelle, force his arms to lift to hug Lynn break. Breathing out in incomparable relief to hear that for certain, he nods, eyes watering finally forcing him to blink. He didn't want that knife back. She could keep it, call it a trophy. He follows Lynn, waiting until Hols was out before they'd shut and locked the door. Nodding, he looks at Hols,* Chace said the same. We split so he could keep following where she'd gone. 

 **Lynn:** *That surprised her, but she nods with a tiny smile.* ...Devin, *and she spun to Hols too, wide-eyes --not daring to look at the wolf-girl wearing a damn fine dress, grateful with the door shutting,*  she only had to touch my arm and there was just...information.

 **Devin:** *His brows furrow in confusion, grateful to have another puzzle, it let him stop focusing on what he had just done.* Information?

 **Lynn:** *Nodding fiercely, her breath steadier now and fury still barely restrained.* Faces. And a...a few names--there was a Julio--

 **Devin:** I bet that, *rubs the bloodshot eye* was him. 

 **Lynn:** Casanova?

 **Devin:** And Inigo Montoya.

 **Lynn:** ...he's hilarious.

 **Devin:** *decides he doesn't want to admit he thought it had been the man's real name, small smile,* Andy took him. What else?

 **Lynn:** There was the name Roswell but-shocking- and D'Grey but the face wasn't right and...and Ansel, or maybe it was Alice? *She rubs her forehead trying to remember the flood, but she felt still under water. Riley had appeared. He looked angry-- but she just waves him over.*

 **Devin:** Ansel? *Abruptly, and looks at Hols while Lynn explains in her sweetest most innocent voice there was an incapacitated werewolf and could-he-please-guard-him-while-she-told-Daddy? He was focused on Hols.* Didn't--am I mistaken or didn't Alcott mention that name...?

 **Hols:** *It was sad to think, she'd seen it half a dozen times now, enough to get her used to it. In fact, it was easier to watch. There were no screams of  pain, and the sound of breaking bones stopped being so jarring after a while. Stepping back, she was about to shift to deal with the transformation when a little splurt and a small whine from Rachelle stopped the howls. Hols watched as Rachelle slid to the floor. Silver was poison to them, directly in her bloodstream, at such a part of her body, it made her sense for her to have passed out. 

And still Hols felt sympathy in the middle of her anger. She followed the siblings out quietly, hesitating before finally accio'ing the knife back to her and putting it in her purse. She didn't know how long it would take for someone to get to her, and Hols didn't want her to die. She turned away from the door and to Lynn as she explained about her kick ass little sister, apparently sending mind messages. That was puzzling.* 

Mind messages? Nadia? *She had trouble making a teacup whistle. She looked up again, looking at Devin again as Lynn turned to Riley.* He did...or maybe it was Irene...*she bit her lip* I'll go look for her. *Him, she wanted to say. But Al wasn't at risk, Hans (prick) didn't want him harmed, the same couldn't be said for their eccentric blonde friend.*

 **Devin:** *Eyes passing over the door knobs, he rubs at his chest and throat.* Right...maybe it was that Al said she'd said--*He cuts himself off as Riley and another of Lynn's guards dart into the reopening door. It was useless. Lynn might be able to keep herself occupied by rambling but it was only making him more anxious. He almost couldn't remember the last five minutes- he felt as if he'd watched it happen. On a silver scre--no, no he couldn't think about silver. His breath was up, hearing her warning, her howl, echo around a curiously empty mind. But. Was it anything new to have the pack against him? Hans had put him in the hospital. He rubs across his forehead, finds himself fervently hoping she didn't die -- and repeats to himself underneath his breath,* she'll heal. *And pulls himself away from the door.*

 **Lynn:** *Swiveling as Toby appears, he throws a drink in her hand to pull his wand out. Blinking, she only asks,* Is this gin? *When she got an affirmative, she mutters,* oh thank god,  *downs the glass in one heavy long gulp. Gasping out,* Only one of us has to find Dad or Uncle Shawn--

 **Devin:** *His sister had a throat larger than an elephant, didn't she? How was it that she appeared -steadier-? But he just nods, itching to get away from that door-- Lynn's other two, his three had appeared as well. Amber darts down too, and he was sure others would be appearing soon, so he snaps,* I'll do it. You go find Irene. Is there anythi--

 **Lynn:** *She flicks her head from side to side, scarlet strands fly away.* Just that this is a trap. We knew that. *She looks over her shoulder, eyes glued on the cellar door and exhales. A tiny, tiny smile appears beneath sadder eyes, but her voice is strong.* And this time... we were prepared. 


	31. Under Control

One moment she’d been choking. 

The next, her champagne glass was gone, horribly light pink bubbles splattering the carpet behind her - and she was still choking. Only now it was because there was a a warm hand against her throat. They were in a deserted room on the second floor - a parlor, she thought, or perhaps one reserved for guests.

His pinky flicks her earring, lingering against the small, sensitive patch of skin. The light green in his gaze reminds her, he told her once how he loved a girl in hoops. She’d responded she wasn’t surprised he’d be desperate for a girl to jump through them — flippant then, as flippant as she was now. 

“Careful,” Stefanie waited to whisper until her breath was steady as her gaze, “I’ll scream.” 

“Oh, I know you will darling.” 

Ansel’s tongue was at least twice as sharp as his claws. It was what had attracted her to him in the first place, Stefanie knew and loathed. Forcing her breath to stay calm, she breathes against his feverish palm. Wolves and their abilities, she thinks bitterly, warm even on the darkest wintry night. 

On the other hand the snow outside the glass she was pressed against was half as cold as his gaze, whatever the direction his lips curled.

“Against the window, Ansel?”  

“I do enjoy a spectacle.”

“Ah, how well you know me. A performer at my heart. ” Lifting a pencilled brow, she ignores how her body seemed to ache to clutch him closer. It was just the fact the glass was so cold, she thought even as her lips tingled with the poison darts she spits, 

“Now, are we talking about you fucking me or killing me?”

His eyes flash at her abruptly, grip on her throat tightening to make her choke again. Ansel draws in closer, to whisper above her lips in a quiet hiss, 

“Why can’t I have both?” 

She locks her knees. A tremor had shot up her spine. Unsure if it was from fear of a threat or thrill of a tease…she thought a moment later that in his own damn tradition it was most likely: a bit of both. 

“Greedy, aren’t you?” 

Stefanie leans forward as well, dragging her hand up his chest and relishing the warmth of it’s reassuring, steady rise. His heart was calm, she thought, as she laid her hand over it - and then abruptly grips his tie. Oh, she knew that wouldn’t affect him (well, not adversely), but tugging on it leans her closer, giving the absurd semblance she might be his equal in strength. 

Stefanie never had been one to resist sticking her hand in the fire. 

“What did you do with Irene?” 

“No, what did -you- do?” The snapped retort makes her eyes roll and heart skip another beat, scattering her breath as he reaches up to twist her wrist. Stefanie refuses to let go. Her nails dig and dig into the silk evergreen he wore, yanking as hard as she could. The sport makes Ansel’s gaze drift from staring unblinking at her eyes to the hand he held, lingering as his eyes wander over her lips. The tie chokes him until it tears, as she watches stonily, breathing harsh. If he ripped her dress like that, she -would- kill him. The moment her hand is free, it’s slammed beside her head. 

“Did you enjoy that little trick? Taunting me and scaring her?”  

Glass rattling behind her head, it echoes in her ear, making her eyes shut a moment. She can feel how close he is; his breath traces around her clenched lips (she could taste peppermint), his chest was warm stone to her pliable flesh of shivers. Stubbornly forcing her eyes open again, she bites back only, “Yes.” 

“Ah, well then sweetheart. As long as you had your fun.”

And she had. Until he’d taken the girl somewhere else, both vindicating her in being right and terrifying her of what she might have provoked. Ansel always had brought out her contrary nature. Challenging her, infuriating her — blasted fool, she chides herself and spits against his lips.

“This isn’t a game, Ansel.”

“It’s all a game, darling.” 

The immediate response snakes up her spine and makes her realize he’d lifted her lower back with a wandering hand abandoning her threat. Her eyes narrow as she realizes she missed the warmth. Aching fingers protest his tight hold on her wrist, even as he brushes his own against the silk on her hip. 

Whispering against her ear, “I’m flattered of course, you went to such lengths to get a rise from me, but tonight wasn’t the night.” He pulls back a few inches, to trill lighter, 

“I told you, Stef. I was busy.” 

“Oh, yes, so busy being my brother’s little lapdog you couldn’t even be bothered to compliment how,” and she mocks snapping, ignoring her rising breath, “dah-ling, I look in this dress.”  

“Because it would look better off,” his chuckle is genuinely warm. It startles her, the good-natured humor transforming his face, “But I do love the earrings.” 

When had he drawn her body to his? She tilts her head towards where he crushes her hand, narrowed eyes stuck trying to puzzle out his agenda this time, the angle he had to have and trying desperately to keep her own cards close to her breast.

“Let her be Ansel,” Stefanie snaps back while pushing at his chest and surprised herself when he lets her, “she’s just a child.”

“Your concern is touching.” 

It was dry, and his hand drops to his pocket. 

“I am concerned!” Stefanie breathes out as her hand pops off the window abruptly, grasping it tightly with her other hand. Her eyes never leave his, even while her thumb flicks against the vein in her wrist, trying to sooth the aches and remind her of their throb at once. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” 

“What - oh, you mean like you were?” The devil-may-care smirk was back but his remark cut her voice off all the same. Even for the flare of ire at his assumption, she knew she could hardly reasonably discount it. While she gaped indignantly, he chuckles again and steps closer again. 

“And how exactly did I hurt you, Stefanie?” The rhetorical question narrows her gaze, but he didn’t silence, “When I stood by your brother? Buying you those little earrings of the crescent moon? I can’t imagine what my crime is against you — I seem to recall the hand-cuffs were -your- idea, after all.” 

She would not flinch. She wouldn’t. And she wouldn’t grab him either, not again: her thumb pressing deeper into her pulse as if she could still feel his against her.  She’s heard it said that eyes are the windows to the soul, but Ansel’s eyes give away nothing.  That was, until he looked down at her neck and his eyes took on a certain predatory gleam. The crude nature of the words makes her exhale, wondering if she could bother reaching for an olive branch - and she reaches for flames.

“You hu—…”

But she couldn’t get another word out. In a flash, Ansel had swiveled her, palm flat to her mouth and breathing harshly against her hair. 

“Oh, sweetness. After you used her memory for sport? You say her name again,” And it startles her, to hear a tremble in a breath usually so steady, to hear the weakness making him sway. Heart jamming against her rib cage to a rhythm jazz artist’s would be proud of, it suddenly stops as she hears his quieter promise.

“I’ll send you Irene’s heart in a box.” 

Limbs jerking in anger, in hatred, in fury — all such passionate emotions, she knows he thinks — she lets her eyes shut and slams her teeth together. The threat was real, as all of his were, but she couldn’t help but notice that harsh as he squeezed her, there was a sudden chill in his feverish touch. 

His lips trace her throat, and she shivers feeling the tiniest scrape of teeth too sharp to be human.

“After all.” He murmurs, with a certainty that nearly makes her blush, “you accuse me of trusting your brother too far — yet you took his words on this matter as gospel, didn’t you? And you’re far from innocent yourself, sweetheart. Let bygones be bygones.”  

If he hadn’t had her in his embrace, at that she knew she’d have flinched - faltered, at least. There was a duality in his tone, a dry weight that heavened his smooth tone with levity. She’d never seen him this way before, she thinks briefly, for all her imaginings the moment she’d seen the crime photos. 

Now his lips caress the shell of her ear, breath heady as it graces the tiniest of hairs. 

“Understand, darling?” 

Stefanie nods, very slowly against his hand, nose painting the tips of his nails with heat. She had thought that when she did see him this way - if she ever pushed him far enough - she’d be frightened. Instead, she feels a curious sadness. Even more confusing was the fact it seemed to emanate from him. It occurs to her he had a point that she should not have listened to Hans — and she hates him for making sense. 

He smirks against her scalp and lets her go. His arm came around her, shifting their positions before Stefanie could gather her wits to counter it. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. She felt a momentary flash of want, brought on by the thought of his mouth on her neck again, and flushed, heart picking up.

“You are smarter than Hans gives you credit for, Stefanie. Always liked that about you.”

Without pulling away, Stefanie places both her hands on the glass still in front of them. The windowpane fogs from her weighted breath as she thinks of it - how twice now he’d leaped, “risen” as he’d said - for one she thought he’d killed in cold blood. Attempting to reevaluate, she shakes her head slowly, saying quieter, 

“You miss her. Don’t you?” 

He says nothing. She hears nothing. It occurs to her he’d stopped breathing. Her eyes stay trained on his reflection, wavering in the glare of moonlight. For an instant, she swears she saw a tear beneath his dark gaze as she raps a nail on the pane, but she blinks and is certain it must have been a flake of snow marring the image. 

For Ansel’s hand slips up her waist, pressing her flat against the rattling glass pane, breathing in her ear, “Oh, pet. Must you be so dreadfully obsessed with the past? Are you that jealous?”

He traces over the curve of her breast, tickling beneath the dip with fingers warm even as the glass he bares her too is cold, “I know, I promised to let you put on a show.”

Her breath hitches and she snaps, “You serious? You just -threatened- me.”

“Tit for tat, luv.” 

Her unease dies with her own dry chuckle, feeling her skin alight, tinder to his match. Well. All right, that was true. There was a reason the hoops in her ear were silver. With her chuckle came another of his, warm,

“Don’t pretend to be frigid, Stefanie. We both know you’re insatiable.” 

That was true too. 

They’d prove it, at least as far as he was concerned, and he curves her back.  The action pushed her breast forward into his hand while pressing her backside more firmly against his rocking hips.  The satisfied grunt Ansel let out in response shouldn’t have pleased Stefanie as much as it did, but it sent a pulse of triumph up her spine. 

The hand on her breast slipped lazily down her front as he sucked a bruise into her neck, stubble scratching at her skin in a pleasant way. Stefanie’s eyes drifted shut as he ran his fingers teasingly over her thigh before plunging them between her legs.  And for a moment, she imagines that it’s she who has the supernatural hearing - that she could sense how his heartbeat speed up when he discovered how wet she was and waited for him to comment.  

Ansel didn’t disappoint, kissing her shoulder and groaning “Denial is a deadly dull game, darling,” as he dragged his fingers up to touch the nub that made her shake and shiver. He digs those fiery fingers deeper, deeper, but she swallows screams and gasps. Then she swallows his fingers, still coated thick in her own honey as he brings them to her lips and murmurs in her ear. 

“I believe you promised me too,” was the gentle, creeping hiss that made her smirk widen, teeth clenched down on his fingers. 

A sense of loss and gain she never could quite understand filling her as quickly as he did — Stefanie brushes her hair forward to rock with him, against him, into him — and yet even as she shudders. refuses to scream. It wasn’t a broken promise, she told herself as a gasp finally escapes her lips, fogging the glass as he pounds her into it abruptly, speed inhuman. She barely hears his silent gasp of completion, wrapped in a dizzying haze between his fire and the ice outside. It wasn’t a broken promise.

He was anything, but careful. 

**&.**

It occurred to her first that she hadn't snapped at a waiter in at least fifteen minutes. That was how she knew something was wrong. Well, actually it was her husband's voice in her ear teasing her, telling her she hadn't, asking what was wrong and every time she heard it she took another sip of the champagne, even though she was certain this bottle had come from sour grapes (oh ha, ha) for it tasted worse with every sip. 

Murmuring a reply under her breath, "I swear, if you spike the bowl, I will not go to your dorm tonight..."

Lyndsi paused, then straightened her back and looked around. What dorm? Harper hadn't lived in a dorm for -- hadn't lived with her for--hadn't liv-- 

No." 

*She shook her head terribly fast, furiously fast, and just to herself (because she was of course the only one there; she might be many things-- impossible, worried, unrelenting, stubborn--but she wasn't one to be a fool in public) to spite her own sentence.* I'm drunk. *She says flatly, waving the glass as if it was a baton and then moving closer to a nearby chair. She blinked, swaying on her feet and then put her glass down on the table.

"Really, drunk."

She murmurs in surprise of herself. How had she gotten this dizzy, this bad? It wasn't like her. The champagne was light-- that was half the point of choosing it. Why was her stomach churning, little lights popping colorfully around edges of a blurry vision, like a holiday strand turned into fireworks. Oh, that was why she was thinking of Harper -- he'd done that for her (and for Alcott) one year. A bit comforted by the thought, she let herself sit, decided she could have a rest--especially if Shane was right about what would happen tonight.

It occurred to her next, resting her head sideways on folded arms with a pit in her stomach, it wasn't Shane that needed to be right. It was Alcott...and his friends, his gorgeous Spaniard (how shocking) Hols, the lovely Eliza, Devin who'd helped him make potions in secret-- they were the ones missing Nadia, the one who had been given the information. By Hans, a werewolf--just like Al was, their son, their boy...

She'd murmured it into the crook of her elbow, and let her eyes flutter closed. Her stomach was churning--but that wasn't unusual, her heart was pounding and she was thinking of the past; that yearning often put hurts in her chest. Just a few minutes, she'd close her eyes, everything would be fine when she woke--besides, it looked to be a wonderful dream she could have, would have, she could see Harper clearer and clearer the tighter she shut her eyes (wait, ...shouldn't that scare her? She couldn't join him yet-- oh, how she wanted to...but that would leave Al alone...)

She forces her eyes back open just as she realizes she was -was- sick, and it wasn't nostalgia's ache. The crystal flute she held in a hand shaking so badly she shattered it on the table in front of her; her knees were shaking, her heart's wild flutter had risen to fight it--she tried to curse, tried to call for help, not understanding (there was broken glass all over the wood, she'd smashed the vase, torn petals and glass litter her fingers) but her voice chokes, her throat closes, and a fine film of white paints the side of her lips. Lyndsi rubs at it, horrified-- the impropriety of drooling! Bad enough she was drunk and sick--(when had she become incapable of holding her drink?)--She was a Brackner, for bloody's sakes.

"A Brackner." 

She mutters, to someone...

**&.**

**Alcott:** *His eyes narrowed. But he doesn’t blink. He hesitates, and then he slowly - so slowly- uncaps the vial. After a shaky breath cast at Nick as he thinks at the back of his mind - he was a ticking time bomb otherwise. He knew it. In someways, it seemed to him he’d been born one. Hans hadn’t blinked, and wasn’t that what people did if they were lying? Tapping a finger on the vial, the second door - the one from the -terrace- where he hadn’t thought anyone was out there, suddenly opens. Alcott hardly pivots.*

 **Hans:** *That makes his eyes flick up, wondering who the hell could have broken his spell when he sees her. Breathless and throat dry, his eyes narrow.* Stefanie! ...what a wonderful surprise, sister, I had heard you were here.

 **Stefanie:** *She’s clenching her teeth as she looks only at Alcott.* Always such the charmer, Hans. *Her heels clack as she walks through the door slowly, rapping sharp nails against her folded forearms.* 

 **Alcott:** She’s your sister? *His thumb is tracing the vial’s rim, but now his eyes break form as he looks at Nick for the briefest moment as if to say “How fucked up is this?” with his eyes, and then looks back down. In that instant, he missed the other entry.*

 **Eliza:** *Tucking a scattered loose curl, and still reeling a bit, she suddenly exclaims as she sees through the terrace window, snapping out,* Alcott -- what--what are you--don’t! 

 **Alcott:** *He pivots, but he takes only one long look at her before he shakes his head, face breaking. He wasn’t sure how he was going to help Nick -- the prospect of losing Eliza on top of that? Inconceivable. Immediately, he brings the potion to his lips and downs it.* 

 **Eliza:** Alcott! *She shrieks it, seeming not to notice even for a moment the other people in the room as fear floods her veins, flushing skin previously whiter than the snow outside the window to a maroon.* 

 **Hans:** *Had flickered a gaze to Eliza, because he couldn’t help himself.* Speaking of righteous fire. *The murmur under his breath was genuine. After breath catches in his throat he murmurs a simple instruction:* Stefanie.

 **Eliza:** *She takes two steps forwards before Stefanie’s arm seems to grab her, and she looks down at the nail-clenched vice grip irritated. The skirt swirled at her feet, and she cast a panicked look to Nick.* Let me go! 

 **Stefanie:** *Horrified - as she knows what’s about to occur - she snaps her head from side to side and says only under her breath through a thin-lipped smile,* You don’t want to get close. Trust me. *A genuinely pleasant glance to Nick adds,* I’m sorry you got caught up in this. All of you. It shouldn’t be any of your problems.

 **Eliza:** *Trying to wrench free and has nail marks, but at that she exclaims,* Then let him go - let us all go! 

 **Alcott:** *Silver usually burned. Red-hot, raw, a pit in his stomach...this was none of that. The potion was foul-tasting, but it slid a chill through his chest, through his veins, and he realized slowly: the potion was turning his body back to what it should have been. Coughing out and rubbing at his throat, he looks sideways to Eliza and shook his head. It was too much to talk now. Every nerve it seemed was just drenched in ice water -- but it was the iceberg that doomed the Titanic, and the look appearing in his shifting eyes -- brown, amber, brown, amber -- was colder than that Arctic sea right now.* 

 **Nick:** *He might have asked the question but he certainly wasn't the one receiving the answer. Ignored for the moment now that he wasn't being used as bait and was as insignificant to Hans as a fly on the wall, he started moving slowly as if he were fidgeting, trying to reach for his wand again as they talk of experiences he didn't understand couldn't empathize with, nor would he ever want to. 

But would a chance to have more control be worth submitting to this maniac who had put Devin in the hospital and hunted a woman and her boyfriend for play? And those were only the ones they knew of...he was subconsciously shaking his head. This man needed to be locked up, not poisoning the minds of young werewolves like Al, teaching them that it was alright to be a monster, to be above the law.

Startled by another movement, he raises his hand from his pocket, gritting his teeth and annoyance and confusion as he sees a woman there. Another werewolf? Hans' sister? He exchanged a quick look with Al and then visibly paled as he saw someone else on the terrace.* Eliza, no, go back! *Too late, as if she would pay any attention to him when her best friend was in trouble. That was the thing though, Al was probably the safest of them here...if that potion worked. 

He swallowed a lump the size of an orange, looking between Al and Eliza, breathing heavily.* Hans, please, there has to be another way, another way to help Al, stop this, please. Al- *he turned to look at his friend, fear encased his heart in a cold and visceral grip, completely unrelenting.*

 **Hans:** *Well, about time. Alcott downed the potion; for a moment his face flicked in sympathy (he remembered his own first time well), even as scarlet gleamed in his eyes.Whipping out his handkerchief, he brushed his hands off and said lightly,* See, now really, was that-so-difficult mate?

 **Alcott:** *The world was spinning, but he forced a glare onto his contorting face anyway back at Hans. Exhaling heavily, air seems to explode from lungs too powerful for his chest and he coughs. Eliza's scream makes him flinch. He folds his head forward, but his chin juts out anyway, spitting yellow through clenched teeth,* Like a Sunday afternoon in the park.

 **Hans:** *Brightly, even as he's watching Alcott closely, still crouched,* That's the spirit! *A dry chuckle escapes his lips. So clever. As were so many of his family--it made him smirk. If they couldn't laugh at pain, they'd have very little to laugh at. Without looking up,* Sister, darling, would you please escort Eliza out of here?

 **Eliza:** *She had cast a glance at Nick's repeated prayers, nodding fervently in agreement as tears clouds her eyes. Now she flinches, and snaps, struggling against the grip,* I said all of us.

 **Alcott:** *If Sundays in the park featured a thousand knife-wielding poison-spitting frogs croaking fake wisdom. Actually, maybe it did, come to think of it, his mother had tended to let him skip those pureblood teas since he'd put a snake in Henrietta's boot. The memory brings an honest smile to his lips as his lungs seem to steady, and he breathed out, eyes narrow on Hans.* It's the only way to kill you. 

 **Hans:** *He chuckles, and nods leaning forward to half hiss closer to his ear.* Go on then. Try.

 **Alcott:** *It was true; the moment he'd seen Eliza, he knew if he had any chance of defeating this bastard then he had to transform--it hadn't even been a thought. Heart kickstarting in fury, his teeth gnash and then to his own utter shock, as his head rears up again his eyes burn bright yellow, veins have pronounced and teeth inch forward, longer, and longer...*

 **Stefanie:** *Yanks her back harder, her heart pounding furiously fast and she hisses under her breath,* You don't understand--you don't--you both-can't--

 **Eliza:** You're right, I don't! *She snaps, blue eyes wide and voice pitching incredulously. She hissed; what, did this girl have eagle talons glued to her nails!? Sharper still,* Will you stop if I put it in a story and offer you only the cliffhanger at dawn? 

 **Hans:** *That makes his brows twitch, and he looks back up at Eliza even as Alcott pitches forward on to his knees again. Holding her gaze steadily as if to contemplate, there's a soft smile on his lips, but it disappears so quickly Eliza thinks she imagined it. Sincerely,* Eliza. You leaving is for your own safety. I-am- trying to help you.

 **Eliza:** *Voice pitching, as more furious, desperate prayers leave her lips,* What did you do to him!? What did yo--

 **Hans:** *Calmly as his gaze looks back to Alcott, if only to spite the histrionics,* I fixed him. *And quicker than lightening he had his elbow jammed under Alcott's neck, and held him close to breast again, breathing hard.* Leave.

 **Nick:** No one is taking me or Eliza anywhere, not without Al. *How he managed to say that entire sentence without stammering or stuttering was a miracle. He looked back at Alcott, talking of killing Hans in the midst of snapping bones that made the most gruesome noise imaginable and growing fangs and claws. The sight was too eerie to look away from.* Don't-! *He had taken a step forward as Hans moved again, holding Al as if he meant to choke him. 

 **Eliza:** Stop! *The shriek stops her cold, and she shakes her head furiously, wild hair flying every which way, unrestrained as if a lion's mane.

 **Alcott:** *Choked by the grip, he has both hands lift to pierce Hans forearm and only just realizes the hair sprouting off his palm in odd places, the claws extended as he scrabbles--but he's grateful to see the man's blood. It was just beneath his jaw in fact...he almost could taste it...* Eliza-- *He half gasps, feeling pressure loosen.* He won't--

 **Eliza:** Don't you bloody-don't you tell me to leave you! Don't you bloody dare! *She rips her arm free and is so shocked she succeeded, she still doesn't move.*

 **Alcott:** *Her fierce shout, makes him grin, even as he shakes his head in almost disbelief. Desperate, he looks at Nick.* Nick. *His eyes flash back to brown with his own sincerity, cutting his nails deeper into flesh and then hissing as Hans pops them out with a forearm flick, as if he was swatting a fly.* Please, mate. *He exhales.* Promise m-*he gasps again; feeling the desperate fury answer in his left leg as it broke,* me, that you'll make sure she's safe.

 **Nick:** Shaking his head as Al addressed him again, he muttered a "come on, man" under his breath, looking at Eliza for a moment. He couldn't take her and leave Al here. Even still, he took a step closer to her, reaching for her as she did him as they watched, unable to do much. He winced again with a shudder as another louder snap echoed, twisting Al into a disfigured shape, he reached for Eliza's wrist as she moved forward.* Eliza...

 **Eliza:** I'm not a doll! *Even with her tentative steps towards Nick, she flinches at that wide-eyed and furious. And her eyes needed to listen to her, and stop crying, stop filling with water because it made it really hard to focus on anything but her gut wrenching terror.*

 **Alcott:** I know. *He says it quietly, and shakes his head slowly, another smile crossing his lips briefly--it was hard to smile with teeth so sharp he's half sure he's about to rip off his own lip.* I'll be fine. But if anything happened to you--

 **Eliza:** *A tiny whimper,* Al--

 **Alcott:**   I couldn't live with myself. *He hisses again, feeling another leg break with his own fury --and fear, he realized. The liquid ice responded to that too.*

 **Eliza:** *Teary-eyed even as she reaches behind her, one hand lifts to her open-mouth at the realization and the other grasps for Nick. Her eyes only briefly flick to Hans deep-red and she stills as she sees he was healing already. Then back to Alcott, saying quietly, certain as she hears the horrible crunch of bones.* He's restraining you...

 **Alcott:** *Half-gasps his nod and his eyes darken again with a swallowed but fervent promise,* I'm still going to kill him.

 **Hans:** *A smirk appears on his lips, eyes briefly casting to Stefanie. She looks at him furiously back, shaking her head. Oh, such a look of disappointment. Lightly,* In front of my sister, mate?

 **Stefanie:** *With a half step forward, eyes narrowed.* Your own damn fault, brother.

 **Hans:** *Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth even as he struggles to keep hold of the pup, he remarks fervently under his breath with steel-edge,* How very touching.

There was another crack in his bones, this time ripping up Alcotts' spine. He was going to transform. He was going to transform, and there would be no bloody thing in the world to hold him back. 

Alcott gasps out to Eliza and Nick, half hanging on to Hans arm now to stand upright, 

"Go! Now!"

Eliza takes a half step forward with a gaping sob. Her words are choked, choked on fear, on anger, on hatred. Yet her question was one of love.

"How could I leave you!?"

"I'll be fine." Alcott swears it. "He wants me alive. He won't kill me."

Eliza wasn't leaving of her own volition, Hans realizes dimly. It was admirable- as admirable as Nick reaching for his wand - fierce and stubborn as it was idiotic. If they were going to leave...he would have to speed this along. Nodding lightly to himself, a cruel smile twists his lips. 

Chill taking his voice, he lifts Alcott by his neck off the ground. His gaze is on Stefanie, eyes too dark to show emotion, even as he knows Eliza is about to scream one of those earth-shattering screams. 

All he says is, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

And with a single twist of his arm, he snaps Alcott's neck.


	32. A Number on My Pride

Rory had found him in the kitchen, worried and wearing an apron. Truthfully, Dillon was just as worried (though thankfully he wasn't wearing an apron) - for the simple fact was: he couldn't remember why he been in the kitchen. And when he did remember... It all got much worse. His head hurt. His heart hurt. In fact Dillon didn't think there was a part of him that didn't hurt. How could have done this? -Why- had he done that!? How could he not remember something that important, the most important, until he was crouched in snow, pointy nose pressed hard into frozen glass less clouded than his eyes, eyes that told him it was too late?

Crushing hair in fists as if he means to yank himself bald, Dillon is forced to watch suffocating on anguish and fury only outpaced by his guilt, as Irene is treated as if she was a doll. Was it terrible of him that he was glad she was already there? That he did not have to know if he could have broken the spell for her sake? At least he could do something good now, now that it had broken,  now that his life was his again...  only it didn't feel like it was. In fact it felt like it wouldn't be his again until, well, he didn't even know when. 

All he knew was he clenched his teeth, bit back a growl and only stalled his temptation to rip the bastard apart by being midst-planning the best form of attack so when the monster -- who had abducted him, he realized abruptly -- turned. He had been cradling her, talking some nonsense and toying -but now he seemed abruptly panicked...and disinterested. The monster left her on the bench. Dillon caught his breath, determined to begin making amends as much as furious anyone dared touch her.

Oddly, he thought he remembered a different face...who had threatened, abused him, turned him into a marionette doll. But it didn't matter now. Her purse he pulls from his suit pocket, murmuring his love in Italian that she carried such a small compact and floating off to continue simply describing all those wonderful, quiet little things that he had long grown to love. He spoke while he inched the window open and climbed through as a a spider might.

 In an instant, he had her in his arms, wrapped tight in his warmth and jacket, laying a hand on her forehead to brush blood away as if it would also clear his tears. "Irene, il mio amore," He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her closer, as close as he dared, whispering, "mi dispiace tanto. E ho intenzione di risolvere il problema," He brushes her hair back, reaching for his wand now, with more determination as he swore to fix it, as ever finding light more in the reconciliation than the apology, that which he might easily succumb to brokenness within. 

First murmuring a spell to clean the cut and close it, he wishes he could remember something to help numb the pain and prays to Madonna he could ease her through it. Only then, with another whisper, 

"Ti manca da me, Irene...and so I find I can only think that we are meant not to find our destinies in the stars but in ourselves, and however recovered my mind, I am yet missing mine."

Only then did he whisper the spell to wake her, still careful to keep her head still.

Her eyes opened drowsily, her lids seemed heavy, struggling to stay shut. As if that would stop the pain. Her head pounded painfully in that stupid dull rhythm that made it clear she was going to be in a lot of pain in the morning, and her throat burned painfully as she coughed. 

"Is that all you got?" She mumbled before she fully opened her eyes, wincing. "I can do this all night..."

She blinked through her haze, and then breathed out in relief as she realized she was being cradled by a different pair of arms.

"Dillon! Dil," she tried to sit up then, "where is he? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? I'll kill him. Wha- he's with Hans, Dillon! All this time, he's been with Hans- and possibly much more psycho than Hans! At least that alpha bitch gave his chosen blonde abductee a bracelet- I get a concussion and possibly alcohol poisoning!"

She winced, her heart pounding and breathed again, that little mini rant had left her breathless already. 

"Owwie."

Letting out a breath of relief as she woke, Dillon smiles at her. It was bitter, small--but honest. He shook his head once in a quick jerk,of his neck, so hard and so hard he felt a crick that had built in the nape unwind like a rubber-band with a snap. It made him tense. Could one break their own neck? Was that possible? Sheer determination turned his head back to her, listening hard; more than accustomed to the speed and scattered thoughts; her concern and insults were as beautiful to him as that wild hair.

"Irene--"

She closed her eyes again and settled against his chest, clutching him tighter as the situation sunk in. Murdering psycho wolves, trying to abduct her and make Al join their stupid blood pack, and who knew what else they had in store!

"We have to warn someone, the Aurors or Devin's daddy or someone." 

She needed to focus on that, couldn't focus on the way she was manhandled and grabbed and forced, played and toyed with. And she most certainly couldn't focus on the sincerity and honesty in Ansel's stupid voice as he revealed the death of his girlfriend was an accident. Who cares, was her mantra. Her concussion was -not- an accident, and neither was Rory's hand- her eyes opened again, 

"Rory! He hurt Rory- his hand- er his distance radius and sphinct- whoa, no, not the word I'm looking for- some nerve and something- my brain hurts, okay we gotta go."

She wiped at her eyes quickly with shaky hands after an equally shaky breath.

"We gotta go."

He stills as she clutches him closer, lifts his arms so she rests in his lap. Tangling his fingers in the soft crown of curls, he frees them gently, trying to soothe her as he'd watched his mother  do that summer when the frog Ari had "rescued" died. Bullshit speeches or more paraphrasing the Bard's genius wouldn't help this time, he thought, flinching at the mention of his best friend.* Irene, wait. *He holds her gaze steadily, his wide-eyed stricken with water he could no longer blame on snow.* 

"You need to know something first. I don't--because I don't know if I'm...if I'm safe to come with you."

Gnashing his teeth as he tries to remember specific details, he startles: Hans. Of course, that was his name, that was who ha--how could he have forgotten Hans?

"I didn't rescue any mugged woman, Irene--I thought I had, but then again I also thought it sounded a bit...cliche and convenient and it was odd to think that about my own thought, but. Amore, Hans--he grabbed me. He-well no, his men-they're the ones who hit me. I did hit one of them though.

Stubbornly, "Blacked his his eye." And only had a broken jaw in return; he considered that worth it. But this...all of this...Irene in his arms...none of that was. And inside...Fuckers.

"He must have imperiused me." 

The quiet admission was half as shocking to Dillon even as he revealed it; as the memories came back, all he remembers was seeing his face contort (Dillon shivers), feeling claws on his shoulder and red eyes--bright like fresh blood--boring into his.

"He threatened Ari," miserably still, "and that's all I--Irene, how much of the champagne did you have? 

He cups her cheek, question sincere, panicked, as he prays she had brought her own stash as she usually did.

**&.**

**Nick:** *He was at a loss for anything else, to say or do anything else. Until Hans snapped his neck.* NO! *He had no conscious thought, no plan in his mind, no strategy but when he raised his hand, the gun he'd been hoping never to fire was there aimed at Hans and not even a moment later was empty of bullets as his finger squeezed the trigger over and over again.*

 **Nadia:** *Chaos. That's what she was bearing witness to from behind the secret passage in the mirror that somehow she had knowledge of without remembering how it had gotten there. She knew that if she walked through the mirror, she'd be in the room but as it was, she only looked through it as if it were a window, guarded from view but deprived of sound.

Hans Lawrence Ricard, alpha of the pack, and another werewolf she did not know. That fact was made utterly clear by his changing features, his sprouting hair, his fangs and claws. If Hans were not holding him back, Nadia only wondered what he might do. She licked her dry lips, and clenched her jaw tight as Hans snapped his neck without looking away, without making a sound. Had she been hardened that much, to not flinch at death? ...No, he wasn't dead. The only ways to kill a werewolf, a voice not her own rang in her head, is to decapitate them, take out their heart, or _AK_ them. _Avada Kedavra_ kills everything. 

None of them had occurred, and the other boy had shot off bullets for naught. Her stomach filled with dread, knowing how relatively easy it would be for Hans to kill him. She gripped her wand, fear starting at the base of her neck and dripped down her spine, leaving her stuck in place.*

 **Eliza:** *Agony ripped apart her veins as easily as her heart was pulped for it's purpose as she heard a snap. That's all it was. A simple snap, like she'd stepped on a twig in the forest or flicked a rubber band. Only the band was Al's neck, her best friend, he oldest friend. The boy who had taught her to ride a horse, brought her cookies when she was sick and snuck out of parties with her to show her the stars. Now he lay on the floor, broken.* No. 

*The teeth and claws had retracted...with his eyes shut, he might be asleep. His name is a breathless whisper. She had nothing else to offer. Her heart wasn't working, her lungs weren't--nothing was. All she did was shake, dimly aware she was clutching Nick's hand like a lifeline, gaping and clutching a hand to her chest as if she'd claw her own heart out. If it was there. Hans was fucking smirking -- ears stuck in her eyes as she became aware Stefanie was the one grabbing at her now -- and shots were ringing out. Gasping, she struggled to reach her friend even as skinny arms ensnared her and she was pulled back into a warm body and green velvet dress, away from the echoing bullets.* Get the fuc--

 **Stefanie:** *Sticking her plastered pink lips hard to the girl's ear, she whispers reassuring,* He's not dead. He's a werewolf. *The girl seems to still in her arms, as she repeats it as Eliza gapes out a rhetorical 'what?' -- but Stefanie was focused on Hans, mouth half opening before she saw. She felt her own heart stop, and then the mantra was for her.*

 **Hans:** *Blood blossoms on his abdomen, soaking the white shirt as two bullets riddle his stomach before he'd moved. In that moment of pain, his gut reaction only kicks him to greater speed as fire floods his veins. Shoving Nick into the wall with his elbow, the blood coats the boy's suit as he hisses,* I have to admit. *Claw extending, he rakes it down the boy's cheek and then abruptly digs it into his own abdomen. He picks one bullet out, than the other, the metal singing his bloodied skin.* That - *he flicks them at the ground* I didn't expect. 

 **Eliza:** Don't. *Through her choking, her shaking, she managed to get the one word out.*

 **Nick:** *His breath was abruptly cut off by how hard his back hit the wall, and the elbow under his throat. He coughed, eyes widening and hissing as the skin of his cheek split apart under his deadly sharp claw. He coughed again as his hands struggled to pry off the arm to breathe better, and couldn't restrain a comment.* It's what I aim for.

 **Hans:** *Scarlet eyes locked on Nick, the boy was only inches away from the monstrous, contorted face that so itched to rip into his throat. Hearing the little whisper, as his ears perk up with the heartbeat from the boy on the ground, the red lightens slowly, slowly to blue. He tosses the gun he wrenches from his hands through the window, it clattering through now broken glass.* I'm not easily impressed. 

*He says as he lowers his elbow, only to pick up the idiot with one hand-honestly it could have been only one finger, and he's tossed him as he easily as he had the gun, through the terrace door of glass, with enough force to shatter it. Straightening his jacket and glaring at the bloodied shirt, he complains under his breath,* This is dry-clean only.

 **Stefanie:** You go to hell. *She releases Eliza, stalking after Nick through the broken glass in her black stilettos. She was terrified: if Hans had killed him...*

 **Nick:** *He hissed as the fun was snatched out of his hand abruptly, and almost as if he'd expected it, tensed up as he followed the gun outside flying through the air. He got his arms up in front of his face only barely as he crashed, glass cutting through his soft flesh, and his suit, shards as big as his forearm dug into his sides and sunk deeper as he landed on the grounds, rolling across the snow the same way a rock might skip across the surface of a lake before he finally ended up face down, groaning in pain.*

 **Eliza:** *Pure hatred was in her eyes and she tried to go after Alcott, only to be face to face with Hans, who sped in front of him. Eliza didn't pause. She shoves at his chest, coloring her own hands in his blood, gasping,* How could you? You _monster!_ *and then slaps, slams, hits as hard as she can until he grabs her wrists and lifts her by them. He was unmoved, eyes still light and breath steady. She quieted, eyes glistening with her steel.* 

 **Hans:** *Grateful when she stops fussing against him, he breathes out her name and releases her wrists gently. Eyes narrow, he leans in closer to her with a fiery promise of,* I don't want to hurt you, Eliza. Don't make me have to.

 **Eliza** : *Rearing back, flustered as her eyes search his, she breathes out and nods at him just once without blinking. She's about to say something when she startles.*

 **Hans:** *Brought warm hands to cup her flyaway curls to her cheeks, petting once as he promises that Alcott will be fine. He watches her shakily walk backwards without looking away from him, and then leave on clattering heels through shards to Nick as well, out of sight. Only then does he turn back to Alcott. He rubs blood from his eyes, and then crouches down beside him, brushing blood from Al as well and rearranging him so he wouldn't wake-quite- as painfully as he need too. A strange somber expression on his lips, he murmurs light,* Come on, Al. You're the one being dramatic now. 

 **Alcott: *** He startles abruptly, knives and nails in his lungs as he bursts up, his hand suddenly grasping around Hans' wrist to throw it away from him. His eyes are brown again, wide-eyed in confusion, and he hisses in pain. Crumpled, he sees they're alone (but why could he hear three heartbeats then?)* What...wha--happene--Where's Eliza? Nick?

 **Hans:** Fine. Gone. Easy. *He reaches for Alcott's shoulder with ease to settle him, soothe him. He's whispering now, pleasant.* You're going to be sore for a little while. *A bit louder, cheerily,* It worked, though.

 **Alcott:** *Harsh gasps stutter and he rubs blood off his lip, fear in his eyes.* ...it worked? Wha--*his head was aching, but a small smile flutters across his lips.*

 **Hans:** *His own smile stills and vanishes as cold fury retakes his gaze.*

 **Alcott:** *Gasping out as a piercing noise smacks his ears, and he rubs hard abruptly.* The hell is that? * Oww. Because every bone wasn't enough broken, he had to lose hearing as well? Bastard. Wait...he knew what that sound was.*

 **Hans:** Rachelle. *He breathes out her name in such a small whisper that Alcott tenses through a shudder. The pup could hear her? Even as the pup scrambles away from him, red-flames have grasped his chest. His sister needed him: all else was meaningless. Oh...he almost felt pity for those poor, fucking bastards that dared.* You hear her. *Flashing eyes back down to Al, he bites out,* We'll continue later.

 **Alcott:** We will--*His own snap is met with thin air, for Hans is gone. Abruptly startled and ripping up half the carpet as he looks around him, he winces and then bends forward. Breathing heavily, his tears are dried and cracking. He lifts a hand watching in amazement as the blood dries and wounds begin to heal, cuts disappearing. His mouth hangs open , and then curls in a soft smile.*

 **Nadia:** *She bit her lip as the boy flew through the glass doors, but she was relieved. He could survive that, and he would, he had to. If he had been in that room a second longer...she breathed out heavily, and shook her head to herself. The two blonde girls left a few more moments later and then there were two. She startled as the younger boy sat up suddenly, how he awakened as if jolted from a permanent sleep. "We'll continue later" Hans said. Nadia's blood ran cold as she blinked and then suddenly the alpha was no more. She cursed internally, having missed her chance. She might have stopped this, might have ended it...she steeled herself and took a step forward, out of the mirror. There was still one more, and she couldn't let him hurt anybody.*

 **Alcott:** *Stretching skin around his muscles, experimentally he remarked abruptly to himself in shock as he watches it shift. It had worked--it genuinely had, and he felt...different. He wasn't sure...how, but...different: his head was clearer, his skin cooler. Rubbing the back of his neck, he hissed suddenly. "Tender" was clearly that European understatement once more, bleeding hell mother of--oh.* Bastard killed me. *He muttered it under his breath. It was a shock suddenly as he realized...that wasn't a metaphor. Spinning abruptly he shook his head wide-eyed trying to think, trying to remember what happened, when the small shocked smile sprang wider and he leapt to his feet, broken bones (that were...no longer?) be damned.* Nadia!? 

**&.**

**Irene** : What? *She spoke in confusion, more of a whisper than anything else. What did he mean by that, that he wasn't safe to come with her? No, if there was one thing she was definitely sure it was that with Dillon she was safe. What did he...her eyes widened in comprehension and threatened to tear up again. Hans and his wolves had hurt Dillon? Imperiused him? Threatened Ari?* They did hurt you, oh, I'm- I'm going to kill them! *She breathed out quickly now, her heart pounding in her horror. She sat up now.* I'm going to skin their pelts and make me a new fur coat! Do you have my purse- *she paused as he cupped her cheek and asked a question she thought unrelated.* Just a sip, it was foul, but I'm not drunk, okay I might be but I was...*wrinkles her nose* force fed.

 **Dillon:** *Pressing her clutch between their tangled hands to rest over her heart as he held her cheek, Dillon breathed out. He knew that. He'd seen it, had been frozen in disgust and terror, wondering under his breath why he didn't move, why some fucking selfless act of heroism hadn't occurred to him until Ansel had left. The Gryffindors should kick him out. He wondered if Devin had a cot he could kip on with momentarily shut eyes.* But it wasn't the champange. *He says it desperately, praying, fervent.* Right? You brought your own, better, he didn't switch them or--or...

 **Irene:** *she shook her head slowly, the look on Dillon's dace worrying her even more.* No, no, it wasn't. It was my own, my own stash used against me...why? *She breathed out the word in an exhale, putting a hand on top of his. The difference between his touch and Ansel's was so poignant, so palpable, she felt her eyes wanting to tear up.* Is something wrong with it?

 **Dillon:** *Thumb caressing beneath her eye as if he means to rubs away tears that weren't there, he only succeeds in cleaning away blush.* Irene, I... *His raw throat convulses on caught air and guilt.* I didn't know what I was...fuck--these last two weeks feel like I was watching some B-movie horror starring a former waiter who thinks he can make it big when a sleazy producer rubs two galleons together.

*Yet he was breathing in relief, for he hadn't hurt Irene. He hadn't had to lure her out here--bloody hell was that why he'd known where to go!?--she hadn't drank more than a few drops.*

 It's bitter because...a, mi madone-*he curses further in Italian, then jumps his gaze to hers. He wouldn't lie to her. His voice was shaken * I don't even know what the poison was I laced the bottles with. I just remember vials. A whole blue velvet bag of them...

 **Irene:** *A movie analogy in the midst of a difficult explanation- and people wondered why she was so caught by this wonderful Italian thespian. She braced herself for whatever he had to say but was still caught breathless. Poison. All of those people in there, the entire party-* It's okay, it'll be okay, we're gonna go find the Aurors or Mr. Stuart, and yes I do mean -we-, I'm not letting you stay in here alone and out of my sight, no sir, take that order back to the chef.

The imperius is broken, if you're here telling me this it means it's broken- *she squeezes his hand and then cups his cheek too* it's not your fault, okay, it isn't. It's those furry black hearted bastards *sorry Al darling, I don't mean you obviously, she thought to herself* they did this. Do you have any vials left that we can turn in to them? Evidence?

 **Dillon:** It is broken. *That needed to be true. Irene reassured him; in turn he reassured her, as though only in that infinite loop could peace exist. He hears her, is addicted to it, but couldn't find breath to report an answer. His gaze was darting, searching her eyes. 

Fixating on her, her voice of velvet fire mirrored in an aromatic gaze, he traced her lip as his own seemed to dry out.  It occurs to him he could survive off hers alone--off -her- alone. A pulse throbs, somewhere deep in his throat as he proposes,* I love you. 

 **Irene:** Right *she nodded though the movement reminded her of how unstable her head really was, how dizzy she felt, but this wasn't the first time she had gotten a concussion while drunk- hell, last time she had a bruised face and broken ribs too, and if she could shake that off, she could shake this off.* So, we're gonna go, we'll have them just send everybody home or something and then I should probably get checked out, even though I don't wanna go to Mungo's- *She was cut off by his words, as if someone had literally taken a pair of scissors to her vocal chords and cut them in half. She stared at him in silence, her mouth open a little. When she spoke again it was with a much softer voice* Yeah?...Really?

 **Dillon** : *It had just sprang from his lips, his heart like Puck amidst a merry game and song, darting from lover to lover. His nod is bare, as if her eyes strip him raw and hungry for her to give him directions. He was just the breathless vessel then, but if he would bend to anyone's will ever again, it was Irene's.* Really. *His promise is soft-spoken through curling lips.* I'm yours. 

 **Irene:** *She could feel her usually so-sure expressions turn vulnerable at his words. Like he was smoothing out the wrinkled pages of her soul and reading  them off to her, refreshing her memory of a forgotten book she had clung to as a child- damn Dillon, turning her into a poet. Those smooth words that always made her knees weak threatened to melt her into a useless puddle. Irene accepted she was not one for poetic and worthy words, before she leaned in to close the distance between their lips, kissing him firmly and hungrily. Her heart beat furiously against her chest, and as she pulled back breathless she was surprised to realized she wanted to either laugh or cry and she didn't know which one.* Oh! *She seemed to realize only a moment later that she'd yet to say it back. She smiled genuinely.* I love you too...shall I count the ways? *she smiles a little teasingly* I love thee to the ...reach or...height, and volume of my...poor unfortunate soul- I know nothing about sonnets. 

 **Dillon:** *It wasn't until she said it back that he even realized she hadn't, so engrossed was he in her lips, his kiss, her taste. His tongue pricks the fold of her lips as she exclaims, impatient. Then he stills, realizing he'd let out a relieved breath. When had he started holding it? Lightly,* That's all right. I know enough for both of us...and you are quite the muse. *Though really, Ari was the writer. He was the actor. As he had been for two weeks, never fully aware but still filled with lies that were easy to spill from his lips-- as easily as he pressed them to hers once more.

 **Irene:** *She kisses him again and again and then forces herself away from his lips* We should really get going.

 **Dillon:** *Again, and again, flush with his relief, delight, his adoration until she broke away. It was only then he realized (nope, Ravenclaw wasn't the house he should be in either) the shivers up his spine weren't those of a pleasurable kind.*

 **Zach** : Yes. *He mocks.* You really should have gone.

 **Dillon:** *Rearing back without releasing Irene, he stands, foot half-step in front of her, face rewritten in fury.* Zachary.

 **Zach:** Ah!  You remember me. I'm touched. Well that explains-what you're doing here--*he hardly glances at Irene, spinning his wand between his fingers as he adds, cloying,* You didn't need to deliver her after all. In fact, *he looks at his companions, asking offhand* I cannot think of a single further use you have--can you?

 **Irene** : *And now these motherfuckers were interrupting their declaration of love too?! Her patience had wore down to a startling negative one thousand and forty four. Half hidden behind Dillon, she used their scuffle backwards to pop the clutch open a little. She had a few tricks up her metaphorical sleeve.* You won't be of any use either by the time we're done with you.

 **Frank** : *he scoffs, smirking and crossing his arms in front of his chest.* Shame were not supposed to harm her.

 **Dillon** : *Surprised as he felt Irene's hand brush against his, he took another step forward, careful to keep his eyes on the wolves so any uptick in his heartbeat would be discounted. His genius girl.* No, what's a  shame is that you aren't smart enough to know when you're beaten.

 **Zach** : * His laugh was high and chilling in a mouth open to showcase the teeth inhuman,  his head tilted * Irony! How original.

 **Dillon** : Actually. *His breathing measured, his hand raised to give cover, he spoke lightly.* Irony is a literary tool that was used first in--*but he spins as Zach launches at him in a flash of movement too fast for the human eye, to give Irene the room she needed.*

 **Irene** : *She might have screamed if her vocal chords and throat were still fully healed, for the speed with which he moved was frightening but she didn't. Her hand moved to throw the pressurized shells full of pure silver at the men, detonating on impact, covering them with silver, engineered to eat at flesh and get in the blood.*

 **Frank** : *Seeing the girl moving, it was too late. His running to stop her only brought him closer to the explosion. With a startled and pained yell he fell to the ground, clawing at his face in desperation, his eyes glowing and fangs out, he growled and threw himself forward, wanting to bite, rip, kill, anything.*

 **Zach:** *He had one claw nick--scrape, pull, rip across Dillon's cheek as the boy twists--before a scream wrenches from his throat, half a howl offered to the night sky. He yanks it back as if the shout was a piece of dirty laundry attached to a cord, scraping claws deep now into his own ripe flesh. Growls and hisses pepper breath hot. Painting his skin in his life's blood as he tries to peel the liquid, burning flesh off, he's squeezing his ribs together, feeling that familiar crunch of bones breaking. The growl turns triumphant. He might have no vision, but the little cunt's terror was sweet to inhale--and easy to follow.*

 **Dillon:** _Go!_ *Paying no attention as scarlet dribbles down his throat, he had his arm around Irene and his wand up as they run, flat-out. Piteous moans turn to angry growls, mountains of snow crashing behind them as they're pursued. He whips another spell to shut the Arboretum door as they're through it, locking the heavy glass. He didn't dare see if it worked. He didn't dare look back.*

**&.**

**Eliza:** Sacré merde. *The silver-and-gold guardrail was as useful as the garland, clearly. Nick was below it - he'd gone all the way over. She had her hands wrapped around it, leaning far enough over the terrace she was half convinced she'd fall, determinedly not looking back or over her shoulder. Alcott would wake. What was of paramount importance currently was making sure th--* Who the bloody hell is this woman anyway? *The 'sister' was already next to Nick. Snapping along with clacking, she wrenches herself back, down the other stairs, lifting navy skirts getting drenched by snow. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay -- * Get away from him--

 **Stefanie** : *Lifts her head,* It's... Eliza?

 **Eliza:** Yes. You, introduced yourself well enough by restraining me, so you know what? Right now I don't care.

 **Stefanie:** Mm. *Her hand floats to Nick's shoulder, saying pleasantly enough,* Something we have in common then -- Nicholas, can you hear me? 

 **Eliza** : It's Nick. *She didn't know why that irritated her to hear. Damn her dress then. She knelt down in the snow, slapping Stefanie's hand away from him, she reaches her wand only to realize the girl's was already out.* What did you--

 **Stefanie:** It's a numbing spell, Eliza. *Calmly, her other hand going up.* I've had more than my fair share of broken bones caused in such a manner.

 **Eliza:** *Tiniest bit surprised, but as a brow flicks up she hears Nick and her hands go back to him, brushing blood off him and-and--fixing his hair--she needed to do -something- helpful, okay?* 

 **Nick:** *He wasn't sure whether it was the cold that was making everything numb or a spell or a hit on the head but at least the pain felt less. Hearing two pair of voices, he attempted to shake his head to clear his thoughts but opening his eyes revealed that only caused some blood to drip on the snow below. He got on his elbows with some difficulty, raising his head from the cold ground further before he hissed and reached for his side, feeling a shard of glass or two sticking out of him.* I thought silver was supposed to slow the fuckers down *he murmured lazily before he reached for the glass and pulled it out with a sharp yank and a groan; it took all he had not to fall face first into the snow again. He blinked away tears that he wasn't sure all belonged to his bodily pain and looked at Eliza* Is he really...

 **Stefanie:** Mm, and being a werewolf is supposed to be a curse. *The corner of her lips lift in a half-smirk,* you might have noticed my brother isn't quite the...most normal of wolves. *Unflinching as he pulls the glass out, she immediately snaps her hand to cover the wound he reveals, staunching blood-flow with conjured gauze.*

 **Nick:** *He snorts and then regrets it as he pokes at his chest, groaning again. He was starting to regret not getting into the medicine field.* Yeah, quite the Humphrey Bogart, your brother is. 

 **Eliza** : *Rubbing under her eyes as she pulls one of the Pepper-Ups Alcott had brewed for them out of her bodice, she mutters,* If you're a wolf too why don't you-

 **Stefanie** : I'm not. *Crisply, she looks up with narrowed eyes at Eliza,* The 'fucker' is my legitimate brother, Eliza, I'd like to think I'm sane enough to not have chosen that.

 **Nick:** *Legitimate brother. He would offer condolences but that would be rude- oh fuck being rude, you know what was also rude? Throwing people out of windows...so was shooting them in the stomach...but so was snapping their neck.* 

 **Eliza:** *She blinks, then nods - thoughts thrown by Nick's question. Shaking her head,* No - no he's not - he's not--

 **Stefanie:** The boy- Alcott? He's a wolf too. *Still crisply, as she moves down further to try and pull more glass out, unflinching as ever. She wouldn't look them in the eye.* Takes more than a little thing like a broken neck to kill them. 

 **Eliza** : *Rubbing more tears from her eyes, she recites quietly,* Silver bullet to the heart, decapitation, or Avada Kedavra. 

 **Stefanie:** Very good. *As if she was a school teacher, oi-vey.*

 **Nick:** Oh thank God. *He breathed, nodding gratefully at Stefanie as she covered the wound, made sure he didn't bleed to death, that sort of thing. He was pretty sure Lynn would find a way to bring him back just to kill him again for putting her through it.* 

 **Eliza:** *Rears her head up and looks around, even as she's wrapping a bandage too,* _What_ are you doing here if you're not trying to help him?

 **Stefanie:** I'm here, because I thought, *she yanks glass out and snaps more gauze in, gritting her teeth in sympathy,* I could stop him. You think I'd know better by now. *briskly, looking down at his arms,* There.

 **Nick:** I would have gone for decapitation but see, I forgot to bring my sword- fffffffuuu- *he gasps as she yanks another out that was really dug in there, biting down on his lip.* Thanks. *he muttered before he managed to bring himself up to a sitting position, every part of his body hurt and he knew that surely every part of it must be bruised. He looked up at the terrace again, shaking his head.* We can still stop him. It ain't over until the fat lady sings.

 **Eliza:** Humphrey Bogart? *Focusing on unimportant things was actually a legitimate helpful technique, it was. It steadies her, lets her breathe, even as she offers Nick the potion.* 

 **Stefanie:** For merlinssakes, is all of British pureblood society too elite for film noir?

 **Eliza:** *Immediately glad that Lynn had been talking about the genre for half the afternoon,* No, *primly,* I just would think he was more like Fred MacMurray.

 **Stefanie:** *Amused, she tilts her head,* The double-crossed insurance salesman?

 **Eliza:** Who was never innocent to begin with.

 **Stefanie:** Mm, *amused and looks back at Nick,* then you might want to start carrying that sword with you everywhere. Just as a precaution.

 **Eliza:** *She purses her lips in a half-amused smile and breathes a lot easier when he sits up, nodding.* You're righ-

 **Stefanie** : No. *She places her hand on his shoulder to keep him seated, asking incredulously,* Are you two idiots? Have you really not learned from five minutes ago you're absolutely no match?

 **Nick:** I was employing the always useful technique of sarcasm, ladies. *He takes the potion from Eliza with a small nod and equally as small thank you before he chugs it down, feeling warmth spread outwards from his chest and to every extremity, his ears steaming. He felt better, marginally, oh only marginally. He wanted a big warm bed, and his girlfriend in it next to him. An incentive to get him through the night, if there ever was one. Though he was rather proud Eliza held her own so well for someone who had no knowledge of the subject a mere few weeks ago.* Here's what I've learned- I'm not the next double-oh-seven, *he winced as he experimentally rotated a shoulder* and I can't fly. What I haven't learned is one damn good reason not to keep trying to stop that monster, so, that in mind *to Eliza now, exhaling* we do need backup.

 **Eliza:** *Double-oh-seven must be another movie reference, she realized, but was helpfully rescued from having to show her deficit of knowledge by Nick's graceful rescue.* We do. *She bites her bottom lip, casting a glance back to the ballroom between the wide double-doors.*

 **Stefanie:** *Well, that answered her question. Heavens. She shook her head and said pointedly,* Can you even stand? *Looking at Nick, with an eyebrow arched.*

 **Eliza:** If you're too afraid-

 **Stefanie:** Rightfully so. *flatly* And you'd be smart to be more afraid. 

 **Eliza:** Yes, well, there's a reason I'm not in Ravenclaw. *Half snapping, then pauses and smiles and looks at Nick, adding lighter,* And...why I'm glad you are.

 **Stefanie:** *She shakes her head and stands, brushing snow off her emerald gown -- and then turning abruptly when she hears a shout. Her eyes go wide, and then she curses in German under her breath.*

 **Eliza:** *Startled around, she looks back to the ballroom again and then bites down hard.* Tell me that means they've found Nadia. 

**&.**

**Nadia:** *Was she supposed to recognize him, that made her hesitate for a moment, only a moment. He was working with Hans, Hans was dangerous, and she couldn't risk it, whatever they wanted to continue, she couldn't risk it. As he touched her shoulders and questioned her she took another half step, breath abated and sunk the knife, D'Grey's knife made of pure silver that she'd disillusioned, into his stomach.*

 **Alcott:** *He could hear a wild, scattering heartbeat but he couldn't think that was too odd --he couldn't, because he couldn't think about what she might have been through. His mind was stuck on the present, and frankly he wasn't all that set on thinking right now; his head was still pounding, and his neck was throbbing. Breath hot on a raw throat he was half through asking again when he felt something slide through his lower ribs into his stomach.* Fuck--

*The first thought he had, besides a rippling "ow", was that this was ridiculous. It had been all day, since Lynn kneed him. He shouldn't be so easily fooled-so easily thrown; even less if he genuinely could transform at will. Water clouds his vision, and he sways, muttering another curse in Spanish, his hand darting to curl around hers, trying to rip it out. His other hand shoves her away, panic in his throat as he brings back a scarlet-coated hand. His knees lock as he snaps incredulous, high-pitched.* Nadia!? *His lungs collapse in on themselves and he lets his eyes shut.* Oh bleeding hell, that--tha' was silver, wah-wasn't it?

*Judging by the ripping, horrific burn in his chest, it had to be. Oh, fuck. He rips his shirt apart where she'd split it, revealing the chiseled muscles and watching in awe again as the cut repairs itself. Letting the shirt flaps fall without care and brushing at the dirtied cheeks, he heaves and grips the nearest surface.

When he realizes what it was, the long fine cherry wood table ripped apart with shattered vases and his blood all over the silk runner, he thinks madly,* Oh, Ma is gonna kill me. *The chuckle in his throat echoes weakly, and he stays landed on his hands, not trusting weight on his knees. Lightly,* I had been wondering what I could survive now. Careful what you wish for, huh? *he looks back to Nadia and shakes his head.* 

I don't know what they told yo-*he hisses, and then decides okay: simple, blunt, small breaths and words were going to have to be enough for now.* We're friends. _Friends_ , *he rubs his eyes, still laughing madly, and then falls into the table itself. Sorry, Ma.*

 **Nadia:** *She stumbles back with teary eyes, jaw trembling as she watched him, the fear in his eyes, the tears in them, and heard the curse. This felt wrong. Every part of her body rejected it. She let the knife fall from her bloodstained fingertips onto the floor, her face abnormally white. She'd stabbed out Rhys' eye, killed a man whose name she didn't even know, and her remorse for that was slim to none, but now...she might have thrown up if she had anything in her stomach.* 

I'm sorry *she whispered through a hoarse throat, hands shaking. Friends? No, no, they couldn't be, he was with Hans, he...had she just made a mistake? She startled as he fell and then step forward again. Oh God, please don't let him be dead, she couldn't have reached his heart, she couldn't have.*

 **Alcott:** *He heard it, he realized, the alteration in her breathing from quiet desperation to horror  -all before she'd spoken. Teeth grit as he wipes scarlet spittle from his upper lip, and lands dizzied half on a chair, half off it. Only then does he hear her words, and he shakes his head up at her with a determined little smirk.* No-apology-necessary. 

*It was normal, right, for lungs to be contorted like beginner balloons? Room steadying, his vision clears slowly and he looks at her in awe, still not daring to stand.* I mean- you did a number on my pride more than anything, look--. *

He gestures wildly at his open torso, where the blood was drying and touches the re-sewn flesh tentatively. Dear-ow-bloodyhe--he withdrew his finger from the pink flesh abruptly. And looked back up at her.* Always suspected you were a quiet bad ass...didn't know how much. *Brightly, cheery even, he half teases,* Good for you. Please do not stab me again. 

*And winks, before coughing and gesturing wildly to the water on the table.* ...Nadia, what happened? Hols and Dev are ready to commit murder to find you, honestly. Chace too. I'd say Lynn too but, *he half chuckles, even though it half scares him that...he's already breathing so regularly and feeling strength return. He'd need to bandage it, but,* Nothing really new there, right? 

*Tiniest pause, before he says quieter,* What-do- you remember? What is going on tonight? Besides that bastard alpha-douche snapping my neck I mean. 

 **Nadia** : *Oh good, still conscious, okay. Not dying, healing- wait, this wasn't good either was it? She'd stun him then, like she did with Julio and stash him behind the mirror. Nadia contemplated all this as he spoke, not paying him much attention as he spoke of her being a bad ass- she'd had enough of those comments already. 

She was reaching for her wand when he said her sister's name, and Devin's and her twin brother's. Her hand dropped again, her eyes widening.* Bu-but...I saw you. You were turning, without the moon, you're with Hans. You're part of his pack, aren't you? You...aren't you?

 **Alcott:** *This time he saw her go for her wand, but he'd only halfhearted lifted his own hand.* 

What? You think--* Startled at her question, she 'ahhs' and then shakes his head furiously. Too furiously. His neck felt like a broken pinwheel when he stilled. This drove him to his feet, lifting his hands to show his innocence. Calmly,* 

Nadia. I am so sorry. I can only imagine how hard this is...to be here, and not...not remember. *That sparks something dimly in his mind and he smiles after a heartbeat, a wavering, hesitant smile. That was his father's research.* 

Actually, when we all leave here tonight...I may be able to help--but it's beside the point right now. I'm not in that bastard's pack. He...has a potion, I didn't believe it...but he's right-and honestly,* he smiles gesturing again at the healing, raw skin,* I think it's done more than just...help me break free of the moon. He wants to recruit me--

*He exhales.*--he's _deluded_ , a -a- (with a bright, high laugh), a psycho. I swear; I've no interest.  *Tentative step forward,* I would never do anything to hurt you, or any of my friends.  

 **Nadia:** *She tried not to think about it right then, she had a mission, a purpose, she couldn't focus on the desperation or hopelessness rooted deep in her chest when it came to the condition of her memory. She breathed out, and nodded slowly as she watched him, her gaze unrelenting until she realized, he told the truth. She breathed out again, frowning.* 

They're not just trying to recruit you- I mean the pack is, but they're working with the Death Eaters and this is all a trap, they're going to abduct a lot more people. Here, this is quicker... *she reached for his wrist with her left hand to show him instead.*

**&.**

The scene standing before her more easily resembled one of Dante’s levels of hell. Hols had no idea which one, because she had never read the epic poem, but what she was sure of was that there was no matter of comparable evil to be found on Earth. As she had walked with her mother, arguing about Hols involvement in a plan that involved a werewolf, they’d walk into the main ballroom to find mangled bodies, torn apart and bloodied, hanging from the walls and dropping from the ceiling. Blood now stained precious dresses and was scattered along the floor with shards of glass from champagne flutes and windows blown in.

From the windows, they swarmed in: figures wrapped in black cloaks. They were living and breathing shadows, who did little more than hover and send off spells not meant to be lethal. Hols realized that what they wanted to do was strike fear, not harm. These were pureblooded members of society for the most part, there was no other group the Death Eaters could hope to garner more approval or support from.

In the midst of bloodshed, people were falling down not from stuns, but from some dizzy spells. They coughed and held their stomachs and chests as they collapsed, at least one in every ten. Amaris had grabbed her wand and pushed Hols back and told her to stay low before walking through the hoard to join the handful of witches and wizards who instead of panicking or making a run for it and apparated away, had chosen to fight back. In the midst of pride for her mother, she managed to find room for annoyance at being treated like a child still. It didn’t last for very long though, because in the next moment she had taken her wand out too, and aiming her own spells their way.

Her heart pounded inside her head as she moved, dodging stuns and non-lethal curses that would still leave their fair bit of damage, and sent them right back. Hols stumbled backwards as a body dropped in front of her, almost on top of her, and to jump over it, holding the skirt of her dress before decidedly just ripping up the other side of it to help her move better. She slid across the floor, slipping on a mixture of what looked like blood and vomit as she sent a hooded figure flying right back through the window. Hols could barely think in the middle of the screams that wanted to tear out her eardrums, of shouts of horror as family members found their loved ones wheezing and falling for no discernible reason. It was madness, it was hell.

And yet in the middle of it, there was one person that seemed bizarrely unaffected. A woman with a neckline so low, it almost reached her bellybutton. She was smirking at the sight for a moment before she walked through a door into a room adjoining this one. Hols followed after her, running through the swarm of the crowd that was heading the opposite way. She pushed through them, not bothering to look sideways  to look at which horror the crowd was pointing at now. Hols had seen enough for one lifetime already, and most of it in the last two minutes: bodies hung by their tongues from the chandelier, made grosteque images of them against the windows so that the moonlight could illuminate the bodies in an eerie glow. If she stopped to think about it too much, she would vomit but at that moment the stress she carried with her was forming itself into anger and hate at the pit of her stomach. Somewhere in this house, her friends were there and in danger. Nadia, had been their prisoner for a little more than two weeks. These people, these terrorists, they were lower than low. And if that woman who had gone into the room was one of them, she had better hope Hols was feeling merciful.

Reaching the door, she pressed an ear against it, and not for the first time wished her abilities as a lioness could transfer over when she was human like Al. But because she couldn’t, Hols tapped the door with her wand to allow it to magnify the sounds inside. There were two voices, both of them women, both of them giddy and their voices retreating. Hols couldn’t take it, she opened the door a sliver of the way, enough to see into the room and saw a simple mass of pink hair disappear through a mirror. Had her eyes deceived her then? And what was up with mirrors lately?

She stayed still, abnormally still as she waited for more sounds but there came none. Thinking the brunette must have gone through the mirror before the pink haired one, she walked through the door, intending on following them. The moment she was through it, however, she found herself held against the closed door by her throat. Instinct kicked in: she brought her arm down across the elbow crease and used her elbow coming back up to hit a chin. The arm hadn’t budged one bit, and her elbow had cracked when it made contact with the girl’s face.

“Ah, you’re the pup’s mate,” the girl drawled, amusement evident in her voice.

Werewolf. Fuck.

She held her up against the wall with a finger now, holding her chin. Hols struggled to kick out for the small second before she was being thrown against the other wall. The back of her head hit the wall with a crack, and she gasped, but didn’t allow herself to stay down. She stood back up and reached for her wand, shouting spell after spell but found herself with the woman’s face in front of her again. She kicked out again, but the bitch grabbed her leg and swung her around with ease, throwing her on the floor. Hols spat out blood and then stood up again.

“I can see why he’d like you. Resilient, stubborn,” the woman grinned as she tried to circle Hols, but the girl wouldn’t give the woman her back. “Strong too. Not everyone can run with wolves, after all.”

“Where’s Nadia?”

The woman tilted her head, and placed her hands on her hips. She motioned to Hols, the blood on her lips, the bruise at her throat, the blood running down the back of her neck before she spoke, “You’re not exactly in a position to make demands.”

“No, I usually leave those for the cowgirl position- where is Nadia?”

The girl laughed and then shook her head before motioning around the room. “Somewhere around here. With some pretty interesting company. Don’t worry,” she added as Hols’ fists clenched at her sides and she took a step forward. “She’s safe now. I fixed her up.”

“Now?” Hols asked through her teeth, her hands shaking with the sudden fury.

“She ran into some trouble with a couple of Death Eater assholes, but she held her own. Stabbed one through the eye, killed another one by gutting him with a spiked mace. You should be proud of her.”

Hols was, for taking care of herself that way, but she was overwhelmed with horror as she realized what Nadia might have had to experience that caused her to resort to such drastic measures. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? That killing someone is something be proud of?”

“Obviously, it’s not something you could understand.”

“And I’m damn glad I can’t,” she shot a spell at the woman again, but she evaded it with ease, moving across the space between them and punched her in the face. Hols fell to the ground again, gasping in pain as she heard a crunch. Bringing a hand up, she felt around her face and then popped her nose back into place with a sharp but brief cry. Hols had taken her fair share of bludgers to the face, and she’d never once had a match stop just to take care of something as small as a broken nose. Wiping the blood under it, she stood again, wondering why this woman wanted to play with her that way.

“Quick question then, why aren’t you killing me?”

“Well, that would be rather rude, wouldn’t it?” She tilted her head again and then smiled. “Not exactly much of a welcome gift for my new brother, to present him the dead body of his mate. We wolves get touchy about that. Oscar, one of us, he killed a man for looking at his mate in a way he didn’t like. Obviously, we’re each different but-“

“You’re crazy,” she exhaled.

The woman grinned again, but this time when she did a chill went through Hols. Her teeth elongated as her mouth widened, her eyes wide and yellow in a way that was familiar to Hols now. She took a step back this time, instead of forward as the woman got closer. Bones broke as she took steps forward. Her neck twisted, the bones of her arm jutting in all different directions but she didn’t cry out. The sight reminded her of Rachelle, peeling away at her skin to get at the wolf underneath.

“I. am not. Crazy!” she yelled the last part before it turned into a growl as she lunged, the beast inside fully unleashed, the dress now in ruins, by the time her furry body collided with Hols. A split second before the crash, Hols released herself to her animal instincts as well, slipping into the skin of the lioness as easy as putting on a new coat.

Roars now gargled at the back of two mouths, one feline and one canine. Thunder crashed every time their bodies collided and fangs sunk in to tender flesh. A swipe of a paw spilled fresh blood on the new carpet, and a tough yank caused a sharp yelp to leave a throat that sported fresh claw marks. The scene was fury unleashed, nature taking its rawest and most natural of courses. Two predators, battling it out not for food, not for prey, not even for dominance but simply for blood. This was a fight to the death in their minds, as they leaped, tore fur and skin, and slashed at weak undersides and sensitive faces.

Finally, as the lioness rolled on her back to stand once more, she caught onto a brown leg matted with fresh blood. She sank her fangs deep and twisted her mouth to and fro, once, twice, and with a loud howl and whine, came away with the limb. She spat it out as it returned to its human form, an arm up to the elbow. She bared her teeth and stalked forward again, thinking the wolf must surely submit now, but that was her mistake.

The wolf lunged again, the remaining claws sunk into her back to hold the animal there as fangs attacked at her throat. Tearing through skin and muscle, trying to reach bone. The lioness tried in vain to shake the wolf off her, for the more she shook, the more the creature came away with ligaments, and blood. With a pained whine, the lioness dropped on the floor, once again turning into a girl. Only then did the extract her claws and limped off, licking away the blood on her fangs. She was about to lunge again when a spell caught her in the chest and sent her flying through the air and through the wall, leaving a hole in the side of the house that blew in the white snow.

“Hols!” a duo of voices shouted her name as they ran to her side. Hols managed to open an eye to peer up at the people. She tried to open her mouth to say something but instead gasped out blood and kept coughing.

“Hey, don’t worry babygirl, we got you, we got you.” It was Magnus, an auror that she had known since she was a little girl, and a friend of her father. Next to him was Zoe, who had made away with her long skirt and now walked in a mesh bodysuit she had worn underneath. Her wand was in her hand already and she was waving it over her, fixing her up. Hols felt hot needles pricking at places where claws and fangs had ravaged her, while tears pricked at her eyes instead.

“Magnus, conjure me some-“

“Way ahead of you sweetheart,” he handed her bandages which Zoe wrapped around the wounds she’d stop the bleeding from. She numbed the muscles and injected regenerative potions directly into her system, wanting them to act fast and knowing she could not stand to swallow it now. Zoe’s hands worked steadily, quickly, grabbing things in and out of her bag. Hols screamed in pain every once in a while,  as something burned too hot or too cold, even while her throat bore the brunt of her pain.

“You’re a genius, babygirl,” Magnus exhaled as Zoe pulled back with hands drenched in blood after bandaging the throat and helping Hols sit up. Magnus moved in again, and tipped a blood replenishing potion down her throat which Hols had to fight to keep down. He wiped away tears with his big hands, and then asked. “Are you alright, Hols?”

“She was bitten by a werewolf, Magnus,” Zoe reminded him quietly as she walked around and ran diagnostics quickly, and added more numbing spells if the pain receding had anything to say about it.

“I’ll…I’ll be fine,” she whispered out, her voice hoarser than a dying smoker and another cough raked her body with pain.

“Hols-“

A patronus barged in, and Zoe turned her head swiftly as a voice Hols couldn’t quite make out spoke out. Zoe stood again, hearing the message and then turned to Magnus. “I have to leave immediately, take Hols to Mungo’s.”

“No Mungo’s,” Hols insisted at the same time that Magnus spoke.

“I’ll get her there, Shawn will kill me if I don’t. Rain check on the drink then, Zoe,” Magnus added as Zoe slipped out but not without a bark of laughter before the door closed behind her. Hols shook her head again, her hand over the bandage on her neck.

“No Mungo’s.”

“Baby girl, I’m gonna take you there whether you like it or not-“ he stilled as another patronus came in. This time, Hols focused because the patronus was familiar to her. It was her father’s.

Having been ravaged before, she didn’t think she could feel as low as she did at that moment, hearing what was happening under them. It was her dad, asking for back up, the aurors and guards were being attacked at the wine cellar. The wine cellar, where they had left Rachelle and her dad was there.

“Stay here, Hols,” Magnus ordered before he too stormed out of the room.

Hols closed her eyes, tears falling down her eyes freely now before she moved again. There was no time to waste, and certainly none of it to spare for her pain or her regrowing muscles and skin. Standing was a bitch, and walking was even worse but she couldn’t stay there. She had to get to the cellar immediately, wincing, she gritted her teeth and then walked forward. First one step, and then another, until it became tolerable and then a step became a jog as she teared, and a jog became a slow run, and gasps of pain took the place of steady breathing, but she couldn’t stop. 

She was the only one here who could deal with a bloody werewolf. 


	33. The Beast You Made of Me

**Eliza:** Mrs. Brackner! *She had been "assisting" (not 'helping') Nick walk in, hurrying towards the sounds of shouts and yells and--her heart was struck cold--spells. The shock of seeing Al's mother wander into an unoccupied room when she was usually the social butterfly of the party had stilled her -- and they'd run by the time they realized she was collapsing. Curling her arm around her hair to hold the woman's hair back (she did look ready to retch); she hisses in shock seeing the white film she was rubbing away.* Oh Merlin-

Lyndsea: Mary? *She was confused, murmuring sleepily even as she fought to flicker her eyes open (but Harper was so close...)

 **Eliza:** No, no-- *And she'd have to worry about being mistaken for her mother later,* Mrs. Brackner-

 **Lyndsea:** It's Lyndsi. *She hisses, her eyes snap ping open at that, then saying miserably quietly,* I miss being Lyndsi...

 **Eliza:** *How had she not cried out all her tears seeing Alcott?* I know-

Lyndsea: *Recognizing her, she seems to come to a bit, and murmurs,* Oh, Eliza darling...*She blinks.* ...you have a very handsome man with you- is this Rory?

 **Eliza:** What--*Horrified, she looks back at Nick, then flutters her gaze to the shattered glass, seeing the pink champagne staining her fingers and lips.* Oh my God, Nick--she's been--it's--

 **D'Grey:** Poison. *Matter of fact, from the door, but by the time Eliza had registered him he was by their side instead. Lyndsea hears it too; for she jerks, as if trying to fight the word, muttering 'Alcott' instead. And he had a little blood-red stone in his hand, so she lets him take her, gather Lyndsea into his arms, holding her face with one hand and saying briskly,* Don't let her head go--Lyndsea?

*Hearing her mutter, he just shakes his head.* You're going to be fine, I need you to focus for me, and just swallow, okay? That's all you have to do--swallow. *He brings the stone to her lips, and pushes it past them -- amused as he realizes she bit his fingers, and just rubbing them off against his already lost-cause jacket. Well, at least he knew she was fighting. Olivier wasn't surprised.*

 **Nick:** *To prove Stefanie wrong, he had stood up all by himself. Granted, he had not been able to keep standing, all by himself but that was proved irrelevant as the screams of terror and shouts of spells became louder. Following who he learned was Lyndsea Brackner from Eliza, he startled to find her in such a state. Eliza left for her side immediately, and Nick limped his way over, as quick as his tolerance of pain could allow. Frowning, he quickly realizes what's the matter at the same time Eliza does, but it wasn't either of them that said it out loud. He turns, and then his eyebrows rise again* D'Grey?  *He watches him walk towards them, take Lyndsea and take out a bezoar. What a happy coincidence, he thought with his eyes narrowing.* You knew this was going to happen.

 **Eliza:** D'Grey? *She echoes Nick startled, even as she can't keep her eyes off a reflexive throat, deathly terrified. Alcott had lost enough people in his life.* Please Mrs. Brackner--*She rubs sweat off her brow.*

 **D'Grey:** Aren't you a shrewd one. *He chuckles drily, but only once, one small little exhale before sobering; it was twisted humor he'd always enjoyed the most.* As it happens-- *Lyndsea had suddenly gasped and he pulls back to fish a bottle of water out of his jacket. He hands that to Eliza, who immediately starts helping Lyndsea drink it, and then tosses the rest of his little kit to the boy.* I didn't, I simply always have learned to carry one since my brother's fourteenth birthday gift was a poisoned cake. *He waves this off,* It was a mix-up, obviously. Still, always better to be prepared, I learned. *His gaze flicks up comfortably to hold his gaze, small smile on his lips.* But you're right to think that way. There _are_ usually such ulterior motives. 

 **Eliza:** *Blinking, as Lyndsea was jittery in her grasp but calmly gulping the water down now.* Tony?

 **D'Grey:** *Gaze flicks, mouth in a half 'oh',* You met him. I do hope you won't judge me by him--

 **Eliza:** You helped heal Devin. *snaps*

 **D'Grey:** *Tiniest head nod, a light in his eyes.* 

 **Eliza** : And...*Lyndsea has pushed her off, and she lets her steady her breath, still brushing down her hair. And then finding a handkerchief...ew, her hand was gross.*

 **D'Grey:** *His head flicks again; another nod of complacent agreement.*

 **Eliza:** ...I swear to merlin if you say you're her guardian angel too-*beginning hotly, cut off in shock by his abrupt laugh.* What?!

 **D'Grey:** *Rubbing his own lips if only to hide his own twisted smile he shakes his head.* No...no, I'm not her Angel. *Twisted humor, just as he'd said, but honestly: there was very little to be amused else-wise now. And irony -was- amusing.* 

 **Nick:** I would like to think so, yes. *He winced a small moment as he raises his hands to catch the first aid kit but not fast enough so he ends up catching it against his chest; his ribs didn't thank him for it.* I was about to say, poison him, that charmer? *He spoke dryly, because he gave what he received and then was surprised and confused as Eliza said she'd met him.* You met him? *A small cough from Mrs. Brackner caused him to look at her in concern again, thinking that Al had gone through enough tonight already, this was going to kill him- no, wrong choice of words. He looks back at D'Grey after his laugh, and while he didn't particularly like the guy.* Thank you...why are you doing this? Saving Devin, warning us, saving Mrs. Brackner? What do you have to gain?

 **Eliza:** *Quietly, looking at Nick,* For a moment. He tried to step in to stop Hans. *And then she'd danced with him. Was there two or-three- knives in her heart? She couldn't tell anymore.*

 **D'Grey:** My brother, the chivalrous hero. *Releasing Lyndsea as she shoves him back, he looks deeper into her eyes in concern, momentarily ignoring Nick and Eliza. It had been instinct that kicked in-- even if he knew already what he would tell Gustav; that the poison was a distraction, not meant to be fatal. After all, he wasn't meant to know that Lyndsea (and for that matter, Alcott) were supposed to be untouchable, as he wasn't supposed to know who Angel truly was. Back teeth gnashing together, bad taste in his mouth, he restrains a spit: breaking one's word, especially to a person whose life's purpose became defined by your promise of safety, was especially low.* Lyndsea? *Cautiously.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Swallowing had become her only task in life, first a horrendously sticky stone and then nectar of the Gods (or water, she didn't know). She nods. But then as her eyes flicker open again, she stares deeply back and says only, fighting another cough with flames in her eyes* Answer the question. 

 **D'Grey:** *Impressed, his head comes up before a slow nod. He looks to Nick,* My family's safety, a certain amount of loyal friends, and a certain amount of power. That's what I have to gain. *Steady, abrupt, and perfectly honest.* Why am I doing these things tonight? Two reasons. *He looks at Lyndsea for a moment, odd compassion flickering through his gaze, as he says,* First, because a remarkable individual pointed out to me I shouldn't let Indian children starve if I'm in a position to help, *And now he looks instead to Eliza, who stiffens even as she smiled.* And secondly, because I want certain people gone. *He looks at Nick.* I am not a death eater--I'm not even pureblood. *Steadily,* And whatever I've let them think, whatever I have had to do--I am not their friend. *He shrugs a shoulder, standing up and brushing his shoulder off. He looks at Eliza.* The pack aren't Death Eaters either, you know.

 **Eliza:** *That makes her smile disappear, eyes flashing, and she snaps,* Just psychotic.

 **D'Grey:** They wish. *Calmly, as he brushes his hands off on his jacket again. Seeing Eliza's retort was cut off, he answered her unspoken question easily,* Psychosis would mean they couldn't feel guilt or pain any longer. 

 **Eliza:** *She hisses,* Well, they certainly do a good imitation of it then!

D'Grey: *Nods,* Yes. *With a sad smile on his lips.*

 **Eliza:** *Suddenly realizing he's near the door, she chases away the discomforting pangs in her chest by saying instead,* Just answer this then-- *hurriedly*, you walk out that door, join the fighting, which side will you fight on? For the Ministry or for the Death Eaters--who would you fire spells at? 

 **D'Grey:** *Calmly,* I suppose at whomever fired at me, Eliza. *He holds her gaze unblinkingly, even as Lyndsea coughs again, reminding him, and a dry smile appears twisting his lips.* 

But see, I'm not going through that door. 

*And he turns left instead towards the terrace they came from, walks down the hallway leisurely, and out the back door.*

**&.**

 

 **Nadia:** *She had apologized again for stabbing him because she didn't think she could ever apologize enough. What she should have apologized was the mental attack her message conveyed, for she remembered the feeling of it, even if she didn't remember the details of it. The frustration over it, over her memories in general, was something that was still there under the surface, stewing, but it wasn't something she could give into, not at that moment. She had things to do; her mission was far from over. Nadia was on her way to walking out of the room with Alcott while she explained to him what happened while he had been...um, dead.* -and then Eliza left too, to make sure Nick was okay. 

*The names had been provided by Alcott because she had not recalled them by herself.* I already told Lynn about what I know, I saw her first, but I had to go because I recognized Rachelle, another werewolf.

 **Alcott:** *Fuming, as Nadia filled him in, at first all he could think was needing to find Eliza and tell her he was all right -- needed to find out for sure that Nick was (he was, he had to be). He stills when he hears the name, abruptly putting two and two together in a flash of exhaling,* Rachelle... *Nick had said Lynn gave him the signal, Hans disappearing...* Oh fuck. *He's cut off from further when, in opening the door, he nearly collides with Lynn. The irony makes him smirk.* 

 **Lynn:** If you're smirking because this time you nearly rammed m--what happened!? *Her eyes dart down; his shirt was still open, flashing perfectly mended (if red) muscles and scarlet flecks covering his shirt.*

 **Alcott:** You know babe, you're welcome to look but-

 **Lynn:** If you clearly hadn't been injured I would sma--Nadia!

 **Devin:** *Lynn exclaiming her name seemed to restart his brain. The moment the door had opened he'd turned it seemed to stone with the overwhelming amazed relief, disbelief, shock, concern and joy. Eyes darting all over her, he hardly realizes that Lynn and Alcott moved out of his way-honestly for a few moments he couldn't be aware longer that anyone else existed. 

Awestruck, he approaches her hesitantly, torn between an overwhelming need to hold her- to confirm she was real, and the latent warning he might overwhelm her too, if she didn't know who he was. His hand outstretches, fingers brushing against the air soft as if to caress her face. Whispering, he almost was ashamed how needy his voice was, almost didn't want to acknowledge how important she was-- but she was, she was everything.* Nadia? *He questions with caution, wondering--pleading, honestly.* 

 **Nadia:** *She was about to ask what was wrong, what dawning conclusion had he just uncovered when the door opened. Her hand was still clutched around her wand, the other one around the purse that held the knife she'd used to injure a friend, (and the leather jacket that had been her constant companion throughout this journey) and only relaxed as she realized it was Lynn. She might not have memories of trusting the girl, but Nadia still did. 

Her gaze didn't stay long on her though, because it flicked immediately to the other person, the boy she recognized as Lynn brother's and her boyfriend...Devin. 

She felt as if this was supposed to be a grander moment, that she was supposed to have seen him and memories should have rushed in and somewhere violin definitely should have been playing to a crescendo. Did violins play to a crescendo? Was she even using the word crescendo properly- stop. Stop, stupid brain, she was nervous. Why on earth was she possibly being nervous now after everything? She...she, okay, she had to say something.* 

Yeah, that's...that's who I am, yeah, obviously, wow stupid, um...hi. Devin. I don't...I mean before you ask anything I don't remember anything before I was taken. And this is obviously, a trap, to kidnap important people here, I'm sure Lynn filled you in, I mean I could give you the *she wiggled her left hand* magic touch to help you understand better, no matter how lame that just sounded, I just- headache. Stopping.

 I'm fine. I mean I'm...*she licked her lips and then nodded again* I'm okay. I mean, I stabbed Alcott with my silver knife, but that was a mistake. And I did stab someone else, that was not a mistake and- *No, bad hands, stop shaking, bad mouth, stop babbling. She cleared her throat.* Hello.

 **Devin:** But you know my name. *Curiously, and-- yes, hopefully, as some part of her knew him, clearly and well, a soul recognition.*

 **Alcott:** *That pricks his ears, and he turns around. Honestly, it seemed even with everything else going on, there was a very basic-- essential-- part of him innately curious in her memory loss, and he couldn't remember why, like it was a dream and he'd woken too hard and fast to remember, but desperately wanted it back.*

 **Devin:** *Like how she might not remember but God-- the babbling, her rambling and hand gestures and sheepish nervousness--it was just so -Nadia- that he folds and nods, nods repeatedly, tears prickling the very corner of his eyes, face crumpling as he feels he might choke and reaches for her hand anyways.* I know--I already know, and I know you--and Nadia, I swear, *He squeezes her hand tightly with both of his because it was murdering him to think she didn't know him, as much as it seemed to give him wings that she was safe,* I will not rest, until I find a way to help you remember. *He doesn't blink as he looks in her eyes, muttering under his breath,* Everything, from harmonicas to fuschia shirts.

 **Alcott:** *Breaking in, because he was him and he was grinning,* I'm fine too, by the way.

 **Lynn:** There is no way in hell you'll let them have their moment, will you?

 **Alcott:** Just saying, silver stab wound and what not, *gestures at his chest* all fine. 

 **Lynn:** One moment. *Holding her index finger up.*

 **Alcott** : Also--magic touch, Nadia? *Eying her wiggling fingers smirking in a way that was less "how endearing" than Devin, he opens his mouth again as Lynn cuts over him.* 

 **Lynn:** I will punch you in the face. *flatly*

 **Alcott:** Honey, I was a tad bit dead earlier too--so go on, do your worst.

 **Lynn/Devin:** *Simultaneously,* Dead?!

 **Alcott:** *Clenches his teeth but shrugs a shoulder, macho chest puffing even as his heart flutters with latent fear,* Broken neck. Temporary inconvenience.

 **Devin:** *Mouth in a half 'oh', he nods in a daze and swallows harshly. That he couldn't laugh off or ignore (and really, Alcott knew perfectly well the terrified gaze he'd shot his friend at 'stabbed').* How did...

 **Alcott:** Alpha-douche. *As casually as possible,* Have you seen Eliza?

 **Lynn:** No...*calmly,* we, were taking care of Rachelle.

 **Devin** : *He couldn't seem to take his eyes off Nadia, wondering how she'd learned to send messages that way (he hadn't let go of her hands) and barely restraining himself to focus and ask instead,* Is Eliza...

 **Alcott:** *Looking to Nadia to confirm,* Fine...she jus--she saw, so, I...and oh...oh Lynn...

 **Lynn:**...now that's curious. *As his gaze meets hers, she spies genuine concern and compassion. That scares her more than anything he'd yet said. And she had to talk, breathless,* Can't count on all ten fingers and toes how often you've said 'oh Lynn', but never with that tone of voice. You actually worried about me, Al dear?

 **Alcott:** *Even more unusually, he didn't rise to the bait, momentarily forgetting to ask about Rachelle as he says very softly,* It's Nick.

 **Lynn:** *Immediately clenching her teeth, eyes narrowing and blazing fiercely as if they already mean to forestay tears,* What about Nick?

 **Alcott** : *Oh, hell, he wasn't good at this. So instead he said,* He shot Hans twice. In the stomach. And then... *But he just looks at Nadia.* 

 **Nadia:** I was...taunted, with it, is one way to put it. I know yours, Chace's, Hols', Belle's, Lynn's, mom and dad and uncle Shawn- *she waves that off, getting a headache again* Pictures, I recognized you from the picture. *She nodded and then exhaled. The tears that were forming in Devin's eyes were threatening to form in her own, because God, was it good to feel like she had been missed and worried about, but she honestly wasn't joking about being sick and tired of crying earlier so that would just have to wait for now. She swallows, and then looks down at their joined hands. 

She had transferred her wand to her left hand the moment before, instinctively knowing he would have grabbed it and then smiled briefly, nodding once with him. His touch was warm, and comforting, so different from everything she remembered...everything she'd live through. The dull annoyance of her covered bruises seemed to lessen at that moment as well.* Thank you...*She smiled again and then broke off as she was reminded of Lynn and Alcott in the room too. She pursed her lips as Alcott tried to tease her, noticing he'd...been doing that since she stabbed him.* Is he always like this? *She asked Devin quickly, before wincing as Alcott just revealed that information so bluntly. 

And then it came to talking about Eliza and Nick, oh no, was Lynn with Nick then? She bit her lip and then finished off what Al couldn't get through.* Hans threw Nick through the glass doors *she motioned to empty space where the doors used to be* hard, he missed the terrace completely. Eliza went down to check on him, but they weren't there when I peered over, so I think they must have gone back inside, to get him some medical attention. *She nodded, telling herself that Nick had to be safe, he just was.*

 **Devin:**   Taunted? *That word made him hiss. Seeing as how she hadn't flinched away from his touch yet, he brings his hand up to crest her cheek, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. The closer he gets, the more he recognizes bruises and red marks that mar her delicate skin and are too close  to turning his own gaze  scarlet. He clenches his teeth: no, he couldn't think about this yet, he just couldn't,  there was too much still at stake. As Nadia proved as she kept talking. 

Oh God, Nick. He lowers his hand, worried for his sister and friend--latching on to Nadia's last assertion: if she hadn't seen him in the snow, he had to be fine. Or, as fine as he could be. His wary gaze on Lynn as he finally frees a hand (the other resuming a tight grasp on hers, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand) and reaches to squeeze Lynn's shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she pushes him off.* 

 **Lynn:** *She thought her heart had stopped, frankly, like he had shot -her- with the third bullet. Ridiculously, her first thought was that he'd broken his promise: she was supposed to get to see when he was protective, dammit. The next thought she had was an image of him flying through a window, like a massive oversized baby bird flapping wings laden in glass and she thought she was going to retch. 

Reeling, she turns from them all, hardly noticing the comforting squeeze before she'd pushed her brother off to hastily rub under her eyes. Again and again she scrubs even though only one tear had managed past her fiery brigade, because she still couldn't see straight--couldn't think, could hardly she realized, breathe.* I'm gonna fucking kill him. 

*She swears it under her breath, low and fervent, rubbing for the sapphire on her throat- the one she'd fetched and put on before running to find their mother when Hols had gotten cornered by Aunt Ama. Now Lynn was glad, for the sapphire at least brought the sense part of her was touching him.*

 **Alcott:** First- *to Nadia, as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his head,* Yes, I am always like this, it's why I'm delightful--(Both Devin and Lynn roll their eyes)- secondly, way ahead of you on that front, point in fact I apparently can change at will now-

 **Devin** : You took it? *Amazed, and that manages to clear his throat and gaze as he looks at his friend.* The potion -- it worked?

 **Alcott:** *He nods, but there's a slow gaining terror on his face as he eyes Lynn.* ..Finally, what exactly did yo-Lynn wait. *She had started stalking towards the door- to find Nick he knew, and didn't blame her for--* 

What did you do to Rachelle? *a bit anxiously*

 **Lynn:** *Her gaze narrows, itching to run out those doors, but she looks back.* Chained her up, and then Dev...

 **Devin:** *He tenses at the mere thought, frowning and holding on to Nadia more closely. Amazing, how much more secure - calm, warm, steady- he felt, by her simple presence.*

**&.**

 

 **Nick** : *Well, at least the answer was out front enough to be honest. Well, as honest as the man could be and he seemed the type of person to be skilled in selective truths. Momentarily annoyed his question had been avoided, he forgot about it when the attention was brought back to Lyndsea. The woman was shaken, obviously with good reason, but she was adamant D'Grey answer. There, the matron had spoken. He turned back to D'Grey, a little off put by his first reason and much more willing to believe the second reason. Could he believe the rest? ...Maybe, actually, and that confused him even more to a point of a headache. 

Either that or he had a concussion, they were both reasonable thoughts. The pointed comment about the pack though, directed at Eliza, that seemed a little strange. Well, hadn't Hols said Hans was interested in Eliza? Yeah, he thought he saw that.* They wouldn't have to feel guilt or pain if they, you know, stopped killing people. *That was his brilliant addition, because obviously it needed to be said (no, not really.) He watched him walk out the back door and then turned to Eliza* I don't like him...but it seems he's on our side- or rather...his own, side, which just happens to coincide with ours.

 **Gina** : *The Roswell fascination with certain blonde women was rather irritating. If Sam didn't take care, he would let this failure with the young girl turn into an obsession like it had his uncle, or well, that was too late. It was a shame she didn't get to kill this one. She didn't even bother to step out of the mirror, simply aimed her wand and sent the spell her way, and a few other ones to make sure it wasn't obvious she was singling her out*

Lyndsea: *As she rubs her forehead, eyeing D'Grey's back, she mutters in quiet response,* The enemy of your enemy is only a friend so long as your enemy survives. *Unfortunately, she thinks as she coughs again, swallowing yellow bile, their enemy was clearly very much alive. As she's reaching for napkins to insure she didn't retch further, she hears her mother's voice in her lesson,* Use that one as he uses you, but don't trust him. 

 **Eliza:** *A chill creeps up her spine and she shakes. Hadn't D'Grey just saved her life? That was...cold. On the other hand, she supposes, Lyndsea had just been poisoned as well: fairness was certain to take a backseat to suspicion. She says instead,* Do you want more water? Is there anythi--

 **Lyndsea** : *Shaking her head, a smile on her lips,* No, Eliza dear--I'll be fine. Whoever made me break that glass, *she nods as she brushes broken bits off her fingertips,* They won't be. 

 **Eliza:** *Weakly smiling, she nods.* Right. *And fidgets, fingering Rory's charm bracelet on her wrist, thumb brushing over the silver jelly-bean. She looks at Nick, adding,* This is Nick Callaway, by the way.

 **Lyndsea:** *She smiles at him, as sweet a smile as she can summon in this freezing hell,* Ah, right-- Al's mentioned you. *In specific: as one of the few who knew the truth about him and remained friendly. That simple fact made her smile genuine.* Lovely to meet you. Please forgive me if I don't shake your hand. *She flashes her palm at him, knowing the saliva and bits she still was cleaning.*

 **Eliza:** *A bit surprised Al had mentioned him, she's pleased: pleased by the evidence that his swearing that he'd bettered his relationship with his mother had not been lies.*

 **Nick:** *Rather harsh, he thought, but oddly resonant of Lynn and Sienna. And she was already planning revenge, that much was apparent. He might have smiled, but didn't think it would be suitable at that moment what with the whole house erupting as if in a battlefield.* It's nice to meet you Mrs. Brackner. 

 **Lyndsea:** *In truth, she didn't know if she would be fine, she didn't have a clue. But her body's weakness had to take a fucking backseat right now; she could hear those screams, and above all they mean her son is in danger. She pulls her wand out and brushes the napkins down her neck's nape, patting herself clean. Her limbs didn't do what she wanted them to, she realized in fiery aggravation, and just as she's thrown from further remarks as a spell shoots across the room.*

 **Eliza:** *Startled by the flash, her eyes widen for a second--a second alone as she considered the horrible fact that the spell was green, vibrant green. Then it struck her. It was like being lit aflame and jumping into the Arctic to save herself from the flames. 

 **Nick:** *He whirls next, his legs keeping steady by a miracle only, and his eyes widen to see the green spell hit his friend, surely thinking that was it, that he had to watch another friend die tonight.* Eliza!

 **Eliza:** Eliza crumples, her arms closing in over her own chest, thinking oddly that she regretted to apologize to Sienna--that she was glad Rory wasn't there to see her die--and yet she wished she could see him one last time-- that she hoped Dev found Nadia, and that for both of their sakes Al and Lynn didn't kill each other (and that he and Irene consoled each other without alcoholism manifesting) -- when she realizes...these were a lot of last thoughts. 

How many did one person get? Was life supposed to flash across her eyes now? Exhaling slowly, even as knives pierce her gut with the action, the pain is welcome. She picks her cheek off the plush carpet to see Lyndsea was firing spells red and gold at a...a mirror-? And then she just sees Nick. Bewildered and joyous, she steadies, then throws her arms around his neck.* It's all right, really -- I swear-- I'm...fine. 

 **Nick:** *Falling to the floor next to her was easy, but he breathed out in confusion as he found her still breathing. How could this be? How- could there really be room for more miracles tonight?* Eliza, are- *he has to hold on to her to stop himself from going backwards, and he hugs her back, exhaling in relief* Thank god. *he pulled back, looking at her with eyes wide still* I thought, that spell...it was green-

 **Gina:** *Bye bye, Eliza. She grinned, and had to suppress a joyous giggle at seeing the relief on both of the children's faces as Lyndsea kept shouting off spells, though none passed through the mirror, merely bounced back.* See you in hell. *She made the mirror shatter and then retreated down the secret passage with a smirk on her face*

 **Eliza:** I know...*She spoke breathlessly, her heart seeming oddly languid (or perhaps her breath rate was too quick?) But she was smiling, holding on to Nick desperately. Then she remembered, as she felt the blood from his cheek paint hers.* Oh God--I'm sorry, did I hurt you?

 **Lyndsea:** *She heard that, that little whisper of 'I'm fine' -- even as she kept casting shocks of gold, standing protectively in front of both of them -- and it gave her a jolt to know that Eliza was safe. Her heart couldn't take more. As the mirror shatters, she brings her arms up, shielding eyes and cheeks, even as little bits stick and slide in blood on her forearms. This dress had been Valentino, goddammit. And to poison their alcohol!? Oh, whoever this person was didn't know not to mess with them. As her arms come down, she calls back still stepping forward,* Are you both all right?

 **Eliza:** Yes. *Immediately, rubbing the blood off her cheek and spinning around,* Where did tha--

 **Lyndsea** : There are passages in some of the mirrors. *To say it pulled at her heart with the flash of memories of why she knew that, how she and Harper had used them. She curls her hand around the edge of the gilded gold, peering in cautiously--and not at all reassured, even as Eliza assures her. For if they were using these, they were assassination runs...why had they failed in this one? Her brows furrow, and she looks back.* You both stay there.

 **Eliza:** *Eyes widen,* No, no wait you shouldn't go alone--

 **Lyndsea:** *Tiny smile,* They're only big enough for one across...two if you squish, Eliza, I know these tunnels. You tell the first Auror you see and-- *she cast off a quick Patronus: She needed Zoe and Max. Best back up anyone could ask for.*

 **Nick:** *he chuckled in disbelief as Eliza asked about him, shaking his head after a moment, fighting off a wince. He wasn't lying, she wasn't the one who had hurt him after all.* No, you're good, you're good. Just *he hugged her once more before they both started getting to their feet. He peered around Lyndsea to look at the mirror or rather the cavernous hole where a mirror once stood. He was ready to protest, even if his step forward was more of a limp-half-hop and realized, well, he would be of very little help right at that moment.* She's right Liza, we have to go find someone. *Many someone's, and not just about this either.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Nodding, she snaps her wand down, transfiguring her ball gown into a blouse and tight jeans, then looks back up in agreement.* Yes. And stay together - don't wander off. No matter how 'exciting' or..or hot the guy is. 

 **Eliza:** *She was about to protest as she pulls herself back to stand, but she looks first at Nick- knowing he still needed medical attention and then she looked at Lyndsea's last words. She blinks, with a half laugh.* ...understood.

 **Lyndsea:** *Rubbing her chest still to clear her throat, she thinks to herself: D'Grey might be right, she ought to have brought one of Harper's regenerative potions, keep it in her purse...her train of thought is cut off as she sees the look on Eliza's face.* What? *A bit breathless; Eliza was smiling.*

 **Eliza:** *She shrugs a shoulder, a bit bashful and red-cheeked (from the embarrassment, obviously),* ...nothing. It just...you sounded like..for a moment there, you sounded like Al.

**&.**

 

 **Nadia:** *She thought she would want to push his hand away, that she wouldn't want to be touched but she was so so wrong. He touched her cheek as if she were the most delicate, precious thing in the world to him, and if they were boyfriend and girlfriend, then that could very well be true.  

A small smile graced her face, until she had to relay the bad news. She was a bit surprised that Lynn shrugged away her brother's touch at first, and then was even more surprised as her next words were a threat...but wait, who did she mean? Nick or Hans? The former felt a little contrary but...she shook her head and turned back to Alcott as he started talking, briefly amused he described himself as delightful.*

 I'm sure. *She remarked, if a little dryly before she reprimanded herself internally (she stabbed him, wow was that thought never going to go away?) and then exhaled at the mention of the potion again. 

The potion and just brought a sick feeling of dread over her, not just for what it did (or rather for what Hans' pack chose to do with it), but for something else, something she couldn't quite remember. Snapping herself out of her thoughts as Lynn walked away and Alcott asked about Rachelle, she looked back to Devin as he tensed and then raised her free hand to place on his arm, squeezing it once. Her original intent had been his shoulder but...gods, he was really tall.* Devin, what? *The question was mostly aimed at Lynn but she didn't look away from Devin.*

 **Lynn:** *Alcott had taken a few steps forward, echoing with a look that made her swallow heavily but kicked in her innate defiance when it came to dealing with him.* She'd been taunting us even after we locked her to the wine rack, and then she put up a shield...

 **Devin:** *It took him a heartbeat to remember, he should be surprised by Nadia's hand on his shoulder. She didn't remember him, only recognized him from a picture...but the gesture was so familiar. It unhinged, relaxing into her grasp as he steps half an inch closer. She was there, she really was there and God not only that but she'd been fighting even without her memory--been risking everything for people she couldn't remember. Oh, Nadia. That didn't surprise him -- and perhaps the reason he hadn't startled to hear she stabbed Alcott, was because he'd already known she was stronger than him (how could he not after last year?) so...if he could throw a knife, she could do eons more. Nadia could do anything.

And she was here, she was holding him - she was right there, and it didn't make sense to him that she couldn't recall weeks in Hawaii and hours playing the piano together; nights watching Batman and all the lunches she dragged him out of the Ministry for. This was Nadia, his Nadia- and with soft adoration in his gaze, there was a tremor in his lip and spine. He couldn't kiss her, he couldn't brush them over bruises and--what was on her shoulder? An angry red line was just peaking under make-up and silk fabric. He almost didn't know which he should feel more: ire or nausea. 

Closing his eyes to focus on breathing through it, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, gather her up and take her away. Far away, Hawaii maybe, find somewhere they could rest together in front of sky purple and gold over a sea clear as glass. She could point out the different fish and birds and he could tell her where they came from: the type, their natural habitat and habits- and she would tell him stories she invented (her imagination never ceased to amaze him). Somewhere away from hell, where he could focus solely on her, where he could help clean the scars, bandage the visible hurts, protect her from further invisible ones, and remind her always she was still the most beautiful person -- inside and out.

As his eyes flutter open, it was that very beauty that made him well aware he couldn't: there were innocent people in danger, and they could still help them. So they would. Brushing a finger over his Slytherin ring, he thinks at the back of his mind, maybe he could bring some integrity and honor to the house after all -- instead of merely adding to the legacy of cowardice. Then he jumps his hand to hers on his shoulder, takes a deep steadying breath, and nods at her.*

 **Alcott:** *He neither heard nor saw anything from Devin and Nadia--his mind was whirling and he was too aware his back teeth were aching, like they struggled to elongate and sink into the first strip of flesh they found. Was that his fear or anger? Sickened by a simple thought: the transformation was not the only part that he'd have to control now, that the twisted urge to ravish, to rip, to bite--that might be constant now too. He clamped his teeth together, and stopped walking in front of Lynn.* And so you did -what-?

 **Lynn:** *Why did he sound so accusatory? That made no sense. The flash of amber through his gaze though -- that she got, that she understood.Breathing quicker,* She transformed her...head only, started howling--

 **Alcott:** I know. *A bit quieter, because he didn't know how to admit he'd heard. It must have been at one of those pitches only dogs heard, he argues with himself: it didn't necessarily mean that taking the potion had made him join their pack, made Hans his alpha...and neither did the fact that he could hear -his- voice in his head telling him to master the anger, breathe and embrace it. It was simply because he couldn't transform here -- whatever their banter, he had no desire to rip Lynn's throat out -- and Hans was as of yet the only person who had given him the advice of how to control it. That was it.*

 **Lynn:** *Her brows flick in surprise; he'd heard? That meant they were right in a way- it definitely validated Devin needing to silence her, that whatever  pack or wolf thing they had meant she'd broken through their silencing charms. That meant the pack knew. Her breath chokes in the base of her throat. Now she understood his fear.* We couldn't cast through the shield, we tried-- and Hols was going to transform, Al, she'd have exposed herself only...

 **Alcott:** *His eyes had widened with the flash of shock, fear and utter pride for his girlfriend. Of course she would have, he thinks with his lips threatening to smile.* Only...

 **Lynn:** *Gaze darting from Alcott to Devin and Nadia, then back again.* Only the shield didn't protect against physical objects, and Dev threw a silver knife into her throat. 

 **Alcott:** *That explained the whine he and Hans had heard. ...good God, was that truly his first thought? An empathetic pang in his chest, his round eyes flick with horror. Lynn had tested those handcuffs on him. He might be able to transform like that now--and a silver knife had sunk into his gut not fifteen minutes ago. It was all too easy to picture how that would feel, see himself chained, captive, bleeding...

He was momentarily glad then, that Hans had gone after her-- he could imagine Hols' wrath in such a situation (could imagine as he had joked, the lioness hurtling towards the alpha), and wasn't the pack his family? Wasn't this all just the different families of friends and cohorts, the brothers and sisters you choose for yourself? If he'd been chained like that, he knew he'd want someone to be as angry as he'd seen Hans get...the look in his eyes murderous.

Oh, God though: Murderous.*

**&.**

 

Hans was absent. 

Another walked now to Rachelle, his sister and dearest friend, a monstrous replacement for the Eastern European. The anger low in his gut was fury so hot it burned cold. He did not look even angry as he strolled as if through a park — a park of body-parts and blood. What he wore was the look of a doctor, with all a clinical distance and forced kindness of one about to impart the horrendous, fatal news.

Unafraid of being spotted, untouched by the violence Hans passes, he was unmoved by the tears and unhurt by the spells they shoot, spells that seem always to just miss. It was like he moved in a different time and only played. A game of letting them think they just might have him, might just beat him, when the last moment rips their hope away. Pleasure gained from denying satisfaction was sweetest when his playmate was most desperate.

Stefanie asked once. Why, when Melanie Gruen-Sanger had seen it twice already by her lonesome self,  she couldn’t see the war picture Stalingrad. Well, perhaps unsupervised was an overstatement. Did her boy-toy Kurt count? (For he wasn’t her boyfriend, whatever the trollop parrots to their gullible class). Hans seized her by the lace camisole strap, hauled his twelve-year old sister out of the dark theater, and let her scream her displeasure to silence. 

He gave no word of reply. Until she struck him. Hard, just once, the flat of her palm smacked his coiffed curls. It was hard to tell which — the fourteen-yeared worldly boy or his little sister, her violet rebllion hair bound in braids piled loose on her head — was more surprised. It wasn’t hard to tell which would end the evening snuffling in terror and tears. The very tears he’d meant to spare her from, until her smack earns ire he soothed with shouts of what she’d have seen. 

Stalingrad was grit-war at it’s finest. Blood spurts from still gasping throats only half-torn through. Eyes spinning atop bayonets, even as the soldier stabs into another’s nose and made shiskobab of his steel. Ash littering the strewn body parts, like a child’s tantrum had pulled her Molly, the doll he’d given her for Christmas one year, to so many bits it outnumbered the thousand-piece puzzle she was working on. Pink snow. It wasn’t for her, Hans argued with his young sister, frightening her until she curled against him, tiny fingers in a tight fist on his jacket. Ironic, now, for he wouldn’t carry her out of this realization of the picture. 

He saw her briefly. Stefanie was on the edge of carnage worse than Stalingrad, shaking in her silks. His brother carried her. It put the matter from his mind. Stefanie had left him, the back of his mind reminds him, echoing in an empty chamber like one blank spot on a record. She banished him when he refused to tell her  what had befallen him — he’d snapped at fourteen and told her of Stalingrad’s horrors, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. The disownment burned in his soul. 

Hans had only taken Hanna to see the movie so she could burrow in his shoulder when frightened, and he’d left the theater cold, so cold he’d never thought to shake the chill from his bones. Perhaps he hadn’t.

Thin violin strands snap and creak, echoing his approach, a Christmas tune that puts an honest smile on red lips. He waits. There was no wind in the night. Rachelle was laying chained on a broken wrist. She tried to get out. It’s me, he whispers to the still air and watches her ear perk up. It steadies him. His sister could hear him. They’d pay for each of her hurts in spades. It was fact. Indisputable, unmistakable — and Hans ignores the brief flicker in his chest, that gapping sense he was missing something, something he might never have had or something he’d lost when still a teenager.

Loudspeakers squawked as a crowd slipped in the rivers of blood. He waits like a cog winding one more time than was smart, stretching the golden wire until it was certain to snap. Shouts of such excitement, Hans might have thought it was a sexual revivalist performance blast the wintry air. Each he inhales. The fear was ambrosia, their blood his mother’s milk. His heart bent to a beat off-kilter. Run, he thought as his lips curl, run cowards, run and let him hunt. The pleasure was all his to be had. 

He waits, counting the cloaks as they pass him. Four had made her guard when he approached, awaiting their orders like diligent little soldiers. Five, six, seven. Two of his pups leap by, joining the fray mid-transformation, holding back the Aurors that dared approach his sister. Hans ignores them: he needs no one. He was Alpha, he was King, he was God, he was Devil and then he was Beast.  

He languishes, wondering if Hanna had married yet or had the baby she had craved, remembering as if from a dream how sweet her lips had been. Brushing nails over his sensitive lips, he shrugs the yearning away and turns the nails to claws.  He was a tall, handsome man in a blood-splattered shirt and black coat, hiding in his deep pocket a red, right hand. Hans was counting their heartbeats, numbered as they were. 

He waits as they gather, waits as they steady themselves with the false belief that numbers were their salvation. He lets them hear his growls of displeasure, low, beastly, primal. The doomed look at each other, nervous little glances and futile reassurances. Now they were scared. Of his shadow, of his vengeance, of his ire. Yes, now they were scared. 

  
**&**.

 

 **Nadia:** *For a moment she couldn't focus on Alcott or Lynn, or about Rachelle. She was so enraptured by the different expressions on Devin's face: relief, heartbreak, anger, guilt, purpose. They all felt so familiar to her in their strangeness. She wished she could talk to him, about this, about what had happened, about everything. But it would just have to wait. The priority at this moment was the safety of the people in the party...and they weren't safe at all. At least she had been able to stop Lynn from being taken, even if apparently was at Rachelle's sake. Was a silver knife to her throat enough to kill her? No, but the silver was poison in her blood, she knew that. And Devin had thrown the knife. She nodded slowly, whispering to Devin even knowing Alcott could hear.* You did what you had to do. *Boy, did she learn that already.*

 **Lynn:** *As Alcott struggled with the image she winces, knowing Hols had thought the same. They all had truthfully, the difference had been Hols compassion for Rachelle. Devin was holding on to Nadia-- she wanted Nick, she-needed- Nick. Was she so cold for being dispassionate towards the girl? Rachelle had meant to kidnap her, to chain-her- up somewhere-- use her against her father and, as Nadia's flashes had explained in minute brief, she would have been tortured. Was she so awful for thinking better Rachelle than her?

It wasn't the same, she argues internally: her father wasn't going to use Rachelle as bait and leverage-- Uncle Shawn wouldn't permit the Aurors to torture her--maybe even -- away from Hans, she could atone and just...* We left four of our guards and Dev told Dad...the Aurors are there now-

 **Alcott:** What? *Horror-struck, his chin lifts as his head falls back. The question was superfluous--rhetorical--he knew. Oh, God. That meant Shawn Graft- that meant Hols' father was there, when Hans was en route to rescue her, his broken and bleeding sister, with cold murder in the crimson gaze -- unmistakable and relentless.*

 **Lynn:** *As some realization strike's Alcott's face, her own crumples with momentary sympathy and she exhales, saying cautiously,* They'll heal her Al--

 **Alcott:** He knows. *He snaps as a vine does against stone, whipping in frozen snow as it still fell, the breeze peppered with hail.* 

 **Lynn:** ...Hans does. *Alcott was falling backwards away from her, a change rippling through his face that she realizes horrified might soon be literal. He really could transform, then.* Oh God, that means the pack-- they'll all...all go after her-...

 **Alcott:** *Alcott jerks his head, because that wasn't what was horrifying him. The pack would -- and Aurors, incompetent as they were, should expect that: but then was it terribly shocking a handful of teenagers might better fight? No. But Hols' father would go -- he might even lead the attack and Hans would kill him. Without a second thought, Hans would rip his heart from his chest. 

 **Nadia:** *She turned away from Devin then, realizing the implication of what that meant, the same moment Lynn did.* That's where Hans is heading. *She exhaled with a horror she didn't think she could feel again.*

Alcott didn't realize he was already running, hard and fast, pounding the ground as if he'd managed paws already until he ripped a door from his hinges, folded his hands around the balustrades, flung himself over and landed unhurt, crouching in the snow bank. 

He paused only a moment to marvel at the power he felt might well explode from him-his body in overdrive as it defies the thought that Hols might live the same horror he had - and then he sprints. She wouldn't, he wouldn't fucking let that happen again. 

This started with him -- the pack was here-for him- -- and he didn't give a fuck who her father was in that moment. Alcott didn't give a fuck what he had to do. In that moment, as that little silver potion rips fire through veins too small, he felt he could do anything. 

Anything.

**&.**

 

Their shouts of shields only grant him another flicker of pleasure. Twelve surround her, each in the black tie and glittery silk of the season. Galleon in hand, Hans tosses it, catches. The coin sticks in his palm, silver claws curling over the image. Heads. 

Flicking his finger, the gold shoots from the shadows, embeds in the nearest throat, slices through the man’s skeletal frame. Unhinging like a PEZ dispenser, trickles of scarlet paint his doublet as the last breath leaves him an instant to grasp his heart. Then the man falls, and his head falls after him. 

Shouts of spells and blasts of red-gold strike the spot in the shadows he’d stood, but Hans was gone. He sprang at those who had his sister, and was neither human nor wolf — but all beast as he sinks fists through the white-clothed chests. Yanking, hearts sputter like choked pistons at him as he regards them. Hans lifts one to his lips to savor its’ final pitiful beats on his tongue’s tip. 

Nine left. These meant to take his sister from him. Suffering was an indulgence, a surrendering of speed — yet he lived in contradictions, and rendering incapable did not necessitate a quick death. He sticks half engorged aorta in his mouth, chewing the delicacy and then breaks the spine of two more, ripping an arm each, a right and left for symmetry’s sake from the twins of paralysis. The right becomes a bat for another spell, the left buries itself in a gut, an extended middle finger puncturing his lungs. The man chokes on his own vomit and blood, splattering the wood of the musty cellar. Six remained, six toy soldiers he’d rip apart. 

In a flash there were four. Long, blond hairs were sticking to the blood splatters on his cheek, limbs marred by teeth as he chewed on them littering the ground. They were like they were butter sticks, soft and succulent, but just the topping to his bread. Ripping a cork off a wine bottle as more come at him, his pinky digs into one’s spine as the other’s spell hits his comrade instead. Pouring wine down his throat - he pats the corner of his lips with the man’s collar. It was not proper to display one’s food.

He rips down, down through broken bits of white bone, smashing ribs in his way and cutting breath from lungs he pops like a balloon. Mercifully, he lets him go, lets him choke to his own death. His other hand rips his comrade’s head off only after his crimson eyes burn fear in the man’s soul. It rolls away like a mannequin’s, ten feet from it’s body.

The shouts of horror, terror and anger only provide harmony to the lilting Christmas tune on the ever-whining violin. He makes a shield of the nearest man against stunning spells — ah, a Riley, according to the shouts of a Philippa. Were they in love then? Hans asks in a hiss against Riley’s ear, tone mocking, as he uses a claws to draw a childish stick-figure in his chest. How sweet, how remarkably naive… Hans ignores the glint in his red eyes, the flash of blue and choked feeling of want in his own throat. How marvelous for them. He swallows the rest of the heart, blood dripping from his lips as he asks, “Does she say her heart beats only for you?” 

A fine experiment, he drawls, licking the scarlet sunset he’d drawn on Riley’s neck in the syrup of life. Riley was the waffle and was only a child, pushing food around his plate with a knife, scraping pictures in the toppings.

Then he remarks a theory was always due testing. He’d learned that from someone, he remarks off-hand, a scientist — ah, in fact, an Angel. Well. He would no doubt be irritated by the thought — Hans thinks amused, as he scoops the broken wine bottles into hand — a devil like him, abiding by his tenants. But as he dined on aggravation —

Phillipa screams as glass buries in her lungs, swallowing on a raw, torn throat as she chokes, gasps, vomits — trying to force the bits out. Riley, his body a macabre realization of drawings fit for the five year old’s classroom, shakes in his arms as he breaks each finger, then rips one off and sticks it in his mouth, like one would a lollipop. 

Hans shakes his head at Phillipa as she shouts an obscenity, crouched on all fours as he lays the lovers beside one another and swears to them he’d do no further. It was just an experiment, wasn’t it? If love was all one needed, shouldn’t that be enough to save them? 

Looking up as he hears more Aurors sprint down the hallway, Hans cracks the bone in one finger, sucking on marrow. One, he recognized as the father of Alcott’s mate (Al would thank him, then) — and Shawn was giving orders to a ‘Cade’ even as Hans springs at a third. 

He’s careful first, to rearrange Riley and Phillipa, the corpses of fallen lovers who whispered so sweetly to one another their love with final breath, so they might at least hold hands to view his slaughter. The theater had limited attendance. Hans wouldn’t want to leave an appetite for gluttonous horror disappointed again, as he had for his family the first time they’d asked. 

Everything, was family. 

**&.**

 

He hadn’t quite meant to—okay, no he had, Al had meant to punch the Auror Tyler. He’d meant to knock him out. “We know how to handle wolves,” he’d said. Not these, Alcott snapped at him, but the idiot didn’t believe they could transform at will. It “wasn’t scientifically or logically possible.” Gormless git. 

Impossible didn’t exist for Brackners in the first place—didn’t everyone know that? How many times did he have to be taunted by it? (Though it did raise the interesting question: who could have invented this potion?) Lord, did now, now when he could hear crunching bones — now, when he could smell the bloodsoaked pine, aromatic to the wolf inside — did now truly sound like the right moment to have a bleeding philosophical discussion on lyncathropy?! 

Yeah, all right, he’d meant to punch him. It felt damn good too. 

Sure, wolves couldn’t transform at will. And there were only eleven uses of dragon’s blood. But oh, he thought he could handle wolves, didn’t he? Plonker. It won’t occur to Alcott until much later in the evening —that smart remark had revealed his own furry side. Tyler might have been unconscious, but a dark-eyed “Cade” had let him by. 

Rage and terror had buried in his gut. Yellow-eyed and gullet grossly large, he follows at a crawl, slinking through shadows now as he nears. He’d run, yet now he’s cautious. Alcott knows. He has to rely on blood to mask his telltale scent, has to fool Hans into false confidence. It was his shot, his desperate and only shot. Only Aurors were down in the cellar now — the bastard had no reason to think he would come as well. Who would be that much a bloody idiot?

Alcott smirks at the thought, only to still and look below him with an amber glint of disgust and desire. The violence he’d sprinted past, the ballroom sunk in a B-horror, was a scarlet, pink and yellow blur burning in his memory. This was vibrant. This was a head. A human head, with caramel hair and ribbed neck skin flapping at him as it rolls slowly back and forth, drenched in blood like barbecue sauce. Alcott swallows. He tastes bile in his throat and watering lips around canines twice the size of his mouth. 

It was Shawn’s abrupt shout that turns him, reminds him of his oh-so-noble purpose. It’s the realization he can smell Hols that snaps him into motion. She was there, wounded but viral—a picture of passion. She’d see, he realizes, sick. Alcott walks through the rows of books — no, they were wine bottles, it was green glass not book spines — shadowing the scent, only to meet a solid barrier.

Rachelle still had a shield on, he realizes abruptly, reminded with a flash of fury how shields break. No matter how genius the spell, no matter how strong the shield, how inventive and fortified—nothing withstands that fundamental magic law. Spells break when the caster is dead.

The reminder rips through veins so hot he doesn’t feel them shift. Heart jabbering and squawking like a caged bird, he doesn’t even hear his bones break; doesn’t feel the pin-pricks of spiky hair bursting to life across his torso. Tomorrow morning, when pained deeper than knives and snapped spines  could ever touch — Alcott would laugh with madness at the irony this was his most painless shift yet.

In fact, it might not to have occurred to him he had transformed at all if he hadn’t shrunk. Not a terribly tall guy to begin with, Alcott was bloody proud of his height, thank you. And, well, he couldn’t say he was unfamiliar with the doggie position. Now, the fact he tries to say that aloud and hears only hisses and growls, that he notices. That makes his wolf’s snout snarl.

Rearing back on haunches, he prepares to rip through the shelves—he was through crouching behind them, he wasn’t bloody doing that again—when his launch is stalled. Two had appeared: a woman in black silk, smelling clean of perfume, with hair on fire yet a heartbeat cool— and a man in leather, stern in military posture and holding a gun.

He didn’t know them. Hans did.

 

**&.**

 

Her steps echoed eerily in the cavernous room, cutting through every sound there was: screams of horror, groans of pain, silent pleads and growls. She took more steps forward in her simple black heels, shedding the darkness she used as a cloak. The simple two step of a dance she’d been performing for nearly her entire life. She waltzed to avoid stepping on bodies torn apart, and tangoed to reach her targets, before drawing them in for the final, sensual dip of their life. Before, it was as an act of horror, and now as the reach of justice. But tonight, tonight was neither. Hopefully, neither.

A navy so dark that it resembled black in this dim light was the color of her dress. Short and snug, she moved forward effortlessly. It was a simple number, and along with her heels it was all she wore. No pearls decorated her pale throat, no rubies her ears, and no diamonds her fingers. Her red hair felt to her neck now, different than the last time she’d seen the man in front of her, but the color she could never part with for long. It was a visual reminder of the life force she’d spilled, the one she had to make up for, and at the moment it matched the stone floor too perfectly.

She would say her hands were absent weapons but that would be a lie, for they were never absent them, when they were weapons themselves, as much as her entire body, as much as her words had been against those she’d help imprisoned. Tonight was bringing up memories of those dark times, memories she could and would never leave too far behind. But Hans was not a memory, he was flesh.

Laura had met him a boy and she had left him a boy. A boy who had suffered as she had suffered, who despite everything did not show any signs of becoming what Gustav had intended him to be: a common lapdog, one he intended to do his bidding without thought. And now she met him again, and found both relief and horror for what he’d become. The relief was tainted with the fact that had Hans become Gustav’s puppet, the man in charge would never dream up such horror for Hans to carry out for himself. This was free will at its utter worst; a hound of hell set loose on the world.

And a man, a man too as he stilled at the sight of her. He could not have smelled her, nor her partner only two steps behind (one-two-three, one-two-three, in perfect synchronization). Their scent was masked, altered, by a concoction she’d made herself. She had not planned to show herself tonight, had remained in secret and in shadow as she was accustomed too, but this could not bear ignoring.

Evil had chosen this place to rule over tonight. It was waiting around every corner, hiding behind every painting, and festering in the heart of every living creature here. It grew and grew, it’s slimy hands reaching around hearts and squeezing, and squeezing, until all that was good vanished from the soul if only for the briefest of moments but that’s all it needed to breed. It spread like a virus, survived like a weed and for the longest time, she had tended to it as if it were the most precious of Earth’s blossoms. She saw it now in its true image, its everlasting horror.

The sight would turn any stomach, but she’d long been exposed to the horrors the world could offer. It filled her with sadness, as it filled her companion with fury. Laura could practically feel the barely suppressed anger behind her, burning hot and scalding. Fury behind her, fury in front of her; one burning hot, one burning cold.

Hans was cold as the Russian winter she’d grown up in for the first ten years of her life. Where blizzards were common and frequent and the snows buried entire towns for weeks, cutting off the sun until they weren’t sure warmth had ever existed. To her, it looked like Hans had forgotten that the sun still shone every day despite the eternal winter convincing him otherwise.

It had only been a few seconds from the moment she had walked out of cover, but these few seconds stretched unimaginably as she looked at her old friend. He’d cut his hair too, she noted, but that was because the last image she had of him was that of his back as she retreated under the shining multi colored lights of the fireworks blazing the sky.

That was the day she’d been spared, the day she had been given a second chance, and the day she vowed to set right every wrong she had committed, and if she couldn’t, do anything possible to repay the debt she’d cashed out in innocent blood and would return in lives bettered. She was already practiced in saving lives even then, as practiced as she was with ending them. Every single child that was dragged into those dungeons, she’d try to save. Toughen their hearts and their skin to endure the evil, to find a purpose, whatever it may have been. It did not matter to her then what that purpose was so long as they survived, for in each of them she saw herself, and she had not been beaten. She hated seeing herself beaten in any way. Purpose, that was the strongest drive there was, she told them. Some had allowed their purpose to become hate, anger, and pain- causing it. Her purpose had always been saving them, and that’s what Jensen saw that day, the day the American ex-marine had found his mark, and made a different call. Laura survived, but the evil she had nurtured continued.

And despite the pain of remembering, the grief for all the blood spilled and lives lost, and the guilt that was her never-wavering friend and foe, she smiled and then whispered with the overwhelming knowledge that if she were forced to continue her deadly dance, it would be the last words she’d ever say to him.

“Hello, brother.”

**&.**

Dark brown eyes burrow into his. This one was different, Hans thinks with delight. This one marched past fallen brothers and sisters, focused as they’d been — but not on murder. Shawn Graft sought to protect their stolen prize. The man treated his broken, bleeding sister Rachelle as a trophy, the fury in his eyes and spells making it clear: he’d give his life to keep her gathering dust on his shelf. 

That was fine by him. The man’s last spell bursts gold, a firework overhead, before he hisses in surprise. He cries out, spitting curses and nursing a broken hand, mourning the loss of his wand. 

Hans spins the stick between hands bathed in scarlet, his skin luxuriating in the bodily baptism. He stood in a field of flesh, the rivers red and the flowers glass. Shawn could give his life. What was one more lamb? Ah, Stefanie had it wrong, with all her talk of the reborn savior and Love. A hypocritical carpenter ignored the basic law of their Earth. Humans were born innocent, perhaps — but what of the creatures created? What of those they labeled monster and beast, for their desires as innate as a Human’s need for oxygen?

Kill them all. That’s what their savior preached; destroy these abominations, those who sought comfort for ailments from Lucifer’s blessings. Preachers call him Devil now, bellow of his sins to pews of sheep to frighten the innocent children with his cautionary tale, but Lucifer was an angel first. They could keep their unforgiving God who demanded perfection from those He’d made imperfect. 

Call him a hopeless romantic then, for finding an art innate to the body. Carnage was a succulent feast, a sacrificial offering to the animalistic God. Pagans understood nature’s temperance; they reveled in the savage glory, told the brutal truth of a summer had blinds, and honored the beauty found only on the deadest wintry night. 

Outside and above, snow fell. These flakes wish themselves lighter, embrace the breeze that lifts them and cling with all their might, fearing the ground, fearing the sharp blades of glass upon which they shatter, like crystal, with no one there to see or care. Pagans got this right too: the moon was queen. She was ruler of rivers, oceans, and rain…the Earth’s sadness, made white and pure, made beautiful. Winter’s tears under a crescent moon, cut on a jagged edge hidden by clouds. 

Down below, in the stiff cellar a right hand raises. It bleeds. The Beast snaps Shawn’s wand as easily as a boy did a twig. As the pieces fall, there’s a moment. He thinks of a boy who in the first free month, of his nineteenth year, woke in gardens familiar. Why, they were his old playground!, these paths of wisteria and floral arrangements so meticulous they would not be out of place on a wedding cake.

Only now, they were ruined. Their leaves were ripped out, their bark scarred by silver claws. Each way the boy turned he saw the childish message left as offerings built of naive dreams: SOS. It enraged him. He scratched at the deep ridges, desperate to erase the spoken desire, the one he knew better than to speak, for he had learned. He’d learned. Birds would remember the determination in his eyes, only them, and even they pretended not to notice the tremble in the boy’s hand, that snaps a twig before he flees.

The broken twig — the broken wand, strikes the ground as he hears her. That melodic voice he had not heard in — oh, eight years, five months, he wasn’t sure the weeks or days (he wasn’t a pining lover, and she wasn’t a desperate damsel he’d find to rescue). 

“Laura.”


	34. You Hold Planets In Your Hands

**D'Grey:** You know, *He had knocked and waited thirty-two seconds according to the most precise second hand on his watch before entering Harper's room,* future reference, when erasing someone's memory--you may want to leave in at least some semblance of who their friend is. Especially when -*He lets the door shut; though as the headquarters was mostly deserted, his smarm was only... a little for show,* they're your son. *He rubs at his lips and turns around to look at Harper. Seriously,* Much of what I have to tell you - you aren't going to like, so I want you first to look at my face and tell me if it looks like I'm gloating. *Unblinkingly, he held his gaze firmly, seriousness in every line,* Lyndsea and Alcott are alive. That's obviously, most important.

 **Harper:** *He hadn't thought to see someone tonight. He had expected to do much of what he had been doing before he heard a knock on his door: lying in his bed, waiting for sleep to come but knowing it would never arrive. There was so much at stake for tonight, there was no possible way for him to get any sleep, not even his usual, meager two hours. Harper watched with narrow eyes as D'Grey walked in with an air of cockiness and saw it nearly disappear the moment the door closed. He did as the man asked, and examined him thoroughly. There was blood on his jacket, but his appearance didn't seem further disheveled, oddly enough. He allowed a breath to leave his body with the words, for his mind had gone to the worst.* Yes, *he agreed easily enough* it is. *He sat leaning against his desk now, prepared to listen.* Go on then, please.

 **D'Grey:** *The 'pleased' surprised and delighted him. He wouldn't lie and say he didn't appreciate the irony in the show of such manners, as if he was coming to tell him about a business merger. ...Well.* Nadia is returned to her family--though she escaped her wrangler long before the attack. Of course, you knew that, didn't you? *An amused smile crosses his lips for a flash, and he sits as well, careful to avoid getting blood on Harper's meager things. Manners.* And whatever in specific you planned with her did not seem impaired by her being unable to remember you- for it must have been you, *he tilts his head, still not blinking,* that gave her the resources to successfully warn the Minister's daughter. She and--well, it transpires, your son's girlfriend--they were able to capture Rachelle. 

 **Harper:** *he didn't have a doubt that Nadia would be successful. After all-* The plan concocted to help her friends was entirely her own. *But D'Grey was right, he had provided the means and the information. Already, there was one less victory for Gustav. He nodded, briefly and minutely entertained by the fact Alcott's girlfriend played a part in the capture, before he gestured for D'Grey to continue.* What else?

 **D'Grey:** *Interesting; he never had been the type to start with 'good news' versus the bad--but he had obviously started with the best. A bit amused,* Of course. *He nods. Her plan entirely. He waved a hand, though he didn't drop his gaze or blink.* You know, I assume, that part of the plan was to poison the champagne. Lyndsea was forewarned about the fact that Nadia would be there--was part of the reason there was extra security--and clearly was nursing the champagne as a crutch. She collapsed. *Matter of fact , but quickly, attempting to be kind,* I gave her a bezoar. 

 **Harper:** *Given that D'Grey had chosen to start with poison for his next explanation and had continued to include Lyndsi's name, he didn't have to guess very hard at what happened. His face turned harder, his knuckles whitening as his hand turned into a fist before he eased it into his jacket pocket to hold on to the tube of lipstick. It was a much better option than blowing a hole through the wall to match the one in his heart* It seems I owe you my gratitude, Olivier.

 **D'Grey:** *The man had never looked more a ghost, he thought briefly, nor farther from angelic. Briefly surprised (and grateful) that Harper did not lash out, break whatever was nearest him, Olivier's smile flicks up in soft appreciation for the obviousness of his love. Nodding slowly--for of course that was what he did want, he had not lied to Nick when he said he had loyal friends to gain--he clasps his hands together over his knee.* She is all right now, Harper. She continued fighting--impressed me, honestly, she had...fire, in her eyes. *He smiles briefly, but swallows tightly and adds quieter,* There is more.

 **Harper:** *He nods but he wants to say that he knows, of course she would. But it was still comforting to hear. He exhales, passing a hand over his face.* Of course there is. *Something concerning Alcott, if what the man had said before about Nadia's memory was any indication.*

 **D'Grey:** *It was hard to keep eye contact with a man who broke it first, but he took a moment to steady himself and nods. As much as he knew he had wanted to be the one to inform Harper, he was well aware this was not his secret to tell. It felt uncommonly like he was gossiping, as much as it was important information he would relay, that as his father, Harper certainly would want to know.* Unknowingly I assume, Harper, you recently began aiding Alcott as well. *He exhales.* I do not know how or who- though it cannot be Hans, or else he would be in his...pack already. *He narrows his eyes.* Nadia thought so. She stabbed him, with the knife I gave her, *he was being 100% honest,* and he is already healed...because he is a werewolf himself. *Low, fervent, as he was...certain that Harper would not like this news.* He is who they mean to recruit, who Hans gave your potion to. He is--or has been, helping him learn control. 

 **Harper:** *D'Grey spoke in roundabout ways that started with one piece of important information and then left it hanging there while he developed the rest of the story. There wasn't anything wrong with per se. It got the job done, it was just too suspenseful for his liking at the moment. But once again, it didn't take much inferring to come to the conclusion before it'd been stated. He exhaled, every breath in his body leaving him at once. Alcott, his son, his boy...a werewolf. He was just a boy, he wanted to argue with the world, with anyone right now. That wasn't supposed to happen, everything he'd been doing...he just wanted his family safe but Lyndsi had been poisoned, Alcott was a werewolf and he was there, sitting in a room, unable to do anything. And Nadia, Nadia stabbed his son. He was sure she must have remembered him from Gustav's little trick at least, he had never thought...* Do you know how long he's been a werewolf? *How long Hans has been trying to recruit his boy to join his pack of bloodthirsty murderers, how long Gustav's been dangling this information and laughing in his face- the fire under the cauldron grew and grew with his rising fury but he snuffed it out with a wave of his hand after he forced himself to inhale.*

 **D'Grey:** *The only part of him that moved was his eyes, darting to the cauldron and watching the rising flames as one might a sunset with pleasant observation and calm curiosity. The fact that Harper waved them to nothing, carelessly even as he fumed - the effortless display of his magic was impressive. Thin-smiled, he puts his hand under his chin and shakes his head--but only once.* I'm sorry, I don't. I don't think too long though. He's... *He pauses, and it makes him avert his eyes finally, as he says softer,* ...struggling, still. *He swallows, then looks back up to him, as it occurs to him,* Wait--wasn't...Roswell's nephew...he was attacked in April? May? 

 **Harper:** *He nodded and restrained a wince. While he didn't acquire the knowledge through first hand experience, the first year of being a werewolf was the hardest. His potion was supposed to help ease the pain of transformation, by allowing them to control it not only during the full moon, but any other day but Gustav and Hans had warped the purpose of the potion before he'd even concocted it. Exhaling, he realized what was happening here.* April, by a werewolf at Hogwarts. *Of course, now the little Roswell's plan of revenge made more sense. He gritted his teeth, and tried to restrain a murderous rage he couldn't blame the lycanthropy curse for causing.* Does Alcott show inclinations towards joining Hans' pack?

 **D'Grey:** *His restraint was remarkable -- and so familiar to him that he flattens his own brow,  brushing the corner of his lips, else he show something he didn't want to. That sounded right then. Alcott attacked Sam.Teenager grudges mixed in with all this hell...Lord, all of them were children then. They'd grow as quickly as he had--for all his 23 years felt eons more lately, especially when he sat as poised as the nearly-forty Harper. At the question he cocks his head again, words still low, though less calm himself, clasping his own hands again,* His exact words I believe were, "If it means I have to listen to a murderous psycho then I want no fucking part of it." *Olivier's lips flicked in brief amusement, before adding seriously,* He does, however, show interest in your potion. Not that he knows who made it-- well, I doubt Hans knows himself. 

 **Harper:** *He had to restrain laughter, but the smirk of pride passed his lips unrestrained for a few spare moments. That's my boy, he wanted to say but somehow didn't feel right even thinking it, as if even his subconscious wouldn't let him forget that he'd had no influence in the man his son was growing up to be (and that was happening too fast). Gustav had taken that from him, with nearly everything else. He nodded, knowing the potion would garner interest from anyone: it was unmatched.* No, Hans is unaware. *He raised his chin again at that, meeting Olivier's gaze and asking* Will he remain that way?

 **D'Grey:** Uncanny. *He says it deliberately even as it sounds offhand, waiting for Harper's questioning gaze (that was really rather only a subtle change; the man was obviously well practiced in hiding his true emotions, a very useful skill). Still casual, flicking his fingers at the air,* Ah-you two don't physically resemble each other that much, but when you smirked for a second- *Olivier lifts an eyebrow, saying softer,* well, you couldn't tell those smirks apart. 

*Even with the physical deformity actually, he thinks, curious. The pointed question seems to return him to his purpose, though it hadn't left his mind.* I won't tell him, if you don't want him to know. I haven't told a soul. *Calmly,* Just as I certainly wasn't required to come here tonight, almost certainly robbed Roswell the ability to gloat, I imagine. *He lets go of his own hands, and leans forward without noticing,* What I want, is your help Harper. I'll do what I can to insure your wife and son remain safe and will return you to them -- when Gustav and Gina are dead. *It was as flatly as he'd ever spoken, though as honest as ever. Steadily holding his gaze, he says simply,* So see, you aren't in my debt for the bezoar at all. I imagine that's a relief -- I would prefer us to be partners equally. 

 **Harper:** *One man's observation over one physical resemblance between his son and him shouldn't have heartened him that much, and yet it did. He could never say so out loud, whatever their present...alliance, but he appreciated the statement all the same, as much as he did his silence. But to hear him speak so plainly, that he would have never expected. His eyebrows rose with the surprise. Partners, to take down Roswell and his little bitch. If he could trust the man up to this point, (and he had) he could trust him in this.* One condition.

 **D'Grey** : *He was going to have to get used to that, he imagined, being challenged and negotiated with by one he'd long assumed too far gone -- and, he could admit to himself, too far beneath him. His lips flicked in brief amusement. It was intelligence and resilience Olivier favored above all; Harper had already proven beyond reason his skills with both. So he had no qualm, waving his hand as he asks lightly,* Which is? *He didn't blink or look away, though the corner of his lips curled up. This was what equal meant, after all.*

 **Harper:** *It was a shallow term and condition, but he felt like he had to get it out of his chest anyway. So with an eyebrow still raised, and a smirk back on his face, he revealed.* I'm going to kill that Roswell bastard myself.

 **D'Grey:** *A smirk rose on his own lips instantly, and he fails to restrain a chuckle.* Ah, are we calling dibs? *That amused him to no end as he thinks-- perhaps he might honestly enjoy Harper's company, if the man learned to laugh more. He nods his assent-ion,* Very well. I imagine you do have the most reason to of anyone. 

*For a moment, D'Grey thought of Hans, thought of what his friend lived through, thought how thoroughly he had erased the fact from his mind that the hell he'd lived in had been caused by Roswell all along. But still, as far as conditions went--it was tame. He held his hand out, saying with his own stubborn smirk, almost teasing,* Friends, then? 

 **Harper:** *What D'Grey imagined, Harper had lived. Every second, of every day in this hell, because of Gustav. He wished there was a way to pay that back in tenfold, but hadn't yet figured out a way for that occur. Fivefold perhaps, and it had already started. He looked at the offered hand with rising amusement, made even more poignant by the choice of word. Friend. His only real friend in ten years had been a stubborn and persistent fifteen year old girl, but he could broaden the term to include Olivier for the moment. He took the hand and shook it once, firmly, after meeting his gaze again* Friends it is.

 **Olivier:** *Shaking hard, he nods, certain to keep eye contact until they had broken. The strength in his grip surprised him, for a man who was clearly underfed and deprived of sleep (the latter was even more likely that he simply could not, even when left alone). Yet it made him smile. Nodding, he reached into his jacket,* Wonderful, *Oh the irony, he smirks as he pulls out a small bottle of Glen Levitt. Holding it up for them to share,* Do you have glasses? 

 

**&.**

 

Hans echoes from a throat that tremors, tuned to a shake in his spine. She called him brother, but he would not call her sister. He had done enough by stilling all motion to her voice She sounded just as he remembered. Her voice was a bell, ringing and silencing. And he’d stilled, as he only ever had for Laura — like they were still comrades, family… friends.  

And oh, that name, that creation that belied her Russian heritage. Once he had loved it. Their association had been a savage one from the start — born of blood (his) and soothing forehead kisses (hers). Yet it had been, he thought, a true one. The lie was masterful; she’d forged a relationship with him with careless gestures of kindness (meaningless) — with evenings filled with the top-shelf liquor, laughter, and whispered secrets (lies). 

He realized it all later, how all along, the lessons — of rebirth, of vengeance, of justice, of seduction, of being — they had never ceased. Her heart, which had been her downfall, was something to cherish simply in it’s existence he had thought. And as she left, as she had walked away, he’d realized she still had one final thing to teach him after all. 

Hans turns to regard her. He cared not a whit for the man a few feet behind her - and in that moment, not even for Alcott, for the boy appears with his hand on a wine cask, inching toward the man he had been about to kill. Hans let him without a word, for there was broken breath in his throat choking him silent.

Laura had walked in sonic landscapes to her own rhythm then, and she did so now. His old friend had always been a women who held planets in her hands. She licked universes into existence with the tip of her tongue, just to gnaw on them joyfully, and she’d shown him how. She hadn’t changed; beautiful, terrible, and glorious. Yet the image was wrong, for she should be in a Jezebel crown, dripping diamonds to prove all she had gained, but no. Discordant and harmonious as ever, his former mentor wore the black number he’d requested.  She was otherwise quite bare before his hungry eyes. 

They devour her, as his hands vibrate and tremble with life restrained, searching in her gaze for some answer to some unspoken question they both knew. There’s horror in her, he realizes, spine hardening in shock. Disgust in her dark eyes, terror — surely she couldn’t be terrified of him? Bottom lip trembling, he forces it to stiffen. It closes his lips, but that’s all right. 

He could not think what to say; his mind was blank. That was as astonishing to him as anything, for once he’d thought he’d crumble under the weight of all the words he had left unsaid. Had he made his shoulders wider? Had the silver potion, the one that had been in the empty vial in his pocket, made the burden easier to bear? Stefanie would say it was God — but he wouldn’t speak to him, Hans knew. Instead he had only torn a red ribbon, that brutal, violent, raging color of passion — the color of her hair, which blazes at him now —  around his finger, to remember. 

Now he had nothing to say to her; in the two, perhaps four instants their eyes had met, he only stood a statue, ever the pupil, and shamed from her look of horror as if he was a child scolded by mother. He ducks his head from those piercing eyes. No, he thinks. She did not get to shame him — how dare this woman think she would have a hold over him, could still have power to wield here. 

As he hears Alcott reach Shawn behind him, hears both of them mutter spells to lower shields and lower wards, Hans laughs. It’s a quiet, mad little sound. He was thinking how Stefanie — always one to aggrandize their family — would claim -he- was the reborn God come to wallow in sin, to teach the error of ways. Laura, the Virgin Mary? Oh, mercy. It was truly laughable. And he was no savior — mercy, he’d have to tell her, he could not even be a carpenter! He had it on decent authority the post requires some form of talent with wood. Anything Hans touches, he doesn’t carve — he destroys. 

In fact, there wasn’t a place for Laura in his romantic allegory to be had: she was no Lillith either, and that was okay, for the cliche little poem of sin’s origin belongs to the the beast that lived in it. The ghost that relished darkness and yearned for his boyhood — and Hans would be neither now, he thinks irritated by his own lust for violence. Rachelle’s guards had paid for their crime as he promised her — but he did not have her. 

 Alcott still crouched there in the mess of bodies, half ready to transform, but stuck with his shock. Jensen held the gun at Hans level, a grimace on his lips — but Hans was not frightened by the silver bullet threat. The ex-Marine followed his orders as ever, military discipline was inscribed in his soul and he was hampered by his own affections. He would not shoot, not with Laura there, not before she had her say. He would laugh, but for the horror in his gut at one simple thought: Shawn had disappeared. 

With him left his truest sister —  the girl he’d led out of darkness, the one he taught who valued his words and teased him mercilessly, the innocent child who found her life again from a gift he was able to give. His generosity in that moment had been born only of compassion, he knew, a twist in his gut as he knows, oh, he knew it was from Laura he’d reached first for that. 

Nearly nine bloody years, and now she has the gall to stand there and look at him like that? Like she was disappointed, like her fucking opinion should matter to him at all? He had no regrets. 

“Have I truly horrified you? Did the student best the master? Oh, honey I’m not sorry. Not for these worthless, gormless, cowards who make such a lovely puzzle around us — and not for those I left scattered around the world. Think of them as nostalgic offerings. You see, Laura,” he speaks maliciously with bullets in his gaze as he levels it at her, “You might hold planets in your lovely little hand, but it will always bear your scars.”

Why was it the harder he spoke, the more he whipped words in the air, the more he felt the lashes on his own skin? He was raw, red raw, cracked and bleeding. 

Alcott growls behind him, but Hans ignores this too. Unusually he heard the limping approach even before both their wolve’s noses could gather her scent. Hols. His mate, all bandaged and furious — ah, Spanish passion. 

“But, credit where it’s due. Congratulations,” Hans claps, just once, and his eyes had never torn from Laura, “for you best them all. You always did. Your compassion…why, dear sister, that is the worst torture anyone might ever have invented.” 

Her disgust was a parting gift, he decided as he chokes on his own ire, on his own regrets and lies. Hans trembles on stiff bones that rattle with a deep ache, a longing he couldn’t name — wouldn’t name. It was a gift for one simple reason.

“I’m sorry only it took me so long, so goddamn long, to understand you were the one — you were the worst. You did not choose me to survive, or pick me up — I did that. You, stuffed me like a turkey with fancy words only to gobble me up, like your own perfectly molded candy. You swallowed me whole. I’m glad bits of me got stuck in your teeth. I hope you choke.”

He did not run away. He’d made an evasive maneuver, an executive decision, shown a clever display of battle-won strategic brilliance. All so he might break the world and punch the lights out, in his old friend’s glorious honor. Checkmate. 

Hans spins, falling away from her, and then he’s just gone. Rachelle was who mattered, and his anger for losing her would break many a bottle tonight, would be all-consuming in his purpose for days to come — but Laura’s burning gaze he could not stand. 

In that look he saw something: a craving (he always could read her as easily as she could him) for connection, and he thinks he had left her one even in his curse. She had, she always had, his bones. She held on to them tightly until they’d groaned under pressure — a thought too literal. She might have made necklaces of his finger bones, might have beat out drums with his torn femurs. Her name was engraved in their white, ivory edges. She could have them now. Carry them wherever she went, follow the trail he left and bury his offerings with bare hands. 

Then, in that way of hers, Laura would clean her nils, lick her lips and curl a strand of scarlet hair. Standing over grave with a sadness in her eyes he couldn’t understand how to feel, she would not say a prayer — for him or anyone. Only stand there, mourning eternally and fierce in her determination to atone. Sleep would claim her eventually. He’d sat beside her one night, tears still in his own gaze when she’d fallen into oblivion. 

He supposes Jensen lays the blankets across her now. 

In the morning they left, went forward, always forward. She couldn’t look back — could not see them gleam in the horizon, lest she be tempted to let them rise and walk back. That Hans understood. That he always had, evading the temptation of regret and nostalgia because he dare not. It was how he was. Was he still learning from her? 

Things we believe dead should stay that way. He understood, not because he learned, but because he carried her bones with him too. 

 

**&.**

 

 **Lynn:** *When she and Hols were five, they had tried to create a portal rip in the space-time continuum and had thought they were looking upon chaos itself. They'd been wrong. The bloody ballroom they opened onto was. Or had been-- she was gratified to see her father and Chris mid-arrest, her mother had just punched someone...the swirling black cloaks were leaving.* Cowards. *She mutters in under her breath, though she wanted to scream it. It was the thought of what her mother might say that stalled her--that, and as a tired, disheveled, wet and royally bleeding furious Lynn turned again, her eyes lit on Nick.

He was wounded, she could see, and with Eliza--who was examining Rory's arm with horror and anger-- but he was fighting, and he was in a disheveled suit with messy hair and blood dripping down his cheek, and she let out a breath of utter relief, steeling herself to march over and yell at him for scaring her --terrifying her--but before Lynn knew it, she'd thrown both arms around him, holding fast and seized his lips with hers. 

He was her breath. And for all his mess...he had never looked so goddamn attractive in her life. She ignored the remaining spells swirling and cloaks whipping and Eliza's giggle and her brother's sigh of her name -- because frankly in that moment she had everything she needed, lost to Nick's arms, and hands, and breath and mouth.* 

 **Nick:** *It turned out he was right about Lynn's first reaction: she was ready to kill him. Having had a brief brush with almost-death, one would have thought he'd cringe away from anything that resembled it. But no, he took a step forward, a sheepish smile on his face. Was she going to collide with him? He didn't think he could handle a tackle at that moment.* 

Okay, but see, I can explain- *He didn't need to. His eyes widened, in either surprise or in slight pain, he wasn't sure. The only thing he was absolutely positive at that moment was that Lynn was the farthest thing from death. She was passion and vigor and raw emotion; she was life itself. He held his arms around her waist, pulling her into him and raising her a few inches off the ground. Nick hadn't realized how worried he had been until now, and the relief that flooded him added to the warmth that spread throughout his body. 

His fingers dug in through red fabric he'd wanted to yank away with his teeth the moment he saw it earlier that night, enraged like a bull would be at the sight of a torero's cape. Thankfully, his reason still remained (somewhat), so he didn't try to rip it off right then. 

Only a heavy pressure on his chest, his lungs reminding him they weren't up to their usual standard, caused him to pull away, but only barely. Between each inhale and exhale, he'd press his lips against hers anew, finally sighing after what might have been an eon, he spoke* Here's looking at you, kid.

 **Lynn:** *It wasn't until he set her down again she'd realized he even had lifted her, so wrapped up was she in his taste and touch. There was blood on her lip, from a drying deep groove in his cheek, and she felt cuts beneath her fingers as she held on, but it was his smile -- and then words she paid most attention too. Bringing her hand down, the back caressing his jaw as she beams, she whispers 'Ferula' to bandage his gash. Only after another brief brush of her lips to his did she murmur the appropriate Isla response,* I wish I didn't love you so much.

 **Nick:** *He had forgotten about the cut on his cheek, the one that Hans had left for him as a rotten memento to remember him by. Lynn covered it up easily enough, another bandage to add to his collection, and then he smiled against her lips as she responded to him. He cupped her neck and kissed her again.* So remember the femme fatale slash Bond game we were gonna play later tonight? I think we got a little ahead of ourselves.

 **Lynn:** *Mming, oblivious to their atmosphere of revolving red lights and shouts to cuff one,* You know what I think? *She arches an eyebrow, hand coming to tug on the silk tie around his neck, tangling in the cloth before her eyes dart to his again.* I think you shot someone twice with a gun and I didn't get to see, Mr. Blaine. *Calmly,* You would think Major Strasser would learn his lesson the first time.

 **Nick:** Well, I meant to shoot him six times. *He tried to sound nonchalant about it because otherwise it'd be too much to deal with.* Empty the whole barrel but he dodged the others- that's not helping my case is it? Rain check, love?

 **Lynn:** *Flinching at the mental image, she realized suddenly the real reason she wanted to see. She wanted to stop imagining it, Nick hoisted against the wall and life spared for no discernible reason--for she had no doubt her imagination was worse. Lynn wanted to face the problem smack on, teary-eyed or not. Breathless,* As long as it's not in Paris, Rick. I can't go back there. 

*Nodding, as she freed a hand to rub hard under her eye she cleaned the blood from her lip.  She loves that he understood the film references (he'd started), even if they sounded odd in her accent, as she continued light,* I absconded with church funds, took in with a married man, killed someone. It's the romantic in me, love.

 **Nick** : *He smiled and nodded silently as he watched her, just looked at her. Teary eyed, hair wet, makeup either wiped away or smudged, and she'd look as beautiful as earlier that evening, maybe even more so to him at that moment, but never as beautiful as when she was waking in his arms.* Well, maybe I'm not as romantic as you are. *He leaned in to kiss her again and again, sighing against her lips.* I love you, Lynn.

 **Lynn:** *Sighing in relief, in contentment, she slides her arm around his waist and smiles a bit.* I love you too. *With another brief kiss,* So much. *Another, and then she rests her head under his, breathing out.* Nadia is safe too...though she did..uh--stab Alcott. He's not having the best night it seems...

 **Nick:** *He exhales again, sighing in relief for a worry he had briefly forgotten had existed to begin with: Nadia was finally with them and safe.* Stabbed him? *He frowned, wondering why that was, even with the lost memory he didn't think she'd ever be...what had happened?* No, he's not...*he sighs* his mom was poisoned- she's fine now. D'Grey have her a bezoar. *But he still didn't fancy telling the news to Al, let some other poor soul do that.* Where's Hols? I thought she was with you.

 **Lynn:** *Nodding, Lynn exhales as she recognizes the same look in his eyes. That feeling of sadness and pride all smashed together, worry and--well Nadia wasn't the only one she was wondering what had happened to them, and she couldn't go there, not now. Her arms close tighter around Nick, and she says offhand,* He's saying it was impressive and smart remarks about her saying she had the magic touch. 

*Making it a joke she understood. Oh, hell, was she relating to Brackner now? The world really-was- upside down. (Never mind her boyfriend shooting a werewolf before being flung from a window, her brother knifing one in the throat and Nadia stabbing a friend--she understood what -Alcott- was doing!?) Then she frowns, saying,* She was, but her Mum found us both and sent me back to Dev to go to our parents when the fighting broke out... We detained Rachelle, though that's where Al is headed now...because psycho alpha knows where she is--his mother was poisoned? *Quiet, so quiet.*

 **Nick:** *He scoffs, shaking his head but undoubtedly pleased to hear Al was alive let alone making smart comments. Even knowing he was a werewolf and the snap of the neck hadn't killed him* Sounds like him. *He nodded about Hols and then exhaled again, ignoring the protest of his ribs and holding her closer.* The champagne was poisoned, Irene just told me.

 

**&.**

 

Hols: *She arrived maybe a minute after Magnus, and he and Cade had looked at Hols and immediately she saw their determination to keep them out written on their faces. Shawn would hurt them, kill them, if they allowed his daughter to walk into a room with a deadly werewolf. She made it plain to them that she would kill them now if they didn't let her pass. Magnus went with her, in front of her, slowly, to try and corner the monster. He already knows we're coming, she wanted to say, but she didn't bother to make that apparent to him. 

The first thing she took notice of was the smell, the sickening smell that threatened to make her heave. Hols was actually beginning to dread transforming for one reason and one reason alone: the smell would be magnified a thousandfold as a predator. The sight would be too, and the shiny red liquid that splattered against the floors and walls in gushing pools would be something she'd never forget.

There were bodies here, bodies of guards and Aurors that had simply been doing their job in apprehending a dangerous criminal. It was true, the manner in which Lynn and Devin had taunted at the very end had not sat well with Hols, and the silver knife through her throat even less so, but even still she did not regret helping to trap Rachelle in her own game. And it seemed the knife had been for naught, for Hans had still heard.

Hans Lawrence Ricard. His was the hand culpable for these many bodies, for the horror and the bloodshed. Families to I by would mourn their loved ones and cry in despair and in longing for something that they could never have again, that Hans had stolen from them. A lump formed in the back of her throat as she looked around at the bodies and prayed viciously, more than she ever had before, that her father was not among them.

Every morning for as long as she could remember, she would picture her father putting on his badge as he had when she stayed with him and Aunt Winnie. Every morning she had to live with the knowledge that one day, her father could walk out the front door and never walk back in. That was his job, his duty, and she was always so proud of him for it but it didn't take away that fear. That same fear that was building so rapidly in her heart again, along with unbridled fury. She saw him then, and almost no one else: the murderer, the monster. Her bandaged hands shook with her anger, growing only as she began recognizing faces on the floor.

 Riley and Philippa. Hassan. Jordyn. Tobias. The rest were face down, or without a face. She took a step forward, her mind didn't even register where Magnus had gone, and then stilled once she realized he wasn't there anymore.

Hols exhaled, looking around suddenly, cursing her human eyes. He couldn't have- no he didn't fucking get to leave not after this! He couldn't get away with this, she was going to kill him, she was going to rip him to shreds, and send every limb off to a different corner of the world! She inhaled in a sudden gasp and then clutched her chest, tears stinging at her eyes. She made the mistake to look down, for now all the faces on the floor looked like her dad, or her mother, her sisters, Al and Lynn-* 

Where is he? *She asked out on a throat still hoarse, still growing under the bandage racking her with a pain that only added to her panic. Was this how Al had felt, nine years ago? How could a six year old take this, survive it; she felt as if she were crumbling from the inside.* Where's my dad? Where is he, where is- papi? *Her knees gave out, after having limped her way across the house as fast as possible, they decided to give out now. But she didn't touch the floor. Looking up, Al's face (where had he been all night she wondered for a brief moment) only caused the tears in her eyes to finally spill.* What happened, where is, is he- *she couldn't finish that, and didn't finish that, the same way she didn't pay any attention to the pair of people in the corner of the room.*

 **Alcott:** *Two seconds ago, he was certain he had been a wolf, but it's human hands that grasp, that clutch to Hols as she falls, holding on to her. Human hands and...ah. That means...

He's not surprised to feel a suit jacket thrown to him by the man formerly holding a gun. Sometimes he loved that he didn't transform with his clothes--but right now was not one of them. Honestly it was probably a good thing Shawn had gotten away visa vie disapparition. Alcott had a feeling the sight of a naked teen holding his daughter would have overridden common sense. And certainly, the man who'd near singlehandedly held his own against the monstrous Hans would succeed where Nadia, Hans and Lynn had failed.

Oh he'd kill him. No question. 

Exhaling, he presses her into his chest, petting her hair and shhing--,* He's all right, he disapparated with Rachelle--he's safe, baby, *over and over until she'd believe him desperately, softly, sweetly, murmuring first a Spanish lullaby he'd forgotten he'd known.*

 **Laura:** *How cold his gaze was on her. It had been even icier than she expected, freezing her blood in place. It was the wintry sting of betrayal that she saw in those shining blue eyes, for they were red no longer once their gazes had met. Betrayal for leaving him, she knew. It had taken her a long time for her to realize that what she had done had not been that at all. And even still the guilt never fully washed away. They had been friends once, family once, almost another lifetime ago. What was he now to her? A stranger? Never. No they would always be something more intimate than that.

She did not answer his words, for she knew he did not want an answer, did not want a conversation, merely wanted to hurt her. He wanted to show her that he didn't need her and never did, though that last part neither of them believed. She had never taught him how to kill, she had taught him to survive. The wolf instinct's to kill, rip, shred, that was entirely innate. She'd train her once delicate hands to choke life as well as caress, but she hadn't taught him that. She most certainly had never taught anyone to enjoy killing for she never did. She killed because she had to, and for her own sake. Laura never once enjoyed it, never once dragged it out. Her mark was very easy to spot out among all her old companions: she was always very clean.

Planets in her hand- he always did have such a way with words. It brought the smile back on her face for the most briefest of instances. And in that moment her mind went to roughly the same place his had. Times spent together, in the middle of that darkness, sharing a light. She held her liquor almost as well as he did with his increased tolerance, at least she did so better than anyone else.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, the same way the sun eventually gave way to night. And in that night, the most foul of predators attacked. For things that slept during the day and hunted at the end of it, were always the worst to be feared. He hunted at her very soul, it seemed, seeking to tear away false feelings.

Compassion. Jensen had called that her Achilles' heel one night over drinks and she'd laughed at it, the most genuine laugh she had shared with anyone in years. He had not meant to be funny, he seldom did, but it had amused her all the same. Now compassion was being likened to a weapon, an instrument of torture. It had become that, after she'd left not while she was there. While she was there she simply wanted to save enough of them, all of them, to eventually rid themselves of Gustav and those loyal to him. She'd had no plans for what to do after, but she was certain now, she wouldn't have given up the power. It was all she knew back then, how to kill, how to survive...she'd learn only afterwards that surviving was not enough. Her intentions never reached completion, for Jensen found her, and it was death or going with him. She contemplated death, weighed death in her mind, and was disgusted with herself. She'd never been a coward, she wasn't going to be one then, and she wasn't going to let Gustav win. But it seemed he had the upper hand again. For now.

And at last, something they agreed on, and purposefully nodded to show she agreed. He did choose to survive by himself. She could do as much as she could for all of them, but in the end, it was only themselves and what they were made of, that made the difference between a survivor and a corpse. He of course warped her intentions but she did not blame him for that. There was no other way to think of it without an explanation, which he clearly didn't want, and wasn't ready for at that moment. The Aurors had died, but not in vain: the prisoner was gone. A werewolf of the pack of which Hans was alpha of. A pack he was returning to after he was done fixing his ego at her expense. A traitor, a torturer, a manipulator, the worst. She'd been that and worse, so much worse than even Hans knew. She'd spend her whole life trying to change it.*

Goodbye, brother. *Laura whispered as he turned, a moment before he had left.* Until we meet again. *Her chin had never lowered but now it did as she looked over her shoulder at Jensen, who had thrown the boy who had so quickly transformed from a wolf and back, his jacket.* I think we're done here. *They had come to help control the situation, an assignment they had taken on themselves after Hans' tip to Jensen, after Jensen met him at Selene's information. When Jensen had told her that Hans features had warped into the wolf's during their meeting, Laura knew that Gustav had succeeded in getting that potion from Harper. Her past had become her present. They were right smack in the middle of this again, and this wouldn't be the last time the Death Eaters and the wolf pack, Hans, would see them again.*

&.

 

 **Irene:** *She pushed the sleeves of Dillon's jacket up and held it closed with one hand while the other held Dillon's in a fierce grip. Her head had been checked as they explained the poison and, ugh, Ansel, in an official statement so that Dillon didn't have to get dragged downtown- er, the ministry rather. She sighed as she looked down at her bare feet, having to get rid of her heels to run faster. The floor was splattered with blood and glass and in some cases vomit. Walking through it had been an adventure all it's own.* I've had enough adventure for one night.

 **Dillon:** *He hadn't let go of Irene's hand, save for when picking their path had lead them to pools that finally forced him to reveal the weakness he had kept buried since grade school: he was a sympathetic vomit-er. Hadn't his masculinity taken enough of a beating tonight yet? Certainly he'd been green since having listened to Irene recount Ansel's treatments to one of the swarming security. 

At her words, he circles her waist and sits with her in the plush couch: it was the main room, the Aurors were reportedly still fighting, and wouldn't permit them further. Nadia had to be here- somewhere around here. Rubbing at his forehead, he mutters in Italian,*

 Hell is empty, all the devils are here. 

*He turns to Irene as he says,* You know those shoes you pointed at in the window a few days ago? I'll buy them for you, if you can uh--remind me what they were. *And the real reason he was saying it,* If you want, you can wear them to meet my mother -- she's particular on shoes, see. 

 **Irene** : *She wasn't exactly sure what Dillon had said in Italian, but it was nice to hear anyhow, much better than French that was obvious. She sat huddled against him, trying not think about the rest of her friends. She'd seen Nick and Eliza, but that left tons unaccounted for, and no word from Nadia. Irene looked up at Dillon again, and smiled.* Christian Dior, but you don't have to. *They were a tad bit, slightly...pricey.* Your mum? You want me to meet your mother? *She didn't know whether to he thrilled or frightened. Probably both which was silly considering they had just taken on two werewolves.*

 **Dillon:** *Ah. If it had a name, you can't afford it-- that was something his mother said too. A bit amused he said,* Well, I'll find a way. *And he would. If he didn't have the money, he'd trade for it or--he'd find a way. Smiling more honestly, he softens and nods,* If you want to, I mean, I wouldn't pressure you if you don't want to...

 **Irene:** *Well, she wasn't going to push him off getting her a gift now was she? She bit on her bottom lip and shook her head* No, it's not that...what if she doesn't like me? I don't have much experience with mothers...especially not Italian-supreme-love-of-their-children mothers.

 **Dillon:** *That makes him chuckle, and mi madone--he loves her for that simple fact, that he could have a reason to smile tonight.* Ahh...someone should tell my mother that, as I mostly recall her hitting us with mopins and excited hand gestures. *Lips flick, even as his guts twist.* We were always doing something wrong.

 **Irene:** *Aha! A mopin, he had let her know what that was pretty early on actually. She was smiling still, though the gesture was weak, like her entire body at the moment. She wanted to sleep for an eternity but she wasn't supposed to. Concussions were no fun.* I would say that hitting you means she loves you all the more, but that would be endorsing a very unhealthy relationship. But seriously, do you think she'll like me? *Adults...didn't.*

 **Dillon:** Aha, you laugh! *He says pointing to the air as she starts to smile, and then flicking her nose, teasing,* A little towel all rolled up can hurt! *Yup, his masculinity was shot tonight.* Ah, trust me, she'll love just that she can have another reason to tell Dom to bring Cassandra over. *Tweaking her nose again, his fingers come down to trace her lips, saying softer,* And I can't imagine not loving you. 

 **Irene:** *She nodded along with his assertion, the smile was miraculously holding as if his touch itself was keeping it in place. Probably was.* If you say so, baby. *She wiggles her nose, her expression afterwards softening at his sincere words. She leans in to kiss him once and again.* In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'll be not-sleeping in your bed tonight.

 **Dillon:** *Lifting his arm to let her snuggle up against him, a small smile appearing on his lips and he nods against her.* I hadn't even thought. *Truthfully, he hadn't dreamed she would be anything but furious with him--but he much preferred her not-sleeping than the not-sleeping he would have been doing. His eyes flutter shut for a second.* 

 **Ansel:** *Across the ballroom and visible only through glass, his eyes flicker from watching Tony carrying Stefanie, to Irene for a moment. A brow flickers with surprise. Ah...that explained the scrambling howls from the greenhouse. He slides his hands in his pockets, tilting his head curiously and then smiles, curling and crinkling the corners of his lips.*

 **Irene:** *No, he probably didn't. But she wanted a bed, and desperately needed to rid herself of memories of tonight, most of them at least. Stiffening suddenly, she sat straighter, peering down the room, as her blood turned cold.* Did you see- *she turned to look again, and then frowned. There was nothing there anymore.* ...I thought I saw...

 **Dillon** : *By the time he opens his eyes, there's nothing there, but he didn't have to reach to figure out what she was concerned with. He pulls her closer instinctively, eyes narrow abruptly.* He'd be a fool to come back. I'd say I'd kill him if he comes near you again, but likely as not, you'll kill him for coming near me. *And he forces a smile to his lips, looking sideways at her to ask lighter, despite a ringing in his ear,* ...that is, you-would-, wouldn't you?

 

**&.**

 

 **Hols:** *The words had traveled to her ears bizarrely slow. He needed to repeat them various times before her breathing calmed down, before her tears ceased to spill for fear and instead for relief. She thanked God in Spanish though she wasn't exactly in the best terms with the deity. She clung on to Al tighter, against all logic that said she shouldn't have that much strength left in her entire body for that. Her daddy was safe, he wasn't dead, and she could breathe again. Metaphorically. Her lungs and chest ached and the smell was horrible and God, that was Sullivan's ribcage pulled apart. 

Stubborn will didn't allow her to close her eyes, but she did keep them mostly focused on her...naked boyfriend.* What are you doing here? Where's your clothes? *She asked, hating how raspy her voice still sounded (once she got hold of that werewolf bitch she was going to tear her other arm off). If she had any inclination that Al had also been here and in danger she'd have shifted in the room and made the trek as the lioness instead.*

 **Jensen:** *Life and death situations, it's said, have a way of slowing time down-- stretching seconds seamlessly together to horrendous length, to let you see all you need to, as your brain struggles to process the stream of shock. Jensen realized, as he shrugged a suit jacket over his shoulders and tossed it at the boy-Alcott, he couldn't perceive the difference anymore. 

It seemed thirty seconds to him. He and Laura had emerged. He'd fired a single shot that Hans ignored. The boy transformed. Laura had spoken, Hans responded with visceral hatred that may well have turned Jensen's eyes red even as the wolf's remained blue, Graft disapparated, Laura breathed a bare response he knew apart from Hans only he heard, and then he was gone. Jensen's daily life was made of these adrenaline bursts. Even the ravaged bodies only called to mind similar in mounds desert sands. 

Locking the gun and snapping it back away, he takes a step towards Laura. It occurs to him latently, what had surprised him of the encounter was eerily reminiscent of the last time the three of them were thrown together. The look in Hans eyes -- blue despite his blood-splattered fury, the hurt alive in them-- had sparked a flash of mercy, if only for moment. He nods.* True.

 **Alcott:** No, wait. *And even as he settles, back on his knees and holds Hols closer, lips flicking, he looks to stall the two of them. But her well-being was his priority, and so he looks back down, brushing a hand down her hair. A free hand fixes the jacket around his waist, as he says simply,* Most likely behind the wine cases somewhere, in need of repair. *He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, and then murmurs from closer to her.* I ...transformed, Hols. *He bites down on his bottom lip, wondering how she'd respond and thinking the pair might be about to leave. Looking steadily at Laura,* You called him brother. How do you know Hans? *Exhaling, he says a bit desperately with eyes widening,* I mean he's been after me, he gave me this potion, says he can turn at will --you got him to stop. *Firmly, irritated by the secrecy,* You -know- him. And I need to know what--what this is, what this is about.

 **Hols:** Wine cases, I don't- *her mind was working so slow, her body so tired more from the emotional beating she'd just suffered than the physical devouring she'd endured only minutes before. But as she heard the reason why, she was sure her heart had erupted back to life. Paddles were rubbed together, the current was increased to 200, and the doctor shouted clear before sending the electric jolt to restart her heart.* You did it? You could do it? *She breathed out, confused. Was the potion supposed to make it that easy or just...she wasn't sure. And what did this mean? He wasn't one of Hans' pack now, obviously, but...what now? What now with all of them? Only noticing the couple of people now, she listened.*

 **Laura:** *She'd been fully prepared to leave when Selene's nephew held them back with his words, his questioning glance, his pleading tone. For a moment, she didn't think of answering, and a look exchanged with Jensen showed he wouldn't explain himself to the boy, not unless it was absolutely necessary. Take your girl upstairs, comfort each other, try and keep these images from entering your dreams, she wanted to tell him, save yourselves because once you were in this life, there was no going back. What stopped her was the realization that they were already involved- it was because of Alcott's questions they were to begin with instead of following cold trails around the world.* Next time, I won't be able to. *It was shock that had stilled Hans' massacre.* I helped turn him from a boy no older than yourself, to the man and beast he is today. *As she had turned many children, because she had been unwilling to let them die.* Power. That's what it all eventually boils down to. And a war almost as old as wizards themselves. Anymore than that, I cannot say. I will not say.

 **Jensen:** *Flatly, he had no intention of informing Selene's nephew of anything simply as the fifteen year old was involved enough already -- too much. If there was anything, any one thing that he despised, it was the idea that he influence an innocent child to perhaps be as bitter as he was. Jensen wouldn't lie to him -- at Alcott's age, his life had been filled with stories of heroes less truthful than storybook fairytales (Grimm had the horror right). He wouldn't do the same debilitating thing, what had been done to him, what had been done to Laura -- to either in front of him. It took a single look to Laura for her to understand that; a thought that put a smile on his lips for a flashbulb of a moment, and he thinks how all he truly wanted to do now was take her far away from here. As he had once before, as he had from the moment Hans spit his poisonous words. He knew Laura too well to believe that she hadn't been stung by them -- not hurt, hurt implied her being crippled in some way by them, and he knew her too well to believe it was anything but the opposite that would be inspired by Hans vitriolic spittle -- but stung. Those were insults (and untruths) that had been meant to wound--and Jensen fights the immediate urge simply to go with Laura as far away as was possible only as she speaks to Alcott. She was right. Hans wouldn't stop. And it was also true that in...many ways, this was the war they'd been in since they met, that she'd been in since she was fourteen-- and he knew she'd need to see it through. 

Hell, so did he. 

His chin comes up as he counters quietly, but pointedly,* What you did, was save his life. He's responsible for his own choices. *His gaze flits to Alcott, before softening as much as he was capable to add,* Selene contacted us. *That's who to ask, he meant, but--*

Alcott: Well, that explains the bullshit responses. *He snaps it, and he would stand if it didn't mean releasing Hols--surrounded as they were, he didn't trust himself to do that (and rather didn't want to). His eyes flash gold.* All I ever get from her is some cover meant to protect me and--*he casts his gaze around them, at the corpses, mangled and twisted, barely realizing that one was evidently not a corpse after all, for their fingers were twitching (so weren't they the lucky one?)*- oh, I gotta say, I feel bathed in the protection right now. A bloody brilliant job, really!

*He looks to Hols, and moves only to help her sit more comfortably-- reassuring with his gaze, that he meant to return--but now he does stand, because he can't take it, he can't and won't, and these two felt as if they'd flit away in a moment.*  You want to warn me away from making those decisions he did, you mean? You know what would help me is to tell me the truth. I hear it sets you free, and see, whatever this is, *He's advancing with every word, and at the back of his mind thinks it would be menacing if not for the suit jacket he wore as a towel,* whatever this sick and twisted centuries old war game you're all playing--I may want no part of it, but I have been a part of it, and am, since I was six years old. 

*His fingers clench in a fist around the lapels of Jensen's jacket.* And whoever you are, if you think that I won't--if you think that Hols won't--fight, for what we lost, for what's right? Then you're barmy, as well as infuriatingly unhelpful. Because if you're right, and you can't stop Hans with a word again, then I will. We will. I may have needed protection when I was six, but I also learned that day -- that when they come for you, you don't roll over and you don't lie down and hope they won't notice you. You face it. Head on. *And stopping in front of Jensen, both of them stern-jawed, he half bites out with his chest puffed out,* Be a man. *They stare at each other, and then Al's face breaks and for a moment it's evident he's fifteen and hurt, but he stiffens his jaw, narrows his eyes and says quieter,* It doesn't matter the odds of victory. There's more important things to protect.

 **Laura:** *It was their age old argument. She always felt personally responsible for the people she'd turn into death eaters, and Jensen always vehemently insisted they made their own choice. Laura found that in matters of the heart, logic seldom won out. She turned towards Alcott again, not surprised by the boy's spirited response, though she had been idly wishing he'd have kept quiet. There was less than a slim chance, him being Selene's nephew. He had spirit, he had courage...but he only had half of an idea of what he meant to get into. These corpses were only the beginning of it.* Listen Alcott, you want to fight, go ahead. We won't stop you, but we won't help you either. 

 **Hols:** Fine, we don't need your help. *She had stood, and boy was it painful to that again, once her senses were slowly returning to her. She might be tired, exhausted even, and she might have wanted her bed and to get out of this bloody and shredded dress, but she wasn't going to keep sitting on the floor like a little girl. She limped to Al's side (was it normal to be simultaneously proud, turned on, and still a little sick and scared from before?) and took his hand.* And we certainly won't beg for it. We'll find out on our own, or you could save us the trouble.

 **Jensen:** *Whatever it was that happened to Alcott when he was six -- he must have assumed Selene had told, as if gossip was a predilection of hers as a spy -- had been as traumatizing as it was inspiring, clearly. It was ingrained in him, a Marine as ever, not to respond to such a challenge. Alcott may have felt he had something to prove, but he certainly did not. So he simply nods, face stern but with there's a glint in his eye that makes it clear he's a bit impressed, and let's Laura answer suffice for him. He said instead,* Then you need to learn to control the transformation. *And he takes Laura's arm, to disapparate.*

 **Alcott:** *Advice instead of a warning...he supposed he should take that as a gesture of respect, even as they disappear and he exhales.* Oh no. Please leave. You used so many words I don't think I can process all of it right away, and my ear might fall off. *Ah. Perhaps not the best word choice, where they were considered. Exhaling, he squeezes Hols hand tightly, gladdened by her standing there as much as he's proud of her too. Turning,he wraps both arms around her, pulling her in and frankly, inhaling her scent as deeply as he could to steady him--and helping hold her up. 

Holding tightly, he finally pulls back and says quieter, looking deeper into her eyes without blinking,* And...yes, I took the potion, and it...it started to work, and then he snapped my neck, so when, I woke up, I was human again but-- I feel different. I...feel like I'm on fire. Or did...I don't remember the transformation. *That makes him smile abruptly, sheepish but brimming with excitement of that thought.* Hols, I don't remember it--it didn't hurt, or not as much, maybe, I--I was just so concerned becau--oh! *He looks at her straight on, saying simply,*  Nadia is safe. With Dev.

 **Hols:** *She breathes out again, the exhale deflating her shoulders and posture again for her body wanted to slump so instead she held Alcott to her, leaning her head on his shoulder for that moment of absolute safety before he pulled back.* He snapped- *She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine the sight but it was too late. The carnage around her made it difficult not to picture it with absolute accuracy. She didn't think she'd ever hated a person so much. 

She opened her eyes again and chose to focus on him, his transformation without pain.* I'm so glad, it, that's great! It works! *It worked...did that mean he needed to keep taking the potion? Was that how Hans was planning to buy Al into his murderous pack?* Nadia- gracias a Dios, al cielo eterno- *She leaned in to hold him again, feeling another tear prick at her eyes. Her dad was safe, Nadia was home, Al transformed without pain...that was the good of the night but they were literally surrounded by the bad, the victims.* I can't be in this room anymore.

 **Alcott:** *She pulls him in again and he lets her, hanging on as much as she was to him.* Yeah, *He says under his breath, playfully,* I tried to just slip that in. *Was it awful he was impressed by himself surviving that? As he said, there has to be some advantage to this whole thing. And God, if he could keep transforming painlessly...or perhaps it wasn't painless (his heart was pounding--exploding--his body was aching, and there was still a pink, stretched scar on his stomach that he figured probably wouldn't heal completely. 

Silver. Torn from his thoughts at Hols quiet words, he nods abruptly and immediately, seeing other Aurors over her shoulder. Tyler was sporting a shiner that made him smirk. And then he hears the weak breath and heartbeat -- and freezes, spinning and gestures towards one of the bodies.* Hols...he's breathing, he's alive. *The other Auror with her immediately burst out with "Hassan?" And hurried to the man, but Al had only told Hols to let her know--they weren't all lost. Arm still around her shoulder, he nods.* And agreed. I...need to find my Ma too--and Eliza and, *Ignoring the body aches and his weaker breath, he spins suddenly at the end of the hall to scoop her up in a bridal style lift, and darts forward at the same time. When they're clear and in one of the empty halls, one that seemed to glisten in it's pristine crystalline decor- untouched by the violence-he spins, happy, happy they were safe, happy he might have a chance after all, that Nadia was safe and above all -- that Hols hadn't lost her father, and even if he hadn't had anything to do with it in the end, he was glad. So he spins, and kisses her once, saying teasingly,* And you went and fought lioness on wolf after all, didn't you?

 **Hols:** *Wry* Nice try. *As if something that big could just be slipped in. But he was safe and alive and that's all that mattered. The same couldn't be said for-* Hassan? *She whispered, relieved to hear Al say so. She could breathe a little easier and nodded. That helped, a bit.* Yes, I have to check on everybody too- whoa! Al, for Merlin's sake- *the protests faded away with a small smile and a chuckle as she kisses him once.* I was attacked -first- so. *She sniffs and then exhales* I tore off her arm...and Zoe and Magnus think I'm going to turn into a werewolf. Gotta do some damage control. Al, what I don't...*her brows furrowed as she looked at him* how did you know to come down here? Did you hear- wait. *epiphany* You thought you could stop Hans.

 **Alcott:** You tore off her arm? *Utter shock clouds his face and with a small smile of pride even as he thinks -- see, she could handle him then, this was why they worked. Well, many reasons. And. Her. How many wolves were in this pack? Still preoccupied with kissing her neck a moment, he stills at the words and then he sets her down. 

A softer smile on his lips, he nods even as he seems totally occupied with grabbing his summoned shirt and pants to slide them back on, after repairing them with a simple hand wave. Only then does he look back at her, and he nods once.* When Lynn said what you and Dev had done-- I realized what the howl was I heard, and why Hans had run off so fast. And I knew your dad would come to arrest her...*It had to be 'her Dad'--he didn't want to think of him any other way right now, and he shrugs the rest of the sentence away. If anything, that made it all more obvious how important he knew it had been. He kisses the tip of he nose.*

 **Hols:** *Half her arm but that was a single detail. She justified it because she'd only been defending herself, and she could have clearly attacked the wolf when she was down but had allowed her the chance to submit first. Her mistake, it seemed, and now her neck and shoulders were paying the painful price. On a completely unrelated note but not exactly, it was a shame public nudity was so frowned upon. The explanation, more than him covering up those delicious assets, brought her eyes back to his in stunned silence.* You...came to help him? *A brief smile shone on her face as he kissed her nose. Grabbing his face, she placed her mouth over his, claiming it in a short but hard kiss, giving him all her breath because that's all she had to offer then. Pulling back, she passed her hand on the back of his head* Thank you.

 **Alcott:** *He barely had time t--nope, no time, none, her lips met his hard, hard enough to steal them, like she was swallowing his breath and melding two to one. He met each motion, furious in heat of relief, of gratitude, and yes even of joy now. It would be slow before tonight could be fully understood--gradual, but they'd get there and deal with it as it came. Nadia was home, Devin was safe and awake--at least two of the bastards were caught and--and he might have gained a bit of control an-- and damn his girl was a fan _tastic_ kisser. 

Hot. Sweet. Delicious--as she pulls away his mouth still follows her. When he kissed her, nothing hurt. It was infinite. Exhaling as she does in a harsh little pant, he stills at the words and then swallows and nods. Sincere,* It's like I said, Hols. There are more important things to protect, to fight for.

 **Hols:** *She nodded breathlessly at his words, words she wholeheartedly agreed with, words that a year ago she would have laughed her ass off at the the thought that Alcott Brackner would be saying them. God this was, as Nick would say, really raw. She exhaled a brief chuckle* Al, I...*She smiled and then shook her head- no, no, not that.* I know I'm supposed to keep your ego in check but, you're...amazing.

 **Alcott:** *As her lips part, he realized abruptly what was about to come from them, and his own break open, then close, as if he was inhaling the unspoken,  those three little words. The smile that appears is unlike any he'd ever shown before, written in gentle lines as if they were the most precious and necessary to him, had replaced need to ever breath again. He nods at her, cupping her hand around the nape of her neck, teasing first,* Yeah, I know. *Brushing his thumb up the line of her jaw, he thinks briefly how she'd been fighting for his sake before she'd even liked him, and so he echoes with bare eyes,* You're amazing too, Hols. *The words were weighted with understanding that he felt and meant the same as her.*

 **Hols:** *Okay, time for her heart to start calming down. No, honestly, this wasn't fair when he could hear every beat as easily as if it were a drum right next to his ear. Shh, shh, shh! Damn him for eliciting such reactions from her, and at the same time oh bless him for it.* I know. *She repeated to him teasingly before she leaned in to kiss him once more, such vastly different than before that she frankly surprised herself; Hols wasn't known for being gentle or soft. She dropped her hand to his again, feeling as breathless as before with the unspoken exchange.* Come on, lets go find everybody now that you're regrettably clothed.

 **Alcott:** *Kissing the tip of her nose, he nods, but uses the distraction to kiss up her jaw to her ear and says pointedly,* Well, barely enough. *He was more focused on getting her somewhere he could thoroughly check these bandages and insure she rest, but now-- now he had to admit he was worried for the others. As they were passing the security and law enforcement he would find himself engulfing his mother (he was surprised to hear her whisper she was proud in his ear, even as she told him not to look so surprised), but never once did he let go of Hols hand. He simply couldn't let her go.*


	35. Not Some Month Old Pup Any Longer

**Max:** *Hell. He'd been good too long. Punching the plonker's face in had him flexing his fingers in and out, shaking aches. Voice hoarse, he had been shouting orders for half an hour. Granted he'd hear from his labor rep before the morning as he technically was not on duty and the Squad shouldn't have been listening to him. Thank God his men knew better than to follow that protocol when it was his family in danger. After making Lyndsea sit (Alcott was getting her water), and after telling his nephew he was expecting a full report from him (even if the Aurors weren't), he hurtles back into motion spying Zoe. Coming up behind her, he presses both hands to her shoulders in gratitude and relief. Then he kisses the side of her cheek, teasing,* I was going to snap your bra strap only--it doesn't seem you're wearing one. 

 **Zoe: *** Her hands were covered in blood under her latex gloves. She'd had to take care of someone immediately after the chaos started and she'd had no time. After of course, her training kicked in, and she was in her zone. She didn't know how many she'd healed, but she did know she sent at least two dozen of them to Mungo's for poison. Shutting the bag and snapping off her gloves, Zoe jumps briefly as she feels hands on her shoulder, but it's a second later that she realizes who they belong to.* Bloody hell, Max. *Her annoyance was short lived as he kissed her cheek and then turns around, whacking him with her gloves* Strapless. Otherwise I'd be showing the world my nipples. *nods her head* how's Lyndsea?

 **Max:** And dramatically improving my men's moral. *Grinning, he puts a faked disapproving parental tone on saying,* How dare you be so selfish, Zoe? *Dropping his hand, his eyes travel over her with genuine concern, well-practiced in such quick flicks and he exhales in relief. Not that he was worried. Obviously not. Eyes narrowing in exasperation not owed to her, but to whom they discussed,* Stubbornly refusing to rest, and ordering everyone to treat everyone else before her. She apparently swallowed a bezoar. 

 **Zoe:** *chuckles, shaking her head* I'll just go home and burn all my bras then, shall I? I did promise Louis I'd show him my tits, but you know, he was half unconscious I didn't expect the bloody wanker to remember. *She did love that son of a cunt though. The entire squad and station, really. They were a family, and sometimes a much better one than her own.* Sounds like her. Oh don't put on that face you hypocrite, as if you wouldn't do the same? Fucking Brackners. *shakes her head and then waves her wand to make the bloody gloves disappear and scourgifies her hands* How'd she get her hands on a bezoar? I ran out of mine almost immediately, the last one on Lady Dalma.

 **Max:** Bloke has the memory of an elephant. Especially, *and he raises his finger to the sky as if swearing on high (as one would for serious matters,* when it comes to gorgeous tits. *Amused as she calls him out as she always did, as only she could, he teases casually through sheepish smirks,* I like that, I think it should be our new family motto, get it engraved in gold and put it right up on the mantle: Fucking Brackners.*He lifted his hands as if to put it on the mantle, then waved sideways, showing and tilting his head at the imaginary engraving.* Mum will be proud. Well, if I say it was your idea, she would. *He winks, and then pauses at the question. Frown on his lips edges,* She said a man she knew, but not well, happened to have one on him in a first aid kit, I don't know. *It wasn't exactly a typical-first-aid kit kind of item, either. He flaps his open hand, still with sore fingers.* He saw her collapse so he gave it to her, right when it all started. *Rubbing the back of his neck, a bit quieter with the suspicion,* Thing is, some of Al's friends were there, one of 'em questioned him all suspiciously--seem to think he's involved somehow, though not a death eater. And now he's vanished. Lyndsea was looking, but. *He shakes his head.*

 **Zoe** : *smirks and then looks down at her chest* yes, they are, aren't they? Good job girls- *she looks up again and waves her hand* But enough about my tits. *Shakes her head as he makes a show of it, and as he stretches out his arm, she notices he's injured.* Speaking about your mom, remind me to nag you about you being a horrible date later okay? *She opens her bag again, searching for essence of dittany and then takes a step closer to him as he starts to explain about Lyndsea. She finishes ripping his sleeve at the shoulder, using a dropper to apply the dittany to the oozing burn and then looks at his flexing fingers, brows furrowing with worry momentarily before she sets it aside for the moment* It seems a lot of Al's friends were in the thick of things tonight, my cousin included. *She wraps a bandage around his arm, tying it off firmly before she adds quietly* Hey, call me crazy, but I think Roswell knew shit was going to go down tonight.

 **Max:** Hey, woah--*Protest ignored, a softer kind of smirk crosses his lips a second, as he thinks: Zoe knew him better than he did, damn, how had he gotten that burn? Evening awash in blurred memories of spells, he vaguely recalls scooping one of those little old ladies his mother always scolded him for calling Grey Hounds (dentures packed just as much bite) into his arms. Right, the beam had fell. He'd deposited her with the medi-wizards what seemed years ago, but see, Zoe had it all set already.* I'm not calling you crazy. You're right. *And hey! It wasn't punching Roswell that made his fist hurt then -- good. He owed him another few, he thought. Turning his head,* And the thing that makes me absolutely certain you're right - besides the fact you usually are, that is - is that I have to ask: which Roswell? *His gaze flicks up to hers from where he holds the gauze beneath her dittany. Pleasantly,* Senior's knocked on his ass half a mile from here, out cold. And the squad found the junior one knocked out and handcuffed to a chest of drawers. *His lips twitch in pride,* Al took credit for the latter.

 **Zoe:** *Her eyebrows arched and seemed to only want to rise higher as Max kept talking. Pleased to hear about the bloody prick, her lips flicked with the suppressed laugh but she couldn't actually hold it back when she heard the next part.* Fucking Brackners. *She kisses his cheek before patting it and capping the dittany bottle again.* I meant Senior. He said *she rolled her eyes and then swallowed to shrug if off* just that I was going to regret ever making a fool out of him.

 **Max: *** God, he loved to make people laugh. Specifically he loved making Zoe laugh. It resounds wicked, like a gold hammer struck the bell when the mouth was still pointed upwards, inverted in a church. Warmed by a flare in his belly, he says,* Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it? *His good humor vanishes as quickly as it came. Teeth meeting each other in a hard-lined mouth, he inhales through his nose, then nods.* Lyndsea said she saw him corner you. *He lifts the hand she wasn't treating to her shoulder, serious a moment. Unblinking, his eyes say that he's there for her if she wants, that he understands. Aloud he says,* Hey, soon as we leave the hospital and file the reports. Bar or strip club?

 **Zoe:** Ah, so is -that- why you left me to fend all by my lonesome tonight? You heard and went to go kick his ass. *She smiled, genuine appreciation and gratitude in her gaze as she nodded to his silent message, only to chuckle at his question.* Do you really think I want to drink cheap bar alcohol when you've got all the good stuff in  basement?

 **Max:** *Nodding importantly, even he pulls his jacket back over the bandage to hide it from view he says,* See, so don't hurt me --too--hard Steel, for leaving you with my mother. *All right he'd done that first, but then! He repairs the mirrors and vases they're near (the law already had their pictures and residue-checks and spell-checks or whatever it was they did); no need for Lyndsea to worry about the clean up. Smiling,* Strip club it is. *Turning back to her, he exhales and says more seriously,* ...Listen, though. There's something...well, knowing Lyndsea, I'm sure she'll have some connection in the Minister's office to keep it out of the papers - but it'll be on registry, and...he told me to tell you. And said I should apologize that he hasn't had the opportunity to tell you himself. *Exhales,* Alcott that is. *Max's voice was steady, but unusually serious for him. * 

Last April, he was bitten by a werewolf. He only just told Lynds and I a few weeks ago -- though judging by her expression, she'd guessed without really guessing a long time ago. The pack that was here tonight? They've been trying to recruit him, telling him they can help him learn how to control it, because they clearly have superb impulse control. *Okay, so he was serious. That didn't mean he had to be devoid of wit.* Alcott said he'll give us all the details after he's sure everyone is all right and out of the hospital -- but he added in an undertone...he transformed tonight. So whatever this pack has...*He trails off, shaking his head a fraction of an inch, knowing there was a gleam of want in his own eye. Max couldn't help it. No, he wasn't suggesting Al do anything but tell the pack itself to go to hell - but whatever spell or potion it was, there had to be another way to get it.* 

 **Zoe** : *She raises her eyebrows, both of them knowing that happened before Gustav had presented his ugly face to her but she lets it drop for a chuckle which she automatically lets drop once the conversation takes a more serious note, and she couldn't help but to worry especially with a build up like that, and she was right.* Bleeding shit, really? *She exhaled and shook her head. Because this family she'd adopted hadn't suffered enough?! Fucking bollocks. And since last April? Oh Al. Just like a Brackner man, to keep it to himself, she could already hear him now, saying he had it all under control. Fucking Brackners. And now a pack wanted him? And one of the wolves had attacked Hols- oh hold the fuck up!* ...But it isn't the full moon! How in the fu- *Her tone was a screaming whisper, if such a contradiction was capable of existing.* -who in the bloody heaven, earth, or hell could come up with something like that? 

 **Max:** *See, this was why they were best friends. All right, one of many reasons. Still, as she exhaled, cursed and cut straight to the point, Max smirked. Always appreciating the mouth on her, his head-jerk of agreement was barely noticed, for she'd just ... actually she'd just jumped straight past his initial point. That was a much better point. Who -could- have created something like that? Unable to miss the opportunity, he tilts his head while he remarks off hand with brows flicking,* Well, I know who could in heaven. *His dear brother always had conquered the strangest, innately fringe branches of magic. Often for no reason besides 'hey, it's tuesday.' Sadness passing through his eyes for a heartbeat, a smile takes his lips and he clears his throat just once, nodding in agreement at her,* On Earth though, that...will take some thought.  

 **Zoe:** *Way to go Zoe. She should make an instruction manual on how to properly and accurately put your foot in your mouth in less than five seconds. She put her hand on his shoulder now, with a tiny smile before she nodded.* Well, it seems to me we've got some private investigating ahead of us if we want to get Al that thing and keep him away from that pack. Which would be easier if it was a potion. I bet my perfectly toned ass and your sculpted abs something like that needs some unique and expensive as fuck ingredient. Did he say if it was?

 **Max:** You read my mind. *He paused, then made a show of examining her, lifting the back of his hand to her forehead and murmuring under his breath playfully,* And you haven't gone into shock? Mm. *Nodding,* Mum's right, we're soul mates. *His eyes go to her hand on his shoulder, reassured naturally and brings his hand back, putting it over hers and squeezing.* He didn't. He half muttered out that he had and darted away -- which reminds me, his girl, you were with her?

 **Zoe:** Ha ha, I've long gotten used to the depravity in there *she tapped his forehead with her two fingers and then exhaled in fake suffering* Merlin help me, fate is cruel. *She teased with a brief smirk before she nodded* Hols, yeah. Some fucking wolf made a mess of her neck and shoulders, and she says she'll be fine. Fine! As if she wasn't just attacked- you Brackners sure know how to pick women even more stupidly stubborn than yourselves, I'll tell you that much.

 **Max:** Not arguing. Wait - *he double checks both ways, as if looking for Lyndsea or his mother (or Rosalia for that matter), and then repeats with a firmer nod playful,* Yes, not arguing. *Mouth formed in a faked 'ow', he replies,* Must be why fate is so cruel in finding soul mates for us. *Only then he freezes, realizing what she said and his mouth hangs.* ...wait, was she bitten?

 **Zoe:** *She would have made another comment about fate being so cruel but in the interest of not putting her foot in her mouth again, she only nods, pulling her hair into a ponytail quickly and puts her hands on her hips, nodding.* All over her cute little body. I was going to go talk to her when this all died down, see if I can smack any sense into her, or maybe smack her out of a possible denial. I mean there's no way she's not infected, right? I mean even without the full moon- maybe Al should talk to her.

 **Max:** If I weren't well aware that such remarks were the way you show you care hun, I might be worried you were hitting on your cousin there. *The remark was through his lips before he thought -- as was entirely typical of him. Squeezing Zoe's hand and letting it fall, he moved to start cleaning the nearby table, before leaning backwards against it, arms folded.* Two options. *He undid his cuffs, shaking the hands out and then refolding,* If she's not infected, that is. One, whatever super secret heavenly potion from hell and/or curse, makes them transform at will, also renders the venom neutral without the moon. Or two, more likely, Hols has been a wolf all along. *He shrugs a shoulder.* It was the only bit of Al's first story that didn't make sense. Day Devin was attacked, he was in the woods because he was giving Alcott the Wolfsbane potion, only it was smashed, he transformed without it, and then he said that Devin had fetched or notified Hols - he wasn't sure which, but that -she- knocked him out, and he woke up to her. *He arches an eyebrow, listening to himself.* Though if Devin was able to notify her she couldn't have been transformed...*Trailing off, his lips form an 'oh' and he exhales breathless and wordless.*

 **Zoe:** I have very few limits, but incest is still one of them. *She exhales, turning as he moves backwards to help clean (she would have helped but her cleaning spells were...lacking.) and then inclines her head, the former explanation would make sense but they had no way to prove it, but the second was unlikely in her ears.* Hols? A wolf? She's vegan! And didn't you tell me Al was a little carnivore during the summer? That's *she shakes her head and then looks up after Max trails off in his explanation* What? Whatever epiphany you've just arrived at completely bypassed me so plain terms: go. 

 **Max: *** He chuckles, idle,* Yeah, I swear first time in my life I was worried he'd blow through his trust fund on _meat_... *He shook his head. One thing he'd always been good at was writing the budget. Of course, that was a different skill entirely than managing to -stick- to it, but one person couldn't have all God's gifts right? Even Brackners. Then they'd just be obnoxious. Rubbing at the back of his neck with the extended hand, fingering over the hanging mouth,* No, no epiphany, just a thought -- if Hols could knock him out, she's stronger than him. *He wiggles both eyebrows at Zoe, amused. Then he blinks; thinking it further through.* And if she could be contacted, she wasn't transformed, so she's not a wolf--and she fought a wolf tonight, was bitten, but it wouldn't affect her? *His hand slaps his forearm.* I mean. Far as I know all humans are affected by the bite. So she wasn't human. Am I thinking too linear?

 **Zoe** : *Too easy to make a joke on that account, but this was a serious topic, so she refrained but aha, trust fund on meat, too easy. She followed his train of thought, surprised at how logical and simple it actually was. She stood straighter blinking* You're saying she might be an animagus! Oh that would make sense...the wolf was missing a foot, well hand, but I thought Hols had cursed it off but...*she shakes her head* Merlin, what are these kids in? Do you remember what _we_ were doing at 15 and 17? Definitely not *she waves her hands around* this.

 **Max:** Up-pub! *His hand goes up, teasing,* I know you never give up, but I have been reliably informed by my attorney that I don't have to answer that. *Actually, truthfully if there was an attorney was there, then Zoe was in the cell beside him. Still rubbing his neck and shoulder, he shakes his head to speak serious and sincere,* She tore their hand off? Goddamn. *Low whistle,* Remind me not to piss her off. *The thought of his nephew mixed up with Death Eaters...he felt like he might retch, and it wasn't the carnage he was cleaning. Closing his eyes, he exhales and asks her lower,* Zoe. This summer. The whole summer -- Al was boasting he was the only one who understands...*he swallows on a raw throat,* Harper's research. He's got it stashed somewhere, he's salvaged more than--well more than I was ever allowed to see, that's for sure. *A hand slides from his shoulder to close over his heart, and he grits his teeth.* And I know he's not exactly one to talk freely about it, but if they know .. about April, then what's to say they don't know that? What's to say they don't think, all they had to do was be patient, and that now they got someone else who can tell them what they wanted a decade ago? 

 **Zoe:** Oh please. If I really wanted to know all I'd have to do is get you drunk. *She grins and then nods, actually quite proud of her cousin at the moment but she was still going to talk to her about it. Seeing the crippling worry in his face as he started talking, she takes a step forward to him again, frowning, following his logic completely.* Then they're tripping ball sacs if they think they're going to get him Max- it's not the same as last time okay? You know now, Lyndsea knows, and Al won't have to do this on his own. You'll help him, and we'll make those arse licking cock for brains pay for what they've done to your family.

 **Max:** *With a tiny giggle that emotion chokes off, he shrugs a shoulder,* Not really a question of 'have to' though, is it? *Forget haunting reminiscence. The trouble wasn't that he was creeped out by parallels -- and it wouldn't be solved by just standing up and relaying the nightmare as a cautionary tale. It had the elements of the Brother's Grimm of course: don't go into the forest little Red! (Too late).* Harper didn't _have_ to do it alone either, and God, it's scary sometimes - most times - how much Al is like his father. This feels like an alcoholic's gothic romance remake of the events of a decade ago, where the million-pound bastard filmmaker had a brilliant idea: this time we go for the kids! That'll be sure to pack the seats! For fuck's sake, Zoe...Alcott waited until he was backed into a corner to tell us and it's not like -- it's not like it escapes me, why he doesn't trust me, *he rubs the back of his neck,* but he doesn't realize it isn't his job to protect his mother or me or Dad -- it's our job, to protect him. *Now he rubs his throat.* But then, seems we've rather failed at that too. Seems to me we were all shown up tonight by a group of teenagers.

 **Zoe:** Okay, don't let him then. You said it, he's a kid. They're all kids, and they've been dealing with this by themselves for too long, I mean Al's been a werewolf since April?! That's just *rubs at her forehead, practically feeling the lines etch themselves into the skin before she sighs, looking up at him* They should be out getting drunk and stoned off their asses and experimenting with the same sex, not fighting death eaters and a wolf pack that just massacred half of the Aurors downstairs! And that was one! It just-- I want to _hit._ Something.

 **Max:** *Though he had been nodding along in vehement, visceral, viral agreement with dull pangs clutching at an absence in his chest -- at the last remark, as Max was prone, he cracks a small smirk.* Not me, please. I was beat enough tonight, I think. *A werewolf since fucking April. He had moved in all those years ago now, to _help_ his nephew, protect him, look out for his brother's family. It may have been blood on his lip, but all he tasted was failure. Alcott shouldn't have to deal with any of this -- and Lyndsea nearly died, all while he was busy knocking Roswell out, because _he_ was going after Zoe. Again. Maybe he could ask Alcott about his brother's research with the whole "growing of limbs" -- if he could complete it and grow him an extra few...clones, really. He needed to be in six places at once. 

God, though, he mutters under himself, thinking and for a moment swearing with his eyes cast upwards that he'd do better - he would. He'd made his brother a promise that he'd take care of his family. And it was far past the days when taking Al to see the hippogriffs or teaching him how to haggle in the Apothecary, or even taking him out to throw the Quaffle was going to cut it. Dropping his hands forcibly, he sticks them in his pocket and says in clear understatement,* I gotta say, feeling a little left out here. I was, evidently, the only Brackner -- see, cause, you count Zo' -- not targeted. Hm. 

*He pats down his chest, as if searching for something, hitting against the gold chain he wore - always wore, that which had been a gift from Harper - and then shakes his head in faked success.* I guess I did it! Been trying to run off so long, finally worked. Excellent. Now they don't know what they're dealing with. *Furrowing his brows, he asks offbeat,* ...will Lydia miss you _terribly_ one night? There's plenty of room at the manor - I know I heard Al ask Eliza to stay - but, strip club tonight, definite . *Nodding,* And then, we need to plan, all of us, just...sit together as a family, and go over everything because you're right - you're absolutely right. Familia. *Exhaling the sudden Spanish, he pinched forefinger and thumb and gestured to the air for emphasis - he was so fucking tired of having his family messed with. *He furrows his brow, but says quieter,* But I know Al isn't going to back down. And if we don't prove we trust him? Clearly, who _knows_ what these kids will do...

 **Zoe** : *Scoffs and shakes her head, though she had a tough time keeping a smile at bat* I don't count. I'm not nearly stubborn enough, or hypocritical enough. Impossible. Infuriating. Egotistical. Loving Brackners doesn't make me one, it makes me insane. *She shakes her head and then wraps her arms around him, squeezing him briefly as she realized her panic needed a little more to die down.* Only cause I know it would give you a heart attack otherwise, okay, one night. I'll have my customary hammock, I love that thing- you still have it I hope. *She backs away and nods with him, glad he was thinking this ahead, facing it head on.* Yeah...well, of course he's not gonna back down. That would be too easy, after all. And besides, like I said: Fucking Brackners.

**&.**

 

Harper had never been a clean person. It was common knowledge, whether true or false, that the more intelligent a person was, the messier they tended to be. Accurate or not, it nevertheless proved true for him. Compared to the state of his room at this present moment, however, his organization would be worthy of the Dewey Decimal System.

Papers littered every surface of the room, from his bed to the floor; some even found themselves glued to the wall though Harper had no memory of using the spell to keep them there. All of his books were laid out as well, opened to ripped pages he had not been able to keep from damaging in his harried effort to flip to the correct ones. Glass vials rolled on the floor, drawers were thrown open, some dangling to the desk while their contents spilled onto the floor below.

He was working against his urge to hurt, to injure, to maim, and to kill, which was his immediate reaction upon learning of the events at this Gala. Lyndsi, poisoned; Al a werewolf and trying to be recruited by Hans; Nadia stabbed his son. And here he was, powerless to stop it. He was supposed to protect them, that’s why he had made the unbreakable vow to begin with, to keep them safe but he couldn’t do that. He was not under any false pretenses that he couldn’t do much from in here, but this…this, was nearly unbearable. He had to rely on Olivier to keep his family safe, and while Harper was grateful to the man, there was resentment in his heart. The resentment grew from not being able to do so himself, from not being able to do anything himself, except set things in motion and wait for them to play out, wait for other people to get here. He had never before felt so helpless. Not when they broke all his limbs and left him in a room for days, not when they hung him up by his wrists and used knives burning with black fire to draw on his body…not the entire time he had been here.

Harper forced himself instead to create, not destroy, though it was proving difficult. He returned to the first piece of research they had made him undertake when he was brought up from the dungeons and given a room; it had been only a little bigger than his cell. He hadn’t been instructed to create a cure, and so he had never looked for a cure, but earlier research on the nature of the lycanthropy virus was a good starting point. A cure was a stretch, too much of a stretch, even for him. The potion he had provided for them was relatively easy compared to what he was thinking on. There were no cures for viruses for there was no way to stop it, only a way to build up the immune system of a human by vaccines. But the lycanthropy infection was so aggressive, there was no way to build up an immunity without altering the DNA of a human being. He was undertaking something that might not ever come to fruition. This was beyond improbable and impossible but even still, if he didn’t try, he would never forgive himself.

His grip closed around a rack of vials and he threw them against the wall. The wood splintered and the glass shattered behind him, but he remained looking forward, bracing himself against his desk, digging the palm of his hands into the edges as he shut his eyes and kept them closed. Breathing in and out through his nose, he fought to keep composed, knowing how easily he was to grabbing the book next to him and throwing it against the mirror, of snatching up all the pieces of paper and tossing it in the fire. 

Harper had thought that he had long given up on the practice of crying about his woes and of being angry at how unjust all of this was. Anger has no place here, he had told himself over and over again, unless it was specific anger that served as motivation. This anger however, deep in his bones and unyielding, had no target. He was angry with everything, at everything, and right now he was taking it out on his few possessions for he had nothing else to hurt except for himself and he didn’t think there was a single part of his body that wasn’t scarred with some mark; he would not inflect more.

There was one he could be angry with, one that he could direct the entire wrath of his fury and his ire but not yet and that was what hurt most. Harper would have to suffer more visits in which the man would push at him, and taunt him for his own enjoyment and he could do nothing except take it, suffer through it, until it was time. He could do nothing and had to suffer everything. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it!

The desk cracked in two and collapsed inward, causing Harper to take a few steps back in surprise and breathe again. Crouching down, he placed hands over his ears in an attempt to block out even his own thoughts. He needed to breathe, he needed to calm down, but his rational thinking was second to how his body wanted to react. He hadn’t realized that his breaths were coming out of his chest in sharp, exhaled, sobs.

This was the man he was now. An angry, lonely, bitter man reduced to crouching on the floor at the mere thought of losing his family all over again. A part of him argued that he’d never lost them, that they always lived with him, carried him through the days and especially the nights. That part of him, however, was small and easily subdued by a much larger part that argued viscerally that he’d already lost them the moment he died.

“Shut up,” he told both of them, rubbing at his forehead with the palms of his hand. He wanted silence, he needed to think. Maybe he couldn’t find a cure, but maybe he could make it so the potion they had now could work at subduing their animalistic nature. It was the hunger and the anger that compelled them to turn, and by tapping in to that side of them, the wolf, that they were able to turn. That drive was most present during the full moon, making it almost impossible to resist turning even with the potion. But maybe, maybe, if they didn’t have that urge anymore, it’d be easier to resist the temptation. He-

“Angel?”

A hoarse and pained voice that spoke through gritted teeth drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw Allison there, her eyes wide as she took in the mess his room was and also the mess that he as a man was. In turn, he saw the mess she was. Bare of clothing, there were red claw marks down her chest and legs and across her legs too large to be from another wolf but the most obvious thing was the stump where once there had been a forearm and hand that she had quickly bandaged with pieces of cloth.

Harper immediately stood, pulling her into the room and closing the door. Setting her on the bed, he accio’ed everything that he would need to regrow her arm: the potion, the essense of murtlap, his wand, a syringe, needle, and the painkillers. This was something he could focus on, something he could do; create instead of destroy. In that moment, for the second time that day, he was grateful to Allison.

He unwrapped the cloth as she winced, biting on her tongue. “Fuck,” she muttered, and Harper could hear all the shouts and curses and tears she wanted to spill at that moment before she swallowed them into herself. “Fucking animagus bitch,” she said again, in that moment offering an explanation that Harper had not inquired for. A large animal then, somewhere between jungle cat and small bear had to be responsible for this. Curious for who would have done this only a moment, he set to work immediately after. He injected the painkillers, but he knew that Allison’s supernatural ways and high temperature would burn that off quickly enough. He thought about giving her more of his potion to suppress pain, but knew that in order to ensure all her nerves and muscles grew correctly, he could not.

“Allison, look at me,” she raised her head, having been transfixed by her injury. Her light brown eyes met his dark ones as he insisted. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, but I need you to keep from transforming.”

She growled, “I’m not some month old pup, Angel, get the fuck on with it.” She gasped and then closed her eyes before she added with a soft, almost pleading voice that surprised Harper even further. “Please.”

He nodded and injected the potion. What the potion did was create stem cells from the existing body cells, and with a spell, he was able to help and direct them to create the limb that was missing, given that the human body lacked the genetic information to do so for they were not meant to regenerate normally. To do so required an extensive knowledge of the human body and so his potion was meant for Healers. There were lesser forms of his potion, those that could be ingested to regrow skin for that was a natural body process just not on a large and rapid level. To regrow a whole arm however, a simple potion to swallow wouldn’t have sufficed.

The process was excrutiating for Allison. Her eyes remained yellow during the whole time he worked, and her fangs were exposed frequently but she was able to keep from changing any other part. The control was truly astounding and it made him rethink that maybe the anger, and that fury, wasn’t something that overtook them, but rather something they searched for. It could be a relationship reverse to the one he thought existed. And if that was true, control was much more achievable to begin with. Maybe…maybe he didn’t need to find a cure, maybe he didn’t need to alter, maybe he simply needed…faith, faith, that his potion would not only be used the way that Hans and Gustav intended it for.

Close to an hour later, he was pulling on Allison’s fingers and moving her wrist; judging the mobility of her arm and performing tests. They had not spoken except from a few curses in several languages from her part, but now she was speaking again as she moved her fingers for him.

“What happened to you?”

Harper knew what she meant, but still he asked, “What are you referring to?”

“Your room is a mess,” she remarked easily, lifting her arm and moving it up and down, licking the blood off her lip. The rest of her scratches down her chest and abdomen were already healed. “And you seemed upset when I came in.”

Upset. That was an understatement, but he realized that she was actually trying to spare him by describing it accurately. Her wide brown eyes revealed that easily enough. “I woke up and I hated the room, so I thought I’d redecorate.”

Silence stretched for a few moments before Allison raised her eyebrows, a hint of a smile present on her lips. “Was that an attempt at a joke?”

“It was an attempt, yes.”

She laughed then and then accepted the bathrobe that Harper conjured for her, shrugging it on with only a little difficulty though it wasn’t for her modesty that he offered it given that she had made it perfectly clear it was of no bother to her. Her arm would regain full mobility soon enough, but it would still be sore and a little painful to move.

“Nadia’s safe,” she told him as she stood, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I just thought you should know, she’s back home with her family.”

“I’m glad,” and he was relieved to be able to say something he meant and didn’t have to lie about. She nodded and kept staring at him before she decided to keep talking.

“Earlier before, you asked me why I was helping Nadia.” She paused only to make sure that Harper nodded to ensure he remembered. “I was helping her because I wanted you to see that the pack…we’re not monsters.”

Harper sat up straighter, staring at her confused. All evidence to the contrary, he thought but instead he asked, “Why do you care what I think of you?”

“I…I just think,” she cleared her throat, “you’re going about this the wrong way. The pack…we’re not death eaters, Angel. You don’t have to hate us…we don’t hate you. We’re thankful to you. We could be friends.”

“Hard to be friends with someone you think below you.”

She paused for a moment, licking her lips and then admitted. “I don’t think that.” Harper opened his mouth but before he could say anything she stood and headed to the door. Looking back, she offered him a smirk and a wink. “Thanks for the help, cariño. That’s two I owe you.” She wiggled her fingers and blew a kiss his way before she sauntered off, but not before Harper saw her shoulders fall from the rigid posture she had kept them in.

He chuckled and shook his head. Allison was a crazy bitch but maybe the latter part of that description wasn’t entirely accurate. He remained sitting in the chair he’d conjured up, breathing heavily again. He was calmer now, but the panic had not truly gone away and he suspected it never would. Not until he was out of here. Until then, he raised his wand and began to clean his room again. The mess he was inside could not reflect outside, no longer. 

&.

 

He found her at the bar (again). She was turning a little empty vial around in her hand, around and around her finger and he thinks she must have something clever to say, so he’s silent. Stefanie’s all dolled up; the gold hair (loosened around her ears like it was tugged free), green eyes (they glint, like reminding him he should be jealous of an invisible monster), and the heels (she could kills with those) and the shimmery emerald gown. It shines on her. Like he was off to see the fucking Wizard, he thinks in amusement with his eyes on the glass as she thumps it against the wood. 

What she says is, “My brother would have let me die tonight.”

And it’s not clever at all, Tony thinks as he signals for another bourbon. It’s disappointingly on the nose, actually, nothing witty or sarcastic about it. Hans would have done just that. It was a different wolf that had deposited Stefanie in his arms; Ansel Dorat had handed her over to him (no surprise his eyes were green either) when he’d stopped him in the hallway, and pointed out he’d be caught if he carried her any farther. Truthfully, Tony was surprised Stefanie could remember anything; she’d been listless on his shoulder, murmuring something about her father.

That was how he knew the glass vial she held hadn’t been alcohol. Ansel forced something down her throat before leaving her side. Tony’s eyebrows flick high on his face as he swallows the bitter truth she spoke. It’s somehow sweeter than the alcohol that chases it down.

“My brother would have helped him,” is what Tony says, disgusted as he slams the empty tumbler back to the bar. 

He’d left her in a hotel bathroom. He hadn’t expected to see her in it’s barroom. But he thinks it’s an opportunity now, as she turns and arches an eyebrow at him.

“But not you.” Her tone is biting, her green-eyes flashing. 

“Not me.” Tony agrees, pouring another drink for them both. Buying the bottle seemed easier. Another sign of his last name, he thinks drily, wiggling the cork back in the glass. Old Ogden’s best cost more pounds than some hoped to make in a lifetime. A lifetime was what he’d need to forget this night. 

Stefanie picks up her share, offering it to him in a mockery of a toast.

“To our brothers, then.” She’s downed it before he thinks of a witty remark, but he’s thought of other retorts by then. 

Eyes trailing down her neck as she exposes it to him, he sees the scarlet mark. Ansel’s work too, he thinks, as another spark flares in his gut. She’s doing it on purpose, he realizes, showing off the fact she was wanton, owning it and holding herself as if there was red neon declaring “come and get me boys.” Delight colors his smirk. He understood that need. 

“To our brothers,” Tony agrees, though he’s well aware he wants a word with his own and wouldn’t mind putting a silver dagger in hers. She smiles at him in that kind of way that tells him she’s well aware. And he loves that. He loves that she’s not fooled. There’s another clink, but the rest of the bottle waits.

He takes her home, and he fucks her, because he just wouldn’t be Antonio D’Grey if he didn’t.

**&.**

Tony kisses her like he means it. 

It takes Stefanie by surprise, so much so that it steals her breath and makes her open her eyes, just to be sure that it is still Tony before her. Tony with his arm banded around her waist keeping her upright as they stumble through the back door of the hotel bar. Tony with his eyes closed and his tongue tasting of bourbon against hers.

She didn’t remember when she’d met Tony; Olivier was a constant guest, but his brother...his brother was the surprise his father hadn’t wanted. Her brother had been another surprise for their father...but, why was she thinking of that? Stefanie kisses him harder.

Lost in the way that he cups the back of her head in his hand before pushing her against the brick wall in the alley, he’s rucking up her skirts in his free hand. Her hips jerk forward, his knuckles grazing against her thigh in that shiver-inducing way that makes her lock her knees straight.

"Not here," she gasps her mixed message.

He leans back to smirk at her, presses his hips forward so she can feel the hardening length of him against her stomach. "Yeah." Tony licks his lips at her, and murmurs, "Okay."

Stefanie doesn’t remember where they go, or why she’d asked him to take her anywhere. It had bothered her when Ansel had gathered her up, stuffed something down her throat and pet her hair, murmuring how sorry he was. It had bothered her because she didn’t understand it, and she wanted to ask after him...but he dropped her off, put her in another man’s arms and took off before she got another word out. Before she could even thank him, for saving her life.

That was what Ansel had done, after all. She knew that now -- alive, because Tony’s lips were hot on her chest, teasing the hard pink tips between lips doused in bourbon, alive because his hands knead sensitive skin between finger and thumb, alive and on fire -- alive because Ansel had come after her, had heard her cough and given her the antidote. 

And it bothered her because she had seen her brother, seen Hans across a ballroom alive in terror when he had, and he hadn’t come after her. Was he that gone? (You know he is). Her heart had been pounding, pushing poison through tight veins, chilled. So cold she thought she might never be warm again, once a feverish mind had made her understand why so many were screaming. And then Tony had taken her away, and the rest was a blur.

Now Tony tears into her dress and kisses her neck without using his teeth, the juxtaposition of violence and care intoxicating. And that she wants to remember, despite the shots, despite her murmurs telling him to make her forget.

She didn’t want to know what her brother had done (though she already did, the massacre was already gossip on Finchley’s streets). All those poor people. She had gone there, hoping to talk sense into him, hoping to make her brother understand he wasn’t alone (guilt burned in her chest, for she knew why he thought that), but her anger had gotten the better of her (as it always did). So many lives lost...and Rachelle, the sister he’d bloody chosen then, she hadn’t deserved what happened to her either. None of them did. 

Her brother hadn’t always been this way, part of her wanted to scream, infuriated that he’d stared at her and then walked on. It was fitting her lips taste of cinnamon now, if this was a spiteful homage to their brothers, when Hans used to give her the last piece of the cake during Yuletide. It was foolish, this. That boy was lost... (She knew he wasn’t.) That boy was stolen from her. (But she didn’t know how to reach him.)

And it was the last fucking thing she wanted to think about now. 

Tony makes it easy to pretend. He’s a selfish bastard, but then so is she, and he moves with her like it matters. Like she matters. 

He kisses a path down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, his fingers skimming up to pluck at her nipple. She twists her hands in his hair, like it’s silk, somehow softer than the bedsheets he’d thrown her onto.

“Don't tease," she orders sharply when he nips at her hipbone with blunt teeth, and he laughs, breath warm against her private lips, a fire that lights her up from the inside, before he obeys. 

Thank god, she thinks as the world goes white. She doesn’t realize she said it aloud, not until Tony’s laughter fills her ears as easily as he fills her, and he tells her she didn’t want God. 

“But I do.” She murmurs, her words cutting out over gasps, her legs scrambled around him in the silk, her nails digging into his back. He laughs, and thinks she’s joking, and thrusts, and kisses her and she says nothing. 

It was a joke, a terrible joke, and it was also all she wanted. 

**&.**

 

“I’m fine, Dad—really—,” 

Claude ignored his daughter’s words—at least until he realized that was what he was doing. It was habit, he thinks uncomfortably, releasing her arms abruptly. Sixteen years he had worried about her as an idea, a mental conjuring of what he thought his daughter might look like, Eliza, the baby girl he was never allowed to know. And now, Claude realized, he compounds his fault with a simple fact: imaginings, like ghosts, can’t talk back. 

They want nothing. Subjects were only wisps of fantasy to be lost in a wind; live only for the dreamer, manifest desire, and die after one night, blinked away by one struggling to wake. 

“Sorry.” He apologizes for potentionally choking her, small. It felt he was always apologizing. Always sorry. Always soft.

“No, it’s okay.” Eliza smiles, but Claude could tell it was the kind of smile one gives when trying to make it okay for everyone else, when your heart inside has crumbled and dust of the wreckage closed your throat.

 “It’s nice to be worried about.” 

Eliza has two perfect tears in her eyes, but she blinks them away. Claude chokes on the little smile she offers him. 

“No, it’s not okay.” He says, irritated and visceral in his obvious pain. All these years he’d been selfish, but worse: he’d been an idiot. Fooling himself into thinking that his daughter was happier without him, that she had a better life without him there, that she wasn’t feeling the absence ten times worse than he was. How could he ever have thought it? And now she was hurt, for all her protest (the thought makes him want to pull her into another embrace); she wore a torn skirt still tracking dirt on the marble and was stained with blood and tears. 

Cupping porcelain cheeks and fluffed curls, Claude leans in to press his lips to his daughter’s forehead hesitantly, then pulls back and stares deeply into blue eyes she got from her mother. The foyer they were waiting in now was bursting with life; it steadied them all. Aurors (struck with their own tragedy) buried themselves in duty, placing everyone who hadn’t fled together, as if to prove the point of how many had survived despite the carnage. 

Yet for all the bustle, Eliza was the only one he saw. He needed her to know it. 

“Eliza, none of this is okay. And I’ve always worried about you. Every single day, since December 14th, 2010.” 

He could see the confusion in her gaze, and then worse another sad smile as she prepares to tell him it isn’t her birthday. With hope he not disappoint her again (a vain hope, but it makes him smile to think she gave him the benefit of the doubt still), she asks first quietly, “What’s that?” 

“The day your mother told me you existed.”

A smile flutters across Eliza’s lips, and she nods. As her eyes dart, she seems to realize her state: the scarlet splatters that ruined her navy gown, (don’t think of it as blue stained with carmine), and she half chuckles. 

Claude nearly misses her quiet “oh,” but she pulls herself closer to him and that he could never miss.

“I’m glad you’re here, Dad.” Her lips smack together as she chews and searches for further words. He closes his eyes, but can only bear to have them shut a half second, lest he lose the chance to look on her longer.

Water in his own eyes, Claude lifts a hand to crest her cheek as he speaks, “I should have been here before—,” 

“You’re here now.”

“I should have been here before.” 

She couldn’t make this all right for him; he wouldn’t permit his daughter do that for him. Even tonight when the ballroom imploded, where had he been? (Actually, where had he been? Mary had laughed at the question, told him it was the closet, but it was gigantic. Honestly, how many coats could one person have?) They’d heard the attack - rushed out (only for Mary to retch), but try as they might they hadn’t found their daughter. 

They fought fleeting shadows and drew blood; mediwizards were a few feet away, mending Mary’s forehead. Claude exchanges a soft look with her, and she smiles at them. How she managed to look gorgeous still astounds him. Eliza draws him from his thoughts as she lays her head on his shoulder, echoing, 

“You’re here now,” and to prove they had more in common even than he thought she mirrors his thought, “And you gave me your stubbornness.” 

It makes him laugh, and the goodnatured sound reverberates on a choked throat until she joins him in that too. He gathers her up in his arms, relieved to have been reached for as he was soured by the tears he could feel in his ruined suit jacket. 

“I just can’t believe everything that happened tonight.” 

She’d told him. It all had burst from her, like a busted dam forced to hold the Earth’s own tide. About Alcott who was her oldest friend and confidant — his neck snapped, his transformation, his mother poisoned. His mother Lyndsea - a name he knew well, a woman he’d met briefly sixteen years ago who was nearly unrecognizable now. His daughter told him why that was too, what Alcott had seen when he was six; how had he not known that Mary’s best friend had lost her husband? 

She told him about Nick using the gun, how she’d watched him fly without a broom, smash through glass and land a story down in the snow, about Stefanie and about D’Grey helping for no reason they could yet discern — and how she felt she could trust him, how she believed he wanted to help, because sometimes people were given things they didn’t want that weren’t like the atrocious Christmas sweater from Grandmum, that were harder to return without a receipt in the box. Sometimes they wanted to change, she argued. Sometimes it just took longer to work at it. 

She’d mentioned the spell that knocked her windless, spoke about Devin knocking a Death Eater cold, and about Dillon with Irene. She was jittery, more tears in her eyes as she mentioned she hadn’t been able to find Rory, was praying he was still in the kitchens, as he’d been making dessert. He’d frosted her lips. The look in her father’s eyes had made her stop there. 

It wasn’t until she watched Nadia with relief, surrounded as she was by what seemed half the world, that she spoke about Hans, quieter under her breath to swear with fire she’d never known such hatred could exist in her heart, and quieter still, she mutters hating that he was a good dancer.

She told him everything. That was why he hadn’t been able to let her go in the first place. And God, how had he ever been able to let her go!? Now he understands why Mary had barred the manor’s doors and given birth at her own home to keep him away. She was being kind. If he’d seen, let alone held, this beautiful little girl, this perfect embodiment of pink life and gold curls, he would never have let her go.

“I saw you with Mum earlier,” she says now, quiet and chuckles again. He matches it as Eliza fluffs a curl with her nail. Had he messed up her hair too? 

With a sheepish blush she says, “What? Okay, sue me, but it’s not like you two were being exactly subtle…” 

“Ah, I guess we weren’t.” 

That, Claude thinks, was because they were being impulsive. It had defined his relationship with Mary Culpeper since she clacked her heels into his cafe, his heart, and his life. It occurs to him with a tiny wince, they ought to have been more careful. That instead of kissing Mary, he should have been taking to her. That Eliza would inevitably want to know what was happening — and she had a right to know. It was cruel of them to toy with their daughter, how had they not considered that? Kissing Mary in that instant had been a selfish act, the latest in a long list. Funny, he’d never been one for regrets. 

“Eliza…,” 

“It’s okay, Dad.” She did it again, she made it okay. “I know you and Mum need to talk about everything, and that you don’t mean anything to me by it. I get it.” 

Claude tilts his head at her sideways, amazed and adoring. It was obvious to him. She might have his stubbornness, but he had nothing to do with the light that was in his daughter. He had nothing to do with how wonderful she was at all. It tugs at his chest, a hook on his heart, but he can’t hide his smile. 

As he nods, he says quietly, “Wherever did you learn to be so understanding? It can’t come from your Mum and I…”

It was half a joke, but only half. Understanding was not in his veins, not when fire could soak through instead. Eliza seems to get this too, for she laughs as her eyes shut and she shrugs a shoulder against his. He lets her, pulling her in a closer embrace and holds fast. She buries her face in his chest, nose pushing into the sewed pocket and she stills seems  unsatisfied, like she was trying to crawl home under his skin, burrow her way into his heart.

Claude wraps arms around her, squeezing in the tight embrace and rubbing her hair. Then he remembers what she’d done prefer, and tries to fluff it out again. 

“I don’t know, really. Al, I suppose,” she says eventually on smiling lips, “he’s been there no matter what idiot move I’ve pulled and supported me. Dev, because he…he’s helped me understand what you tried to do for me. And Rory…” 

There’s a blush in his daughter’s cheek, and her tone melts to a contented sigh. 

“He’s almost too understanding. Half of his summer weekends he’s working at the farmer’s stand for his friend - and this last, helping Dillon run off to smuggle Irene out and covering for him. Rory is the best I’ve ever met.” Eliza chuckles after a second, “Why he puts up with me, I’ve no idea.” 

“Why you even looked twice at me,” Claude hears Rory from behind him, “I’ll never understand.” 

Eliza startles and pulls away. Claude lets her, watching her face break into honest happiness whatever further tears. She barely mutters ‘hey’ in a broken sigh, before she’s stood and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. If Claude had not already become convinced that Rory didn’t need to be shot for touching her when the sixteen year old told him off, he’d be now. The boy’s face was transformed by the simple hug, like he was surprised, like he was the luckiest boy in the world.

With that Claude didn’t disagree. He pulls back a few feet on the landing, to let them have a moment. Invariably his gaze flutters to Mary. Her talons pluck at the dress strap he hadn’t realized he’d tugged loose, irritated by the questions the Auror was asking her. Claude swallows a chuckle. He doesn’t envy -that- man. 

“I love you.” 

Eliza’s words only brightened Rory’s look and he nods, lifting one arm to cup her neck as he echoes it. Claude looks away, not particularly eager to see them kiss.

Mary had a little smirk on now, sideways. That was her danger-smirk. That was the look Claude remembered ten minutes later having to dodge flying metal to. That curling iron had still been hot. 

“What happened to your hand?!” 

The exclamation draws both Mary and Claude to look at Eliza once more, but she was holding Rory’s arm between both of hers, eyes wide. 

“Run-in with that dick, Ansel. I’ll get it looked at,” Rory was trying to promise her, but their daughter was having none of it. Claude thinks it’s a good thing there were no curling irons plugged in nearby. 

“Yes you will, now.” 

“I can wait — honestly, there’s others here that need it more. You should get looked at.” Rory exhales, kissing her forehead.

“Sit.” Eliza orders, her arm snapped down before she coughs. The cough rings in his ears, but Mary had it covered — the mediwizard who was bandaging her appears by Eliza’s side, telling her she should sit too.

“I’m fine,” Eliza rolls worried eyes, fixated on his dangling arm. “He, has nerve damage.” 

Matching her, Rory argues to the mediwizard, “And she was hit with a curse that we haven’t been able to identify.” 

“And has no side effects, as I feel fine now,” Eliza scoffs, choking back another cough. “Sit.” 

She pushes down on Rory’s good shoulder until he obeys. The mediwizard nods briskly, starting to ask medical questions while Eliza hovers. Devin, apparently quite tired of standing near his sister (who had become one being with her boyfriend), comes over to check on them both as well. 

Her boyfriend reaches for her hand with his good one, and squeezes to reassure her.

“Hear you were a bad ass Dev, ” Eliza teases him after a reassured hell. Claude smiles at her, but he’s worried now: she hadn’t mentioned the spell had actually struck her. 

“Well, I don’t like to brag.” Devin pops up both flaps of his collar at her, but his eyes were wandering a heartbeat later. Nadia was behind them, Eliza figures as he meets her gaze again, “But it’s actually Mr. Stuart now.” 

“Like Double O?” Rory smirks, his arm extended as it’s tended to, hand resting and rubbing a shoulder at intervals of pain. “Stuart, Devin Stuart?” 

Devin chuckles once, and laughs harder as all of them realize in unison he had no idea what Rory was talking about. 

“Mate, you are missing out.” Rory’s words are light, “Best spy in the business.” 

“Oh yeah, sure.” Eliza argues incredulously, breathy, “Only manages to get his arse handed to him every single case if a pretty girl bats her eyes at him…”

“Pretty?” 

“Alcott.” Eliza breathes out in abrupt relief. Her friend crossed the room at a speed his mother couldn’t match behind him. There was a scoff on his face, and he wasn’t wearing shoes, and the suit jacket was too big for even his wolf-shoulders, but Eliza met him in a furiously tight hug anyways, launching into his arms. 

She pretends it doesn’t hurt. 

Al chuckles, hot and tired in her ear, pretending the same and that he doesn’t notice the tears she buries in his neck. He pats at her neck, pulling back to swear to her, “Eliza, I’m all right. I’m better than all right.” 

What was better than all right, Claude wanted to ask. It was on Eliza’s lips too, when it dies with the breath on her lips. Alcott turns to smirk. 

“Pretty is miserably inadequate to describe a Bond girl.”

That makes Eliza let go with a scoff. It turns into a cough.

“Oh, I am missing out,” Devin’s wiggling both eyebrows, calmed now. “Aren’t I?” 

“Hang on,” Rory’s hanging free hand extends to the ceiling as he’s smirking at Alcott, “You know who James Bond is? You?”

She wasn’t just short of breath, Claude realizes. Her cheeks were flushed…

“Like I said mate,” Al winks, “Bond girls.” 

Alcott’s face lightens with genuine surprise: at the last minute, Eliza turned her slap into a kiss.

“You know I have every movie? We could marathon them tonight.” Rory’s words remind them all of the simple fact none of them were separating anytime soon. 

Even with Devin and Alcott’s eyes constantly disappearing over his injured shoulder to survey the reunited Tudor-Coxes. Rory understood. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off Eliza now either. 

“Aw sweetheart,” Rory teases as he reaches for her again, noticing the red cheeks.

“Don’t tell me I made you blush that much…” 

“Bond girls.” Eliza slaps his hand away, or tries to. It feels like she was whacking a fly and struck air instead. Rory’s glad. The pain reverberating up his arm from a medi-wizard’s wand tip was in both hands now.

“You’re prettier than a Bond girl,” Rory says, then his eyes dart to Claude, who had stood. “I mean...,” 

“I saw that mate,” Dev mutters at Alcott, “You and Hols think you could be a little more subtle?” 

“Hypocrite. You’d be doing it with Nadia too. You know if…” 

“If she could remember?” Devin asks, brow arched. 

Eliza gapes at his insensitivity as Rory laughs, but swallows air.

“Dick,” Devin rubs at a raw throat. 

“And we’re better than your sister.” 

At that, he smacks Alcott’s  shoulder with his back hand for that reminder. Lynn had wrapped herself around Nick’s lap as he was examined, tighter than ivy on a tree. 

Eliza looks, but they’re too far. It’s blurry. 

“Oi, I’m injured.” Alcott argues, a light in his eyes Devin doesn’t recognize. 

“Saying you can’t take it?” 

“I’m say -- Eliza!” 

Her name is a sudden shout that breaks the busy hum of the crowd to pieces, as all three shout it, concerned at once. Rory throws the split and wand away from his arm, uncaring for the pain as he darts, falling to crouch. Alcott beat him there, goddamn wolf, but he lets Rory by (or maybe he didn’t let him, but Rory pushes past anyways). His good hand flicking to her neck, muttering “please, god,” beneath harried breath, Rory realizes the pain in his arm was nothing, nothing, nothing.

Just like her pulse.


	36. What Does Freedom Taste Like?

**Bianca:** *We were so delighted to have met you Ms. Morales, they said, but I'm afraid you're just not the kind of person we're looking for here.* My ass. *She grumbled out with a scoff, causing a couple of acolytes to look her way as she got out of the elevator and onto the lobby. We encourage you to apply  next year! Twats. She didn't need their coddling. She was at the doors (glass?) when someone just burst in, almost running into her.* Oye! *She had to sidestep, not caring that really she was the one in the way at a hospital because she was just more than a little annoyed.* You blind or- Alcott? *She stopped what was sure to have been a rude remark as she saw her not-really-nephew walk in practically on the man's heels.* Que paso?

 **Cade:** *Two seconds after he saw the girl collapse, she had half a dozen boys tending to her (he wasn't too surprised when he saw her up close). One identified as her father, so he'd let him ride in the car with the mediwizards--and the boyfriend--but when he reached the seats up front to drive, he found another he'd told to stay back already there. He identified himself with his full name as if he expected preferential treatment (and oh, Cade knew the name Brackner, but what was odd about this particular one was he seemed to have just as much expectation to be recognized by the name Alcott), and Cade decided there was no time to waste by fighting him. 

En route to Mungos, he was given the bare essential details: her name was Eliza Simmons,recently sixteen, struck and felled by a green curse but had been up not thirty seconds later insisting she felt fine and she was allergic to penicillin, dust, and ragweed. Halfway through the recitation, Cade realized he was glad Alcott was there. Her father was silent: he didn't know what Alcott did. Questions to ask later for the family history. His job was presently to get her there and then ask what the kids had seen. Unloading in a hurry, he burst in helping them float her on the stretcher--before spinning with hands up, startled as he near hit someone. Nice going, Cade, really smooth.* Sorry, miss-- *A Spaniard beauty, actually, so he alters,* Senorita--*The mediwizard with Eliza kept going, but he stalls as Alcott does.*

 **Alcott:** Tia Bianca? *Startling, he can't stop following Eliza's stretcher--and amber flashes through his gaze as two different Healers put their idiotic hands on his chest--but seeing his Aunt makes him pause.* It's--*his voice breaks, eyes following her disappearing stretcher,* Eliza... 

Bianca: *Oh boy, no, just don't. That's what her facial expression seemed to say as the man (and calling him attractive would have been an understatement ) tried Spanish.* Bianca Morales, Alcott's aunt- *Not really, but close enough and he didn't need to know that. She turned back to Al, eyes widening in growing confusion and then worry, she looked past the healers as the stretcher continued down the hallway. She began to remember the phone call she had with her sister Rosalia and then turned back to Al* 

This happened at that Gala? Is- *she only now seemed to realize how busy Mungo's really was* did all of these come from that- Alcott dime lo que paso, ahora, bueno- *She changed her mind, knowing the details would be many and she couldn't keep him away from Eliza.*  no, no te apures. Ey! *she called to one of the healers, or really anyone that would listen, putting her hand on Al's shoulder and taking a few steps forward, past the tall, dark, and handsome fella* He needs to go through! He can wait right outside the room, but you are not keeping this boy in the lobby, it'll be so much faster for everyone to just make like the Red Sea and part aside.

 **Alcott:** Si, si... *He answered, but he wasn't looking at his aunt. All these people, poisoned, hurt...because of the men who killed his father, who tried to kill Hols' father, who Hans worked with. Eliza had a gauze on her throat. He knew what that was: the potion that helped open the passage...she wasn't breathing on her own.* Esta noche..*Immediacy in his attitude, his words remain flustered with hurt,* la Gala fue...fue...*But he couldn't say it all again, they were jumbled in his head, faster in Spanish and still he couldn't support it with breath as he jerks his head, bobbing up and down around different Healers like a shark fin in tumultuous waters. Relief coloring him as Tia Bianca waved him off, he nods at her, jaw tight.*

 **Cade:** *He was getting maybe half of their conversation (which was better than nothing, he thought to himself, those night classes were paying off), but he was still grateful when they went into English. It made it easy for him to step forward when she did, more kind of stepping in line beside Bianca. But all right, his jacket happened to open and a badge flashed as he nods to the Healer,* You have a job to do. *It was all he said, but after looking at Cade, back at Bianca, and then finally back to Alcott he nods, and jerks his shoulder back. Alcott's gone so fast Cade's blinking. Damn, that boy could run. Looking sideways still impressed, he says,* You're his aunt?  *A bit of a smile as he continues,* He's a good kid. *Well, he was. A bit less calmly,* There was an attack tonight at that Gala. 

 **Bianca:** Aunt-like. *Oh, authority figure, was it? Well...no wonder she was being so hostile. She didn't like cops, but alright, she could play nice. It was a good thing he was so easy on the eyes.* He's a great kid. *She corrects as she watches Al run quickly down the hallway after Eliza, worry clouding her gaze once more before she seems to draw herself up and turn back to...she doesn't know his name yet.* I've concluded that much *she nodded around her before gesturing to his badge and leaning in to read the inscription* Auror Wesley. So give it to me straight. Casualties, right? And poison possibly given the people's symptoms. Inhaled or ingested? *Not qualified enough her ass, but whatever, she wasn't bitter. Nope. She inhaled and then asked a little more silent.* Do you know if Alcott's family is alright? His mother, uncle, grandparents?

 **Cade:** Cade. *The authority in her voice was met with an honest smile as he offers his name, but it tightens in seriousness at the simple reminders. He doesn't drop his gaze from her eyes or blink.* An unconfirmed number, yes. *Nodding as he swallows reluctantly, he was about to continue on to the standard statements, that he couldn't say more, when she asked specifically about her own family. Well, family-like. Alcott Brackner...well, then that meant,* His mother's Lyndsea?

*He waits for the confirmation,* She's under observation but recovering well, after she ingested a heavy amount of the poison. *Uncle...he didn't have any idea, but it was telling she didn't say father.* There aren't any other Brackners hurt that I know of. *Except he did remember seeing Alcott in the middle of....no. He couldn't think about that right now. Rubbing at his forehead to clear the image, he adds calmly,* Are you related to Eliza too? He knew her bloodtype, even... *So he was thinking they might have been cousins.*

 **Bianca:** *Her expression softened as she recognized the look on Cade's (even his name was attractive) face as he answered her casualty question; he'd lost  someone, maybe a lot of someones. She nodded quickly at Lyndsea's name, trying not to get too worried and then began to breathe easier.* That's a relief, gracias a Dios. *The last part was muttered under her breath and then she looked at him quizzically and then shook her head as she realized why he might think that.* No, Eliza's his best friend. Is she...gonna be alright?

 **Cade:** *Eliza dropping had made him leap into motion-- but as he sees her face soften with release, he realizes, there was another reason entirely he'd been desperately thankful for a reason to get the hell out of that manor. The place where so many of his friends, people he'd known for years...he didn't want to think yet, the amount of awful news that would be delivered. At least as far as he could see...the casualties had thus far all been security and Aurors -- the guests were, while far from untouched, alive. 

They'd done their job. He knew that would be a comfort to Jon's wife. Margaret was a tough broad; she'd be proud. There may well have been ten holes in his chest. But now, here, now he'd been able to deliver good news at least. Until the next question...and he rubs at his lips, eyes flicking to the doors as he considers.* Her heart-rate's strong, good blood pressure...

*He didn't know why she couldn't breathe...but further information when she wasn't a relative... His eyes flick back to Bianca.* Are you a Healer? *She wasn't a Mungos employee, but that didn't mean anything.*

 **Bianca:** *It was really bad, then. To start off with thise facts, but not tell her she was going to be fine, meant there was a degree of uncertainty. She breathed in through her nose at his question, reminding her of her undoubted failure tonight, yet worse things had happened tonight obviously.*

Mediwizard, witch. I was an acolyte in Spain, a few months from my license but that...*didn't work out. Turned to shit. Wasn't in the books for her there anymore, and if Mungo's kept being such a little elitist bitch, maybe not in England either. She cleared her throat.*  

Who attacked? And if you're thinking *she raised her finger* of saying you can't say anymore, confidential, need to know basis etc etc, trust me, it's not something I won't find out for myself. I'll be Eliza's aunt too for the next five minutes.

 **Cade:** *Eyebrows arching, there was sheepish amusement in his eyes; he was impressed. And a bit insulted, by the assumption he'd ignore protocol simply on her say-so (she had gorgeous eyes, but he couldn't let himself be affected by that anymore than he could be affected by what he'd seen tonight), but...he couldn't say he minded the affront. After all, it meant she thought him moral, not merely stuck in the mud and red tape. So he holds his hand up to reveal,* I asked if you had medical training, because I had a hunch, but needed to know if you'd understand what I said in professional terms. I didn't want to insult you if you did, by generalizing the info. 

*A mediwizard? That explained it. Her knowledge likely exceeded his then: the beginning mediwizard training he had to qualify was certainly less extensive. 

As his hand came down, he continues calmly,* Eliza went into cardiac arrest on the ride over, but responded to Rennervate quickly. The curse damage impaired both lungs and she may be bleeding internally, as she's both hypovolemic and hypoxic--but she was walking, talking...so no evidence of brain damage. *He exhales.* As for who attacked, I'm in no danger of revealing state secrets there, though I'm certainly flattered you think I know them. 

*His serious look flicks into a smile, but only for a second.* The cowards wore skull masks and black robes. Whether they're the new generation or copycats of the Death Eaters isn't confirmed, but considering... *He shrugs a shoulder as he thinks bitterly: it was all the purebloods who were walking away alive tonight wasn't it? When his brothers and sisters were casualties. He probably shouldn't say that though; it was unprofessional.* ...there are at least two in custody that I know of, and one is a casualty themself. *It was only names he couldn't disclose after all.* We'll find the rest. *Goddamn all of them, his tone made clear.*

 **Bianca:** *She tilted her head, a bit surprised and took a half step back, admitting simply*...oh. *Well then, her bad. She nodded in gratitude before she started listening. Bianca went into the mediwitch mindset to be able to process the information better. If it was Eliza who went into cardiac arrest, her  heart had stopped, then she'd been walking right past Cade and demanding to see her just to try and fix it herself. She allowed one curse in Spanish, that's it. Caught off guard by the small tease he managed to include in there, causing an equally small smile on her face, before she started nodding again , scoffing. Death Eaters, attacking a pureblood ball, what the fuck?* Arrests? *She was surprised, as well the rumors, and also her family's experience with Aurors, and personally experience herself tended to find Aurors/cops always...inadequate brutes?* Okay...Jesus, man. *She put her hand through her hair, getting it out of the updo she had it in for the interview and exhaling.* What about the rest of the casualties?

 **Cade:** *The little 'oh' made his lips --apparently developing minds of their own-- flick into a half smile. He waves it off: the night was rough on all of them, and she was getting all the information at once, and (he'd noticed) this seemed one girl unimpressed by his badge. It intrigued him, but the surprise in her voice and the single word question tightens his throat.

Good men and women had given their lives tonight...he knew what their deputy would say, but she had been there and dealt with that judgment a lot longer than him, hadn't she? He nods, though it's stiff.* Yes -- arrests as, *drily, for he'd had to remind himself of it often that night,* we try not to kill on sight.

*And because he was affronted. His blood was chilled with the words (though that wasn't her fault), and he says,* I think you can rest easy you won't know them. *Tightly.* The guests tonight seem ultimately unharmed physically--well those with names like Alcott's. 

*And damn did they pick their targets well. Then he realizes and his neck lifts again,* Do you know Nadia then? *She was Alcott's friend, he'd learned by the furious outpouring of information.* She was recovered. Actually, *if he was the girl's aunt he'd be buying her gallons of ice cream,* weren't for her, there wouldn't have been any arrests. 

 **Bianca:** I just meant that...*No, no, she did mean it exactly as it had sounded like. She truly was surprised.* Okay fine, so I don't have the best experienced with cops man, but I didn't want to offend. *If she'd wanted to offend, she wouldn't have been so subtle about it. The kill on sight comment was beginning to get awfully close to the family's inherent distrust towards Aurors though, so in the interest of not going down the path that would end in harming his pretty face and being arrested for assault of an auror, she veered away from the path.

Pureblood, she realized quickly, was what he meant with the Alcott comment. The guests were majorly unharmed, as who else had been there but security? Aurors, it seemed.* I've met her a couple of times through Al, though I mostly know her father. I am *she exhaled and nodded* very glad she's home and safe, and a little hero, apparently.

*It appeared she wouldn't be leaving Mungo's anytime soon- there were a lot of people to contact- her sister and brother-in-law at the top of the list. Looking back towards him after looking around, her volume dropped but her words were sincere.* Not that it helps having a total stranger say anything, but my madre raised me right -for the most part- and I'm sorry for the men and women you lost today.

 **Cade:** I'm sorry to hear that, senorita. *He was. Softened by the understanding that she was not merely reacting to a perception--but bad experiences, he lowers his hands to slip his pockets, antsy yet. The hustle and bustle around him was tonight's cost painted stark; a vision of high-class patrons demanding private rooms, assuring the hospital they'd be hearing from their lawyers, and even from one elderly woman: "young man, do you know who I am?" 

It pains Cade hearing their disparaging attitudes, but their harsh words were undone by a single glance to their faces. These people were scared. They were hurt, attacked, and confused: most of them had not grown up deathly terrified of men in masks. Death Eaters didn't attack pureblood events: it was their blood alone they refused to spill. The laments about torn thousand-pound silk and broken jewelry were sheer veils that hid nothing and laid a nameless terror raw. Cade knew the look. He'd worn it himself.

Turning back to Bianca, he adds,* I didn't mean to offend either. Just doing my job. 

*Hassan was here somewhere, he knew. The man's blood was still on his hands.*

Partly, *he amends lighter,* and partly I was telling you more than I perhaps ought. *Not that he'd said names, or specifics, or speculation, or that wolves had attacked without a full moon and that was why so many of his friends were dead. Cade wonders again about Alcott. The boy laid Ty out. Not many could say that. 

Did Bianca know? Would he tell his aunt something like that? Oh, he could hear Aunt Ira now if he'd kept this secret. You're out of the will, he'd be snapped at before his forehead was painted in mauve lipstick. He was out of the will give-or-take sixty-three times. This year.

Thoughtful wondering melts to fond memories, the flits away. He offers a sad smile at the words. Unblinking, Cade says,* Thank you. It means more, actually, from a stranger. Strangers have no pretense. No reason to lie to make you feel better. *Honest, as his lips crack, half playful, half serious,* Especially one who has bad experiences with cops. Though permit me to say I hope I can give you at least one good one. *And yeah sure he didn't mean right now, this fierce chica would get the insinuation, but he could have meant now! Double-speak. A talent that frequently got him written from Aunt Ira's will.*

 **Bianca:** Yeah well. *She shrugs because its not that big a deal anymore and well, she was Spanish and currently in this country a minority so "on edge" was the go to reaction here.* Don't worry, *she assures him with a brief smile and a teasing tone that had been too easy to pick up* I won't tell you broke the rules. *He hadn't, not in her eyes but the English had a habit of having broomstick handles shoved up their asses so who knows how strict his boss and the rules could be. Though this one appeared to defy the norm.* If you aim for just good, guapo, you're gonna fall short. 

 **Cade:** Guapo, hm? *Easy smile replacing the broken one, he made a mental note to thank Magnus for the nudge to take language lessons (and that Spanish had been his first choice).* Ay, Chica...*Cade attempts with a playful tone that made it both obvious he was still learning, and that let the words roll off his tongue, suave in his vibrato.* tu seras aduladora..*Damn, he couldn't remember if he needed another modifer, and his grin broke to finish,* ...pronto. 

*He winks. Then realizes he did, and wonders when he had become someone who winked, but hoped his inexperience with it and sheepish smile would make clear he wasn't running a routine here. God, especially not tonight. Clearing his throat as he fishes the card out of his breast pocket, he adds,* Gracias, senorita. My boss wouldn't appreciate that. *Actually, he was fairly sure Magnus would appreciate her silence more than unappreciate his wiggling around technical rules, but he was grateful anyway. He extends his card.* If you have any more questions or learn anything else about tonight...

 **Bianca:** Oh, so the Auror does know more than señorita. *she chuckles, nodding her head as he continues with his attempted Spanish. Still a rookie, but at least he had the tongue for it.* Una before aduladora. *She smiles* Not bad. *She takes his card, tapping it with her index finger before she nods, putting it in her back pocket.* I'll keep that in mind. *She looks back up at him.* Well, wouldn't want to keep you away from duty, officer. *This might have been the first time the word officer passed through her lips without any sort of dark sarcasm. Huh.*

 **Cade:** *Pinching air between forefinger and thumb, he says,* Un poco. *It was with an honest grin, pinch turning to snap as she corrects him.* So close. I'll get there. *He doesn't take his eyes from hers, even as she examines, taps and weighs the credentials. Hm. Aunt Ira was right, damnable woman, he ought to get the parchment card stock. It just seemed such a waste of money when likely they'd fall, be trampled, squished, ripped, perhaps set ablaze--all in the line of duty of course. 

She accepts the card though, and he smiles at the cliched outro Bianca somehow managed to deliver honest. How was it more teasing when the statement was said straight? Things to find out when she calls, he thinks, tipping an imaginary hat with his words,* Ma'am. *He didn't want to leave, honestly: but duty came before...well, cowardice. Straight-backed, his smile lingers in his wake, hers' inscribed in his mind's eye with tender artistry.* 

 

 

**&.**

**Hols:** *The panic in Mungo's was insane. There was not one person standing still, and certainly all of them were shouting of calling for some help, or demanding to be paid attention to first. It was catastrophic. She had apparated in as soon as she could, and only a second later was walking to find Al. Eliza collapsing had scared them all and cut everybody's triumphant relief off with a sharp knife. 

She had been with her family, all of them, every single one of her siblings and her mother and Brad, and even aunt Jasmine and aunt Isadora had all gathered around Nadia to form her very own live cocoon. They spoke words of encouragement, of happiness, of assurance; they would help her, she would heal, she could have that life size cutout of Christian Bale's batman she'd always wanted, some time away for all of them and tears, lots of tears.

Hols cautioned against overwhelming her given her memory loss (her stomach did a back flip at the thought again) but before she'd been listened to there was chaos all over. Right now, she didn't really know where everyone else was, she just knew they had each other and they were safe; that's what mattered. All except Eliza, Eliza wasn't safe yet and if she wasn't, then Al was certainly not ok, and if he wasn't, then Hols wasn't and that's just the way it worked. 

Finally finding him right outside a room, she walked up to him and though it hadn't been long at all since he'd held her in his arms, she wrapped them around him. It was supposed to be over damnit, everything was supposed to be fine, they had won! They had arrested a couple of Death Eaters, thwarted their attempt for abductions, and lost many lives doing so, enough of them, too many of them. When did it stop?* How is she?

 **Alcott:** *Drumming his fingers on a thigh offbeat to the scattering breath and thumping heart, Alcott was dimly surprised he had only broken one thing. All right. It was the water cooler. And yes he'd ripped the nozzle off, and yes it was metal, and yes it did splatter-spray half a dozen interns, but still, one thing was a new record. 

After all! Eliza would have told him to look on the bright side. When he'd heard a stupid little giggle match the one in his throat at the image, he'd turned, expecting to see her. She'd be wearing her exasperated incredulous scoff-laugh, a term he coined at age eight. No one was there but soggy acolytes. Then he remembered.

She was behind the glass. Healers had made their typical non-promises (Sienna put it that way, before stalking to the tearoom to find someone to argue with). Rory was nearly catatonic in Al's cacophonous presence; he made a haggard statue on the opposing wall of melting stone. Every now and then as he turns in his pace, Al considers splattering him with the water, make sure he wasn't dead. Then he thinks Eliza would be cross, and turns again.

The first moment he remembers breath is necessary is when snared in Hols warm embrace. Stiff-backed his shoulders tremble and stutter, then pitch forward as his face falls in her neck. He clings to her. Hols was his air, his heartbeat, his reminder. Watching Eliza crumple and lay unmoving in a moment of success inevitably called another image to mind--but he couldn't do it again. He wasn't six now, Al knew better than to expect pure will and crying atop a still body could call one back. Hols was the reminder that hope wasn't fruitless.* Her heart stopped on the ride here. But it's started--she's strong, she's...she's fighting, whatever the curse is, if they just get it out of her lungs she'll be fine. 

*His words, hollow to start, gain abrupt strength.* So she'll be fine. *And just as quickly they lose it, as he exhales, feeling more naked than he had earlier.* I can't lose her, Hols.

 **Hols:** *It almost causes tears to appear in her eyes as the usual strength that was Alcott falls away to rest on her neck and shoulders, to grip her tightly. Bones, muscles, and sinew all protest but she tells them all to shut the fuck up and only holds her boyfriend tighter, passing a hand through his hair. Knowing her heart must have skipped a beat to hear Eliza's own heart had faltered, she instead focuses on the fact that she was still alive,  and fighting (of course she was, of course she was strong to be able to deal with Al and Devin on a constant basis).* I know, baby. *she whispers, feeling her heting (of course she was, of course she was strong to be able to deal with Al and Devin on a constant basis).* I know, baby. *she whispers, feeling her heartstrings being tugged at mercilessly, as she tilts her head to kiss his temple and cheek.* But Eliza's stronger than both of us combined, she'll get through it.

 **Alcott:** *Relaxation embodied, Alcott was comforted by her kisses peppering his forehead as if he were the one sick. It occurs to him with no small measure of surprise that he thought he did remember his mother kissing him as such--though honestly, he wasn't ever sick much. Now probably less--he hadn't even thought, did wolves catch colds? Or did the healing mean a buffeted immune system? Why didn't he ever look at that research Eliza had gathered and pestered and nattered him with? He stiffens again, antsy. Imagining a shiny hook -- for it must be silver -- in his heart, it was as if the Healer behind that glass held the fishing wire. With one word, she might yank the bloody thing from his chest. He says,* Yeah. And she'd be cross that I hijacked the ambulance...

*A dull twist to his lips with his wry words, he leans to kiss Hols cheek. The words 'thank you for coming' somehow tumble into,* Luv, you should be with Nadia...and your father...*And as he looks down, he's reminded of her extensive injuries and adds,* Though for the records' sake, I do still need to exami--*He cuts off, momentary sheepishness in his cheeks as realizes his mother walks down the hall. Made tall on heels, somehow, Lyndsea Brackner managed to have not one inch of the evening's damage on her spotless gown. Alcott's lips crack a small smile, impressed. His uncle was helping support Eliza's mother, his Aunt Zoe on the other side and all four nod to them, but for once Al was glad none attempt to move closer. 

He needs Hols, and he knew it, and Eliza would have hit his arm for the statement she should be with her family (but really she should be, shouldn't she?). He knew Devin was with his own, refusing not to be involved and working the new made internship contacts to gather information. Lynn and Nick were...doing something he hadn't caught to 'get the real story.' Al appreciates their lack of bullshit acceptance. But dammit, proud Brackner that he was, he was selfish, he knew it, and he kisses Hols forehead again.* Your father okay? *He asks instead, as he pulls back and stays squeezing her hands. He needs the good news.* 

 **Hols:** I can count the times she was -actually- cross with you on one hand. *Her lips flick into a brief smile and she nods, biting on her bottom lip before she explains quietly.* Nadia's with more people than she knows what to do with, and dad's *she exhales, the carnage of the wine cellar crossed her mind in the blink of an eye* busy. *And she wasn't leaving his side. Not by a long shot, not until they knew Eliza was out of danger and safe, then he'd go in and refuse to leave the room and only then would Hols leave Al, and only temporarily.* 

Yeah, I went to see him before coming here, he's unharmed. *Because okay...okay was not the right word, not tonight, maybe not for a long time. But she had been relieved to have been able to hold him and hug him. They might not have exchanged many words, but they'd long been skilled in their own silent language. And one thing was certain, she was going to hear about her boyfriend being a werewolf soon, given that Al had turned right in front of him.* He knows now, Al...I want to tell him everything.

 **Alcott:** *Grinning and hedging,* Well, maybe both hands.  *Nodding in bare relief for her sake, there'a a brief flare of pride that sparks in his heart as he thinks, it's what his dad would want. That was odd to him --but maybe Hols had a point, that his dad hid him behind the bookcase so he'd be safe from these bastards, so he wouldn't be used to make his Dad do what he didn't want to do -- so that wasn't Shawn's fault. Eliza hated vengeance anyway--and Shawn being safe, that was what his Dad would have done (he was sure of it). And well, those bastards were soon going to learn. They could hide behind every bookcase from here to Spain. They weren't fucking safe from him.* I know.

*Odder still was how much he no longer cared. His gaze is caught by Uncle Max for a moment, but he only winks at him, sliding his arm around Hols waist. He says,* I'm going to tell Dev's father too. Mostly because after tonight there's no doubt--*He restrains a wince at the thought he had doubted before,*--who attacked Devin, and considering Rachelle... *He has a rotten taste in his mouth over how she was taken, and he rubs his lips with the back of his other hand. Then he pauses, and decides to just ask,* Can...we first, tell Ma--and my uncle--what it is you've done for me?

 

 

**&.**

**Nadia:** *It turned out that Nadia had a lot more family than she originally thought. They had all stormed up to reunite with her, her mother cutting through everyone to hold Nadia tightly against her, tears freeing themselves to land on her hair. After that, it was a blur as Nadia tried to remember their names and her relationship to them. Some she already remembered from the pictures, others she needed to learn anew, and the entire experience had been both overwhelmingly frightening and relieving. Tears of her own had pearled in her eyes making them shine as bright as the diamonds she'd been given to hang from her ears but with hard work and pure stubbornness she kept them from falling. Tears of happiness, at having a family, at seeing them all unhurt, of being out of that place and tears of dismay, at realizing she had not stopped them entirely, upon discovering of the massacre with the Aurors, and on remembering those still held under the Death Eaters' clutches.

Her mother, apparently not a fan of hospitals according to her father, had been the first to insist she get checked immediately, and foremost, and then talk to an auror later on. Nadia fought it, she wanted to tell them everything she knew right away but...her mother was a bit intimidating. Healers came in, assessed her damage, but ultimately said what Nadia already knew: she was already healed, only the scars and bruises remained. Her parents didn't ask her about them, not yet, but it was clear they were promising themselves to hurt whoever had done it to her and as soon as everybody else got wind of it (they had only allowed her parents to come in until then), they would be making similar promises. It was flattering and scary, and Nadia soon began to wonder whether she would ever stop being completely scared.

Told to rest, she did. She laid her head back on the pillows, and closed her eyes. Rest came in after the healers left the room to speak with her parents outside, but not for very long. Feeling a hand on her mouth, her eyes slammed open, a scream stuck at the back of her throat as she stared into the dark eyes of Gustav Roswell.*

 **Gustav:** Shh, shh, shh. *the finger he held in front of his lips fell to stroke a piece of her hair away from her face.* There's no use in screaming, Nadia. Silencing charm is in place, and if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.

 **Nadia:** *She gasped out for air as he took his hand back and then sat up straight and further away from him.* How did you-

 **Gustav:** By any chance do you recall the saying 'a fly on the wall'? *eyebrows raises* No? I wouldn't have expected it, no, either way you'll find that's a bit literal for me.

 **Nadia:** *she narrowed her eyes after forcing her shoulders back and lifting her chin.* What do you want?

 **Gustav:** Your silence.

 **Nadia:** *shakes her head* Never.

 **Gustav:** Still as stupid as ever.

 **Nadia** : *snaps* Smart enough to fool you.

 **Gustav:** *He raised his hand, intending to strike before thinking better of it. No, he very well couldn't give her a new bruise, they would surely notice. Instead, he turned it into a finger he pointed at her.* You did. And because of you, two of my men are in the aurors custody. Oh they won't talk, I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you.

 **Nadia:** *Jaw quivering, she inhaled through her nose before speaking again.* You should leave the country. Because the moment-

 **Gustav:** *He placed a hand on her leg and then pressed down, hard* You're not going to tell them about me.

 **Nadia:** *swallowing a wince, she grit her teeth and kept looking at him* What are you gonna do? Take my memories away again?

 **Gustav:** *smirks* No, no, no, I want you to remember every single bit of me. *Smiles.* No, I'm gonna leave you with a warning.

 **Nadia:** *repeats, frowning* A warning?

 **Gustav:** Yes. Well, given that you value your life so little compared to everyone else's, I had to take some unfortunate measures. Unfortunate, for your friends I mean.

 **Nadia:** What do you mea-

 **Gustav:** Eliza, darling. I mean Eliza. Good girl from what I hear of her, just as popular as you, probably a little more.

 **Nadia:** *Her eyes widened as she realized he was talking about the girl that had collapsed at the Gala.* But she's fine now, the Healers-

 **Gustav:** You went against me, Nadia. You foiled my plans, and I don't take that lightly. *he raises his eyebrows.* She's going to die, and it's going to be your fault.

 **Nadia:** No! She's not-

 **Gustav:** And as you stand over her grave, consoling your boyfriend, your best friend, and everyone else around them, I want you to remember exactly why that was. *He squeezed her leg harder now and then hissed* Because you're a meddling little cunt. *He raised his hand now and pointed at her again* Like I said, this is a warning. You speak against me, and the next person I kill will be a lot dearer, mean much more to you. *He leaned in close to her face, grin wide.* Do try to imagine your mother with her head cut off or your brother with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, before you think of telling them about me. *He kissed her forehead* Okay, darling?

 **Nadia:** *She shivered and shuddered as he pressed his lips against her skin, and though she'd only had a glass of the poisoned champagne, she felt as if she'd throw up on him right now. Swallowing instead on a dry throat, she closed her eyes tight for a single moment to vanish away all tears but by the time she opened them he was gone. Breathing out in a sudden exhale, she looked around the room confused and agitated. In the next moment, the door was opening again.*

 

 

**&.**

**Hols:** *He said that so easily that she almost beamed in joy. Unfortunately, she didn't think she was capable of a true beam tonight. Yet it was truly astounding to hear him say it, especially given how against it he had been his first full moon when she had walked in on him. She was proud of him, so proud of him. She smiled as his arm slid around her waist and nodded. Truthfully, she was a lot more at ease now for it. Now that she wouldn't have carried his secret to the grave if he'd chosen it, but still. And Rachelle...she had to restrain a wince, but couldn't help her hand going to her throat. 

She understood Al's distaste of it, absolutely, but she had been after Lynn and well no way in bloody hell was Hols going to allow that. Looking at him in brief surprise at the way he worded that question, she smiled* That's a nice way to put I roll around on the forest ground with you once a month. *She nods then, unafraid to share that with his family, her being an animagus. She was going to tell her parents too, and Zoe too, so that she doesn't try to tell anyone she was going to turn into a werewolf too.* Of course we can.

 **Alcott:** Well, that I told your Dad already. *He wiggles both eyebrows, a ghost of his usual swagger in his haunted persona. Squeezing her waist like a lifeline, he nods and then--because he had to do something, anything productive right now, anything at all besided standing there waiting, waiting, waiting--he spins to look down the hall.

His mother arches an eyebrow at him, but it's Uncle Max who stands first--understanding his head jerk. Alcott swallows on a dry throat as he approaches, telling his Uncle without blinking they needed privacy and moving into an adjacent hallway. He didn't let go of Hols the entire time.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She felt she might fall asleep on her heels and sleep for years--but she was insulted by her own exhaustion. Damn body, she thought; poison or no poison still flushing out of her system, the fact she's been basically asleep for nine years ought to count for something!

So when Alcott gestured, it took Max squeezing her shoulder and his mutter to make her realize what Alcott meant. Nodding to Max, grateful and comfortable, she follows him a half-step behind. Her eyes hadn't left Al for more than ten seconds in minutes. If she could wrangle it, she'd never leave her son's side again. Lyndsi had learned a long time ago she couldn't get what she wanted, not everything. What she had never learned was how to give up.

Folding her jacket closer to a shaken, pale body, she lifts her chin and first says to Hols as warmly as anyone could this evening,* Hello again, Hols--we heard, and I'm so glad that Nadia is home.

 **Max:** *He knew that look on Alcott's face. That--he knew something and had for a while, something he'd deign to share now...it was so similar. But it was also the look Alcott had gotten when he'd informed Max he left his uncle's broom in the woods learning to ride. There was pride in that reluctance, and a bit of fear, of worry--he was up in an instance, a single hand squeeze on Lyndsea's shoulder telling her to come too. Nodding in fervent in agreement with her at first, he echoes,* Yeh--saved the day, she did. *Then he turns to Al, brow arched,* Before you--you rode in the squad car?

 **Alcott:** *Struggling to figure out what to say next, he recognizes the tone of chastisement and mouth hangs open a moment. Then his jaw tightens, chin lifting,* Yeah, I did.

 **Max:** *Oh, Alcott. Contrary to what he probably should do, as ever, Max waits a moment with a half stern look and then breaks into a half smirk.* Good job. *He exhales at Al's sudden half laugh, and looks between them both.* What is it? 

 **Hols:** *She had not forgotten that, she recalled with a withheld groan but it was with a ghost of amusement that she spoke again.* Not surprisingly, I think he'll prefer the truth. *She chuckles briefly and then looks up with him towards his family, gearing herself up for this. Not that it would be difficult, there was nothing to be ashamed or wary about. Walking with Al into an adjoining hallway with Lyndsea and Max.* Thank you.

*She nodded at both of them as they expressed relief and gratitude for Nadia's safe return, and she smirked a moment at Max's more pointed remark of Nadia kicking ass, which she did...along with stabbing her boyfriend but they didn't really need to be -that- truthful.* It's a family thing. 

*As apparently being proud for rule breaking was a family thing for the Brackners. That made sense. She shook her head and then swallowed a dry throat before she started* It's actually something I, had to share. Mostly. I know Al told you the story but not...entirely. Don't worry it's not bad news *none of them could take anymore of that and Lyndsea was still recovering.* but during his first full moon, I was there. Just not...human. I'm an animagus, and I keep Al in check when he wolfs out. *Wolfs out- ha, whoops, maybe not the most sensitive way to say it but to say the word transform just brought to mind that cellar scene again, and Al transforming at will after that sonofacock snapped his neck, so she couldn't go there.*

 **Lyndsea:** An animagus? *The word sounded crisp and shocked, yet Lyndsi truly was neither. Her always wide blue eyes ever wider as they dart between her son and his girlfriend, her immediate thought is how terrified her mother must be. Her second was a jolt if relief that her son wasn't alone  on those nights. Tightening her silk folds between white knuckles, she asks half an octave higher,* As a...?

 **Alcott:** *His uncle had facial expressions -made- for camera sometimes, but he hesitates abruptly realizing the uptick in his mother's heartrate.* Lioness. 

 **Max:** Appropriate. *Hearing the latent worry in Lyndsea's higher pitch, he lifts his hand back to her shoulder, squeezing again in reassurance. His eyes never leave the kids. A shoulder half through a shrug, he says,* That's why you told Zoe you weren't in danger. *Nodding, a tiny smile on his lips (Alcott looked surprised).* She and I...did start to postulate tha-

 **Lyndsea:** And you stay with him? *Again it was crisp, but now her eyes were stuck on Hols as she cuts Max off.*

 **Alcott:** Yeah-*He honestly couldn't say he recognized the look on his mother's face, and so he spoke warily.* Ma--

 **Lyndsea:** *She broke. The wide-eyed stare, jerking fingers and shaken gestures all crumble away, like a marble bust disintegrating (say, under a too-cleverly experimenting genius eleven year old), and Lyndsi's emerging from the dust. She cups both of Hols cheeks and plants a soft kiss on her forehead after murmuring,* Thank you. 

*Arms circling Hols upper back, she squeezes as tight as her sickly body will allow, tighter than she should, still echoing in a whisper,* Thank you, just--thank you. *There was no hint of shame in her expression as she steps back, clearing her throat and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. See, she thinks, this was why she kept her hair sprayed and down now. Ponytails were fabulous on her, but this stubborn curl--it never stuck.*

 **Alcott:** *He'd heard every whispered thank you echo in his mother's suddenly steady heart rate. Now his expression looked uncannily like Max's stunned-amusement he thinks, and so Al clears his throat as his mom did. Thrilled, startled, relieved, grateful--he shakes his head, and as ever, makes a customary Brackner remark,* Why don't you ever react that way when -I- tell you I broke the law?

 **Lyndsea** : *She rubs under her eyes, knowing a few tears had pearled their and hugs herself as she half chuckles,* Alcott.

 **Max:** Well, see and now Zoe's new Brackner motto comes to mind. *Smirking lighter, as he steadies.*

 **Alcott:** *His smirk itself looks battered and bruised, but his breath of relief is honest.* Ours is the hypocrisy?

 **Max:** Mm, *laughs,* no, "Fucking Brackners."

 **Lyndsea** : *Half snorts, then half scolds,* Maximillian Brack--

 **Alcott:** *The laugh that left him was high and tired, but squeezing Hols hand he says resolute,* I like it. Definitely.

 **Max:** *Grinning at his nephew, he nods,* I thought you might.

 **Lyndsea:** *Eye rolls, and promptly looks to Hols, rubbing the last tear away,* Seriously though, for the record--this family? ou should get out now, *Contrary to her qualifier, she's anything but serious as she says fondly,* it's too late for me.

 **Hols:** *All she could do was nod at their questions. Yes, she was an animagus, yes that's exactly why she told Zoe she was okay, she was an animal- oh wait, that wasn't a yes or no answer. Pausing, she was about to answer when Al did it for her and then she nodded again, chuckling a bit at Max's comment.* Yes, I thought so. *She cleared her throat again and turned to Lyndsea as she asks another question, a bit confused by the tone.* Every second of it. 

*It felt for a moment as if Lyndsea was mad but no, it wasn't anger she found a moment later as the woman, cool and ice, melted away to reveal the worried and revealed and thankful mother underneath. She got over her surprise quicker than the men as she nodded softly, whispering "of course" to her thank you's and hugging her back, a small sad smile decorating her face. And then the moment was over under a sarcastic comment, and she had to roll her eyes, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. Oh, Al. And as she quickly figured out, she might have just said "oh, Brackners" for the next comment came from his uncle and he realized -this- was their thing. Zoe was 100% right. Though Al was too, hypocrites- wait, was that a game of thrones reference?* 

Sounds like Zoe. *She chuckles and then shakes her head, looking at Lyndsea the same moment the woman looked at her as if they were exchanging one thought: men. She chuckled at the comment and then squeezed Al's hand, more owing to the fact that she knew that for him it had only started feeling like a family again recently. Ironic, that it should happen in the midst of all this chaos. And another part of her spoke in a tiny voice that wanted to say: "I think it's a bit late for me too."* And go back to normal days? Boooring.

 **Lyndsea:** *It wasn't 'of course', staying by the side of a wolf, stopping them--her son--from hurting someone, from forgetting who they were, not looking at them differently in the morning--that wasn't 'of course', she thinks with a tiny headshake, but the words stick in her throat. It's too close. Alcott's trials...they were her oldest, deepest guilt: she never knew how to help him. What kind of mother didn't know what to say to comfort their own son? Maybe she should have kept him in therapy longer than a year, though the therapist had said the rest was up to her and her family, suggested she bring them around the house more. Maybe it would have helped.

Truth was, she hadn't been able to stomach leaving Alcott in those fake cheerful rooms while men making big deals of almost-Healer consolation degrees looked at her gravely and told her what she knew: he was hurt, he was angry, he was scared; he needs to feel safe and loved --of course he fucking was after what he saw, she snapped at the last one. And how dare they tell her she didn't love her son? Alcott was all she had. And she wanted him to have everything, and the fact she couldn't give him his father back had hurt worse than the thought she couldn't have Harper back herself. 

And then at Christmas that year, watching Max get Alcott to open his present (a model potions kit and Falcons' jersey -- the team Max knew was her guilty pleasure favorite)--watching how Alcott had smiled, she had thought perhaps family around was what he needed. Max was always good with his nephew when Al was a baby, and he was easy to be around, so easy. He smiled earnestly, teased relentlessly, laughed large. It had been years since their house felt warm to her. It had been a marble monstrosity with memories inscribed in scarlet on every inch or the meandering halls, echoing a pyramid's maze. With Max there it felt like--if not home, then as close as she was ever going to get again.

She should have left it at that, she knew. But then Alcott had gone to school, and when Max was alone with her in that house it had feltemptier somehow, than before he'd ever come. That was the first moment she realized perhaps -she- should seek therapy herself, except only one therapy had ever worked. That perhaps it wasn't just for Alcott's sake she had wanted Max there--for her son wasn't the only person who needed his uncle to smile. 

Lyndsea was guilty, so guilty, because she knew she loved Max for being there as much as she knew, she always knew, she could never give him anything more. She couldn't love him. Her heart was buried half a mile from the house, six feet under marble. 

She was guiltier still for this: that in her selfishness, she hadn't considered how Alcott would feel when he figured it out (How long had it taken him? Harper knew things no one did in half the time a God would take to figure it out--Alcott probably knew by Christmas that year). She had never dreamed her son would think she and Max didn't care about him, that he'd have felt abandoned. How could she have done that to him?

Now Hols, the daughter of a man who couldn't look her yet in the eye, holds Lyndsi's gaze. She, who had done everything she never could in one gesture for Alcott, dismisses it as 'of course'--and Lyndsi couldn't possibly put into words her relief, her joy. The words were too big for her mouth. 

It reminds her, seeing how they held each other's hands as lifelines, the first reason she had tried to keep-- Sienna, and then Hols-- from her son; they were too young, much too young. Lyndsea knew there had been one she'd have done the same for--would have become an Animagus for at seventeen--who it would have been 'of course' for. She waits for the familiar tug in her chest. 

Instead there's a new breath in her throat, fresh and light. How did it take her that long to realize that was what she wanted for Alcott to have? To be loved so wholly...she and Harper had loved that way at their ages. For all the pain, she didn't regret a single moment. When life was so cruel to take him so fast, she may give anything for Al to have hundreds of years to do all he wanted, but she wanted above all for him to know how it felt. And now she knew he did. 

It was all a shivery, joyous Lyndsi could do not to kiss Hols again, and again--but she keeps her dignified poise with the thought she'd embarrass the girl. Still she was smiling, as she responds,* It is boring, isn't it?

 **Max:** And she admits it! *His hands clap together, timed to his whisper shout, winking. It masks his honest amazement.* Life is better with Brackner men.  *Lyndsea was shivering out of her skin like she used to do before a quidditch match, or right before she said "i have an idea", grabbed Harper's hand, and yanked his brother away in a whirlwind of some passion or other that got them both this-close to detention. Or Roman jail cells. Max smiles as he teases, still whispering,* Only took you...what, twenty-five years?  

 **Lyndsea:** Hush, Max. *Sheepish, not wanting to think it had been a quarter of her life. Tucking hair behind her ear, she adds,* Please.

 **Alcott:** *He didn't know, he couldn't fathom, what had his motherlooking like she'd been given a free life supply of Couture handbags and just had sex on top of them. But she was thanking Hols (and he had to admit he had a hard time finding the words for how to express his gratitude in the same), so he smiles too.* Well of course it is. Heightening experiences is our specialty. *And oh how wry and dry that was stated. 

For an instant, he thinks the happiness blossoming in his throat is about to be ripped away again this evening as a Healer opens the door in the other hall. It terrifies him. Then his joy triples, his hand leaving Hols to cup his ear and focus--past the rocketing hearts and shaky breaths--to hear it again.* Eliza's awake. *He says simply on an understated smile.* She's just said she hopes she knows who the bleeding Minister is when his son is one of her best mates. 

 **Hols** : *For a second she thought she was going to be hugged again. Hols recognized that look now, that mama expression that her mom took on sometimes when she was especially emotional about "her babies growing up and becoming the best people in the world". Obviously, her mother was both insane (slightly) and biased but so was every mother. But Lyndsea didn't make to hug or kiss her again, thankfully, because she was still a little awkward with the woman, even if it was bettering already. Either way, Hols was way past the eccentric and bubbly 14 year old that tried to force hugs out of an always reluctant Devin. And in the middle of Mungo's after tonight, she felt as far away from that girl as possible, but right at that moment, not in a completely negative way. 

She chuckled, nodding at Lyndsea but then sighing and shaking her head at Max and Al. As her hand becomes free again, she turns her head and finds her gaze going past Al's face to the hallway, as if waiting expectantly. Breathing out in relief and then smiling to hear her not only awake, but apparently herself. Well, the mean girl self that put no doubt as to one of the reasons she had been sorted into Slytherin in the first place.* Finally Healers doing something right *-no offense aunty Tanya-* she allowed visitors yet? Well, doesn't really matter does it? 

*She didn't have to lean up on her tip toes to kiss his cheek again because miraculously she's managed to keep her heels on throughout the night. Clearly her priorities were in order (they weren't. And she would probably burn them later.)* I'm gonna go hunt down Zoe and tell her about me too while you visit Eliza *under her breath* and try to avoid my mother checking me into a room. *Or putting a jacket over her. The dress was rips and shreds matted with blood both her own and not and her hair- she wasn't going to go anywhere near her hair.*

 

 

**&.**

**Hans:** *The rage which had overtaken him did not cool. It never had. Instead it burrows, burns deep, inscribes in his bones with shiny red ink a new purpose for existence. Some part of him might--must--wonder later how many times he had been rewritten, if there was any part of him still as he was born. If there was, then his friends did something wrong. 

Friends? No, not friends--Laura was not his friend, and she wasn't Laura either. Not any longer--no, she had never been. Ah, had she given herself a new name? Or did that offend Jensen's delicate sensibilities? He swallows a bare unamused chuckle on a raw throat and rubs sweating palms over cheeks still stained scarlet. He didn't give a damn--his monstrous appearance that night was matched in his heart. And that was thanks to the man he sought.

Angel. Oh, the irony of that chosen name never ceased to amuse him. Did he mean the angel of death, perhaps? It had always told him one simple thing: the man shared his sense of dry, black humor. Hans didn't trouble himself to learn more. Learning about him as a man was dangerously close -- too close, to that weapon of compassion. The boy should thank him. Didn't Angel understand (didn't-anyone- understand?) keeping his distance was for his own damn good?

What he needed tonight was simple, and that was what he would keep it too. Standing in the doorway, Hans arches an eyebrow over enlarged canines with blue eyes, blood on his chin and jacket.* Well then. *Angel had clearly repaired half the furniture-for he could smell, as easily as anything, the remnants of brokenness. And that meant one thing: the ingredients and vials had been smashed. Scarlet flashes through his gaze, but he looks at Angel pleasantly enough, saying wryly,* I take it I'm not the only one with a temper. 

 **Harper:** I must have not heard the knock. *He replied before he turned around, only to stop at the image before him. Either Olivier had departed the Gala before this had occurred or information was being kept from him already.* But you are the only one covered in blood. Are you injured? *He was assuming if  Hans had any reason to come here it was because of that.*

 **Hans:** *A terrible smile dances across his lips as the man surveys him. His words were simple, as he drops a hand to his lips and licks a fingertip. Drawling,* It isn't my blood,* Hans looks him over as well,  sure that something had happened here. Normally, Hans wouldn't give a damn--but if it means he's low on certain ingredients, then he would be...very cross indeed.

Eyes narrow, he says,* Thank you, for aiding Allison. *It was seeing her that had reminded him of their need, and it amused him presently to be polite.* You're going to make the potion, that's why I'm here--but see now I'm wondering if your temper has left us void of the ingredients necessary. *Exhaling,* I gave the rest of the potion to the new boy--he needed it more than I. Tell me you haven't wasted what you'll need?

 **Harper:** *Of course it wasn't. Harper could only imagine...though no, he honestly he couldn't. His imagination while twisted wasn't nearly as twisted as the reality Hans chose to submerge himself in. He nodded once at the mention of Allison (though even if he hadn't wanted to help there was no choice), only to open his mouth in understanding. Turning, he opened a drawer that had been previously wrecked and rummaged through it, finding a spare vial. His fingers stilled over it as Hans mentioned the boy, his son, Alcott. Hans gave up his last vial for him? Maybe that would be more impressive and weighted had the man not have a steady supply of it here* I'm not entirely witless. 

*He tossed the vial to Hans and then closed the drawer.* There's about a dozen vials *that he managed to recover* and they'll be more soon. *He motioned to the cauldron before picking his wand again and cleaning his bed next; what he had been doing before Hans came in. Honestly, he was too exhausted to deal with any people. He hoped this, whatever it was, was a short visit.*

 **Hans:** *Catching the vial, he uncapped it and downed it like a shot. A silver, burning, shot that smelled of rotten eggs. His heart still skipping around as fire floods his veins, he quivers as he realizes Angel has become a statue. The boy's heart and lungs on the other hand, near had imploded. Curious. Why should he suddenly care about the pup, when Angel said so proudly he just did as he was told. Flatly ignoring that the man was still working, he walks in at his leisure, searching out these dozen vials. As he picks around the burning cauldron, he wipes his hands off on the nearest towel and asks in a high, casually amused voice,* I wasn't aware you were so interested in the new pup, Angel. Did I upset you?

 **Harper:** *No, he would never be that lucky. Hans was a bully after all, a cruel and sadistic psychopath that got off on wearing the blood of others like body paint. That he might be left in peace, that he wouldn't have to be subjected to another version of Gustav's haughty taunts, was too much for ask for.* Please don't get blood in my ingredients. *That would render most of them unusable. He looked down into the potion at the question. On the spectrum of  things that were unfair,* Your appearance is quite upsetting yes. I've just finished cleaning that cloth.

 **Hans:** *At the request, he had lifted the cloth as if to prove he had thought of that and was cleaning it off. Only he was then told off for using the cloth and his eyes narrow, a glint appearing. He mms under his breath before he's across the small room, his sticky hand closing Angel's throat.* 

Rude.*Lifting with ease, his words were still light in amused contrast.* You -are- rather upset, aren't you? I apologize for my appearance then--didn't have the time to change. You see, *his fingers press in against the soft, pink gullet,* my sister's in danger. So you see how personal vanity takes a back seat. *Leaning a bit closer, voice fervent, low. Unblinking, he says,* That isn't to say I mind attitude from you--it does make rather a nice change, but see ... it begs the question, why do you suddenly care?

 **Harper:** *Oh bloody hell, here we go again. His hand instinctively reached to close around Hans' though he knew that to try to tear his grip away was futile, Harper had never learned to accept defeat; that was more of Angel's style. Breathing in short bursts through his nostrils only kept him from asphyxiating, something learned the hard way, but the choking, there was no way to stop that. He coughed in order to be able to speak* Hard to...talk this way, mate.

 **Hans:** *Under most, he wouldn't have even noticed that they'd lifted a hand. From Angel, on the other hand, it set in stone what he had known from his raging heart rate, the fever in his blood--if Hans was truthful, he had suspected it all along. Eyes flashing blue with sudden delight, he nods.* Of course. How remiss of me. 

*He drops him, all at once, a flick of his ring finger hauling him towards the wall. Still lightly,* I am delighted to see the fight in you. *Folding his arms over his chest, and looking at him with narrowed eyes,* What -has- inspired it? 

 **Harper** : *He takes a breath of air only to have it smothered it out in an instant as his back hit the wall hard. He coughed again and shook his head, not particularly liking that the man seemed to see the change in him so easily. Granted, he was glad not to have to totally pretend anymore.* It's always been there. *He rubs his throat, still feeling raw.*

 **Hans:** *Brow and head both flicking, he crouches now to continue looking him in the eye. He was just at home on four 'legs' as two, after all. Were he human, his eyes would be watering by now with the need to blink, but Hans only kept staring and staring. As if he thought his senses could pick up more than the man's anger.* As I suspected. Yet it's been latent for years... *The comment reverberates in his throat. It occurs to him it's the second time tonight that he had looked into eyes filled with hatred and visceral anger, and Hans flicks his tongue to clean his lips.* Go on then. *Brow arching,* Fight. What's made you so angry?

 **Harper:** *For too long he thought, raising his chin to look at the man and then standing with an exhale. He was fighting, he was fighting right now even if Hans couldn't see. That's what he had to tell himself, what he had to make sure to repeat to himself and make himself believe it.* Like I said. You got blood, on my towel. I'm a neurotic clean freak, I'm take this shit seriously.

 **Hans:** *Eyes rolling to follow him standing, Hans finds himself chuckling. Ah, delightful. This was what he needed after all. He stands too and folds arms behind his back, hand closed on his wrist, first glancing at the mess that had to have been ten times worse not half an hour ago. Sardonically,* Clearly. *He reaches for the same towel again, cleaning his cheeks with it--the gesture pointed. Staring at Angel, he then breaks into a chilled smirk,* Relax mate.

*A single whispered spell had the cloth clean and he threw it at him to catch. Following the whipping towel, he stands a hair' breadth away adding,* I'd have thought it was Nadia...but no, Allison would have told you the girl is fine--it's what I said about the pup. *His eyes narrow still, searching Angel's, flicking back and forth. Questioning low,* Why should you care so much about Alcott, when you've never met him...

 **Harper:** A genius' take of clean is quite different, you see. *He explained himself easily, catching the towel and his breath as Hans moved in front of him and then steeled his jaw.* Fine. *He repeated, trying to keep his attention focused on that alone.* Most inadequate word in the English language. She's fine. The same way l'm fine, the same way your new pup *he couldn't say his name, feeling like it could give something away* is fine. You said your sister's in trouble, is she fine too?

 **Hans:** *Steeling, his eyes darken even as his lips curl up with light. Mming in agreement of the first statement, he shakes his head half an inch and doesn't move. Warmth flooding from him as he stood over the older man, his brows flicker as he realizes the purposeful avoidance. But how could he know of Alcott? The thought is thrown from mind as he mentions Rachelle, and his chuckle is laced with a growl.* She will be, I swear it. And it will be thanks to you -- or else, I cannot think of the use you have at all. *His eyes glint again, but he will not blink, will not turn around. Then his head shakes half an inch, continuing as if uninterrupted,* You do know of Alcott, don't you...how very curious. I was under the impression that Nadia had lost her memory, so it could not have been from her... *Then his head jerks up abruptly and he pulls half an inch back,* Stranger still, you even sound like him. *His eyes narrow. There was something funny here-he could taste it, and he didn't like it.*

 **Harper:** It will be my pleasure to help, of course. *A lie, they both knew it was a lie, because Hans could pick up on the subtle changes of his breathing and heart, but he said it nonetheless. Annoyed, the man was persistent, he just watched him try to figure this out.* Do I? *It filled him with pride to hear that, despite the horrid timing, he couldn't help it.* Kid can't be half bad then.

 **Hans:** Your pleasure? *An amusement, but Hans snaps all the same,* Don't start lying to me now. *His patience for their usual game was clearly as thin as Angel's was -- and what he bloody wanted was honesty. If the man wasn't frightened of him-then Hans could give him reason to be, if that was what was required.* Actually, Alcott's an arrogant sot with a death wish and all these noble ideas in his head--*Hans head tilts, and he still hasn't blinked,* in memory to his father, I suppose--but he's fifteen. 

*Though his eyes were dark and teeth were long, at his own statement there's a momentary tremble to his lip to match the heavy words.* He has no idea what he's involved with, no clear handle on his abilities and lives still in fear, whatever his outward courage. *There's a pause as Hans thinks to himself: I would know. Chin lifting,* I wouldn't let a boy go through it alone.

*Taking another step forward so that Angel's back was to the wall now, he lifts his hand and straightens the man's shirt for him, seemingly preoccupied as he swore in feverish promise,* Lie to me, and it won't matter that I can't see your mind Angel, when I can hear your heart. 

*He pats his hand over it, claws just barely scraping the man's shirt. His eyes flick up at him as he continues in a low voice,* You hate it. You always have. I've never cared--your wants aren't my concern. My family's well-being is. I'm sure you can understand -- all things, *his gaze momentarily flicks to the white-gold band on Angel's finger,* considered. 

*He looks back to his eyes.* And as you are the only man who can make this potion, that is what you will continue to do. I could give a damn, about your 'pleasure', *he half snaps it with the enlarged teeth, voice in heat,* and I -won't- have lies. Understand?

 **Harper:** Not there yet in our relationship? Shame. *He swallowed on a dry and bruised throat, clenching his jaw hard as Hans went through descriptions. Harper looked down and then raised a hand and started counting them off without looking up, knowing that in this subject, his eyes would give away more than a simple heartbeat ever could. Though it did skip at the ironic mention of himself without Hans' knowledge. He would have to laugh about it later, for there was little else to laugh about.* Five out of seven things in common, he does sound like me. 

*He looks up now, taking a step back, finding himself at the wall again. Canine bugger. It was almost enough to make him forget about the last comment. Hans had given Al the potion, and now Hans said he didn't want him to go through this alone. What was this man playing at exactly? 

He stayed still, for he'd long learned there was no such thing as personal space for him in this place, the same with privacy. Hans could toss him around like a doll, and he had, just today in fact and that was the reason Allison's words meant less to him than dirt now. 

He didn't want to be friends or even allies with a pack led by this poor excuse of a man no better than Gustav himself. The only thing mildly redeeming about him, and he said this with all the reluctance he could muster, was his dedication to the pack he called his family. Funny, the phrase blood was thicker than water applied here too, but here it pertained to blood spilled together instead of shared together.* 

If you were invested in my pleasure, mate, I'd be worried. Nevertheless, you've made yourself invariably *though unnecessarily* clear. *It was only men with doubts about the power they had that chose to exert it as proof regularly. So the real question here was who had made Hans doubt himself that evening?*

 **Hans:** Fantastic.  *Voice hardening to match his gaze, he nods at the clever words (the words he usually so appreciated, found so familiar) and wonders if the veiled-sarcasm was reason to be concerned. Angel was fighting him, he realized that clearly--and he says low,* You know what I've never understood Angel, is why you're so sickened by what you've done to help my brothers and I. *

Arching his brow, he takes a step back, and then another, shrugging extended hands. He asks offhand, dry,* I would say I'm unused to that judgment but--it's galling to think our fates might be condemned if your hand was not forced, and that even our uh-our angel, holds my siblings in such contempt. *Exhaling as he returns to the man's desk.* Oh hating me, I understand, but honestly. My siblings lives were saved by this. What I think is truly the shame, 'mate', *he echoes his tone,* is that you are so bothered by the idea of helping wolves. 

 **Harper:** It's not helping them that repulses and bothers me, Hans. *Harper Brackner was a man of his word, for his word is all he had of his own, and he had given it willingly: he would not lie.* The transformation is a hell I can only imagine, *a hell Alcott has gone through, he reminded himself, and it almost made his throat close* and I'm glad this helps spare the pain of that. What does repulse me however is helping you, even indirectly, brainwash these kids into thinking your sadistic ways are the only path. I'm not bothered by helping wolves, I'm bothered by being forced to help murderers. Syntax and semantics.

 **Hans:** *His back remained turned, but as the man answers--finally! honesty-- Hans becomes nearly stationary, poised, hand on the edge of the cauldron. A hell he couldn't imagine...Hans lips curl with the description again. His nod was slow. Most said that, most were complacent in their sympathy of the transformation--but Hans knew it meant something different from Angel.* Ah. *The man had lived through years of the cruelest tortures man could invent:  been carved like a pumpkin for hallow's eve and flayed like an animal being turned into a mink coat. If Angel could not imagine their hell (and he couldn't), than it was quite the sympathetic statement, far beyond the norm. Hans was barely moved. He was caressing the wisps of smoke, as he echoes,* 

Syntax and semantics? Ah, semantics is the meaning of the word itself, syntax refers to the context to derive meaning. *His lips flick to himself, hand coming down as he peers at the bookshelf. Lightly he says,* You're presuming that wolves and murderers are separate entities. *He tilts looking back finally,and says slowly as he thinks dimly another had said that,* And what of the kids who I've adopted after they've already killed? *Or those whose lives were being torn apart? What of Rachelle, taken from her home and given life back by his bite? What of his sister, who sat in a jail cell right now improperly cared for? He could feel his anger rising, his fury, even as his words chill over to ask,* Angel, if given the chance, would you not kill me?

 **Harper:** You keep them on that path, instead of veering them away from it. You're keeping them as miserable as you are. *Of course, they themselves would not say they were miserable. They spoke of the freedom, the rush, the ecstasy of it all. It was their biggest lie. He didn't tear his eyes away from Hans as he answered* I've had that chance already several times, and yet here you stand.

 **Hans:** I'd ask if I sound miserable to you--*his jawline is hard and he's resumed searching out the vials on the table as he bites out to hide his choked throat,* but so long as my sister remains in peril, I am. *Ah, there was one. Rolling the glass vial between two fingers he counters lightly,* Control isn't granted by denying your instinct anymore than an alcoholic denies a drink placed in front of them or a teenager denies a fuck from a policy of abstinence alone. 

*He inhales, still staring at the glass,* Imagine you see a raw steak, barbecued just the way you like it, flavored in every spice and coated in thick, sweet sauce. Then imagine your hand becomes the fork and your teeth the knife without you even knowing it, without your mind being present, and yet after you've ripped into it-- you wake and realize that delicacy was in fact, your oldest friend. *There's heat in his exhale, he turns slowly back to him. Honesty had been given to him, so he gave it back, with weight.* The transformation isn't the worst. 

*And he thought that was all he had to say for that. Without embracing their nature--there was no hope of fighting it. At the response, Hans is genuinely surprised for...oh, two seconds. Had Angel ever had a serious chance wasn't the point: he believed he had. And it was true he still lived. Whatever all those who tried to destroy him said. Whatever Laura believed. Nodding slowly, he didn't tear his eyes from Angel's either with a smug look, he says,* I'm flattered beyond belief to be spared. What about those who tortured you? *There's a gleam in his eye as he relays, with every appearance of casual,* One of them showed her face tonight. 

 **Harper:** *Like he said: his one redeemable quality. Harper listened as the man went on to try and explain to him the bloodlust, though he cared not for the metaphor. He didn't remember how steak tasted like, but that was alright for he'd never been particularly fond. Nevertheless, he listened with an interest that was no longer in the scientific. In some ways, by a cruel twist of fate, this man was providing him more information on his son that anybody besides maybe Olivier ever had; a chance to understand more. He couldn't offer a response, was physically unable to form words on this subject. Swallowing again, he only raises his gaze and eyebrows at Hans' question. Her face- Harper knew there was only one female torturer in his entire stay here, at least the only one Hans would bring up.* Laura. 

*What was she doing here? A part of him thought back to the whispered promised she'd made to him before vanishing, only to realize doing so was idiotic. He shook his head, returning  to Hans' gaze to answer his previous question.* Hadn't thought about killing her, so. Is that whose blood you have on you?

 **Hans:** *When given no response but a revolving throat and little gasps, he smiles. It's bitter, yet wide with the knowledge his description had done it's job then. He hadn't lied. Though that bloodlust was only meant to exist on the fullmoon...that was true; it grew with time, grew from hunger, ire or fear. And in his case, he knew well what had given birth to his own lust. Ironic, then.* Laura. *He nods. Then he realizes he isn't sure why he said her name and looks back to the desk, half considering throwing it. If he didn't need that cauldron...

He was more insulted, he realized, by the insinuation he would have killed Laura than he'd been by anything else Angel said. Throat raw, he spoke low, eyes still seeking something in the mess of papers he could destroy.* Why should it be hers? *Actually, he knew the reason well. So instead as he turns back he says,* The blood ...to be frank I have no earthly idea whose it is, whomever stood in between Rachelle and I. There were many.

*And with a lower growl,* But then I supposeI was merely intent on keeping my brainwashed sister beside me, so I'm afraid Angel I couldn't tell you who they had been. They were delicious though. *Why was it stating the truth suddenly twisted his stomach? Lighter, forcing himself to it with curiosity,* Do you know, I think Alcott thought he might stop me.

 **Harper:** *He shrugged, not really having an answer to why he thought Hans would kill Laura. Maybe a part of him did want to see her dead after all, even if she had gotten out. He was a bitter and spiteful man after all, wasn't he? Forgiveness wasn't very high on his list of abilities anymore. Maybe that's why it was so easy to hate Hans, because he didn't try to forgive him for anything he'd done; Harper had already decided he deserved to die. At the mention  of his son again -he was an insistent blighter wasn't he?- Harper chuckled and shook his head. He was only briefly surprised, because on further thinking it made much more sense. Maybe his son was more like him than even he himself had been willing to accept.* Arrogant sot with a death wish you said. Do you know, *he repeated lightly, stuffing his hands in his pockets*  I don't think it's his own death he's wishing for. In which case I like the kid already.

 **Hans:** *The little chuckles pepper his ears, like adding oil to an already burning fire and Hans smile only continues to grow wider. Reaching for a broken frame, he turned the picture up without looking at it, preoccupied at rescuing the silver potions. Ears perking up at the mockery, Hans turns to hold Angel's gaze again and he nods slowly.* I don't believe it is either. *Brow arching, he continues growled, thinking that if Alcott truly thought a single potion would save him-- he wasn't near the genius that Gustav hoped for. Fevered expressions cross his face,* For his sake, I should hope he learns. It would be a shame to have to resort to killing the pup--but, *and Hans pauses as he looks at him, eyes burning with their mutual hatred even as his words suddenly lighten,* it wouldn't be the first time.

 **Harper:** *He didn't flinch as Hans handled his picture frame, though he badly wanted to imbed the simple wooden frame into his throat. In retrospect, as he looked back on the years they kept him there, he should be congratulated for his self control. That worthy self control however took a blow as Hans directly threatened his son. A shame, he said. Did this man have no clue how despicable he truly was? Harper hoped he did. Harper hoped it ate him alive at every moment of every day in a slow torment, even if he knew the chances of that were slim. He hoped for that more than he hoped for his death...no, no, he still hoped for his death much more.* There are no words in any language yet discovered that could accurately describe how much you disgust me.

 **Hans:** Another shame then. *It was cool, but hardly relaxed as he listened curiously to the upticks in breaths and beats. Abilities he hadn't wanted, hadn't needed--but now cherished, because what else was there? Embrace your nature or die, that was the choice given to him. Relish or ravage your self. The world did enough ravaging for him on it's own. Angel had clearly chosen the opposite, and continued to - why this frustrated him, he didn't know, but it did. The stubborn idiocy of "noble" refusal rubbed at raw edges.* Rest assured then mate, the lack is mutual. *Knuckles white, he retracts his teeth and claws, rubbing at lapels until they're clean of blood. It's scent and taste was already burned in his throat.* What I did--what I've done, was for survival. *Eyes narrow, he bites, * I should rather be a free beast, than a living corpse. Whatever fight you have, you gave up long ago, and you gave in as easily as you shed your name. Which of us then, Angel, is the truly broken one? 

 **Harper:** *Survival. That was a hard truth to swallow when it had the bitter taste of an all-too-practiced lie. A lie that even the alpha believed to be true. Angel was good at those too, Harper wasn't. Harper detested them. It was in that way that Hans was right. Angel was a broken man, and Harper hated him for it and also thanked him for it. He had been kept safe by Angel.* Easily. See, that's the problem with you and your precious pack. You think your suffering above all others and declare those wounded by other forms of suffering unworthy, unknowing of true pain. *He smirks momentarily, without a hint of amusement*

Well fuck you, Hans. I would still be there in those cells always an inch near death and never granted the relief of it if Gustav hadn't gone after the thing I value more than my life, my pride, my dignity. I would have rather died down there than to help you. It's funny that you should say that I gave up when you also choose to willingly help the people that took you and tortured you and turned you. At least I hate them for it. One finger pointed at me, three fingers pointed at yourself, that's what my mother used to say. 

*In Spanish, every time he or his brothers would try to cast the blame on one another for something that was broken or smashed or...disintegrated.* If you're truly free, leave Gustav. Aren't you always preaching that you're  not death eaters? Then leave. But hold on...you can't, you depend on me for that silver little potion. A potion that Gustav made sure you had to administer in constant doses instead of a single draught. Tell me, is that what freedom tastes like?

 

 

**&.**

**Devin:** Hey listen, *One hand is holding her teddy bear, the other hand on the door, he has the knob half turned when he looks back at Alcott over his shoulder.* 

 **Alcott:** I promise, I won't say a word about the bear. *Gestures at it, half a smirk on his lips.*

 **Devin:** I appreciate the rare showing of sensitivity -

 **Alcott:** Long as you don't tell anyone, you know I have a reputation to maintain -

 **Devin:** But that's not what I was going to say.

 **Alcott:** *Exhales through a click in his jaw, and then his head jerks in a parody of acquiescence.*

 **Devin:** *Oh, that was a really reassuring nod, Devin thinks as his thumb flicks the red bow on the bear. His heart was skipping as it pleased through Spanish beats county-by-county, stomach in knots. Nadia was home, Nadia was safe...but it was strange to think that, when she looked at him with only basic recognition, like she could pick him out in a police line-up without caring if he went free or hung.* I was just going to say...don't overwhelm her.

 **Alcott:** *Now arching an eyebrow,* Oh of course, thank you mate. See I was going to walk in there and bombard her with every piece of knowledge I possess - you don't mind if I start with the sixth century, do you? - but now you've said that, of course you're right, and smarter, and I'll be sure to take it easy. 

 **Devin:** Hey, remember the rare showing of sensitivity you promised?

 **Alcott:** Besides. *Ignoring the remark, though his smirk flicked up a moment,* I know more about this than you do.

 **Devin:** About Nadia? *Disbelieving and dry*

 **Alcott:** Yes. Yes, Devin, I'm afraid I do. In the interest of Nadia's recovery, I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but I have been seeing her on th--

 **Devin:** *smacks with Mr. Fluffy, and smirks as Alcott breaks off to laugh.*

 **Alcott:** No, prat, about temporary amnesia. *And though the words roll off his tongue with pride, there's a twist in his gut.* 

 **Devin:** *He blinks, and then softens as he suddenly realizes what he meant. Though he means to remain kind, there's an inherent note of want in his voice as he states, slowly,* Your father's research.

 **Alcott:** Some of it. *He nods, trying to ignore how dry his throat suddenly was.*

 **Devin:** *Hesitating,* You know there's...an entire team of skilled Healers who have examined her, who say it's trauma-induced, and--

 **Alcott:** Who happened to miss the fact that they were poisoning you, yes, yes I am aware. 

 **Devin:** *Snorts, and then his stomach clenches as he's forced to point out,* It's not the same Healer.

 **Alcott:** Uh huh. *Sardonic, with his eyebrow arched,* Because they're all so different.

 **Devin:** *Snorts,* Tell me, Alcott, do you approve of anyone in authority?

 **Alcott:** *He smirks, and then grins.* Yes. Myself.

 **Devin:** Oh, for the love of -- *He turns to the door and starts opening it, pressing the handle down as he turns it so as not to startle her. 

 **Alcott:** *Without entering right away, thinking to himself aloud, both hands in back pockets,* And Hols, definitely...

 **Devin: *** He asks, quiet,* Nadia?

 **Alcott:** *Following Devin and then overtaking him; his friend was moving at a snail's pace. Or okay. Maybe that was his wolf-ability; he seemed extra sensitive now to speed. Nadia was awake, he could tell before he even saw her, and he echoes in a tone weighed with the air of masculinity,* Yo, Nadia... como est--

 **Devin:** Nadia? *He had been rolling his eyes at Alcott, but they stick on his girlfriend - she was still his girlfriend, she was - as he sees her expression, and hurries over. It was so familiar to him, that look of anxiety, of deep contemplation of guilt -- that for a moment he forgets she doesn't know him, and he sits on the bed reaching for her hand, forgetting he held Mr. Fluffy in it.* Nadia, are you all right? What happened? 

 **Alcott:** *Staying further back, he cut himself off, wary for the first real time. He didn't know why Devin was so flustered - Nadia looked better to him than she had when she appeared in the mirror - but if Devin was worried, it was for a reason.*  

 

 

**&.**

“See, that's the problem with you and your precious pack. You think your suffering above all others and declare those wounded by other forms of suffering unworthy, unknowing of true pain.” Harper smirks momentarily, without a hint of amusement.

Each word, vitriolic or fond, was met with a revolving head nod; small stutters of his neck in broken agreement that asked and asked for more.

“Well fuck you, Hans. I would still be there in those cells always an inch near death and never granted the relief of it if Gustav hadn't gone after the thing I value more than my life, my pride, my dignity. I would have rather died down there than to help you. It's funny that you should say that I gave up when you also choose to willingly help the people that took you and tortured you and turned you. At least I hate them for it. One finger pointed at me, three fingers pointed at yourself, that's what my mother used to say.”

In Spanish, every time he or his brothers would try to cast the blame on one another for something that was broken or smashed or...disintegrated.

Hans thought briefly to say they declared themselves above other's pain gave him even more credit than he deserved--patronizing required notice. Hans didn't discount other's pain any more than he acknowledged it; the world gave no shit what he went through--why should he give anything back? The pack--his 'precious' pack--they were different, every one of them had their friends and families back turned to them, just because of who they were. That he gave a damn about, for he knew it. The rest, in amusing (eerie) similarity to Angel's words, could fuck themselves. Yet his nods stall abruptly, all other responses dying on stiffened lips, plumped with indignation.

“If you're truly free, leave Gustav. Aren't you always preaching that you're not death eaters? Then leave. But hold on...you can't, you depend on me for that silver little potion. A potion that Gustav made sure you had to administer in constant doses instead of a single draught. Tell me, is that what freedom tastes like?”

Hans didn't move. With a careless hand flick the door behind him locks now, all mirth--faked or real--gone from him. Breath hot, he deliberates only to consider with reluctance that his temper had already gotten to him; choking Angel twice would be simply ineffective. Then he steps forward, his jaw clicking, eyes ruby and black. Breath a hiss, in a flash he has the man's wrist between his fingers, squeezing the nerves to spasm in ricocheting pain, as if a child pinching.

Nerves cinched together like a rubber tourniquet, the pain seemed to reach his collarbone. Harper knew the name of it, for indeed hadn't he just regrown it for Allison not half an hour ago? It was a subtle movement, and for a moment he was even impressed or rather surprised, thinking Hans only capable of messy brutality. He didn't cry out, he didn't even flinch. Caelesti might use his potion to dilute pain, but he felt every single squeeze of it and still didn't stutter.

Quietly, in vivid opposition to the challenge, he stares at Angel to swear between his teeth, “It's about to taste of your iron-rich blood if you don't answer correctly. It's possible to take the potion as a single draught?”

“I figured you'd answer that with some blood or raw meat phrase.”

“Ah, you do know me.”

Regretfully, his thoughts and expressions seemed to say.

The thought of being predictable wasn't a concern. Hans said it to wound, to point out that Angel had spent that much time with him -- when it was clear how many others the man would rather be near. For a moment he thinks how they'd met, the fact he'd truly been grateful only met with judgment and reluctance--and all right, perhaps his temper had made an appearance. Hans was impressed for a moment, by the simple fact the man's voice did not waver and give away his pain.

“Do not make me repeat the question,” Hans voice was a low promise, eyes wild with bestial intent. His tongue darts, cleans his bottom lip.

Harper leaned his head and then answered quite simply.

“Yes.”

Yes. What a brutal, stark word that was. Yes, I’ve been deceiving you, yes, I’ve been helping them subjugate you to their whims despite my protestations, despite my admirable and loud declarations that I hate their living, breathing guts. Hans felt his grip tighten.

“How long until it could be changed?”

“A few weeks, if I had the ingredients. A month at most. With the proper motivation.”

The 'proper motivation'--how quaint. With narrow eyes as he considers the fact that Angel was triumphant in having something he wanted, and considers what he'd just said: he'd rather die than help him, had Gustav not gone after his family. His face softens on command, transforms and he releases his nerves, patting his collar instead and cleaning him off.

Nodding slowly, very slowly, he lets him back away following him with beady eyes. Taking his arm back, Harper brought it up to his eye level to examine it. It hurt more released than it did under his grip, how appropriate. He exhaled and murmured a spell to release the nerve slowly before looking back up with eyebrows raised.

Hans didn't move, letting him examine the pinched nerves and feel the after shakes; damage done that way was best left to fester, after all. Negotiating usually was believed to be between two extremes-- (feigned) compassion or inspired fear. The problem of that was that it supposed there was a choice--but a moment from pointing it out, he swallows abruptly those poisonous words. He blinks.

Angel had given in--but he hadn't lost. Now he understood Gustav's frustration--what had left Angel chained the longest and kept in the house--and it sickened him to think he had momentarily related to Gustav's trouble. Taking the man's last ability to choose was offensive to his core. To be sure, if it was a matter of his choice or Rachelle safely home, then Angel's heart would already be on the floor--but that wasn't his choice now. Lifting his chin, Hans holds his gaze and spoke calmly under blue eyes.

“Then make your offer.”

There’s even a sort of dancing light in Hans’ eyes as he spoke, like he knew very well he was offering a golden fiddle against the man’s soul and he was laughing at the knowledge.

Harper would rot in hell for this, he knew, for giving this man this amount of freedom to keep doing what he did without Gustav's influence but desperate times called for desperate measures. He drew in deep.

“One of the ingredients I need is _legatus lunaris herbilius_ – commonly known as _moonglitter_. There's only 30 grams of it in the world, because it came from outer space. I had a chance to study it when it was discovered, and it’s the only material capable of holding this potion in your werewolf body for a lifetime.”

Mental acuity was one of the few senses neither increased or decreased by the transformation--but Hans memorized the ingredient instantly. This was the last shackle he had, to the Death Eaters, after killing the bastard who bit him...and he'd done that the day he swore he wouldn't let anyone control him again. Only to find himself locked in a debt of gratitude with this angel of death...who had held all along the knowledge of a more permanent "fix."

“The full 30 grams is enough to make a potion for about 5 of you, 8 at most. If you do get the full 30 grams I'll be surprised, but whatever you get, this is my deal: Alcott gets one of the potions. Nonnegotiable.”

He arched an eyebrow at Angel's condition. As he considered it (he could list internally those he would give it to--as thirty mg then would be what he would find if that was what he needed--: Rachelle, Ansel, Allison--but a new pup as the fifth?) With a twitch in his lips, he nods, but only once and slowly, without blinking.

“Then tell me who Alcott is to you.”

It was plain but not spoken out loud that Hans' inquiry was non-negotiable as well. After telling Olivier to keep his identity from Hans not an hour ago, Harper was here about to divulge it willingly. He could have refused an answer, it would have only made them reach a very painful stalemate. He cut through that whole needless bullshit and after a quick inhale, spoke plainly. Quick, before he changed his mind and broke.

“He’s my son.”

Oddly, of everything he had been considering--Angel being his father hadn't even occurred to him. It must have been because he'd heard the story so vividly from Alcott himself: _how he'd seen his father die, been hiding behind the bookshelves..._ Whatever the reason, his face transforms at the information.

“Your son.” An incredulous chuckle traps the echo in his throat. “That explains it. Extraordinary.”

The word was dry, unamused, but he lifts a hand to his face and rubs at his eyes as they closed. Had Gustav ensured he was bitten then? The thought puts a chill in his veins; if he had, he knew plainly it was none of his pack, which meant Gustav knew other wolves.

Hans shakes his head, hand coming down to rub the corner of his lips as he continues just as drily, “I'm living a bloody Greek tragedy.”

Harper supposed it did make sense in the grander scheme of things, and he could only scoff and wish that Hans was indeed in a Greek tragedy. The protagonist always died at the end, but then again, so did everyone around them and he wouldn't take that chance now that his family was so closely involved.

The wolf’s hand drops so fast he slaps himself, invariably calmed by the icy shock. But he nods. With eyes narrow, he holds Angel's gaze steadily once more, but this time his fired promise sounds thawed.

“30 mg, and he'll receive one of them.” _His son! Oh_ , but that was too good.

And it felt odder still, for the information made it obvious what had so infuriated him this evening--and made it clear why the man was so inspired to rebellion. His son. Well, Hans could respect that. He shook his head once more, thinking idly that to receive the potion Alcott would likely as not have to come here.

Gustav had to know, of course he would--and here he was, the dutiful little soldier after all, facilitating Alcott's recruitment that must simply have been a game to Roswell. For the second time that evening he felt his murderous rage flare -- but he swallows it, cool as ever. Hans was always angry. Always.

When he looks up once more, a vein in his forehead popped as he adds, low, “Once I retrieve Rachelle -- then she, I, Ansel, or your dear Allison will bring you what you need. Tell no one what you're making, and we won't have a problem, Angel.”

He nodded as Hans repeated the terms; they had an accord. Ignoring the adjectives of "his" and "dear" used to describe Allison, he arched his eyebrow, knowing very well he was going to keep his mouth shut before Hans threatened him. Just more unnecessary displays of power then.

“That's a shame, see, I thought about making a newsletter detailing my intentions and passing it out, but your wisdom is better, you're right.”

A twitch in Hans’ jaw and eyes was his only immediate reaction to the sarcasm.

He believed him--oh, he'd believed he'd be silent before he said it, and not because of nerve damage. Alcott was his son. Family. He shakes his head a fraction of his inch. What an odd night. If Angel was the pup's father (which set in stone that Gustav had been there the day he "died")...

“You're quite glib for a man relying on me to keep your son safe.”

“I was born with it, can't really seem to let it go. Habits are hard to kick, quirks- nearly impossible.” Harper only shrugged, restrained a smirk and said instead, “I won't say anything, you have my word.”

But if he got wind of Hans trying to cheat his son out of this potion, Harper would have Hans' head instead.

“He doesn't know you're alive. Nine years?”

Harper didn't need a reminder of the nine years he's spent away from his family, his wife and son, when the absence weighed so heavily on his heart.

“Nine years…Doesn't know you've been here all alone, looking out for him...the angel on his shoulder.” There's a gleam in his eye at the light little joke, but his voice hummed over the low promise of his next words.

“And now...now you have a way in.”

Harper didn't correct the man, though he had various "ways in": Nadia, Olivier, him. And those were in order of trust, from most to least. Very least. Forced trust, really when it came to the man in front of him.

“And who said patience isn't a virtue?” Harper asked. Oh that, he would definitely have to laugh about later, a Brackner advocating patience. Ha.

“The angel advocating virtue,” he nods absently, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck again, pacing a bit, “it's good, that cover--an amusing touch.” He stalls, turning an inch to continue aloud, a little smirk appearing on his lips.

“And now you make a deal with the devil, hm?”

It wasn’t a question, not truly, so Harper didn’t answer it when the answer was obvious to them both. He had been rather hoping this deal meant Hans would find himself without a reason to remain and take his leave but no, of course not. When had the world ever been fair to him? For the first 29 years of his life, a little voice in his head told him. From the day he met Lyndsi in the library, and he'd been blessed enough for her not to notice what a complete prat he actually was. Life had been abundantly fair to him, and then, being the vindictive and jealous bitch life was, she took it back.

Hans was staring now, at the open books to so many ripped pages. The drawings: moons scratched in silver and light blue in every phase of the cycle, full diagrams of eyes, scraps of fur he knew came from him, notes on blood type -- every inch covered in spidery scrawl from the man behind him. True genius, Hans thinks, as he fingers one of the pages. Without looking around, he'll speak softly, thinking of his sister, thinking of Rachelle sitting in a cell. He'd promised her she wouldn't ever be there again. As Angel undoubtedly promised to protect his son.

It seemed to Hans they were both men of broken words.

“Tonight was his first transformation without the moon.”

Clenching his teeth, his voice was low, making Harper raise his eyes back to the wolf when he heard exactly who he was speaking of.

“He spent most of it trying to kill me. He'll be on edge, jumpy, probably horny –“ he shrugs, turning a page, staring at the analysis and letting it flutter away, “but he'll be healing faster, feeling better than he has in a long time. Thanks to you, mate.”

The look Harper gave him was undoubtedly interested and then proud to hear so, in the middle of being worried, and before being relieved to have been of some help. Were all these different emotions a normal thing? He nodded, exhaling heavily and then sat on his desk, looking at his injured wrist. Something he'd done right, at least, after a near decade of doing wrong.

“Another good thing from tonight.” They weren't that many, but for the first time in years they numbered more than a single thing.

The statement--no, the very idea, that anything had gone right tonight grates deep as anything on his bones. He rips the page he's holding, but as he looks at Angel's face he stills again. His face tightens, but he thinks at the back of his mind--if the pack would finally be free...so he nods.

“Pride is an interesting emotion.” The man hadn't seen his son in nine years...and he was fighting for him. And then he was proud of something he had nothing to really do with? “Ah, wait, it's a sin right?” He winks, “Then hang on to that.”

He lifts the book, pulling back away from the desk, sliding all the potions to his pocket and dropping it to the page on Angel's lap. Harper exhaled again as he stared, keeping his eyes from narrowing into a glare. Hans might not be the devil exactly but at that moment, he was pretty damn close. He’s making his grand charade of an exit with a jovial smirk on his lips. It doesn’t stop his words from being a command.

“And start working.”

Harper lifts the book and, in a flurry of paper, chucks it at the shut door.

There, out of his system.

Unfortunately, Hans was right, he did need to work and pray that somewhere, his family could get some rest tonight.

He wouldn't be able to.

 

 

**&.**

“...Daniella?” 

It was phrased in such an innocent way, Dani thinks to herself as she lifts her pen from the lined journal page mid-word. He was special, she knew then, because she didn’t just lift her pen from the page for every passing fuck. Oh, she could have thought about the fact that it was five in the morning and she was still on his couch with a water bottle to mellow her, sitting beside the stacked paper-backs she’d flipped through only to discard aside her white over’ear headphones she used to block sounds from his bedroom, but no. It was the fact she stopped journaling. 

“Well, you have better eyesight than your brother.” Daniella says lightly, sliding the book shut over her pen and under her tapping fingernail. 

Olivier walked a little closer, until what she sees through the dim-light puts her heart in her throat. There was blood on his lapels, a shiny red that reminded her why she’d been hesitant in the first place. She digs her thumb into her lip. 

He realizes where she’s looking and exhales, taking his jacket off in an instant and tossing it behind him over a chair. Gaze following the flying Valentino, she’s only drawn back by the sincerity of his hastened explanation, “It’s not mine, and it wasn’t caused by me.”

How brutally blunt that was. What a reminder, Daniella thinks as her hooded gaze darts to the floor, and she wiggles her toes against his carpet. It’s not mine -- he wasn’t hurt, thank the Lord, thank Merlin, thank someone -- and it wasn’t caused by me. A lovely statement that he hadn’t murdered anyone. Tonight, at least. 

Daniella looks back up when she sees his fine suede shoes have inched nearer her again, and she continues lighter, “Tony stole your bed.” 

“I take it he isn’t alone,” as all Olivier said, a statement of fact. Daniella chuckles to herself, loving the bare amused tone, how well he knew his brother. She nods, twirling a black strand around her finger, eyes glazing over as she sees a glaring clock on his television. It reminded her how exhausted she had been, how close to sleep when the door had opened. And she thinks idly, how small the screen was. Most of the room was papered in books, bookcases overstuffed with maps, anthlogies and ancient texts -- and they’d been piled in front of the television. She likes that. It gave a different measure of who he was, this man she’d become so entangled with.

“When I sent him today though, I hadn’t exactly imagined he’d steal where I meant to sleep.” 

There’s a flicker in Olivier’s eyebrows and she nods to herself, understanding his unspoken realization. Yes, she’d been the one to send him. Yes, she’d come up the stairs and realized that Olivier wasn’t there, realized that it -- whatever it was that had taken him to England the week before, what had him brooding when she wasn’t looking, was happening. A quick scope of his desk (and she hadn’t meant to invade his privacy, not really, it wasn’t like she’d gone in his underwear drawer or anything), the brochur was on the desktop. Like he meant for her, for someone, to find it. 

“He took off instantly, and then he came back, with a girl, neither of them saw me, but I don’t blame them really -- very drunk, very dedicated to their goal, and I daresay I heard them reach it once before they even got to the bedroom,” She smirks and tilts her head, “Runs in the D’Grey family, does it?” 

Olivier smirks, but he doesn’t say anything. Daniella appreciates that. She likes that he seems to know she hadn’t made her point yet, and was giving her time to breathlessly, exhaustedly, ramble her way to it. Quieter, she taps her nail against her lip and fixes her own collar as she continues speaking.

“I waited because I wanted to know what happened. Not what the papers are going to print, what actually happened. Why they took Nadia, why you knew where she was -- why, they were going to a bleeding Gala -- everything.”

Olivier was nodding at her, a slight upturn in his lips, like he couldn’t believe it either. Daniella nods too, like she was trying to get him to nod more, to elaborate, to add-in something now. Her heart was hammering in her chest.

“Everything, and if you do tell me that, then there was a reason I stayed -- but if you don’t, I’m going out that door and I’m not -,” 

He kissed her. It was one of those, life-altering, movie-moments that made her usually throw popcorn at the screen and laugh with girlfriends about the cheesiness of the moment; made her want to throw her hands up in exasperation (Olivier catches them, holds them in a fist to his throat) because she wasn’t convinced by the slow-motion unless it was brought on by oxygen-deprivation (for that had to be the reason everything seemed slow now). His mouth devour hers, like he wants her to taste want on his tongue and need in his lips corner’s, like he’s stealing the remnants of her soul as he searches inside her own. 

When she pulls away, she snipes, breathless and with narrowed eyes, “That wasn’t an explanation.” 

The laugh that fills her ears is braced by another kiss, this to the tip of her nose. His arm comes around her waist, and holds her up against him, but she thinks oddly she’s the one holding him steady. This time when she thinks of the blood on his jacket, she’s terrified it was from someone he cared about --(but his brother looked fine?)-- and tries to think how to ask. 

“I know.” He says, lifting her up effortlessly with his arm and falling onto the couch with her. “I know you do. And I’ll tell you everything in the morning, I swear. Right now,” he senses her indignant response (and perhaps he could guess by now she was about to point out there was an AM. on that glaring neon tv clock), “it’s been an awfully long night, so just know.” 

She’s breathless now. And she’d throw popcorn at the screen at this moment too.

“Just know,” he promises, “I’m not standing by anymore when innocent people are hurt, and I didn’t tonight.”

“What did you do tonight?” She asks, wanting something concrete, anything concrete, and none of the details of whatever the atrocity he’d witnessed was. Daniella Faye loved being a contradiction, she thinks lightly, as she rests her head into the pillow, too comfortable all gathered up in his arms. 

“Mm--tonight.” He laughs, because he loves that she was difficult enough to make him think of an example, and it quiets because he thinks -- it isn’t funny what he’s about to say. As his hand brushes up and down her arm, his thumb tucked in the crook of her elbow and restless, his words are soft. “Tonight I saw a woman who doesn’t know her husband’s alive. That he’s been alive for nine years, fighting to get back to her and their son, doing everything in his limited power to help keep them both safe.” 

Daniella was still in his arms, a frown inches from her lips. He brings his hand up, cups her chin and pulls her lips apart with his thumb, as if he couldn’t bear to see her discontent. The simple thought makes her want to smile, but she won’t move his thumb. Her eyes ask for her instead, and he answers, just as softly as before. 

“She would have died, if I hadn’t given her a bezoar. Because that’s what these people are, that’s how little their word means to them. This man -- he’s dedicated his life to that promise that if he helped, they’d be safe...and they still almost killed her.”

Daniella shivers. And then she steadies, infuriated, every line of her long frame suddenly stiff and stern, dark in the early morning light. She doesn’t take her eyes from his and says, “So you?”

“So I went back to the man, and made sure he knew we could work together to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

This time it’s Daniella who kisses him. She kisses him in a way that says she wants more information -- that says she wasn’t going to be left out -- that says she wanted more, more, more -- but not right now (as she rips his shirt apart), not more of the verbal kind (he owes her a new jacket), not yet. 

 

**&.**

**Nadia:** *Breathing a little easier, half because she forced herself and half because she was glad to see familiar faces, she offers a smile and waves to them a little, determined to be as normal as she could. They wanted the Nadia they knew and she would just have to find her again.* Hi- oh. *Was the smile not that convincing after all? It didn't seem to fool Devin. How well did he know her?* I, I must have dozed off. Nightmare, shadows, I'm fine. *She didn't mind him being close, as if her body remembered him where her mind could not. Looking between the boys, she was almost hesitant to ask* how's Eliza? Is she awake yet? Are they looking after her, do they have someone with her?

 **Devin:** *Nightmares. Well, that made sense from two perspectives. What she went through that he would not ask about yet, not when tonight was enough to cause anyone nightmares -- and because this was Nadia, whatever her memory loss. A sympathetic smile crosses his lips, oddly calmed by the thought she still was so worried by her dreams, and he hesitantly squeezes her hand to say,* Still, then? *He phrased it that way, because he thought it might comfort her -- to find common traits with who she had been. Unless she didn't...want to? None yet, of what he had heard tell that she did, sounded something Nadia had ever been impossible of -- but the bravery and tenacity she'd shown aside, some things were a bit...hard comprehend. Alcott had said she hardly blinked before stabbing him.*

 **Alcott:** *Rapidly deciding that her mentioning Eliza first only was more evidence that she remained Nadia (in that she was ever more concerned for others than for herself) and not that there was further reason to worry, he speaks over Devin,* She's awake. Bossing her Healers around.

 **Devin:** *His friend wasn't going to ask, was he? Without looking around, he knew that, and so he said slowly,* She's with Rory right now -- and I think her mother --

 **Alcott:** *Nods, not wanting Devin to ask either and so he says quickly with a step forward,* Rory's her boyfriend.

 **Devin:** Right, *without being distracted an instant,* is there a particular reason you're asking?

 **Alcott:** Dev, mate. *Now he distracts his friend successfully, by pointing at the small pile of belongings on the chair; the party gown in a bag, a purse and what it rested atop.*

 **Devin:** *Startled by the pointing, he looks around, and then goes perfectly still. The smile crossing his lips abruptly more genuine, he flusters before he realizes he'd squeezed her hand again. Blinking agape, he exhales,* Ah... *He looks between the chair and Nadia's face -- explaining softly,* That's mine.

 **Alcott:** Yours? *Snorts,* I always thought you were cheap but -

 **Devin:** I mean it was, mine. *Over top Al, casting his friend a brief glare as he stumbles over the correction, looking back at Nadia.* The jacket -- I gave that to you. And this...is yours too. 

 **Alcott:** *As Devin holds out Mr. Fluffy, he clarifies aloud,* He gave you that too--

 **Devin:** I did not. *Eye rolls, hand going up,* And how about you refrain from lying, Al?

 **Alcott:** *Shrugs, both hands going up before slapping his thigh to slide thumbs back into pockets,* Right, sorry, forgot -- sensitive.

 **Devin:** For once in your bloody life, yes.

 **Alcott:** I make a terrible first impression, don't I? I mean, if you're going to stab me for it --

 **Devin:** Yeah, *drily*, that's really sensitive, it is --

 **Alcott:** *chuckling* You know, Dev, we really need to talk about your sense of humor --

 **Devin:** About _my_ sense of humor?! *Incredulously, shocked and momentarily sidetracked from returning the bear, though he has yet to let go of Nadia's hand.* 

 **Nadia:** *She nodded, happy to hear she was awake, that she was talking, that her family and her boyfriend was with her, because surely no one could get to her then right? But...then how had Gustav-* I was just asking. *She said quickly but didn't get quite finished before Alcott started speaking and then she looked down at the squeezing hand, smiling, it was so different from anything she knew so far.* Is it? *She looked up at the jacket fondly.* I held on to it like a lifeline. *It was worn and had some rips now but she didn't need to say that out loud when it was visible. She turned her attention to the teddy bear, chuckling to think she still had one.* Not any more terrible than mine. *She allowed and looked up at Alcott, clearly still apologetic though now amused by the boys' back and forth banter.* I don't mind, really. I don't want you to treat me like I'm fragile. *She shakes her head before she smiled looking at the bear.* You know, it's funny, I spent so much time yelling and insisting I wasn't a little girl and yet...I have a stuffed animal. *She chuckled.* Did I name it?

 **Devin:** *Was it terrible he was happy to hear that? The thought that his jacket, once given back, had become a talisman symbolizing comfort even when she didn't know his name -- it was heartening as very little was after the horrific evening they had. Actually, it was according to the clock on the wall, the previous evening, as it was nearing two in the morning. And yet he was wide awake, he considers dimly, eyes flicking back: for they couldn't bear being off hers for long.* I'm glad you had it then. 

 **Alcott:** No, I'd say yours trumped mine. *He half teases, neglecting the obvious fact that it wasn't the first time he'd met Nadia: not by a long shot. It wouldn't help to remind her of it, she was too aware of it already.*

 **Devin:** You're anything but fragile, Nadia. *He half murmurs, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. When he realizes what he's doing, he stops, breath jittery. How frightened, she had to be: no memories, deposited into the middle of chaos...and yet she was smiling at their hands, and so he couldn't help himself. Thumb resuming it's soft caress, he chuckles, nodding,* Er--yeah. Well, you've had him for a long time--

 **Alcott:** Oh, it's a him, is it?

 **Devin:** Well I assume so. *He looks at the bear, fluffed with the fur sticking out and bow tucking under an arm that he fixes (the bear had to be uncomfortable in that position), saying lighter,* A name like Mr. Fluffy.

 **Nadia:** *...Yes, that was quite true. She wasn't proud of it either and it was quite confusing to think that he kept bringing it up so easily and joking about it. She didn't mind, and if he didn't mind well by all means then.* I'll leave my knife behind next time we hang out, I promise. *It was hers now, D'Grey had given it to her which reminded Nadia, she had to talk to Devin about him. But not right now, definitely not right now. She looked down at their hands again, so enraptured by the motions, so soft. She wanted to store it forever and have it wipe away the memory (she surprised herself to think so, but not truly) of Rhys' and Gustav's hands. Smiling, she took the bear gingerly from Devin's hand, liking that this was a long time possession of hers. But upon hearing his name, she couldn't hold back a giggle.* Ay Dios. Mr. Fluffy. 

 **Devin:** *He laughs as she does, unable to put into words the relief and joy he felt to hear her giggle no matter how small or short it was.* Yeah...I don't know, I always thought it was adorable --

 **Alcott:** *Nodding in agreement, even as he moves closer to the chair, his own chuckle is a short bark as he muses,* You and your sister share the talent for names, I think. *See? He could mention some memories too -- some, anyway, though in his opinion the present was what mattered.*

 **Devin:** *Leaning in a bit closer to stage whisper, he explains,* Hols named her beaters' bat the Kracken. He's sore about it since she hit him with it.

 **Alcott:** That's not true. *His hand goes up, but he was barely paying attention, looking at the wand.* Well, yes she hit me with it - but that's after I stole it, so, all's fair.

 **Devin:** In love and war? Well, *as he considers it, his jaw juts out with amusement and he's still nodding, eyes flicking back to Nadia as he disdains looking away too long,* actually that sums you two up, I think.

 **Alcott:** Please, like I could ever be categorized. 

 **Devin:**...you make a good point.

 **Nadia:** *She was quite confused about what exactly a beater's bat was but she didn't want to make them anymore awkward or hesitant around her to just joke and communicate normally but what she could understand was that Hols and Al's relationship must not have been the most harmonious to begin with. Smiling, she asked Devin, attempting to tease.* We don't hit each other with bats, do we? 

 **Alcott:** And I don't know, I think that's unfair - a girl could like being called Mister. Don't be so constricting, mate.

 **Devin:** -You- might call a girl mister just to get a rise out of them but --

 **Alcott:** If I'm looking for a rise, I'd prefer they call -me- mister.

 **Devin:** *Stares at him agape and incredulous, before muttering playfully to Nadia, thumb still grazing back and forth,* I officially envy that you don't remember half of what he's said. *Nodding importantly,* At least half.

 **Alcott:** Now who's being insensitive? *Shrugging with a wide grin, he stills and tilts his head, looking at the piled belongings again. He tilts his head, curious as ever in this area,* Hey -- is that a new wand? 

 **Nadia:** *She looked up at the guys again, and blinked at Alcott's comment, mouth opening and closing and then turning to look at Devin who seemed between amusement and annoyance and then she giggled again, nodding.* He does seem quite the character. *She liked him though, he was very real.* Yeah, I have no idea where my old one is...no idea who gave me that one either, I think they tampered with my memory twice. Before I woke up the first time and before the Gala...the last 48 hours are a bit fuzzy...mostly.

 **Alcott:** *He spins half-back to wink, stilling with seriousness as Devin goes breathless with Nadia's explanation. Then he just nods. Not overwhelming, right? That was the point...though he felt his breath shallow and his mind was echoing.* Mind if I look?

 **Nadia:** *She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then shakes her head, motioning to the wand.* Go ahead. 

 **Devin:** *If he squeezed her hand anymore, he'd leave another bruise--and he couldn't do that; though she was only the more beautiful to him every second he was lucky enough to lay eyes on her. He says first,* It's all right - you don't have to talk about it now, or think about it. *His voice, so recently full of mirth, is serious and quiet with fervor. It gave weight to his promise, and for a moment he was grateful that Alcott acted like so little touched him. Even when he knew quite well why he was interested in wand lore, and it was anything but a light subject. So he poises curiously,* Looks longer than yours, mate.

 **Alcott:** *Eyebrow skyrocketing with amusement, and he points at Devin with his pinky,* Oh, you've got jokes now?

 **Devin:** *Innocent smile on his lips as he tries not to think it was the one Nadia always called devious, Devin shrugs a free shoulder.* No, I'm entirely void of wit.

 **Alcott:** Ahh, thought so. *As he reaches for the wand, he suddenly chuckles, light,* Apple wood, hm? Well, at least you know it'll never rot.

 **Devin:** *Arching an eyebrow at him confused,* What?

 **Alcott:** *Looks back up from the wand, turning it over in his hand with a reverence rare for him, his brows furrow even as his smirk widens.* It won't rot. *He echoes, surprised at Devin.* Oh come on, you know - that saying? An apple wood is never rotten? 

 **Devin:** *His eyebrow arching only higher, he ponders only briefly why Al thinks he should be having an epiphany. Then he chuckles.* Er- mate, stick the innuendos. You're much better at them.

 **Alcott:** *As it dawns on him it might not have been an actual aphorism, he shrugs, the phrase still stuck in his mind as he looks back the wand. There's a more sincere smile on his lips as he echoes himself,* I don't know, I kind of like the simplicity of "an apple wood is never rotten."  

 **Nadia:** *Once again, as his motion to her hand changed, she looked at them before looking up at his eyes and nodding, grateful. Nadia knew she couldn't ignore it forever but it was nice to think she could for tonight. And now they were talking about sizes now, oh goodness. Restraining a snort, she asks innocently.* You know how long his is? Did you compare, then? *Oh lordy, maybe making jokes wasn't her best forte. Still, she was glad to smile again as they were smiling. But then it stopped for her, and her head jerked suddenly to look from Devin to Alcott again, her mouth dropping open.* What did you...*she raised a hand to her head, feeling a headache coming in at a sudden force. There was a voice inside her head, speaking to her in a voice. Thoughts and images flashed in multicolor too quickly for her to make out. Wide eyes that were completely unseeing the world around her but instead her own head, she struggled against the influx of information. Hogwarts, Quidditch ( _that's_ what they were talking about), classes, a pet bunny, but also a voice. She echoed it out loud.* Every memory will return. Trust me. He said so, he said- oh God. Who is he? He, he, he's there. He doesn't want to, he wants to return to them, I promised...what did I promise? Frere Jacques, frere Jacques. Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez la matinee-- what's. *she rubbed her head in annoyance and in slight pain, gasping.*

 **Devin:** Nadia?! *He bursts forward, all protests against her joke dying on a sore throat--a throat too sore to repeat anything but her name as his hands leap to her arms, her shoulders, rubbing in comfort, his eyes searching her wandering gaze. Realizing she's not seeing him, that she's seeing and responding to someone else, echoing someone else, -remembering- something, now his hands leap to cup her cheek. Thumb brushing hair from her eyes, soothing, Devin's whispering,* Hey--hey shh--Nadia, it's all right, it's okay -- you're not -- *But he couldn't think what else to say and his breath cuts out as she starts singing under her breath. And God, Nadia always had a voice of an angel. As she pitches forward, cutting off and gasping, he realizes abruptly she didn't know him - he could be making her uncomfortable holding her that closely, he should pull back...but, but goddammit, he couldn't unless she pushed him, not when she was clearly in pain. Wide-eyed and frantic as he steadies his own breath, he jerks his gaze back and forth between Nadia and Alcott, but only for a flashing moment, glance barely passing over his friend. Whispering, he echoes himself as he tries not to ask the question leaping around a cavernous mind filled with panic: what the bloody hell was that? Because he knew what it was, even if he hadn't expected headaches to come with it -- it was why he'd brought the teddy bear,* Nadia, it's all right, you're remembering. It's a good thing. *He tries to smile encouragingly, despite his own wavering tone, steadying himself by speaking slowly,* The rest will come in time - you don't have to push yourself...Right, Al?

 **Alcott:** *In stark contrast to his panicked friend, Alcott's spine snaps him straight as a statue. Made not of stone, but of marble, carved and polished -- a hint of compassion curled at his lips, but just that, just a hint. His stillness was only outdone by how hard he felt himself listening to the familiar children's lullaby, wondering for the ache in his heart. Marble couldn't ache, he reminds himself, even as he hears the mental sardonic retort: but it certainly could chip. Chip and chip away, until there's nothing left...

He clears his throat as Devin steadies and starts talking to him.* Yeah... *It's obvious in his wary, hesitant tone that there was something off to him, something he doesn't understand as he trails off, but he coughs to clear his throat again and says stubbornly,* Right, yeah. *Except...if Devin didn't recognize the saying, then the aphorism had come from... No. It couldn't be. Actually, he didn't want to think about this at all, did he? It was just a coincidence, and it was on his mind because Devin had mentioned the research -- and because of everything he'd seen all night. He was overtired, mentally and physically exhausted (then why did he suddenly feel so alive? what was that spark?), and anyway -- Devin was speaking the truth. One way or another, she shouldn't push herself. He sets the wand down, trying to keep his gaze from lingering on it in curiosity, and steps closer to the bed himself, saying in a voice offhand,* And...whoever he is, every memory _will_ return, we'll...help, as much as possible.

 **Devin:** *He wonders briefly. There's something in Alcott's eyes. It couldn't be fear or anger -- it wasn't the wolf, there was no amber flash, no surge in breath he hastens to capture. No, this was all too-human. But by the time he's blinked, it's gone and Alcott's smiling. So Devin echoes,* We will. Whatever it takes. *It's not until the words have left his lips he realizes she won't realize the significance of them, and his heart skips another beat.* 

 **Alcott:** *He hears the skip, but his mind is racing and -- if he hadn't _promised_ his friend, if he hadn't sworn he wouldn't overwhelm her, for the first time that evening --morning, fuck, whatever -- he's more concerned with Nadia remembering who 'he' was and what had happened to her since they'd seen her last, rather than her recovering all the memories prior to that. But he couldn't say it aloud. He imagined a lot of Death Eater prisoners would sing that lullaby really; they wanted to be free, didn't they? A tiny smile back on his lips, he says offhand,* That's what Devin sang to you. *Nodding, he adds playfully,* He thought I didn't know that -

 **Devin:** Shut up, mate. *He says it lightly, but he's relieved to have another reason to smile as he lowers his hands back to Nadia's shoulder. Looking back deep into her eyes, he swears,* All right? I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

 **Alcott:** *Lightly,*I think that might be my cue to leave. *His gaze had fallen back on the wand again, brow furrowed in deep thought and chewing on the corner of his lip without him even noticing it.* 

 **Nadia:** *Nadia promised herself she wouldn't cry. The worst was over, she stubbornly repeated to herself over and over after she'd connected with her family at the gala. But it was so clearly not over, nothing about it was resolved. Her memories were returning but in the form of a great tsunami. It rushed over her thoughts, firing off in quick synapses that her body was too overwhelmed by. And then there was that song playing over and over again, harmonious and deep in her head. Frere Jacques, frere Jacques. It was a lullaby wasn't it? Or a...morning song rather. Wasn't it about waking up? With an intake of breath, she came back. 

Devin had his arms around her, staring at her in concern, and Alcott was standing as straight as a pole, but they were both assuring, they would help and she would get her memory back, whatever it took. Whatever, whatever, yes. She nodded repeatedly, a bit stiffly, and then brought a quick hand up to her eyes, fearful they might shed once more.* 

No, he didn't. It's not Devin's voice singing it, it's... _his_. I should remember, but I don't, he took it. He took it, he gave me the wand, he's singing in my head, he's sorry. He's so sorry- *she closed her eyes, brought a hand to cover her face before shaking her head and looking up again at Devin, nodding just as enthusiastically.* Yes it's okay, it is, it's more than fine, yes. *She kept nodding, licking dry lips.* Leave? I mean, if you want, of course. 

 **Alcott** : *The continued flood of confused information (that really was probably all planted if it came from a spell, right?), jerk his gaze away from the wand and he looks back. His breath was a bit shaky, face transformed, but his posture and jaw ever stiffer. Only his eyes reveal the whirring gears in his mind.*

 **Devin:** *He blinks, but he rubs her forehead with his thumb in a soothing circle, saying in frowning confusion,* You "shouldn't" do anything -- Nadia, it's not your fault....

 **Nadia:** Fine then not "should"....want. I want to remember but wanting it isn't quite enough. *She exhaled and then let herself fall and lie more comfortably in Devin's arm, finding the warmth peaceful and held her bear, Mr. Fluffy, a little tighter. She didn't think she'd needed but apparently it was just something else she was wrong about. 

 **Alcott:** *His eyebrow cocks higher with a sharper intake and his head jerks back to the wand as he says as light as a hoarse, disbelieving voice could manage,* Well, that explains why the wand triggered the memory then, doesn't it?

 **Devin** : *Heartened by the repeated assurance she didn't mind him holding her, the small smile disappears as fast as it came. Slowly,* Except..*It was when he'd said that dumb joke, really; why had Alcott thought it was a saying? Where had his friend heard it before?*...it wasn't the wand, it was--

 **Alcott:** *Overtop of him, a skip in his breath,* He took what? The...memory? Well then, he should be sorry. *Flatly, and not at all willing to listen to Devin, he takes a step forward, leaning down to put his hand on Nadia's shoulder and squeeze as comfortably as he could manage.* And I didn't mean Frere Jacques. Devin, *he jerks his head, lips curled in a smirk he's reached with absurd ease,* sang you the song "whatever it takes," playing it on the piano, to woo you back. 

 **Devin:** *Eyebrows furrowing, as he thinks to himself the contradiction: gave her the wand and took her memories? Maybe Nadia was melding two people together...or maybe three: who did "he" want to return to? Only at Alcott's words, he narrows his gaze and says,* Alcot--

 **Alcott:** What? Better memory anyways. *He winks, despite skips in his heart and a hole in his chest, not a shiver of it on his face. Leaning down to meet his lips to Nadia's cheek, he stage-whispers teasing,* Personally, I don't think you ever should have forgiven him. Or a little more groveling, at least.

 **Nadia:** Nodding absently at whatever question or affirmation she was hearing now, she only looked up again as she felt the hand on her shoulder and then began to clarify what he'd meant before. Her gaze flicked between the two boys as she imagined Devin singing and playing the piano, feeling an easy smile return to her face despite whatever it might have been that caused them to fall apart in the first place.* How romantic.

Devin: *Drily,* Yeah, yeah, go before the urge to kick your arse  for that, *he gestures to the forehead kiss, smirking*, grows stronger...

 **Alcott:** Oh, you could try mate. *He chuckles, letting go and backing up towards the door, both hands up in the air.* Go ahead. I mean you do realize you'd break your -own- fist hitting me, right?

 **Devin** : You do realize I have a wand, don't you? *Just as light and mocking, but at the word both their faces transform and for a moment, dart to this wand - the man singing in her head had made for her, and he swallows tightly.* Al-

 **Alcott:** No no, *he winks once more, breath shallow,* I outstayed my welcome, don't need to tell me twice. Gonna go see Eliza, mate. *And he was gone, but not before he'd cast another quick glance back at the wand. The words felt like they were being echoed in his head now, the aphorism -- and the song. He could hear it too, he realized, clear as day, in his mother's voice..only she was accompanied, and he didn't want to think about that. Actually, he didn't want to fucking think anymore at all. So though he did go check on Eliza, kiss her goodnight (while she was already asleep), it was Hols he was headed straight to.* 

 **Devin:** *He swallows tightly as Alcott walks out, and then shakes his head. It wasn't though he was fooled: the subjects tied together like that had to be tough, and he didn't ever want to think of -his- father in any of the faked corrupt scandals the tabloid wrote let alone tied to Death Eaters, so he let it drop and sighed, turning back to Nadia. Smiling briefly at her, he rubs his cheek and says softly,* Hey. *Sincerely.* If he took it, Al's right - it's not your fault you don't remember. But he said they'll come back? And they will. I know they will. I'm not giving up, Nadia. Not ever. But even if they never do...*He swallows painfully, on a dry throat,* Or never all do fully -- it won't matter to me. You're still....you're still you. And I love you. And If I have to remember for both of us, then I will. And we can focus on new memories -- that's all anyone really has anyway.  

me. You're still....you're still you. And I love you. And If I have to remember for both of us, then I will. And we can focus on new memories -- that's all anyone really has anyway. 

 **Nadia:** *How romantic, she remarked very honestly and chuckled at the stage whisper and brief kiss. Then playful threats started flying, that's what men did she realized.* Bye Alcott...*she watched him leave the room and then looked up at Devin. She was about to ask if there was something bothering Alcott when she realized there were literally a million things that could be bothering him at the moment. So instead, she listened to his words, comforted by them as he addressed worries she had kept silent. And he loved her too? That...that wasn't fair, that she couldn't remember it, it wasn't fair. 

Pursing her lips, she finally felt tears fall down her cheeks again so she brought the best up to her face.* I'm not though, Devin. *She looked up again, shaking her head.* The Nadia you love, the old me, she didn't go through what I did. She didn't see...didn't feel, that, and whenever I do get my memories it won't wipe away the ones I have now, the only ones I have now. *She rubbed her forehead again.* They're so vivid because everything else is just...dark.

 **Devin:** Then we'll make better ones. *He said it immediately.* We'll make better memories, *Thumb brushing the tears off the crown of her head, his own voice is choked with emotion. Tense, so as to force tears and hurt back, his touch is still gentle, still soft. He murmurs,* You didn't ride a bike until the first time either, but it didn't mean you weren't you until you had. *His heart couldn't hear what his head repeatedly told him, because how could she not be Nadia? She was Nadia, the girl he'd known since birth, the only person who knew he was afraid of spiders and didn't mock him with it, the girl who had a bad pinching problem -- she had to be her, she had to be, she was right there, right here. In his arms. He could touch her again, he could hold her...how could he believe anything differently? Desperation in his eyes and coloring his words, he murmurs,* And all that you've been through -- all that you did tonight, Nadia, it could never make me love you less even if you never did remember the rest. If anything, I love you all the more. You're...brave --and smart, and ever more too good for me and... *He exhales. He's breathless.* I know you don't remember before, and I -- hate-, that, as much as I hate them for what you've gone through but--but everything you did tonight, I love. 

 **Nadia:** *She nodded softly, wanting to believe him with all her might. After all, she didn't know how bad she was at riding bicycles but she could bet it wasn't as traumatic as...what she knew. That was all she knew. She exhaled, helping him wipe the tears away, hating them fiercely. No crying eyes! She had specifically instructed- stupid eyes. She couldn't understand why Devin could love her any more for tonight but maybe that was something she with her memories would better understand. She was heartened by his faith in her, and his kindness. She snorted though at the end, and then reminded him (though it didn't really need reminding).* I stabbed Alcott tonight too. ..I meant to kill him, you know. *Her breath left her chest quickly but she continued.* I thought I could do it...because I've done it before.

 **Devin:** *Exhaling, it felt as if he was squeezing out breath like trying to fit the Atlantic ocean through a penny-sized hole. He presses his thumbs to the corner of his lips. And nods.* I know you did. Alcott would have been insulted if you tried anything less really. *He presses his eyes shut tight to clear the rush of images, a dull roar in his eard. When he opens them, he's steady. He admits,* I...threw a knife into Rachelle's throat. I didn't...try to kill her, but I didn't care if I did. She--I mean she was trying to kidnap my sister. 

*He shakes his head, rubbing his lips still.* I also threatened to implode the...Casanova, whatever his real name is, and I would have done it--because I...I know, that I want...things to be light, for you now--forever from now--but...*He clenches his teeth together,*  they tried to kill me, they took you. So...I guess I changed too. *Now his hands fall to his own knee, and he shakes his head.* I just know I can't lay down and let others fight back--Christ, if I am ever to be Minister, I have to lead myself. 

 **Nadia:** Julio *she offered softly, nodding silently. She remembered now a headline on a newspaper about the minister's son being attacked, and Devin was that guy. Nadia felt a little sick as she undoubtedly pictured an image of the same level of gore that she had experienced and quickly rubbed her forehead as if to dispel the thoughts that way. 

Nevertheless, she didn't think any less about Devin for what he had to do tonight, she'd already told him that. Maybe it was that exact mentality that explained why he could think the best of her after all.* I know how you feel...I had to fight back. I worked my ass off, to find a way to stop anyone from being taken and I got so furious with D'Grey at first, because he didn't agree with it but he wasn't...doing, any thing. 

And I couldn't do that, I couldn't just sit by and keep listening to all those people being tortured, those screams-- *she stopped herself, pressing her lips together and swallowing on a dry throat.* So yeah, I totally...I get it.

 **Devin:** *He nodded, silently grateful he could stop thinking of the dick as Casanova -- and then he goes still. Panic in his throat he nods and finally lifts his hand back to her cheek. His words are gentle.* You know. When I say you don't have to talk about it now...that doesn't mean you can't. If you want to. I just don't want to overwhelm you, or burden you...you were incredible, tonight. 

And I might be the only person not the slightest bit surprised you're a bad ass. People mistake compassion and kindness for weakness--that isn't true, anymore than goodness, while an imperfect term in it's lack of tecnicality, is a vice. It's easy to write something or someone off, even with sympathy. It's incredibly difficult to empathize. Especially if it's someone doing things...you loathe--it's why those who sin the worst, psychopaths excepted, are also the most broken. *He swallows on a painfully tight throat.*

What you're saying...who you were fighting for--that's the most incredible show of strength I think there ever could be. And if you want to talk about it-about what you do remember, then I want to hear it. If you want me to ramble about things we did when we were younger, then I want to share. If you want me to take you out of this bed and sneak somehow past the Healers and go get ice cream, *he breaks into a guilty smile*, then I want to take you. *He reaches for her hand and squeezes.* 

The point is that you're not there anymore, they can't make you do anything--and I won't ever either. And they--well I won't, be such bloody (he looks apologetic as he swears) easy prey for them again--and you, already beat them once--they'd be fools worse than bastards to try anything. You're here. *He squeezes her hand again.* Safe. *And Devin smiles, even knowing how broken it might appear as he struggles past the fact he's a stranger to her, and focuses on her own smile. It always had lit up his world.*

 **Nadia:** *She didn't remember him. At all, in the slightest, and a part of her felt guilty for that because surely if they were together and he loved her then she must love him back, and he must be a person of great importance in her life. She wished she could remember, but even without her memories she felt safe in his arms, felt warmth where his fingers touched her cheek. And his words, so calming and technically correct (technicalities, they made her smile as much as they made her roll her eyes) were the exact right thing for her to hear. 

Her smile, a little broken like her, widened as he kept talking, eventually turning into a chuckle as he said he would break her out to get ice cream if that was what she wanted. But he wasn't completely right, they could still make her do things, Gustav was buying her silence. But Eliza was awake and she was safe so maybe she would give it time...and then put everybody in a safe house and then tell them about Gustav. She just had to find a way...she smiled and looks up at him with glassy eyes again.* I can tell why I love you. Even if I don't remember...I do feel safe, with you. *She smiles and squeezes his hand too.* Just stay with me, yeah? *Her jaw quivers before she speaks* I can't bear being alone again.

 **Devin:** Well, I certainly like hearing that. *It turned his smile genuine, if for a moment only, like he was gluing pieces of a shattered glass back together. Lynn had told him once that such art pieces weren't forever broken, they didn't symbolize meddling through with constant aches for what was. They had become something new, become something made more beautiful by that simple gem; it had once been broken and was now, not. Devin nods at her, leaning in to kiss her forehead, a bare brush of his lips against hers, trying not to wince as she continues. 

She couldn't remember him. She didn't know him. But she still wanted him there, still saw something worth loving in him and he thinks--that had to be enough, he could cling to that. Pulling back only briefly, he spins on the bed and nods, lifting his arm to pull her in to a warm, gentle embrace. He lays back with her as he murmurs against the tip of her ear,* I'm here, Nadia. 


	37. Ten Points For Alliteration, Fifty If You Hit the Trifecta

**Rachelle:** *The panic had subsided for her, but the anger had not. Instead it only grew, like a festering wound, getting more and more despicable as time passed. Once she got out of here, because she would get out of here, she'd leave for a few years. But, oh, when she came back, the moment she came back would be these people's reckoning. It was that thought that turned into a living chill, the cold that seeped through the Aurors' bones. She loved that she was a constant reminder of the people they had lost at her brother's hand. That she could hurt them even like this, caged like an animal. Didn't they know a caged animal was more dangerous? Her fingers stilled as she ran them through her hair, in the middle of making it in an intricate braid she had learned as a little girl so many years ago. In a flash of movement she had turned around and stepped up to the metal of the bars, curling her hands around the reinforced metal.* Don't tell me they started selling tickets to the zoo. *This woman wasn't an Auror. No ministry robe, no badge, and those shoes were original Jimmy Choo's, something your average Auror would need to save up for twenty years to be able to afford. The rest of her was equally as elegantly dressed, Lyndsea Brackner of course, had a reputation to maintain. Though her reputation as party thrower might have taken a bit of a hit, maybe.*

 **Lyndsea:** *It had taken her three, maybe four --but certainly not five, never five minutes, until she was given access. Strong arming the Auror department after they saved so many lives tonight would be ungracious. For Lyndsea, it only truly made things even. Shawn hadn't wanted to let her by, but she barely had to look at him until he acquiesced, rightfully gaging that an internal Ministry fight wouldn't be good for any of them. In this clear time of war--they had to cooperate, they all did. She didn't tell them the reason she wanted to talk to Rachelle--only that she wouldn't reveal anything they didn't wish her too. Besides. Didn't they need an impartial party here? Which of the grief stricken Aurors could be fair right now, when so angry and rightfully so?

Her heart thudding, she stills as she nears the bars, partly just to ignore that her Pepper-up was wearing thin. The question made her ache, as did the sight.* Rachelle, I'd rather you don't assume how I'll judge you before I've opened my mouth. *Her eyes were crinkled in sympathy, though her words were cool. She swallows.* Do you know who I am? *The question she was so used to asking with haughty presumption was instead calm, halting. Lyndsea just wanted to know. She assumed she did--after all, this pack researched her son--but she couldn't rightfully judge, so she did not.*

 **Rachelle:** *She grinned, letting her arms fall through the bars and shrugging* I'd rather not be locked up for something I didn't do. We learn to live with disappointment. *Live with it for now at least, but the moment she was out- she smirked to herself, restraining a giggle as she took her arms back to continue braiding her hair.* You sent me an invitation, so I would hope I knew your name. *Well, she sent her family an invitation, which she kindly intercepted.* Saw your son tonight, by the way. He's good. *She looked up from her hair to the woman* It took me days to completely turn.

 **Lyndsea:** *Learn to live with the disappointment...God, if that wasn't true. Her eyes follow the woman's fingers, ignoring the first comment for now. The meticulous hair braid impresses her, and she recognized the habit, the need, to make yourself presentable in horrific circumstances. This was a new jacket. Without blinking, her voice remains low lest it waver, her hands curl around each other behind her back. She lifts her chin and says to act as if this doesn't twist her heart up,* Al's always been precocious. Taking after his...father, truth be told, *with a ghost of a sheepish smile,* I was never so...quick. *Not with figures and equations, in any case, but people...people she could usually read.* But I know already about him, as you clearly do. As I know the kind of prejudice my son would face, that ...*as kindly as she can muster in this place,* you undoubtably have. I don't want to talk about what we know. *Her head tilts as she asks with a straining voice,* Days? It was days? How did you bear it?

 **Rachelle** : *Honestly, she had been hoping to startle the woman but her heartbeat remained as steady as when she had walked in, and her breathing wasn't normal but it was definitely steady as well. The woman still loved her son, despite knowing now. That she could respect, and for a moment was ashamed she'd tried to reveal the pup's secret for him and glad she hadn't succeeded. She smiles, meaning it to be bitter.* Undoubtably. *Then again, they weren't entirely wrong on some suspects. She had killed a few of them tonight. 

Looking up again, she tilts her head at Lyndsea's question. Not here to grill her for information on Hans or the death eaters? Just on her personally? Rachelle wouldn't buy it so quick, but she didn't see a problem with sharing that information.* I've got a high tolerance for pain. Unfortunately unlike your boy, I am not a quick learner. But I still wouldn't say I bore it, no, that's not the right word. *she shook her head, repeating the words her brother had whispered in her ear as she'd lain on all fours, bones jutting out from every which side.* 

I embraced it, and consumed it before it did me. *She dropped the braid when she was done and then wet her fingers with her tongue to rub away the blood at her neck. The wound was still red and angry but it was much more preferable to having a big gaping hole in her neck.* Why are you here, Lyndsea?

 **Lyndsea:** *Seeing the woman rub her fingers against blood on her neck puts a pit in her stomach and it reminds her. Scooping into her jacket pocket, she fishes out a tiny vial and extends the glass through the bars, saying softly,* I have no idea about silver burns in particular. But I know this helps regrow skin. If my husband had more time, *complacently, only with a touch of how bitter she truly was, and now flatly,* instead of being killed by those you fought with at the Gala, then it might even have done more. *There's steel in her wide eyes, and her lip is still. Then eyes aflutter, she gestures with it, and continues softer, half speaking to her own feet,* Regardless, it'll help--and that's what it's for.

*She lifts her gaze back to Rachelle's to hold steady and then says calmly,* I'm here because I've never been one to be told what to think, or believe, when I can hear all sides and decide myself. And I'm here because of all the atrocious tragedies perpetrated by this Hans tonight--he gave my son a potion meant to help him. *Her voice shakes for a second as words continue to tumble out of bitten lips,* Once before, these cowards who call themselves Death Eaters thought they owned one I loved because of his last name. They don't own my son. And, *her chin lifts, steadied by the fervent belief in her words,* I'm here because I don't think they own you either. I want to understand--*perfectly honest,* I want to know what is going on, because I can't help if I don't. I don't want my son to be hurt anymore. *quiet* He's hurt for too long. 

 **Rachelle** : *She looked at the potion oddly, tilting her head and then smirking a bit.* Curious. *The smirk doesn't fade as Lyndsea adds the detail about her husband being killed by the Death Eaters. Yes, almost a decade ago. If the timing was right, they weren't actually the same Death Eaters at all. She took the potion without letting her gaze fall from Lyndsea's and then threw it behind her with flick of her finger. The glass smashed against the wall accompanied with a raise of her eyebrow. She didn't say anything else as she kept talking about her reason coming to her.* Wow. Mother of the year. *It was only half sarcastic. Her mother, after all, had driven a silver knife into her liver.* I have no love lost for Death Eaters myself, but I'm not going to tell you anything, madame. Hans is my brother, and I won't betray him.

 **Lyndsea:** *Nary even a brow flickers as she throws the potion, and she says simply,* If destroying that helped you, then it served it's purpose. *Her eyes soften as her hand closed around the bar again, and she rests, unafraid of being close. She nods slowly at the title, lips twisting at the brutal irony, still not blinking or looking away.* I understand. I'm not asking you to betray him. I'm not even asking why it is he singled my son out. In fact, we don't have to talk about Hans at all. *Her voice tightens.* He helped you. That's honorable. What did he help you with? Who? Was it them? The Death Eaters?  If I sent your family an invitation-- you must be pureblood. *Her lips break open in silent anguish as she asks,* So was that why they thought you would help them--before you proved them wrong, of course? _Your_ last name? You say you're innocent--tell me how and I can help you too. 

 **Rachelle:** *She was surprised, actually, that Lyndsea could call anyone that had just massacred a dozen of (admittedly worthless) Aurors honorable. After all, wasn't she supposed to be calling them monsters? Oh no, no no, not when her beloved son was one of them, she couldn't think of them that way without thinking of her son that way too. Her eyebrows that had lifted before now narrowed and with another movement she was pressed against the bars, grabbing her wrists. She growled out.* I don't _need_ your help. You think you can bring me some potion, ask me about my life, and I would just divulge to you my deepest horrors? *She scoffed and laughed, laughed because wasn't it just so funny?* I don't need your pity, I don't need your understanding and I definitely do not need your false promises. *She lets her wrists fall, though she did contemplate breaking them like she had broken the vial, like she had broken the small bed in the cell, the only thing that wasn't reinforced.*

 **Lyndsea** : *A spark kicked a flame off embers in her heart she long since had assumed iced over as her wrists are grabbed. And though the tight grip hurts, pallid skin pinched between iron (and the bars too), Lyndsea only bites hard on the inside of her mouth until she's released. She won't flinch. She won't cower. Truthfully, the glint in the girl's eyes only made her heart ache.* False promises? Of the two of us. *She says quietly, rubbing one wrist without breaking eye contact.* Which lied tonight? *Her throat was protesting further words, raw from flames (oh, and probably the poison), but she had to keep talking. So she keeps her words soft,* And pity is a word that requires condescension. I have no belief in being above you, *she releases her sore, aching wrists and then determinedly puts them back on the bars.* 

After all, you could break my wrists and do your nails at the same time. *Lyndsea exhales slowly to breathe through the pain, gripping the iron.* If you meant that I am saddened by the thought of what you must have gone through--yes, I am, because I have seen what Alcott lives with, and I know what it is to be so judged. Pity, on the other hand? *She shakes her head slowly.* Hans murdered twelve people in cold blood tonight. No. I do not pity you anymore than your pack. But. *Her voice heavens with emotion,* I am sorry, for the simple fact is if you use deepest horror to describe it--it must have been truly, terrible.  

*And then she lifts her chin, a gold strand falling off her forehead, dusting over her shoulder.* However, you're right--I am, as ever I was, impatient. Let me start then. *Her hands come off the bars and rest over her chest, stance soft though tall.* I'm Lyndsea Vivienne Brackner, born Stenrosa. You know, my own deepest horror already, and about my son. I run two coalitions for the Ministry to deal with charity and medicine--that potion, was one of several my husband invents. *Invented, Lyndsi thinks lately, but has no desire to change tenses.* I love the Falmouth Falcons, I'm addicted to chocolate strawberries, sometimes I sleep with a stuffed panda bear, and yes, Rachelle, I want to help you. 

 **Rachelle:** *She hadn't lied either really, not in her words. Every single thing she'd told the girl was based on fact which lacked details, indeed Rachelle had been honest when she'd revealed to like her already. She supposed though, having been watching her for quite the amount of time, it would make sense for her to like Lynn in a very dark way, the same way Ansel had enjoyed his target as well. Oh Ansel, her darling brother. Like two siblings too similar in age and character, they fought and snapped for their alpha's attention. Rachelle hoped he was able to grab the girl at least; she had disappointed them enough already, allowing herself to be taken by them. It was then the panic started arising in her again, knowing how affected she was by the bars internally she moved away from them at once and for a brief moment they too burned into her skin. 

She was supposed to be all powerful, she was supposed to as Lyndsea said, break her wrists and do her nails in the same time, she was supposed to be able to safe herself and here she was -again-. Left 'shamed' and 'humiliated' by those worthless halfblooded shits. She would rip them apart, she would tear them to pieces, because no one fucked with her and got away with it. No one chained her up and toyed with her and lived to enjoy the taste, not any fucking more. And if Rachelle showed anymore weakness in front of the woman, she would have to kill Lyndsea Brackner too.* I am not a child, Lyndsea, don't placate me with your words. *She scoffed and looked up at the woman again, the mother. Why in the name of heaven and hell was this woman so stubborn?* And what does Lyndsea Vivienne Brackner nee Stenrosa have to gain from helping me?

 **Lyndsea:** *It was only now, as she saw the girl back up a bit, eyes darting among the bars--the trace of panic, of fear--that Lyndsi supposes she did feel sorry for her a bit more. She wished she could let her out of the cage at least--at least, until Rachelle meets her gaze again and she felt a trickle of fear up her spine. The look of murder twisted her gut. But she didn't move.* Understanding of how I can better help my son. *She answers immediately in a small, but sturdy way. Her chin comes up,* He's everything to me. It's freeing, isn't it? The idea you have so very little to lose. When emotional suffering is so great that you're numb to it. I felt that way for years. And the reason why, was worth it entirely. So threaten me if you must. I won't budge. And I say this, because I have a feeling you understand that.

 **Rachelle:** *That made her smile, but the gesture was twisted in the cruel and sick humor that she got from hearing her say the words so bluntly. What a lovely dedicated mother, wanting to understand her son. It was then she realized Alcott had no room in their pack. He was far too loved already and a part of her would be willing to bite his head off if he threw it away. She grinned because it amused Rachelle, the image that immediately came to mind.* As a wolf guru? 

*She laughs again, continuing until it verges on hysterical before she collects herself, shaking her head and sighing. Sauntering over to the bars again after mentally steeling herself against them, she drapes her arms through the bars leisurely, bringing her face up as close to Lyndsea's as she could. She examined the woman's heart rate and breathing; she wasn't lying. Looking her up and down, sizing her up (admiring her shoes), Rachelle eventually makes her way back to her eyes and then her grin spreads* D'accord, mon ange. I can play share time around the circle with you. Give you a wolf's inside view, but only if you get me out of this cell before I decide that digging through the floor isn't such a crazy idea after all.

 **Lyndsea:** *She works hard, oh so very hard, not to move or falter as she approaches a second time. The gaze was excruciating in it's pierce; like she could strip Lyndsea to her core. Flinching would be weakness she dare not show. And this was for Alcott, she reminds herself, and besides: she hadn't lied. And how long had she lived with men who always did the same to hide their pain? Her thumb and wrists were throbbing in aching reminders, but--contrary to common sense, contrary as she had ever been, she arches an eyebrow back, saying simply,* You don't trust me yet. That's fair. But you haven't given me any reason to think you'll tell me anything yet, Rachelle. If you do, I can try. Promising more would be false. *Quieter yet, and she still hadn't moved,* I'm right, aren't I? What they meant to do to Alcott--they wanted to do to you first. You beat them somehow. *And had suffered. So clearly had this girl suffered. Lyndsea knew it was a mother's instinct, but she wanted only to give her a hug. Odd, as she'd just nearly broken her wrists.*

 **Rachelle:** Try. *She repeated, the word tasted bitter in her mouth and she shook her head. Awfully tempted to just tell the woman to go to hell again, she was nevertheless fixated in place as the woman began to assume things which she has no idea about. The horror stories of death eaters they knew as a child was nothing compared to the reality, nothing compares to the harshness of Gustav's commanding whip. Oh, speaking of.* That's not how it works, mon amour. Alcott's already a wolf, and my brothers and sisters and I would have cut through anyone who tried to put him in the cells. 

*She took her arms back and raised them behind her to work at the zipper, a smirk on her face.* We would have tutored him, helped him, he'd been part of the pack, never a death eater. Those on the death eater path however *she took her arms out of her dress and it was such a shame to see an original Givenchy on the floor but it wouldn't stain. She began to take off her bra too, the comfort with nudity long achieved though whether that was because she was French or a werewolf, she couldn't tell exactly.* have a little more in store. 

*Once the bra fell, she turned around, moving her braided hair out of the way. Sometime during the night, she'd lost hold on the glamour and her whip scars were on display. Ugly lines of raised skin a tone lighter than her own skin criss-crossed across her.* The other scars left but these were made with the help of dark magic, so here they remain. *She leaves her hair fall down again before turning around* They're quite innovative about it too. So like I said, not the biggest fan of death eaters.

 **Lyndsea** : *A brow answers her echoed statement. Yes, she wanted to snap. When you've spent half the conversation stating your loyalty to the man who slaughtered so many tonight (she tried not to think that he'd been seeking Rachelle), one reason--just one, that I should feel more than 'isn't it a shame' sympathy didn't feel too much to ask for. Rachelle hadn't killed those people, after all, though even thinking it felt like a justification. Lyndsea feels as if each separate vertebrae clicks and snaps into place with every word of what they 'would' have done, un-fooled and tempted all the same. Was snapping his neck just bloody "tutoring"? 

Then her own heart snaps to a standstill. Willing herself not to spill the tears (of blood, it felt) gathering behind her eyes, she bites down on her bottom lip. All the carnage she had seen tonight, the gory mess of parts and fluids that turned her stomach--they had not hurt as much as seeing these scars. Raised yet, the sprawling lines splinter at odd angles, some too hard and straight for Lyndsea to think anything  caused them but her body snapping at the moment of impact. Now she was glad she had already emptied her stomach squeezing the poison from her thin veins, or else she'd have lost it all once more.

Seeing those lines replaced poison with ice, shocking her body with brutal understanding. Rachelle was beautiful--terribly so, and there was a simple reason these marks affect Lyndsea greater than all the earlier gore. It's the wounds that cut deep enough to last that hurt worst. The ones that leave scars  nagging of pain, slowly creeping into every thing you have, everything you are, until you can't breathe, until you can't remember a time you didn't hurt or how you were before. She knew. It didn't matter if the scars were visible to anyone but you. You knew. That was enough.* And you fought beside them tonight!?

*The gasp--of heart-ache, of pain, bursts from her raw throat without thinking to form the words. That was rare. Lyndsea took care to speak precisely. Still rubbing at her throat, she tears her eyes up back to Rachelle's, lost.* I--I don't unde--If they did that to yo--why would you fight with --why would you help the--why? *Her voice and lungs simply give out. But she would not cry.*

 **Rachelle:** You know, I would love nothing more than to rip them apart with my human teeth. Maybe not every single one of them. The majority were me...taken at 15, 16, 17. The young ones are the most impressionable you see. And then they turn, they turn because they want to stop hurting and then in the anger and rage and pain that's all they know and have left, they turn to causing it themselves. It's quite the vicious cycle. *Deciding she felt better naked anyways, she picked up the dress and folded it precisely before offering it to Lyndsea* I can't bear the sight of this behind these damned bars, please.

 *It was a side thought however, because a moment later she was back to her original point.* If any case, my loyalty is not to them, but to my brother, to Hans. He came to me in the dungeons and he raised a hand not to strike me but comfort me. *she pursed her lips for a moment before forcing herself to continue* And to say it was warm is untrue, it was burning. It was flame itself and I'd never felt anything as good as that touch then. I moaned like a savage slut, and then I cried. I cried because he took his hand away and I was scared I'd never feel warmth again. *Her throat closing up, she decided to skip the rest of that memory, less her eyes betray her and start spilling visual evidence of her weakness.* 

He turned me, I asked him to. Because I was so fucking tired of being weak *her nostrils flared, her eyes shined a bright honey as she grabbed the bars again and even though it was hopeless, began to try to par them apart* of being used, of being caged! *She yelled in frustration and turned away from the bars again after striking at them with her fists. Knuckles breaking with the force, she only began to pop them back into place and watch them heal, she kept her back turned to Lyndsea.* He came for me, tonight. He heard my howl, my pain...he wanted to save me because he loves me as I love him. Less, probably. I love him with all my heart, with every single nerve ending...I would follow him anywhere, do anything for him. *She turned around again after sighing under her breath, but didn't approach the bars again.* What I do, I do for him, and what he does, he does for us, the pack, his family. And right now, the death eaters hold over our heads a very large and crucial bargaining chip. 

 **Lyndsea:** *Her breath was hot, heavy and she thinks dimly she was struggling for it more than she had when flames were searing through her veins to try and pull each speck life from her. Fifteen, sixteen--they hadn't gone anywhere. Nearly a decade ago, when they were so soundly defeated--they'd...Lyndsea had never fathomed the few who survived and escaped would have been actively recruiting. And the word hurt, pulled apart her heart--recruiting!? They were breaking people--breaking children apart, stealing lives in a far worse way than murder ever could be. Subtract love, add hate... 

Twisting the jacket edges as she takes the dress from her, barely realizing she does. Lyndsea's hand slaps over her heart abruptly at the shout, knowing further tears were pearling in her eyes. A glimpse of her anger alone makes her realize why she couldn't open the bars right now. Rachelle healed, would complete the job Hans started.

Why did it feel as though part of her believed Rachelle would be right to? Heart heavy, she  whispers with hurt and confusion evident, more to remind herself than anything,* He killed twelve people. *Incredulously, bitter and breathless,* Twelve people who-who had families, who had children of their own -- who had dedicated their lives to stopping this, finding and stopping the Death Eaters -- ending that very cycle! *The whisper turns to a shout a minute and she finally rips her jacket off, picking tears from her fluttering lashes to snap them away.* 

That...what happened to you--I'm glad Hans could help, *she asked to be turned? What did they do to these children--and to what fucking point?! Pureblood supremacy?* No wonder these bastards are all so bloody crazy--take incest and paranoia, add systematic torture--was this what they wanted Alcott for? And Hans had intervened? *Her eyes startled wider as she bursts again,* Is that where Nadia was!? What bargaining chi--!? 

*And then she's breathless.* The potion. *She exhales. It wasn't that hard to figure.* The silver potion Al took-- a Death Eater makes it.

 **Rachelle:** *She shrugged, looking at her nails a moment.* That's true, I suppose. But we're above normal humans, they're our prey. *She looks up again, realizing her nails were growing in quite nicely after she ripped them off while trying to claw out of the wall earlier.* You're our prey. We're predators, we hunt, and we enjoy it. And they had me chained after being stabbed. You don't fuck with family. *It was as simple as that. They enjoyed the hunt, as they should, and if they dared mess with the pack, then the pack struck back for they were only as strong as their weakest and now, that was her. Gritting teeth, she watched Lyndsea and listened to her. Her heart was beating quickly, breath in shallow bursts, the very opposite of how she had walked in here as.* 

Of course, Hans intervened. He takes care of us, of any wolf he can because he's been there, we've been there. *Hasn't this woman been listening? She nods about Nadia* She was locked in darkness and cold with strict instructions not to be touched but that didn't quite work out. My sister though, finally good for something, taught him a little lesson. Trust me, she's very good at carnage. But Nadia held her own weight too, stabbed that one through the eye, killed another, they deserved it too. Has she told you yet? I was rather proud that is, until she had a hand in putting me in here. Now I'm not so fond. *To say the very least, to say the very fucking least.* No, he's not a Death Eater. He's a prisoner, a living corpse...and our guardian Angel. I lasted a year, maybe a little less in the cells, he hung on for three, some months and weeks I'm sure. He's a ghost, a shadow, but *she shrugs* he's a genius.

 **Lyndsea:** *She couldn't hide the fact it felt like those cold statements were open palms striking her cheeks until she was stained with the same blood  Rachelle wore. Not from a wolf, not from someone who knew very well how lit alive her heart and breath were. But she didn't have to admit it. Lyndsea had long learned not to admit it. Running her hand back to straighten damp twisted curls, she tucks the gown beneath her arm and then threw her jacket through the bars. Solid buttons or not, the woman deserved modesty even if she stood tall without it. When she looks back to Rachelle's eyes, her breath and heart finally steady, she says without reserve, hands sticking deep in her plaid skirt pocket.* Are we? You still believe that--you still believe that until the moment that Hans bit you, the moment he gave you that gift, you, as a normal human, were nothing but prey? *Her eyebrow arches. Her words were short, compassionate even--however brutal.* It was all right what they do in those cells, what they do to, *her voice shakes* children-- did to you,because you were only human. Only a human young girl. Prey.

 *Her heart was steady, but her voice and chin lift now, the hurt in her face not presently mirrored in her words.* Nadia has a family of her own. A mother who would rip you apart with her pinky nail, in fact--and there are half a dozen Aurors out there ready to look the other way and let her do just that. Including a man Nadia calls Uncle, her godfather, for he's her sister's father. *Her teeth grit as she half forces herself to say, bitterness in her voice,* Always a stickler for protocol in the course of justice, *Lyndsea's hand comes down,* Shawn's the one holding Amaris back. All the more impressive when you consider she's with the Minister's wife--but you must know her. Your pack crippled her son. *Lyndsea rubs at her forehead now to expel sweat and tears,* But that's all right--he's just prey to you. You know Devin, he made Alcott the Wolfsbane potion every month. Even the night he lost control and your pack savaged him, he was only in the forest to try and help Al. He's not a wolf--he's not even pureblood, but he stood by him. How can you --you!(she jabs the air)--say that's worthless? 

*Again her hand jabs and slaps over her heart, stiff to hear any man, any human being described as a living corpse--and Lord, had she learned to hate the word 'genius.' Harper would be here if not for his genius. Small compensation it was to think how noble his death--pretty certificates of calligraphy did a poor job holding her at night. And they were even worse teaching Alcott to throw a ball or ride Swift. So the thought that another man would be still kept a prisoner for the sake of his intellect turns her blood cold, and she snaps incredulously,* And you've never considered that this guardian angel might be more willing to help you had he not been so brutalized? *Her heart was pounding, furious, and heated but she shakes her head, slamming both hands to her eyes. Of course it didn't, she thinks, small. The Givenchy falls to the ground.* But of course not. *She whispers it, bare, broken, not even sure she meant Rachelle to hear her.* How can one show compassion when they were shown none? 

 **Rachelle:** *She caught the jacket with thinly veiled amusement. She didn't need it of course, not for warmth or for protection but the woman gave it to her anyway for whatever reason she came up with in her mind. Shaking her head, she slipped it on anyways, the jacket a tad bit small on her but it sufficed; she didn't button it up.* She was, that girl in those cells, Jacqueline, was a prey and was weak, and she died. Rachelle *she extends her arms out* was born. And considering all that would give me quite a frightful headache, no, I don't tend to think about it. I do what makes me happy. I am sorry for what Nadia endured, the same as I am for what Angel still endures, but they're not my concern. My concern is my family, and my caring, you'll find, is unavailable for anyone else. 

*Dropping her gaze, her breath catches as she moves towards the bars again, crouching and extending her arms through the bar to keep the dress from falling to the ground again, it was just too precious, too precious.* We didn't choose to brutalize him, ma cherie. *She stood again, shaking her head.* But you're right, neither did we choose to help him. I stood by and I allowed the torture of many children because doing otherwise, caring too much, would have broken my heart. Nobody breaks my heart, amour, not anymore.

 **Lyndsea:** *I'm not a child, Rachelle had said, but in that moment Lyndsi pictures her nine or perhaps ten years old, laughing, spinning a Paris original around in circles so the silk fans out just as her arms did now without a care in the world--Jacqueline. It was childish reasoning (and oh so familiar) -- the mindset of take without giving, of caring only for what made you happy, forsaking all else. Worse than childish, her explanation was broken as to think herself happy--even now.

Wisteria had been snaked around her heart for nine years now, but each quieter word of the girl's snipped and snipped away, tendril by tendril until she felt the stubborn organ could burst from her chest again. And that was when Lyndsi made the connection--Jacqueline deLamarliere...it was her aunt (or was it her second cousin?) that she'd sent the gala invitation to. Realization dawning on her bitten lips and wide blue eyes, Lyndsea speaks quietly.* Jacqueline? I thought you were dead. Not that I ever met you, but I...do know most of the pureblood stories. *And she knew   her parents had died then--her throat constricts. Not the particulars--there had been none, it was why the names and story stuck in her head. A girl vanishes -is presumed dead- and then so do her parents. When she'd read that in a Parisian cafe years ago, she had made up in her head the story they'd found each other and the family was reunited. But bodies were recovered.

Somehow, the understanding she might be talking to a murderer after all only makes Lyndsi fill with more sorrow. Jacqueline--Rachelle, if she so insisted, had lost her mother in one way or another- be it the Death Eaters, or worse yet-- her own hand in retribution for judgment. And this was after Rachelle enduring...what gave her those scars, those angry red lines that she knew would haunt her. Lyndsi felt as if she couldn't breathe. 

To have lost her emotionally was worse, Lyndsea thinks. Alcott in her life--in her house--and keeping so many secrets from her...it only ever made their shared loss worse. But it couldn't be, surely? What kind of mother would have denied and abandoned their daughter? (A terrible little voice in her mind whispers: isn't that what you did? Isn't that how Al felt?) She rubs harder over her chest, again and again until she thinks she might burn the blouse. Her palm stays stuck there from sweat.*

No. *It's abrupt.* No, I don't accept that. This-- his name is Angel? *How oddly poetic, she thinks, wondering if it was meant to be some twisted joke (Alcott would appreciate it--and Max would). * He must be your concern. By the simple virtue that you've taken the potion from him--visited him, talked to him, that is a relationship for good or ill. You must be concerned if you ever feel you'll lose that potion. And if you didn't give a damn, you wouldn't describe him thus: a shadow, a ghost -- while mentioning how many years he was tortured. In fact if you didn't give a damn, you wouldn't have told me of him at all--let me keep believing it was a death eater giving you the potion. Because otherwise what's it to you if I think he is a psychotic bastard or an unwilling, tortured soul? And Nadia--you didn't turn bitter towards until you asserted she played a role in your capture--you were proud of her, proud of her for surviving, for fighting. If you didn't care, even a tiny bit--*she pinches the air,* why should you be proud? And you spoke like Alcott disappoints you, as you were expecting he'd join your pack--how could he disappoint someone unavailable to care? You just--*she gestures at the folded dress as she says,* picked that up, after telling me you couldn't bear seeing it here. 

Rachelle, *And she was near pleading as she whispers,* if your heart would break for their plight--then it has already, and because you couldn't live with yourself it it was you've covered it up with justifications turned mantra--we're above, i was reborn, they're only prey, they'll be stronger for surviving and worth my respect then. Told yourself them so many times you believe it, even though you know their lies. You smile and say you're fine. You drink until laughs don't have to be forced from your throat. You buried that ugliness deep,  and prettied the truth up with Margiela and Givenchy--I know. It's what I did for years. After a while, people stop asking if you're okay. They move on, they forget -- because they don't care. And though you wonder why you can't forget, you think you don't care either. Because you can't go back there -- you won't. 

*Her voice changes with abrupt compassion in her eyes and words,* And you shouldn't have to -- you should never, have to, Rachelle, please. You're right--you were reborn, and you're stronger now. You got out. And though I know I'm a hypocrite for saying it-- as ever in the tradition of -my- family-- there is another way to cope, there always is. Torturing and hurting others, ripping others' lives apart won't fix anything, and it won't fill that hole. It won't make you feel any better. Compassion, on the other hand, it can. *Firmly, she gathers her breath, her heart and self, and says quickly,* And so can forgiveness, so, Rachelle you didn't take Nadia, you didn't hurt Angel, and you aren't responsible for their pain--so I forgive you, for standing by. After all, one person can't do much to turn a tide. *And as Lyndsi folds her arms on her chest, breathing and heart rate now steady, she hints with only a ghostly smile, *...Two people, on the other hand, could rule the ocean. 

 **Rachelle:** *She caught the flicker of recognition in the woman's breathing before she had admitted it out loud. So, English and French relations weren't as bad as they appeared. Then again, Lyndsea was surely a woman of gossip. It fit the profile after all, well to do house widow, charities and gossip.* It was quite of a brief scandal, emphasis on the brief. Then my cousin was arrested for being a fille de joie and voila, scandal forgotten. 

*A living scandal was better than a dead one, apparently. She smiled after, wider and wider as recognition passed Lyndsea's face and then they both knew Lyndsea arrived at the truth. A portion of it but the truth nonetheless. Her smile was shirt lived and instead returned the smirk with a shake of her head. But that also fades and fades the more the other woman speaks, her jaw hard as she could manage it but her lips trembling.

 Finally, she had to look away to inhale and then snaps, snaps because a part of herself knew she was hitting too close to home.* That psychoanalysis bullshit only depends on me acting as a human or a person would and I'm not just that. You seek meaning where there is none, like some sort of decaying English schoolteacher who's spent her lifetime studying the habits and choices of a fictional character who lives in 300 short pages instead of doing what she should have done: enjoyed them and close the book. So enjoy me, Lyndsea and go. *She turns around now, trying to ignore the buzzing of her words in her ears, gritting her teeth as her attempts were in vain.* You're wasting your time.

 **Lyndsea:** *She shook her head slowly, slowly, then quickly--jerking her head each way as her Jimmy Choos' clack echo with her forward step and gasped,* No. *The word decaying bothered her more than it should--called to mind that same mental image of a living corpse and truthfully, Lyndsi knew it sounded like she had something in common with this Angel. Her hands close around the bars until her already pallid knuckles reflect the bones her skin fails to hide.* No, I sound like a human being. One who's fighting, *her voice shakes with fervor and passion, eyes wide as ever,* and one who gives a damn when others are fucking mistreated, broken or hurt--call it a tender spot in my heart. It's the price of knowing your own faults. And while I'm not surprised you don't recognize it--because I am not prey, anymore than you are a mindless monster--I'm afraid us human's don't find it so easy to enjoy using someone, chew them up and spit them out. At least I won't. 

*Flatly,* Besides. I made you a promise. I keep my word. And to show you that, I'll do one better-*Her hands release the bars and she pulls back as she swears, fervent and unblinking,* I will get you out from behind these bars. I promise. *Words as clipped as her steps, she waits a moment to pierce the girls eyes with her own, that burning Rachelle spoke of still in her eyes. She turns to walk out, casting a shadow longer than when she'd strut in, so for a moment Lyndsi stands tall as a queen. Then the door swings to snuff the light, and it's gone.*

 **Rachelle:** *She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but found no words forming. Her gaze just pierced the woman, both challenging and unbelieving. She could get her out of these bars? She was very disinclined to believe that or why she would want to. After everything Rachelle had told her, she was willing to set her loose on the word? Her son's friends were going to regret that little mistake. She shook her head and seeing her twisting the material of the dress, she threw it out of the cell because if she kept it in her hands, Rachelle would tear it to pieces, like she destroyed the vial and the bed because it was who she was. 

Contrary to Lyndsea's opinion on her, Rachelle knew exactly who she was, and she wasn't ashamed of it. She took off the jacket, took off her panties and as if it were the ticking of the clock, she began the methodological breaking of her bones. Instead of the tick-tock, it was a constant crack. White fur now covering the entirety of her body, the wolf now present. She'd always felt much safer as her wolf. After a long howl with no answer back, she curled up on the floor and laid her head on her paws, a few quiet whines passing through her throat.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She had replaced her make-up easily, quickly, and walked briskly up to Mr. Graft to ask what specifically Rachelle was being charged with. When met with his mouth agape, Lyndsea only asked, cool,* Then you're holding her without a charge? Have we all become American now and someone forgot to inform me? 

**&.**

 

“You should know, this isn’t his bed.” 

The girl in the doorway had black hair, and was wearing a long Italian shirt that couldn’t belong to her. Stefanie sits up slowly, her head pounding long before she’d seen the sunlight streaming through the window. Heavens, it had to be --

“Midday? Yeah. That too. Tony’s showering. If you want to slip out, I don’t blame you.” 

“Who are you?” Stefanie gathers the sheet around her and rips it from the bed. The bed that wasn’t his, apparently. Midol, she needed, and chocolate--

“Here.” The girl holds out to her a little mug. The coffee makes it clear to her; she wasn’t in England anymore. Wherever Tony had ended up taking her had better coffee than the English, stubborn with their tea. Stefanie looks down, seeing a little pink candy heart pressed into the top of whipped cream. Her eyebrows meet in the middle over tired, hazy eyes, but they pierce into the girl’s blue eyes.

“Who-- ,” 

“Oh, right.” The girl chuckles, pushing the open cuff of her shirt up to her elbow before offering a hand, “Daniella.” 

“Right. I must say, Daniella, if you’re his girlfriend, you’re being awfully calm.” 

“Is that why you’re passing on the coffee?” Daniella chuckles as she moves to take a sip of her own mug, settling the pink-candied one down beside her. “You think I’ve poisoned it?” 

“Already been poisoned once in the last twenty-four hours so, I think I’ll pass.” 

The words leaving her lips were sharp, barbed. They hurt her own head. That’s rather unfair, Stefanie thinks while she rubs at it. She didn’t want to let go of the sheet, but as the girl was turned around she decided to fuck it. A wave of her hand and she had her dress back. Now she can hear the shower running in the room besides and Daniella’s right about at least the one thing -- she did want to duck out, before he tried to make something of this. Before his male guilt kicked in and he felt like it was necessary to extend a more permanent invitation. Not that it hadn’t been a fun night -- sure, but she never had understood why when that was true men assumed a woman had to want more than that. What was wrong with the perfect night? 

“I’m sorry.” Daniella’s words sound sincere, and that stills Stefanie mid-shimmy. Swallowing hard, she tugs the dress again abruptly and zips it closed. The hair she saw in a shiny mirror worse than a bird’s nest, she decides to just tug it into a pony-tail. 

“I didn’t know you’d been poisoned,” the girl continues sipping her own coffee and holding over her shoulder a brush, a band on the end she’d snapped in place. She’s quite nonchalant about it, Stefanie thinks, as if she hadn’t been. Was she supposed to respond to it?

“And I’m not.” Daniella peeks over her shoulder and seeing Stefanie dressed, she breaks into a wide-eyed smirk. “Not his girlfriend, I mean, Tony’s.” 

That did make the coffee safe. Feeling a little better now as she accepts the brush, tugging it through and snapping her hair in place, she rubs at her pounding forehead once more, and says quieter to her, “I’m Stefanie.” 

She didn’t give her last name because Daniella hadn’t given hers, but she mirrors the smile she gets. The coffee was good. And the candy was...a nice touch. 

“So you just hang around the flat to give coffee and a hairbrush so he doesn’t have to?” It wasn’t actually a serious question, Stefanie thinks as she walks out, more amused by the fact than anything. Daniella follows her, a light chuckle around her own words. 

“Nothing like that.” Daniella skips forward as she realizes that Stefanie doesn’t know the way around the flat. Was this a flat? It was a penthouse of some kind, she realizes slowly, wondering exactly how many corners of it she and Tony -had- managed to christen the previous evening. That was more thoughts of the evening before though, so she silences the thought by speaking herself.

“Right, well. Thanks, and if we could never mention this to -- ” 

And then she comes to a halt, because sitting in her direct exit path was Olivier D’Grey, sipping his own pink-hearted coffee and holding a newspaper. He was in a suit. Dear God, did he ever do anything that wasn’t in a suit? But the streaming sunlight reminds her of the time, and she bites down on her bottom lip. 

“Me?” Olivier guesses, not turning around. She could hear that he was smirking, and didn’t appreciate that. Swallowing her indignation and rising on her toes (which reminded her, where exactly had her heels gotten to?), she steadies herself and holds her chin high. 

“I was going to say, to my brother.” 

“Mums the word, Stef.” Olivier agrees, turning a page and then chuckling; Daniella had gone to sit on the table beside him, and placed a foot in his lap. Oh, of course, Stefanie realizes abruptly; it wasn’t Tony’s bed, and it wasn’t Tony’s girlfriend. Her lips flick, more amused than she should have been, especially as Daniella’s lips meet Olivier’s cheek.

“You know, you don’t -have- to go.” Olivier continues, lowering his newspaper now to turn around and look at her steadily, “I think we...all, need to talk about what happened last night.”

Daniella had slid her hand on top of his, and squeezes, before going for a lemon tart. She pops the whole thing in her mouth, sucks and swallows, smiling kindly at Stefanie in a way that reminds her she’d prefer to talk about this at least when she didn’t feel like a lemon tart herself.

“Actually, I’d really rather forget about last night.” 

She snaps her hands out to get her heels; they zoom to her hand to make the point. As she slips them on, Stefanie shakes her hair back out, slowing as Olivier meets her gaze. 

“I just thought I’d mention we wanted the same thing.” 

Olivier sounds sincere, but she hears the ream of a shower curtain being yanked across a metal pole and thinks -- it’s a discussion for another time. 

 

**&.**

 

 **Rowland** : *walking with the newlyweds up to the stairs to the apartment building, talking about the neighborhood first and foremost. This had all been quite short notice but Rowland enjoyed the challenge and meeting new people of course* -it's only a fifteen minute walk to the underground, very modern, very up and coming neighborhood, right in your price range. Hardly any tenants over the age 40 live nearby, it's mostly university students- like the Latin Quarter in Paris, have you been?

 **Allison:** *She grinned, hiding a smirk, finding it ironic that he would mention France when Ansel knew more about it than this Rowland ever could. She squeezed Ansel's forearm comfortably, her arms around him as if they'd been doing this all their natural lives.* Hmm, I think we have.

Rowland: *As he reaches the door he puts the code in to get through, and ushers them through the door.* It's a fourth floor walk up, the elevator though I admit is a bit dodgy.

 **Allison:** If you can manage *she begins teasingly, before adding in a giggle for good measure though Lord knew there was only a handful of things to giggle about (her arm, for instance, was still sore)* then surely we will.

 **Rowland:** *He laughs, a hand on the bannister as they ascend* I would say that's unfair to my age but that wouldn't be, strictly speaking, true. *He was oh...he lost count after the big 1-5-0, but that was only a technicality.*

 **Ansel:** *Ten seconds on the phone with this boy had predetermined their alias. He hadn't heard so fond a reference to a wife since...well he supposed since Angel, but did men who didn't live with their wives even count? Rowland Stone was highly recommended as an agent for two reasons. First, his clear enthusiasm meant their short notice was waved away (sorry, Ansel thinks with a flare in his chest, they hadn't known their sister would be taken prisoner, or else they might have made arrangements in advance). And secondly, Rowland was evidently honorable--a claim he had a hard time believing in this field, but his source wasn't paid to be inaccurate.

The arm he had tucked within Allison's was the new apendage; he took the place of splints today (he made a more handsome bandage anyway), and so he wasn't feigning his gentle, comforting grip. His lips curl and eyes cast back as he says,* You think--*now he tsks, amusement in his eyes,* do you? Is this a 'subtle' hint that you wish to visit Paris again, darling? *Looking to Rowland, he speaks lightly,* I've never been too great at interpreting the subtleties. Apparently.

 *Lying on the other hand, he had a knack for. Perhaps that was why he was intrigued by this honorable Mr. Stone-- real estate agent. He was perfectly accustomed to sales. Tilting his head to regard the space, he pauses as if only just noticing the custom fireplace, and he points to the stone with a free hand. Brow raised,* Are their repellant safety spells on the edges? *His lips curl again as he looks back to Allison, playful,* I know, I know, I'm being overprotective--but your mother -did- fall the other week...

 **Rowland:** *A bit abashed, he chuckles, not really feeling that he was the quote-unquote "expert" on this by a long shot, especially given that his situation was so...unique. So he just offered up simply.* Patience, really. And also knowing, she's always right. Even when she's wrong...she's right.

 **Allison:** Oh, no wonder your wife hasn't banished you to the couch. *She wiggles her eyebrows, thinking to herself that she really would not ever be able to be with a man that easily dominated. His wife was probably renting out a hotel room across town using his credit card. The smile on her face at the mention of children was not one she had to fake completely. Werewolf pregnancies were hard to carry to full labor but the potion would make that easier, obviously, but...well, it was just a dream. Not in the cards for her right now.* Time flies baby, and I'm more than willing to let the raunchy newlywed stage last as long as it can.

 **Rowland:** Right *he nodded, stepping up after clearing his throat with a bright smile* If your mother drops down to visit often, maybe a nice sitting area instead. Push up the blinds, get a nice set of drapes, a lamp, an area rug, really charm the in-laws.

 **Allison** : It is quite easy to see  ourselves here, luv. *Good location to keep an eye on everything, and they were right under the Ministry's noses without being in their direct eyesight. They could spot someone coming after them a mile away, and there was no way for them to get up here without heading towards the front door: no balconies, the roof was slated downwards, the space between the buildings didn't allow for even a broomstick. She was thorough in her observation, and she was liking it.*

Rowland: Two children, boy and a girl. Alec starts next year, though yeah this whole business is definitely concerning to say the very least. *He sighed, knowing how much Amaris and her family suffered and were suffering still, how Shane and Jay were handling all of this.* I have full faith it'll all get sorted, however. Did either of you two go to Hogwarts?

 **Ansel** : Make "Yes, dear," a part of your everyday vocab, then? *So act totally whipped? No wonder he had no interest in marriage. A voice at the back of his mind, latent and bitter, scoffs in disbelief as it reminds him how earnestly once he had planned for such an event. Selling off Papi's old collector's cards for supplemental income, going cold turkey together to clean up, code names...but he'd luckily found another way out of that dismal life, a stronger voice argued with him. Going back was impossible, and yearning--aching to do so self-destructive.*

Perhaps both. *He says lightly to Rowland, tilting his head as he compromises, swaying his sister in his grasp.* Pool table in a sitting area. *He smirks.* Your Dad would appreciate it anyway, darling.

*He turns back to Allison, and starts to nod slowly. Feigning a bit more reluctance than she (the overprotective, overindulgent husband wary of being taken advantage of, naturally) with hesitant steps around to look,* Well...I don't know...can we see the bedrooms? *He turns to Rowland, and then smiles. There's a brief flicker of honesty in it.* How precious. Boy and a girl, one of each. *He nods, waggling his finger,* What I hope for, honestly. 

*Oh did they think it was so easily settled? Arrogance was a trait the English held so proudly, he knew. Still, he waves off,* Of course it will--of course. And no...no I'm not native to the country, pardon, actually--hold on, then. *His hand stops moving and he casts a wary glance to Allison before looking back.* What happened last night then--that isn't...that isn't commonplace, is it?

 **Rowland:** Maybe switch up the 'dear' every now and then. *He joked, though maybe, honestly, it wasn't that much of a lie.*

 **Allison:** *She grinned because the swaying was actually something he'd do even when they weren't pretending to be married. It was no secret it was Ansel she felt closest to.* Not a bad idea actually. *Her father used to play pool, but really she only remembered him taking the stick and breaking it across side. She guessed she played pool to spite him.* Sometimes I think he loves you more than me, baby.

 **Rowland:** Yes, of course. *he clapped his hands together and extended his arms out in invitation.* Go right ahead, the master bedroom is down the hall, and two smaller bedrooms, one could easily turn into a study. *He paused as they asked in concern about last night- he didn't blame them.* Oh, no, Britain's been scandal free for nearly ten years. The Minister ran on the platform of clearing out terrorism and he got it done, yesterday was *he cleared his throat, not willing to admit he was too nervous* well, people talk of course, they fear  a resurgence but I trust the ministry, rather the people in the Ministry, I'm acquainted and friends with several of them, and trust me we could not be in better hands. *he assured with an honest smile* I see no reason to worry. *He adds, however* but if you'd like to look at properties maybe a little farther away from downtown, we can examine the options.

 **Allison:** *My, my. He really was quite certain wasn't he? Even if his heartbeat has spiked for a moment, his breathing ragged for equally as long, by the end he was confident in his tone. Silly, silly man. There was every reason to worry, especially if he was that well acquainted and not pureblood himself; Gustav wanted to cut through them all.* What do you think, darling?

 **Ansel** : *Three bedrooms...it would house the best, the rest of the pack could stay out of the way as was best in that rock ruin-turned-palace Hans kept pacing around and had called him three times from this morning alone. So after following the extended finger with his gaze, he nods again absently and focuses on what Rowland was saying. Face value would have disappointed him, honestly. To think they hadn't pushed this volatile country to the rocky edge? Only he kept an easy smile, for Rowland's heart had skipped a few beats, and if he were 'well-acquainted' then all the better. It did pay to know who cared for who, always. Turning back and being sure to puff his chest once as if he wasn't worried at all, (which wasn't a lie),* I think downtown is just where we -want- to be. If the Ministry's police is what will keep us safe? 

*Oh but how he wanted to laugh at his own remark.* Best stay close as possible, right? *He pulls her back in easily, kissing her cheek to soothe.* Besides, I know how you've always enjoyed the spotlight and being in the middle of everything. *He smirks easily, and then speaks lighter again, back to Rowland.* Ten years? You -are- a native then? What's the best place nearby to eat? *Ah, that might be the same thing as,* And best dance club? 

 **Allison:** *Only years of practiced acting stopped her from smirking and laughing at Ansel's comments. The Aurors keeping them safe was laughable especially when they were being hunted. Problem was, of course, you didn't hunt a predator, and they were at the top of the evolutionary pyramid. Problem for them, she meant.* I'm glad you think so, because I like this one. *She kisses his cheek and then disentangles herself from him again to look around as Rowland said they could.*

 **Rowland:** *He smiled, nodding in agreement at what was being said and then chuckled at the question.* You know, sometimes I feel like it's been centuries? I'm originally from Somerset, further south, but I've been living in London since 2012. There's a great Thai food place just around the corner, Busaba Eathai. And the best dance club by far is Fabric. The bass frequencies are sent through parts of the floor, you can literally feel the music.

 **Allison:** *Not that impressive given that they could do that already. And for newborn pups that would be a sensory overload bad enough to cause them to turn, sure enough. Drifting into the kitchen, she did smirk at the presence of an island bar. Rachelle adored islands in kitchens, she loved to cook, and loved the extra space. Never did she think she'd actually miss the little bitch or want her back. Maybe it was more of a pride thing; nobody fucked with her family even if they were Rachelle.*

 **Ansel:** Centuries? *He chuckles, eyebrows raising as he slid his hand free of his jacket pocket, saying kindly,* Mate, you gotta get out in the world a little bit more then. *And then he slips the hand back, walking with ease and stealing little glances at Allison. Newly-weds had that habit--and it was never a chore to appreciate and admire this particular view, frankly.* Ah perfect, I love Thai. So...hot. Spicy. Almost...too much to handle. *He smirks honestly as she wandered into the kitchen and then he neared Rowland, calling, playful as ever,* I like this one too 'dear!'  *and thens saying fervently under his breath as if Allison -couldn't- hear every word.* Do you know if the landlord has an issue with animals? *Hush, hush darling--,* See, I've gotten her a new puppy for her birthday, poor dear is with my mother right now--we'll be rescuing her within the week. A surprise, you know? *Goodnatured and easy, despite his amusement with his own irony.* Going to be a problem? 

 **Rowland** : Oh, no, we do make a tradition out of traveling during vacations, that's not why. *he grinned only somewhat sheepishly*

 **Allison:** *Oh Ansel. Restraining laughter at first the pet name and then the question about pets, she passed her hand over the smooth granite countertop. What a ham.*

 **Rowland:** No, shouldn't expect it to be. Now there is a breed restriction list, for known to be aggressive dogs such as the pit bull, the Rottweiler, etc. And theres a small pet fee of £15 monthly, other than that *he shakes his head with a smile* you're set.

 **Allison** : *She pokes her head out the kitchen and then remarks in feigned glee* It has a dishwasher! Perfect. You know how much I hate dishes. *She knew the spell for making them wash themselves but what she said was true, she did hate doing them. She cast an 'adoring' glance at Ansel, biting her lip and then tilting her head* come see. *She brings her head back in, calling behind her back.* Wooden cabinets too!

&.

 **Eliza:** I swear to God, if you say it I will  get out of this hospital bed and smack you upside the head.

 **Alcott:** You don’t even know what I was going to say! 

 **Eliza:** *Struggling against the hospital sheets to sit up straighter, at that remark she stills and cocks an eyebrow at him.*

 **Alcott:** *He stands frozen, arms outstretched and hanging open-palmed a foot from his side, shoulders shrugged up to his eyebrows. His mouth opens. Shuts. And then he chuckles, cocks in chin and allows,* All right, you know what I was going to say.

 **Devin:** *Looking sideways from where he perched himself on the uncomfortable metal chair, his gaze darts between them confused and he laughs abruptly.* Oh you weren’t --

 **Eliza:** Of course he was! *Huffing, she reaches over the metal bar, saying in an utterly different voice immediately.* Hand me that brush, would you? My hair is a disaster.

 **Alcott:** *Going to the counter, he pauses at with his hand floating over the marble. Of course Eliza would own a silver hairbrush.*

 **Devin:** *Amused, as he watches Alcott pick up the brush with a tissue,* Mate. You were legitimately killed, I do not think we need to complete the trifecta of us in the hospital in the same week.

 **Alcott:** Oi, I wasn’t legitimately killed. *He waves that off, then spins around, holding it up with two fingers, thumb drumming against the bottom.* Are you going to hit me with it?

 **Eliza:** *Primly, she folds her fingers over her knee and cocks an eyebrow up at him. Her words are sweet.* I should.

 **Devin:** Yes, legitimately. Your neck was snapped.

 **Eliza:** In front of me. *Muttering under her breath, an abrupt frown crossing her lips.* 

 **Alcott:** I got better. *Pocketing the hairbrush in his back pocket, he crumples the tissue up and launches it, smirk widening as it goes into the waste paperbasket.* 

 **Devin:** Ten points. *He holds his hand up, and high-fives with Alcott instantly.* That’s harder to do with tissue - not enough substance to it.

 **Alcott:** For you, maybe--

 **Eliza:** My hairbrush? *She’s lifted her hand expectantly. Both boys look at her open palm of wiggling fingers, and then exchange a slow look of apprehension.*

 **Devin:** *Chuckles at the wariness clear in Alcott’s face, he shakes his head.* Let me get this straight -- full moonless transformation, no problem. Neck snapping? No big deal. Going up against a murderous monster in the midst of a massacre -- 

 **Alcott:** You trying to get your own ten points in alliteration, mate?

 **Devin:** \-- no problem, not a thing. But giving Eliza a hair brush -- that, you’re scared of.

 **Eliza:** Problem, Devin? *Her words are just as sweet as before, but as he spins around he freezes seeing her expression.*

 **Devin:** *She’s blinking at him. Unadorned in jewels or rouge, it’s harder to be fooled by her usual angelic nature -- and both boys know better, regardless. He looks back at Alcott.* On second thought, keep the hairbrush.

 **Eliza:** Oh for Merlin’s sakes--boys! 

 **Devin:** Wait wait, you forgot to snap. *He demonstrates, chuckling.* 

 **Eliza:** What are you talking -- I am not doing my motherly voice.  *Humphs, and she folds her arms over her chest.*

 **Alcott:** Aw don’t be like that. *Eyebrow cocking, he moves to the edge of the bed with a tiny little smirk on his lips,*  It’s cute, usually. 

 **Eliza:** *Her eyes narrow, but she pulls herself into a seated position. Damn these pillows and sheets, she was half sewn into the bed. And the hospital gown had to be the most unflattering thing in the world. Sienna had gone to get clothes. Eliza agreed with her friend in another way: they seriously were in need of a better interior decorator.* Well, it’s not cute this time. *She says as he sits on the edge, tucking her feet beneath her and sitting on her side against the pillows. It wasn’t fair that she was still this...exhausted either.* I’m worried.

 **Alcott:** Why?

 **Devin:** *Simultaneously with Alcott,* We know. *The boys look at each other, exchanging arching eyebrows and sighs of exhasperation.* Why? Why do you think?

 **Alcott:** Well. *He talks slowly, his fingers drumming against his kneecap, but with a determined optimism in his words.* I think that, we got Nadia back. 

 **Devin:** *He swallows on a dry throat; his hand leaps to rub at the wound there.* Yeah. But...

 **Alcott:** Devin, will you for even one moment in the next decade ever cease in your affections or give up on her?

 **Devin:** *Affronted, his chin snaps back as he does,* Of course not.

 **Alcott:** Then I have no doubt she’ll get her memory back. 

 **Devin:** *He opens his mouth again, about to snap that it wasn’t just her memory he was concerned with, that she had lived for three weeks in hell and no idea of who she was. That she had killed someone. That she didn’t blink before jamming a knife into Alcott’s stomach, a wound still endangering him if his friend would be honest -- but of course, he wasn’t. Of course all he did was clean the scab and rebandage it, acting like nothing else could hurt him. But he didn’t want to think about any of it -- because whatever it meant, he was proud of her. And Alcott was right. She would get her memories back. He wouldn’t rest until she had. A small smile crosses his lips, however reluctantly and he nods.* Yeah.

 **Alcott:** And I think that you woke up. *He nods to Devin, and looks back to Eliza,* And that you did.

 **Eliza:** *She smiles softly, then reaches for his hand to squeeze.* 

 **Alcott:** So, no, I’m not worried. *He shrugs a shoulder, and squeezes Eliza’s hand back.*

 **Eliza:** *She looks at him, close and tight, like she was trying to stare straight into his soul. Her mouth was moving, like she was finding the words for him to say and so Alcott’s eyes flutter in amused confusion as he mouths back at her wordless, laughter lacing his exhale. Exasperated with her heavy love, she sighs and supplies,* Because-we-have-each-other.

 **Alcott:** Oh Merlin, Eliza. *He laughs again, but he squeezes her hand in a way that lets her know she’s right even before he nods. The words ‘you’re right’ were stuck in his throat as they ever were. He glances sideways at Devin, sheepish and shy.* Yeah, something sappy like that, right?

 **Devin:** Definitely something sappy like that, yup. *The smirk on his lips lifts. He gets off the metal arm rest now. As his legs hit the ground, he thinks it resounds in his ear, the weight of his agreement mirrored in the heft of his fall.* We do need to talk seriously for a moment though.

 **Alcott:** Done and done.

 **Eliza:** Fine, more than a moment.

 **Alcott:** *Frees his hand, shaking his wrist as if he was wearing a watching and saying lightly,* Could you be a bit more specific?

 **Eliza:** Hm. *Her blue eyes pierce his again.*

 **Devin:** *He was pacing, back and forth, but only a little bit. Pacing in a small way, like he wasn’t sure if he could count being anxious or only a bit nervous -- like he was stuck between the feeling that something else was about to drop on their head heavier than a piano, or if it was just that anxiety that came when a maestro held their baton up to forestall the resolution and extend the uncomfortable wait. It was one of those two, though. 

He looks between Eliza and Alcott, and then asks for his friend, as the latter wasn’t going to. He knew Eliza too well by now. Actually, Devin did too: that was why he knew they wouldn’t actually discuss anything of importance until someone asked her to elaborate. Eliza and Alcott found themselves at those stalemates often. He wondered, briefly, how they had come to resolutions before they knew him. Was this why Sienna could be so impatient?* What, Eliza?

 **Eliza:** *Brightly,* Nothing. *Tapping her fingers along the railing at her side, she says happily as neither boy was fooled,* It’s just...I had thought that Lyndsea sounded like Alcott, but now I’m realizing it’s probably the other way, isn’t it? Your mother came first, so you actually sound like --

 **Alcott:** Did you have a point, Eliza? *The laugh that leaves his lips this time sounds more forced.*

 **Eliza:** *In a much smaller voice,* Only to see you smirk again.

 **Alcott:** *His hand lifts to his lips.* You mean, I stopped? Devin, call a Healer, there’s something terribly wrong -- 

 **Eliza:** Prat. *She reaches behind her, trying to find something, anything to whack him with, and then lets her hand fall. Telling them she wasn’t their mother wasn’t going to help if she kept chastizing them, she realized, and so she looked at Devin.* Yes, Dev? Serious for a moment?

 **Devin:** It’s just -- *He starts forward, feet nearly slipping on the marble, and he brings a hand down to the railing near her bed. It was half to catch him. Merlin, he hated this place.* It’s just, this potion, Al...

 **Alcott:** Ah. *He sighs, hands dropping into his lap and then sliding into his pocket. He looks over Devin’s shoulder, face turned towards the window and stares until his cheek’s in shadow from the setting sun.* That. 

 **Eliza:** *Quietly,* Hans said he wasn’t done with you.

 **Alcott:** That was before he became England’s most wanted.

 **Devin:** He doesn’t give a damn about being England’s most wanted. None of them do. That’s the point, isn’t it? *Earnestly, his throat was hoarse and he looks between his friends.* This whole Gala, it was about announcing their return to the world -

 **Alcott:** They never bloody went anywhere in the first place. *Frustrated, and he lifts a hand to his face, rubbing over tired eyes. It was a hot admission. Neither friend needed to ask why it was so weighted, why the fact of Death Eater’s existence was so hard for him to process. It was a child’s folly, he knew that on some level, the belief that had set so deep in his bones -- that his father’s death had at least contributed to their dissolution. But it was what he had believed. Now what did he do with it?*

 **Devin:** *Slowly, his eyes on Alcott,* But they had been hiding. For nine years. And-

 **Alcott:** Nine years, two months and three days. *Resolutely, hand dropping back to squeeze his knee-cap instead. Devin looked at him, so he sighed and elaborated.* Since the last Death Eater was officially declared defeated. It was two months after they were at my house. *The casual tone, like he was giving Devin an update on a sports statistic made him tenser than any self-respecting footballer before they kicked for penalties. But he smiles.* Just to put it accurately.

 **Eliza:** *Just looking at her best friends made her want to sleep another whole day away. She nods at Alcott’s point, and then looks back to Devin,* But they were in hiding and now they’re not - you’re right. So their goal...

 **Devin:** Well, I’d say that it’s safe to assume that’s the same as it’s always been. *Flatly, his hands twisting the metal bar between thumb and forefinger. His teeth clench.* Eradicate muggleborns. 

 **Eliza:** *She folds her fingers together, twisting the bedsheet and looks down, bottom lip trembling.* They attacked a pureblood event though...

 **Devin:** Yeah, and yet look who they harmed. *Wringing the metal, he thrusts it away and scratches the back of his neck. Eliza looks upset for him, but he doesn’t know how to process that, doesn’t know why she should or would. Hand out as if he’s pointing to imaginary people, Dev accuses,* Irene has a concussion, maybe alcohol poisoning -- she’s one of the only muggleborns who was there. Myself in the woods, Lynn at the gala -- it’s not shocking, considering our mother, and considering Dad’s policies have done more that’s considered bloodtraitor since muggleborns gained equality in the first place. *He rubs at his nose and then goes back to pointing in the air.* The security guards, two of the waiters -- that’s the “help”, right? The only reason the Auror’s have been thrown off a bit is because we, *and he points between a rigid Alcott and himself,* went after Sam and your uncle went after his. Throws their count off a bit, but it’s a clear pattern. I bet anything the next thing half the families present get will be a personal visit, the promise of further safety if they back their takeover, right? 

 **Eliza:** They can’t really expect people to be that --

 **Alcott:** Sure, they can. *He bites out before he realized he spoke, and then exhales, forcing his gaze to Eliza.* That what, Eliza? Idiotic? Without scruples? That’s exactly what they expect. What’s worse is that it’ll have worked too -- in a lot of cases, I mean, sure I’d look at the Roswell’s first, but it’s not just them. *He’s near spitting, eyes flashing.* There’s Victoria’s family, her aunt basically good as admitted she’s one - remember? And Sienna’s uncle, her mother’s brother -- what’s his name...best he’s on their list, if he’s not one already. *Bitterly,* Hell, I wouldn’t put it past her mother --

 **Eliza:** Alcott. *Scolding, but she stiffens, because the truth is she was wondering more about her own aunts now. Aunt Ellen...she wouldn’t, though, she couldn’t...but if it was a question of guaranteed safety for her daughters, for Missy...*

 **Alcott:** What, it’s true isn’t it? *He bites down on his tongue, hard enough that had his fangs extended he’d have bitten it in half.* Come to think of it, I’d wager both brothers Selmy -- that prick Stanley...and the Courtenay’s, oh blast I should have started with them--

 **Devin:** *Brows furrowed, but he speaks plainly and calm.* We can’t do this. *They fall silent, and he keeps his gaze on them steady.* Truth is Alcott, a lot of people are probably counting you down on a list somewhere too.

 **Alcott:** *He goes perfectly still, but his face contorts in sudden amusement.* Well, course they are. *He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, clacking his tongue against clenched teeth. Exhale sharp, he tilts his head,* The trifecta of us...oh, brilliant. 

 **Devin:** *Nodding, in a bitterly silent room.* Of the three of us...

 **Alcott:** I’m the one they think they can win over. *Happily, his chin drops back down.* The only one they didn’t attack. Hell, Hans has been actively telling me he wants to recruit me, hasn’t he?

 **Eliza:** *She’d been biting down hard on her bottom lip, but at that she looks up and shakes her head fervently,* To the pack though, he was saying -

 **Devin:** Are you actually defending him? *Breathless, his eyes darting to Eliza.*

 **Eliza:** Are you bloody kidding me? *She exhales just as sharply as Devin did and then looks back to Alcott.* I just meant, if we’re going to figure this out, D’Grey said they’re separate. 

 **Alcott:** So, we’re doing what D’Grey says now?

 **Eliza:** *Exchanging a heavy look with Devin, she nods really slowly and tucks hair behind her ear.* 

 **Devin:** *Quietly,* Well, without him, I wouldn’t be here probably and neither would --

 **Alcott:** My mother, yeah, I got it. *Bitter, he rubs at his chest and bites his tongue again. He mutters,* Strange.

 **Devin:** Strange? *Echoing louder, because to him he had to admit all of this seemed strange, all of this was feeling eons away from him, and no matter how flat out hard he tried to run after it he couldn’t catch up.*

 **Alcott:** Well, it’s what you said Dev. *As his eyes dart up to his friends, there’s nothing amusing in his gaze.* All the people poisoned tonight, it’s my mother he decides to use that bezoar on? And all the people they could go after, it’s me they didn’t hurt. Not one tiny hair on my head.

 **Devin:** *Mutters under his breath,* Like they were protecting you, you mean.

 **Eliza:** *Heatedly,* Hans--

 **Alcott:** Snapped my neck. *He rolls his eyes, and looks her straight in the eye.* Which stopped the transformation. I wasn’t in control, Eliza -- I wanted you out of there too, because frankly? I could have hurt you.

 **Eliza:** *Flatly,* You wouldn’t have hurt me. 

 **Alcott:** *His voice breaks. How could she do that? How could she say that, how did she have that much faith in him? But it was heartening. It floods him with a flash of warmth, burrows deep in his gut and he wants to hold on to it tightly, desperately, with everything he has. Without it, he didn’t know how to even define himself as “in control,” not anymore.* You don’t know that, Eliza...

 **Eliza:** Yes, I do. *She reaches for his hand again, seeing his fingers twitch on the sheets.* You won’t hurt either of us. And besides, this potion...

 **Devin:** *He leans back against the railing and says slowly,* How, does that work though?

 **Alcott:** *He shrugs a shoulder, bitter.* I don’t know. I really--I don’t. I tried transforming again this morning, in the woods behind my house...nothing happened. Hard as I tried; didn’t matter what I thought to myself, how angry I got...nothing.

 **Eliza:** *She waits and then puts forward quietly,* Maybe...maybe it isn’t, anger...

 **Alcott:** I don’t know. *His gaze has dropped back to her hand, and then he says slowly.* It’s full moon in a week though. Which reminds me. *He looks back to Devin, and smiles slightly.* I made the wolfsbane, you’re off the hook. 

 **Devin:** *Smiling just as slightly,* Yeah? You got it?

 **Alcott:** I’m so moved by your vote of confidence, mate. 

 **Devin:** *Shrugs,* Hey mate, just double checking. You miss another dose, I’ll strangle you myself.

 **Alcott:** Strangle me all you want --

 **Eliza:** No, no no! *Her voice darts up in pitch.* No strangling! *Looking between them, still breathy and straining.* Can we just, drop the clever little jokes about how much you can survive now? Because frankly, I don’t think I can survive you dying in front of me again.

 **Alcott:** Hey, now. *He squeezes her hand back, breath dropping and heart disappearing in his stomach.* Don’t say that. You’re getting out of here. 

 **Eliza:** My nerves are shot, okay? *Smile flicking in spite of herself, as she looks between them. Looking sideways to Devin, she adds quietly,* And Dev. I don’t want to hear you listing potential death eaters for another reason, okay?

 **Devin:** *Frankly, he agreed with Eliza. Much as Alcott’s super-human abilities were kind of...cool, he’d prefer a night where he wasn’t worried one of them was about to die. At least he agreed with her until she looked at him again. Brow arching in confusion, he asks with the voice of one who was certain they were going to regret asking,* What’s that?

 **Eliza:** You didn’t try to join them. *Flatly, shaking her head so her messy curls dart all over the place. The sun has set entirely now, casting them all in shadow, but she smiles, the blond strands looking like speckles of sunlight in the shades.* Last year. Even if it does turn out that’s Sam’s connections, you weren’t trying to join them. 

 **Devin:** *I know that, he was about to say, but the words stuck in his throat and he finds himself chuckling incredulously and grateful.* Oh, for bloody’s sakes Eliza -- *He sits on the edge of her bed and points at her.* What’s my psychology minor going to help anyone if we’ve already got you? 

 **Eliza:** Well, you still got your looks. So that’s why we keep you around. *Cheeky, she reaches for his hand with her other one too. She holds on to them both, tight.* 

 **Alcott:** *Smirk flicking up, he lifts his hand.* Just to clarify, that is not why -we- keep you around, mate.

 **Devin:** Good, *he winks at his friend sideways while Eliza huffs.* Just as long as you’re sure. 

 **Eliza:** Men. *Still squeezing both of their hands, but she’s smiling as she looks between them. They laugh, pushing off her dislike of their gender as if it was serious. Ridiculous...all things considered. Without letting go of their hands, she lifts both shoulders to push at her cheeks, brushing messy strands off her hospital gown and she mutters again,* Oh, my boys. What would I do without you?

 **Alcott:** Long as we never have to find out. *He muttered it a little softer, more seriously, as he looks at her in relief.* 

 **Devin:** Dunno. *He shakes his head, but he’s smirking too and then turns as he hears another voice.*

 **Rory:** Your boys? Now wait a minute --

 **Eliza:** Oh, get over here! *She frees her hands, waving happily, and then seizes Alcott’s hand again -- he was too likely to run away, run away from the admittance that he was emotionally involved. She understood. Her eyes and smile wide as Rory enters with a grin on his face and flowers in his hand, she feels tears pearl in her eyes.* I saw you were there--

 **Rory:** Oh no. *He laughs, holding the bouquet just out of her reach.* Don’t placate me honey, I can take a hint...

 **Alcott:** *Easily,* He knows when he’s beaten. *Smirking, he wiggles an eyebrow, rather grateful that Eliza has yet to let him go. Not that he’d ever say that.*

 **Eliza:** ShutupAl--baby, if you keep those away from me one more moment -- *Rory laughed, and she pulls the sunflowers in with her free hand, burying her nose in them. Bright eyed and happy, she looked over the top of them at him, not realizing there was a fourth boy watching all of them through the shaded window. Her laugh echoes bells on Easter morning.* You remembered...

 **Rory:** That sunflowers were your favorite? Of course I did. *A warm hand comes to crest her cheek. She didn’t have a hand free, but he couldn’t help it. It surprised him, how alight the corner of her smile was, like she might be about to burn him with the sunlight she was made of.* Gotta say, it’s a bit disheartening that you think I’d forget... *He says it lightly, thumb brushing over her lips.*

 **Eliza:** That’s not what I meant, oh...*The fresh scent floods her nose even as she lifts her head from the soft petals. Her eyes dart over a laughing Devin and smirking Alcott to settle on Rory.* You’re adorable. Isn’t he adorable? 

 **Alcott:** I don’t know, *smirking still,* I’m not the best judge on the subject.

 **Devin:** Mm, I don’t know, I think there is something a little bit puppy-ish about you...

 **Alcott:** *Straight-faced as he can manage,* Really? Really, you’re going there?

 **Rory:** You haven’t exhausted the puppy-dog well of jokes yet? *He leans down, unbothered to be called adorable. He kisses her, sweet and (in his opinion, much too) short, and their lips meet in the last rays of sunlight through the window; it was such a picturesque moment Eliza was wishing she had a camera. The hand that wasn’t still in a sling (fuck you, Ansel), stays on her cheek, brushing soft caresses.

 **Eliza:** Never. *When she’s recovered her breath, laying the sunflowers on her lap to reach up for his cheek instead too. If she can’t have a picture, she wants to press the moment in her memory; Nadia had reminded her the importance of them. And she might not have admitted to it, but she could see it in all of their eyes; the fear that was the admittance they almost had lost her -- and she couldn’t abide by it. She couldn’t stand that thought. Even as she says offhand,* Them, be grown-up?, *Her eyes are filled with the delighted smile on Rory’s lips.* See, this is why I love you.

 **Rory:** Because I am a grown up? *He chuckles, sitting next to her, and reaching to brush his fingers through her hair now.*

 **Eliza:** Oh no don’t -- *She laughs, as Rory tangles his fingers in her hair, still arranging the sunflowers on her lap.* My hair’s a mess... *Mumbling...*

 **Alcott:** Just pointing out, *inconsequentially,* I am actually the tallest one here.

 **Devin:** That’s not what grown-up means, but thanks for making her case for her. *Lightly, though he laughed (and then dodges the rolled up tissue, that drops the brush back on the bed).*

 **Eliza:** Actually, *Brightly, as Rory gathered the bouquet back up, putting them in the vase. He pulled the shades across too, sheltering them inside.* I was just going to way I love that you don’t mind being called adorable. It’s very refreshing.

 **Alcott:** So you love him for being a pansy?

 **Eliza:** Yes, and you should try it sometimes. *Sweetly, tangling her fingers through Rory’s as he comes back to sit back besides her.* 

 **Alcott:** Yeah, fat chance of that. *Snorting, as she narrows her eyes at him, he claps his hands together and uses both to gesture at Devin. They both talk in unison,* But anything for you, Mum/Ma!

 **Eliza:** Oh shut up. *She squeaks, but falls into laughing so hard she can’t keep her eyes open, and pulls herself comfortably into Rory’s lap. He arranges her inside the safe crook of his elbow, her head tucked beneath his chin, and she nudges there, murmuring that he had to tell her if she was hurting him.*

 **Rory:** *Whispering back,* You couldn’t. 

 **Eliza:** *She’d meant because of the sling, but her heart skips a beat of gratitude at that and she nods it away, happy as he reached for the brush and started fixing her hair for her. Sighing with contentment, she looked at all of them and said lighter,* I did mean it, by the way.

 **Devin:** Mean what? *As he’s tucking his notebook back in his own back pocket. His heart was starting to ache at the image, missing Nadia, missing that comfort, but she was with her family tonight.*

 **Eliza:** That you’re my boys. All of you. *She leans up to kiss Rory again, stalling his hand in her hair, and smirks herself.*

 **Alcott:** *He winks at her sideways.* Yeah. And you’re our girl, Eliza.

 **Rory:** Hold on -- *he points at Alcott with the brush,* I have silver, and I’m not afraid to use it. 

 **Alcott:** Yeah? Big man now? *Hopping off the end of the bed, his clapped hands swinging to point both thumbs at himself,* Come on then, Mr. Adorable -- 

 **Rory:** Oh, you’re going to regret that -- 

 **Eliza:** Oh, for merlin’s sakes. *She exhales, feeling Rory get up too.*

 **Devin:** *Smirking, he chuckles as he swivels to watch, pulling himself up the bed. Eliza rests on his shoulder as he mutters,* What was it you were saying about being grown up?

 **Eliza:** *Groans,* Oh, I take it back. I love you all, but I’m going to be mothering you until I’m a grandmother aren’t I?

 **Devin:** Don’t you forget it. 

&.

 

English coffee was a travesty. There was absolutely nothing redeemable about it, and hospital coffee was even worse by the generally accepted rules of society. Oh, but their tea, their tea would be beyond reproach and shall we lift our pinkies in the air while we sip on the lovely concoction of boiled herbs with maybe one lump of sugar and slices of lemon? She hated tea, and she loved coffee, but not this coffee because this coffee was a poor excuse for her delicious necessity. Not even with adding almond milk and sugar to it to the point where the drink might give her diabetes with a single sip could make it better.

She wasn’t angry at the lack of good coffee, Hols knew that much but it was the only thing presently in her life that she could be justifiable angry at. Anyone else whom she might express her rage to, or rather on, the Death Eaters, the Alpha Bitch and his little lackies, they had all gone away, all except the handful the Aurors had in custody and Shawn would bend over backwards to make sure Hols never got the chance to be in the same room with them because she would attack them, and she wouldn’t be stopped.

So coffee would take the hits she was dealing out and accept them like the good little bitch it was. And yet just like everything else in her life, the coffee hit her back. Drinking it down, she pulled a face and tried not to gag.

 “This is tar,” she said out loud to no one in particular as she walked back from the cafeteria to the lobby to sit down and continue waiting. She hadn’t left Mungo’s overnight, no matter her parents’ insistence that she do otherwise. She wouldn’t be able to sleep either way, not the way she was now and then, and she wouldn’t leave Al here either. They’d sat in silence, sharing a single chair, after Eliza had gone back to sleep and even then, Al was reluctant to leave her side for too long. Hols felt the same way about Nadia too, despite the fact that she had a mountain load of people in Mungo’s with her right then, their family and her friends and Devin of course, but Hols wouldn’t leave her.

Still in the half shredded dress under a jacket, she would have to wait only a half hour longer for Belle to arrive with a change of clothes. Hols didn’t mind, and honestly she didn’t care at the moment either. Zoe had patched her up as well as any Healer, the skin of her neck and shoulder all regrown by the time she went to change the bandage. As angry as she was, she had felt better with the sun shining through the windows in the cafeteria, enchanted or not. They’d had a victory, and they would continue to have them as soon as they recuperated and got themselves better. Then those damn bastards wouldn’t know what hit them until it was too late. It would be her fist, or her fangs, or her spells, she hadn’t quite decided yet.

Her bare feet stepped on the sterilized hospital floor, Hols having gotten rid of her heels by the time the sun was rising a few hours ago, as she headed to the lift, pressing the button to bring her down. With another swig of the poisoned tar, she rode the lift down with a few acolytes and a Healer talking about a case of a woman who had grown another head under her arm and it was currently talking. Hols thought to herself that well, at least she didn’t have two heads and the thought made her feel better if only for a moment. They got off a few floors before her and when she reached the lobby, she bypassed all the commotion and headed to where she had been seated, thinking of checking in on Eliza herself as she would be walking by the room anyways. Hols hadn’t had a chance to tease her about taking away the attention of all the men yet.

All the way from the end of the corridor however, she saw a familiar sight, or rather a familiar aspect. A figure dressed in Healer’s clothing, blond hair abruptly changing into pink as she stepped out of Eliza’s room and turned a corner. Breath caught in her chest, recognizing the pink hair from the night before. How many women styled their hair that horrendous color after all? Hols did not believe in coincidence, she was not taught to believe in coincidence after a childhood with a paranoid father and an investigative Auror for a father. Hurrying her steps, she fast walked past Eliza’s room, not noticing a beeping noise, or the rush of Healers that came running behind her only to disappear into the room she had passed by for her attention was in catching up that mane of pink hair.

Placing the coffee in the hand of a passing acolyte, Hols picked up the stray strips of her skirt and then broke into a faster run, following the corridor and then turning a corner only to see pink hair swish through the air as the woman turned another corner.

“Hey! Hey, get back here!” Her run turned into a sprint, her body protesting under the rapid movements, and how jarring her bones felt every time her feet made abrupt contact with the tile floor as she propelled herself forward. She remembered in that moment the night before Al’s second full moon, challenging him to a race, managing to beat him, remembered admitting to liking him for the first time and how easy it all seemed then, even with what would happen the following evening. Now she wasn’t racing anyone, she was chasing a woman Hols expected to be directly affiliated with the monsters that caused so much destruction the night, directly responsible for them.

She slid on the floor, saw the woman enter a room and followed after her, right on her heels. 

“Bitch, I’m talking to you!”

The door closed as Hols got there, but she busted through it, using the momentum to break the lock, only to end up in a supply closet, running into a broom and mop and nearly causing a shelf of cleaning products to fall on top of her head. With a hand on the wall to steady herself, she exhaled heavily, panting as she fought to catch her breath and then cursed out loud and slapped the wall before backing up and slamming the door shut.

She rested her hands on top of her head to help the expansion of her diaphragm like she’d been taught, breathing in through her nose for a few seconds before she headed back towards the lobby with slower steps, rubbing at her lips. That was the second time Hols had seen that woman in the last twelve hours alone. She had gone through a mirror and after talking to Nick she knew that they had been attacked, that Eliza had been hit with a spell that had come through a mirror as well. What was all this about?

All of the color left her face in that moment as she walked towards the waiting area again with fast steps, her heart intent on beating out of her chest with the fear of what might happen. The woman had been in Eliza’s room, the woman had attacked Eliza the night before; Hols’ face was whiter than the sheets Mungo’s used and much whiter than the walls, and yet when she turned the final corner and saw what awaited her, she was sure that not only did she have no color left in her body, but that the warmth had gone out with it as well.

A Healer exiting the room, a somber expression on his face, heading to deliver the news Hols could see plainly written on his face. Eyes watered and she stepped back around the corner again, and laid her head against the wall with a thud, bringing her hands up to her eyes and face and sobbed to herself, a muffled and quiet sound. Soon, so soon, she would have to be strong and beyond destruction, strong for the people around her but right now she couldn’t.

 

&.

 **Tony:** *Walking forward all in black which in retrospect might not have been the best of choices under the Mediterranean sun, he has a small vine of grapes in his hand he's eating one by one, popping them up in the air and then catching them with his versatilely talented mouth. Spotting his brother just where he'd expected eating a grape of his own, he walked up with the signature smirk on his lips.* C'mon, you still can't be mad at me for crashing the party. *Adds after a moment.* And taking your bed. *Pops another grape into his mouth.*

 **Olivier:** *He heard him coming.* Three years without a word, and then three visits in a week? They told me this cologne was attractive but--I think the salesperson left a detail out. *Smirking at the nonchalance as ever, and exhaling in a sharp chuckle, he closes his hand over his wrist behind his back and turns to him.* Why should I be angry you snuck your way into a private charity event what was marked for violence, with no idea what was at play? You've been doing that since before university. *He spins to pick another grape, pop if in his mouth and then rolls his sweater sleeves up.* And crashing into my vineyard, don't forget--what exactly are you up to, Tony?

 **Tony:** *holds his arms up, as if innocent* Just doing my brotherly duty, Oli. *finishes another grape and then holds up a finger* Isn't it technically half my vineyard though? Just saying. *And another grape. For a business front, he sure did take this very seriously. These grapes were downright sinful.* I'm here to help. You know, 'our city' and rectify the mistake, stuff like that. I make much better company than Wolfie.

 **Olivier** : Brotherly duty, ah see--now I'm really nervous. *It was a tease...but half true too. Tony had saved his life. What more brotherly duty was there than that? Nodding very slowly, he's still smirking as he surveys his jovial brother.* Half yours? *True enough, he hadn't removed his name from anything essential.* Thought you wanted nothing to do with the family business. Worried for my immortal soul and what not. *He turns away from the vines, standing closer as his brows flick and wiggle.* Wolfie, ah, right--haven't you heard? Wolfie's eclipsed even their actual Death Eater problem in England--public enemy number one. You think I got lonely? You know he actually isn't my only business partner or friend. Know you doubted that, but if that's why you're here rest easy-*he pats his shoulder*- and you can leave for another three years, brother.

 **Tony:** I might have to make an exception for these grapes, I will tell you. *chewing them with gusto* Delizioso. *wiggles his eyebrows though his good humor is slowly decreasing. Nevertheless, he manages a remark through his smirk.* Always knew he'd go far. *Looking at the shoulder which Olivier so condescendingly patted, he shook his head.* No, don't think so. I like it here. 

 **Olivier:** *Playful,* I think you'll have to, you're bleeding my stock dry. *Well, that he could agree with. Hans had been a ticking time bomb from the moment he emerged from those black cells. He thinks for a moment of Nadia--the fact that he hopes she was doing better surprises him, but it's a flicker and a flare of emotion he decides to hold on to. As his brother nearly frowns, Olivier's eyes narrow dangerously close to brood. There's something in his eyes. Slowly,* You really want to help?

 **Tony:** *Bleeding. Too vivid a choice of word for his liking, but he passed it off with another smirk, shrugging and then finishing off the last of the grapes before throwing the little vine over his shoulder.* I really want to make sure you don't get killed. And seeing as how I'm directly invested in your life, sitting at home and playing ignorant house-wife *puts his hands in his pockets, tilting his head* just isn't gonna cut it.

 **Olivier:** *Mm, another thing they had in common then. The difference to Olivier lay in the fact that...they might have both shared a vampire for a father, but (at least as far as he knew) only he shared the lust for blood. Tony had kept it from being a literal compulsion--but temptation was someways a fate worse. It remained a question day in and day out--a time bomb. Perhaps that was why he got on with Hans so well. For a moment he wants to ask--ask if his little brother had dealt with it too, but he swallows the question. He knew he had, and too well. Lifting his lips to smirk and brows to unfurl, he puts a hand on his hip, turning to laugh under his breath with and an incredulous little lip lick. He looks back and nods.* You going to listen to me then? Todo?

 **Tony** : Uh oh, I can see the aneurysm building in your brain as the thoughts rush through it at a hundred thousand miles an hour. Don't push yourself too hard. *Truthfully, he was just suspicious of whatever made his brother frown that special moody frown. He holds one hand up and then places the other on his chest.* Cross my heart, scout's honor. *Smirks.*

 **Olivier:** *Tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth with another dismissive chuckle, the corners of his lips still flick up with sincerity. Thumb fiddling with the loop of his suede belt, he 'mms' as his brother swears,* You know. I would point out it's ill form to swear on the honor of an organization you weren't a part of, but. *He shrugs, bemused and leans forward, thumb pressing hard into the loop.* I don't _really_ want to know what you were a scout of. *He winks sideways, then looks over his brother's shoulder and gestures with an open palm; he'd feel better talking about this while walking, as that way he could keep an eye on the fields, look busy--and thus be undisturbed by curious eyes.* 

So it's brothers in arms to take back our country, is it? All right. The English Death Eaters run half of France now, not that anyone seemed to notice. *He rolls his eyes; his disdain of the government perfectly clear. Looking sideways at his brother he continues without blinking,* And of course, now their eye's on England, liberating Paris won't require an excursion to Normandy. Just a few people placed inside they've forgotten about or discount. *At that, he lays his hand on his heart as if he's swearing too, and smirks with the delight that was certain to come. For he would make it.* 

 **Tony:** Just call me an avid explorer. *He wiggles his eyebrows and then steps up to keep following, though this was going to be quite a test on his temptation; the grapes were absolutely delicious.* Well, nonna always said we should spend some quality time. *Though, helping to take out the Death Eaters out of France had never been in her mind, of that he was sure. Well, almost sure. Their nonna was a force. And apparently, he noted as he narrowed his eyes at his brother, half impressed, eyebrows arched.* You've been busy.

 **Olivier:** Should we send her a post card then? *Despite the playfully light tone, his smile was softened with sincerity a moment. Nonna was, he hoped, safe in her beloved Roma but it had been too long since he'd seen her. When this was over, he promises himself. The simple remark made him chuckle.* Fairly. I do tend to be, or try to be. *Work helped. He liked feeling like things were happening, gears were grinding, that things were being accomplished. Else he'd go stir-crazy, and that was bitter enough. Cocking his head he continues, thinking: besides a certain pink-haired _puttana_ , Tony likely knew none or at least, near so of the actual players.* If you're going to be around...you should know who they are. Their lead is a man called Gustav Roswell. And the stronzo, *He couldn't stick to English if he was going to insult Roswell or think of another word that summed him up better,* already proved entirely what his word means to him. *He still wanted to spit at that, but it occurs to him: Tony would be kept safe by knowledge if he wasn't in ... India or wherever the hell he went when he left. Or else they might go after him again. Well, Roswell would, if he got a hint of what he and Harper were planning.*

 **Tony:** *He smirked at the adjective, though he quickly realized he would have to do some research of his own to find out who these people were. The name 'Gustav Roswell' didn't ring any bells- or rather, maybe that pink haired bitch had mentioned a Gustav all too fondly. Great, now he was in danger of losing his lunch.* He broke his word, that's the thing you find most repugnant about the man? *It was mostly a joke.*

 **Olivier** : *A man's word is his bond, he almost said, before he realizes he'd be quoting their father. Lips pressed together, he chuckles briefly to cover the uncomfortable thought and slides his hands back behind his back, cupping his wrist.* He broke his word to a man whom he tortured into giving up legitimately everything to help him, on the promise his family would be safe. *He arches an eyebrow.* And now his son's a werewolf and had I had not a bezoar for his wife, she'd be dead. *He looks calmly at Tony, still speaking as if they were discussing their nonna -- tone and demeanor unchanged by the abrupt mentions of violence and death.* So let's say I'm .. not fond.

 **Tony:** *His mouth was a small and perfect 'o' as he listened to the recounting of the story that sounded more like a user review and summary, not even of quality enough to be on the back cover of a book but for this specific instance, it would do.* Can't say I'm warming up either, especially if he's holding the reins on that pink maned demon. *It was safe to say he had been turned off bondage for a good amount of time.* Standard infiltration then. So does this mean Wolfie doesn't know of your master plan?

 **Olivier:** I try not to think about that, actually. *It was flippant, immediate as it was honest: reins, Roswell and Gina were not ever three things he wanted to go together even in his thoughts. Especially not after what he'd seen and - well, frankly, he wasn't entirely surprised that it had been so long until his brother came back.He wasn't even counting that night, he realized, as when he'd last seen him even though it was only just over a year ago -- for one very simple reason. He wished it had never happened. His lips flick up in amusement at the question.* Hans knows what he needs to, and I know what I need to from him. Standard infiltration etiquette I think it is, *he nods and turns down another aisle of vines, exhaling.* There's dozens of them, but they share only the one common thread. And if they weren't all terrified and bullied by Roswell, there'd be no central control at all. I won't deny he has power. But I've been studying the organization for over a year now -- he has very key, oddly very clear, weaknesses. Beginning with the man I mentioned, and extending far beyond to a fifteen year old girl in England.

 **Tony:** Easy for you to say. *He tried not to sound bitter, especially because he knew fairly that it -wasn't- easy for his brother, but still, Tony was the one that had to deal with the nightmares.* Need to know basis, got it. Well, consider my status: need to know. *Smirks briefly and then listens, nodding and then stops in his tracks, eyebrows lifting* The same girl everyone was busting their asses off trying to rescue?

 **Olivier** : *This time his little indignant-chuckle was stifled by the truth. Olivier knew what his brother had gone through, knew too well why he was doing all of this -- and why he'd done everything he had. He thought about pointing it was the very reason he didn't want his brother anywhere near this situation -- the business or  frankly, in the country -- but far from knowing he'd just be replied to with a smirk and passing remark, he also couldn't lie. He did want Tony there. If there was anyone he could trust, it was his brother.* I'm not sure I quite got that down, *He says instead, chuckling and patting at his breast pocket as if looking for a pen.*  I might need to write it down, such a complicated relationship status, you know... *As Tony stops, so does he. Nodding,* Yes. Nadia Tudor. Why?

 **Tony:** Stop me if I'm wrong brother, but usually what you do with people's weaknesses, especially psychopathic assholes, is exploit them. Now you're telling me this little girl is a weakness- you can see where my hesitance begins. *Not that he thought his brother would do anything too bad but still, that girl had gone through enough and more she was probably being watched like a hawk with bodyguards around her 24/7.*

 **Olivier** : *Ah, there it was. He couldn't be angry with his brother for the assumption; it was what he had learned, after all. And truthfully Olivier wasn't certain anymore that he -had- any scruples. Straightening his back and looking his brother head-on again, he refused to blink. There was a little smirk threatened at the corners of his lips as he speaks slowly,* You're not wrong. But exploit, that's an incendiary word -- that assumes that the party involved is absolved of choice. _Au contraire mon frere_. Nadia assumed she was exploiting me. Though I doubt she'd put it that way. *He couldn't be too certain -- two conversations hardly constituted a relationship, even if she had managed to ask about his father in the first. Looking down into his own suit jacket, he fishes out a small, leather bound journal, speaking still,* If you don't believe me, here. *Offering the book, his eyes meet his brother's again.* Miss Tudor was too careful to write anything down in particular of course, and more's the better -- but she makes rather interesting notes on myself and dozens more on Harper - that's the man I mentioned - and more importantly still, she's mapped out their cells for us. Go on, take a look. *He lets go of it, still not blinking, nodding encouragingly with his head before saying simply.* You're even mentioned once, I think. *Well, he had mentioned...he had told Nadia a lot actually he didn't realize doing, which was why it was important he fetch the journal.* She's a weakness to Roswell. Because she's strong herself. 

 **Tony:** *At the notion that the likes of a teenage girl could manage to exploit his brother he simply had to scoff and chuckle because of how utterly ridiculous that was. And then came out the journal.* We're invading a girl's diary now? *He smirked but even still he took it, undoubtably curious of any human being capable of interesting his brother (on a related note, he really must have a more thorough conversation with Daniella), especially when that person ended up being a 15 year old girl with a dodgy memory.* 

I was half expecting some "I heart Olivier" doodled in the corners, but no. Oh, she even makes a point to write out how incredibly frustrating you are- I like her already. *He keeps flipping pages, glancing at them, seeing the layout of the cells,clever, and then he indeed was mentioned as "D'Grey's brother" and even nonna was in here.* She says nonna would be pleased with your tomato sauce. *He remarked with a smirk, but those were the statements that were easiest to say out loud. The rest, her recollection of being scared, of her nightmares, and the screams, that wasn't a pleasant read. And even still, probably the most fascinating thing was how fiercely she wrote she wasn't giving up. He closed the journal and looked up at his brother.* Driven little thing that's for sure...I didn't see a Harper in here though- unless you meant this Angel character.

 **Olivier:** I think this one was meant to be shared, of course. *If the cell layouts were any indication, that was -- but then she still probably meant to share them -herself-...she'd dropped it, and he'd been sure to rescue it lest there -was- anything in there he wouldn't want Roswell to read. It turned out he had worried for nothing on that particular front (he really did have to give Nadia credit). At the first remark, he laughs just once, nodding in a manner of "oh yeah, make your jokes brother", and just says lightly,* Well, she didn't have my first name of course.

*Ah, that was another point.* In fact none of the kids do - and I'd prefer it stayed that way. *None of the pack either, apart from Hans, and Rachelle had wormed it out of him once -- but he was still D'Grey for the rest. He liked that. Chuckling again as he thinks of the sauce, he waits patiently inspecting their surroundings, and nods, holding a hand out for the book.* Angel, yes. I just wanted to see if you'd pick up on who it was. *He smirks.* Angel, as he goes by, as the stronzo is repeatedly attempting to make him believe he is now -- is Harper Brackner. His family thinks he's dead. For now. See, I've determined to reunite them -- you were saying, brother, about your hesitance on exploitation? *Exploiting was too imprecise: what he did was read situations, identify the course to most likely success for his preferred outcome, and makes it happen. That was simply being observant and clever, in his opinion. Olivier smiles.*

 **Tony:** All the better to play the part of the mysterious foreigner. Olivier, that doesn't do much to intimidate but ooh, D'Grey- *he nods thoroughly, and he couldn't help but have his smirk show the inkling of bitterness. He quickly passed it through and then looks up at the familiar. Brackner, as in the woman who had thrown the Gala to begin with, Brackner?* You're a sly man, fratello. Forget exploiter, you're on your way to your hero badge.

&.

 

 **Sienna:** "No." That was all she said. First. She was standing --well, leaning, next to the water cooler, the broken one, and she'd sent Alcott for hot water so she could make tea for herself and Eliza, and now the cup (the one she'd brought from home, the old tea-set that she and Eliza had played with their stuffed animals and dolls with once just to bother her mother) was on the ground. Smashed to bits, and for a moment Sienna thinks that she was glad Alcott had left the hallway, and then that it had to be the first time she wouldn't give a fuck that she'd broken something of her mothers. She'd done that before; broken things and thrown things to bother her, to get her to say she was embarrassing her -- pushing her mother out the door. In hospitals. Where she'd spent, she thought it seemed, half her life sometimes (though that was an exaggeration). It wasn't hard to do. Her mother didn't really want to stay. Sienna just gave her the push, then returned to her usual, composed, dignified state in an instant. Dad was better off with just her there.

But she knew. The moment a Healer appeared at the door, beckoned Rory inside -- even as the door shut, even as she didn't try to spy or glue her ear to the door to overhear, she knew. In an instant, from the look on his face, and because she--

"I. fucking. hate. hospitals!"

Her voice breathy, pitched and abrupt she thinks -- she had to sound half mad. All the Healer did was call Rory inside (and signal to the nurse, because she was going to fetch Eliza's parents, because Sienna knew what that meant and she knew, she knew what happened). It wasn't just that she hadn't meant to break the cup, she thinks as her chin thuds into her chest and she stares at shaking, jittery hands; she couldn't snap back calm anymore. The only one in the room with her was Nick, the boy who was too nice, who'd only been waiting there for a moment while Lynn visited with Nadia and who had come to check on Eliza for them too -- who'd walked in and asked if she was all right. He'd not told a word of what she told him a week ago, and maybe it was that -- she didn't care if he heard (no, she didn't give a fuck if anyone heard anymore), and she jerks her chin back up to him, wild-eyed and mostly, entirely uncaring. Sobs were threatening to burst from her throat but -- they wouldn't. Not yet. Sienna West wouldn't let them.* We shouldn't have brought her here! *Her voice pitches, her hand coming up and she whips her hair back, snapping it up and rubbing at her tired eyes, repeating,* Never! I knew that, I -- why didn't I just take her home, or to Al's house, he could have -- he could have I'm sure of it -- or we could have called his Aunt, she's a para-mediwizard, she's here somewhere, or his other Aunt come to think of it - she'd have come from Spain, we -- never, never in a fucking million years should we have come here, I knew that, I knew that, because this is what always -- always, happens! What, we all just forget that two weeks ago they were poisoning Devin because they let me, a sixteen year old girl walk through his door and tend to him unsupervised and somehow utterly missed the fact that I could hardly stand for whatever drug I was given? Anytime we've gone to a hospital, it gets worse - it just, gets worse. 

They never know. They never know - they just spend all their time trying to outthink each other's two braincells, like if they rub their pair together hard enough it catches flame long enough for them to be brilliant and that's all that matters to them, they want to be right, they want to be the brilliant one, never fucking mind if the patient dies from neglect, collapses and smacks her head on their fucking sink when all she'd come in for was a bloody cough -- never mind how many different experts look, twelve experts at once you get twelve opinions and the only thing they're certain about is that they're smarter than the other eleven -- this is all they know how to do, make it worse and apologize later and hope you don't sue well- I will. I will fucking sue the-- 

*She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think, or see -- at least until she recognizes a nurse and receptionist calling at her to calm down and she raises her hand, spins away from Nick and snaps,* I am not going to fucking calm down - you killed her! 

 **Nick:** *It had played in slow motion in his mind, the scene in front of him. The Healer coming out of Eliza's room after rushing in there when some sort of alarm rang, with his head out, beckoning Rory inside, sending another Healer to go fetch Eliza's parents.

He'd been sitting there, still sore and bruised, waiting as Lynn visited Nadia, having declared any kind of small talk with Sienna currently unachievable, and though he'd thought he saw Hols run around the corner, he couldn't be sure. And then it didn't matter.

The smash of the cup fell, jarring him back into the world, as if someone had clicked fast forward and then play, and all of a sudden they were here again, dealing with it. Throat choking up with the knowledge, it was nothing compared to Sienna's grief.

It was emitting out of her in fumes, hitting him straight in the chest with every word she shouted and yelled about it. He stood quickly and paid the brief price for it as his bones groaned in protest, but he could no longer remain sitting down, not when Sienna was like this. He had never seen her like this and for a moment wondered if anyone had. She was always so in charge of everything but Nick quickly reminded himself, she was only 16. How in charge could she really be? And her best friend had just-

No, he still couldn't say it.

She blamed the hospital, the Healers, and Nick didn't know exactly what made her believe that but he knew it wasn't an uncommon response, the need to blame someone paired with probable prior experiences, and it was coming out of her in heartbreaking gushes. He could do nothing but listen even as he approached her, his eyes reddening with every moment, while he wondered how Sienna, how any of them, were going to get through this.

But then she turned her ire on the nurse, and he snapped into motion again, knowing if she kept yelling at the staff they would escort her out and that would be worse, that would be unbearable, for all of her shouts of hating hospitals, hating healers and doctors and nurses, he knew that she needed to be here.

Placing his hands on her arms gingerly, he turned her towards him with a whisper of her name and her nickname, knowing that he had probably not earned the right to call her that but he didn't know what else to say. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him, exhaling in her hair. He didn't tell her that the Healers had done everything they could, that the real people to blame here had vanished like smoke, because that wasn't what she needed to hear.*

 **Sienna:** *Who was that? Her arm had snapped out, she'd hit someone -- a nurse she thought (Good, because she always should have hit that bitch who flashed pretty eyes at her father, talked to him all about medical school and how she was only a nurse for now and if she hadn't been such a good girl -- no. No, she knew herself better than that. It wasn't any inner goodness or wickedness. Sienna was afraid. She'd been afraid since the first time she'd seen her father --)* I--no.

*Whoever this was, she thinks they must not have been afraid of her anger, which was reason enough in truth to let them gather her up; he slips one arm around her back and supports her and she cradles her face against his throat, trying to calm her hands, afraid suddenly for another reason as she sees her shaking -- that was what started it with Dad too…how many cups had he broken? How many plates, how many -- her doll, that one time, and he couldn't hold the wand long enough to reparo anything and that… that was the first time she'd been able to do it herself and how he'd laughed afterwards, how he'd beamed with pride --*

t

She was the only one who stayed. *That whisper left a clenched throat.* The only one. Rivers and Graft think I'm their mortal enemy--but that was no different. Devin thought I hated him too, thought I hated Nadia, when I never -- never did. They all left, one by one, Victoria from blame and Alcott from guilt and Miranda was never there, never, not for me, not for Dad, and Grandmum left because a nurse lied and Dad because his mind lies and there's no one else. I have no one else. 

*Alcott had shown her over the summer her first ever movie, praising the detail; she and Eliza had thrown things at him for it because dear God, had she never wanted that amount of detail from a movie about war. Now she's grateful for it, because how else could she describe what this felt like? Mortars burst into rocket powder over her head, and a wasp shrapnel buried in her throat, her chest, her heart; she was counting every breathe and thunderous heartbeat; shrieking with fire, anger floundering through her chest, ignorant of the comrades until they began their wailing, the noises they'd made and then -- silence.

A moment where the metal cools in your rabbit-hole trench and you see your blood lying around you, the world humming, clashing, disappearing and then nothing. Nothing at all. That was what this was like. How could Nick even breathe? She didn't understand.* They took them all. 

 **Nick:** *When they had talked before, Sienna had been speaking of the same thing. How everyone had turned on her, how she had been afraid of losing her friends, the friends she had grown up with, and he had told her to tell them that. Sit down with them, tell them what she had told him and get them to listen and understand because if they were such a big part of her life than she was a big part of theirs too, and it was hurting them all but sometimes, you needed to make the first move in order to get things done.

And she still felt that loss, now even more poignantly. Sienna felt like she was stuck right now in this world by herself, no friends, no mother (she called him by her name), no grandmother, no father, no one else. Nick shook his head as he cradled hers, one hand in her hair and completely able to ignore the effort it took him to keep standing, to support her up, to squeeze her tighter. He inhaled and then exhaled.*

You're not alone, Sie. You're holding on to me, this is me, I am here for you, if you let me. Alcott is here and he has never stopped caring about you, Sienna. Devin is here, he is your friend, Nadia never hated you, she reached out and sweetie, Hols stopped being your mortal enemy the second she started caring for Al, because she cares about everything he does, and Lynn cares about what Hols does- it's a connection, we're all connected here, don't you see? And none of us are alone. It might seem that way when you've lost so much, but you aren't. *He blinked repeatedly to clear the tears out of his eyes before they spilled, swallowing a heavy lump on his throat.* We have to be here for each other, now more than ever.

 **Sienna:** *She chokes. That was all it took, hearing the simple thought that for some bloody reason, someone in this world actually did give a damn enough to hold her right then -- and he had, and Nick had before, when he had told her to…she shook her head, not paying attention to how her rats nest hair burrows near his mouth, whipping like a blade over her shoulder. That was all it took, to calm her down and settle her, the simple statement i am here for you and she can't help but want to burst out laughing as she thinks, how pathetic is that? One little sentence and she clings to him as she clings to it, nodding desperately quickly as she realizes her knees were going to give out and she tries to pull Nick over to the chair or else they'd both fall.

By the time they were seated, she's looking up and realizing that across the hall was Alcott, looking at her with a funny look -- an eyebrow arched and his head cocking, like he thinks he's about to tell her he hadn't realized she "hated Lynn that much" (he usually called her Lynn now) to cling to Nick like this. And Sienna wishes it was what she would hear: Alcott being his usual insensitive, witty, wonderful dick self (she almost giggles just to think she'd said that word though she'd nothing aloud). 

He's a moment from it -- his face unfurls just enough -- and then a door opens, and an ashen Rory steps out with tears clouding his own nose. Alcott stops walking instantly: he got it. Of course he got it, Sienna thinks rubbing her forehead. He expected it as much as she did. Funnily enough it was Eliza who would have told them to look on the bright side…

She doesn't think she actually sees Alcott move again. Just a heart-wrenching little lip quiver and head falling back, self falling back, like the world had spun away from him so quickly he was knocked winded and couldn't possibly scramble back right again. Wouldn't. It would mean acknowledging what happened. That Eliza was gone, for no reason, none, none at all; that the nurses didn't know why, the Healers were baffled (weren't they always?) and she was getting better but now -- she was gone. 

And so was Alcott, she realized abruptly, not sure when they stopped staring at each other, not sure when they started -- not sure if she'd imagined the nod of understanding sorrow between them or if he proved Nick right in that instant (but she needed it, so she didn't care). Had she imagined him embracing Rory, or had she just watched Rory sit in the chair outside her window? Waiting for her parents, looking too numb to cry and too hurt not to. They slipped down his cheeks as he dug his folded hands into his forehead, leg jittering and jittering and jittering, up and down. Sienna nearly got up to go to him too -- wait, she'd started too -- but Rory waves her off, choked out he needed a moment. She hears his little gasps, thinks there must be words -- and then realizing he's just staring blankly. 

Alcott must have moved at his wolf-speed, and he must have taken Hols with him -- though there was hot water splashing all down the floor now for the tea Eliza could never drink from the cup that was nothing but scattered, beautiful china shards.

Sienna shuts her eyes, falling back on the chair. Normal breath was impossible, but she wasn't going to cry anymore; she was sure her mascara had run itself so far off her cheeks a few black drips were on Alcott (wherever he was).* How odd. *She says in a quiet voice aloud, looking sideways at Nick.* Usually it's Al who loses it, and I'm the one who disappears.

*Her head tilts down as she pulls both legs up to hug knees to her chest and doesn't move. She can't. She can't go in that room and see her friend, Rory wanted to be alone, Alcott would be -- perhaps, a wolf right now she thinks, and who he needed had left with him -- Devin and Lynn with Nadia but they'd all..they'd all know soon enough; her parents were coming. So she wasn't moving.

But she couldn't seem to breathe if she didn't speak, so she opens her mouth again and says quieter,* What I said… *Her eyes swivel to Nick, and there's a teary-eyed soft smile on her lips,* My Dad. He's…he's sick. He has been half my life. They don't know what it is. I even asked Al -- eventually, because his father's research…there's so much he did for medicine…but Al wasn't able to understand it, or he said he couldn't yet…Yet, and there might be time, there might be ages, because it's not like he's not -- my Dad still, most of the time, you know? 

He- *she sniffles, and rubs under her eyes.* He was in different hospitals all while I was growing up but those were only on the bad days, when he doesn't know where he is, can't stop casting spells, goes into a fit -- it's something neural, that we know. The good ones he's just as any other Dad is -- better really, for all his pain he never missed -- *she sniffles, sweater swiping under her eye* -- missed one of my violin concerts when I was little. Frankly, it's the only reason I still play. There've been fewer good days as the years went on but I brought him home eventually -- it was me, I made the decision, Miranda only went to the hospital for show, slipping out afterwards like she doesn't expect me to notice the lingerie hanging in her window. Or she dropped me at my Grandmother's…until she died, because of a hospital's neglect. So I brought him home. Convinced them to get a live-in nurse just in case and otherwise I take care of him because…he's…my Dad. You know? Even when he doesn't remember it, he still is. *Her voice falls silent and she looks down at her toes, wiggling them and wrinkling her nose.* I should have known not to come to a hospital. 

 **Nick:** *He must have breathed in relief as he realized that what he had said worked, that her breathing and shaking calmed down a little even if she only held on to him tighter and he preferred it that way. The squeezing embrace was and the not so subtle ache of his muscles reminded him of the fact he was alive. He cherished it as much as he hated it at that moment, the reminder felt cruel, cruel that he should be alive when their friend was not.

They found their ways to the seats again, though he couldn't remember putting in the effort to move his feet. Once seated, he rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he rubbed his face as if that could clear away the redness and the water and the sadness in one movement but he couldn't.

The knowledge was spreading he realized as he looked up to see Sienna looking at Al, exchanging a silent communication that was commonplace with friendships and relationships that had been going on for so long. He came to the realization only a moment later as Rory stepped out again, and suddenly the grief seemed to multiply tenfold across the room, choking out the air available to them.

He sniffed and drew himself up again, as if he were inhaling the pain, welcoming it into his body, making room for it instead of letting it destroy him and then turned to Sienna again, a smile, small and sad, crossing his face at her observation. She moves to bring her knees to her chest and he thinks that he had never seen her so small and young than at that very moment.

Realizing he was receiving an explanation without asking for it, Nick shifts in the seat to turn more towards her as she speaks of her father. It wasn't all sad, even though obviously some of it was, for she smiled, she truly loved her father and took care of him and no one else seemed to, not even her mother. He nodded, understanding further her distaste of hospitals, and her need to know that she wasn't alone.*

I know it seems like if we hadn't come here maybe it would have turned out differently but there's no way to know that, and it's only detrimental to keep wondering about it. *He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze* I have a friend in L.A., Martha, her mother was in a car accident when she was 10 where she was paralyzed from the waist down and her father he was never there, but she took care of her mother every day. Helped her get out of bed, take a shower, cook for her and eventually when she turned 15, illegally, drove her mother to work every morning, picked her up every afternoon and she still does it now and she's not bitter about it for a moment. She's one of the strongest people I've ever known, and somehow one of the happiest people too and you have that same strength, Sienna, I see it. And maybe you don't notice it, or realize it, but you do.


	38. Memories of a Crup named Satan

_You remember the first time we were out here?”_

_Bright, blue — so blue — eyes meet hers as she chuckles, sheepish and indignant. Of course she remembered, she says, digging her elbow into his side and lingering there until he tugs her into his embrace. Her eyes tilt skywards. The first time, the moon had been high and fat. Now it’s a sliver, sharp and jagged, obscured by puffy clouds. She wasn’t sure how any light managed to cast down at all, let alone illuminate Rory in silver, a silver so bright he shines gold._

_Afraid, almost, to touch him - she dares, going on her toes (even though she was wearing heels and might sink into the fresh mud) and presses her lips to his cheek. Rose-colored lips burn into his skin, imprinting their mark of flesh and desire. The half-laugh he answers her with is filled with nervousness, peppered with darting eyes and quick intakes._

_“What is it?” She asked because she was frightened, and she was so tired of being frightened of wondering what her boyfriend was thinking. When he speaks, the earnest words grace the tips of her ears so abruptly and choked in breathlessness that she thinks she misheard. And then she thinks she’ll never have to be concerned again._

_“I love you, Eliza.”_

_He looked her in the eyes as he said it, cupped both cheeks between his palms and stares deep with those eyes-so-blue, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but smile and say ‘oh’, because she believes him. It frightens her that she does. She believed another, once, but — Rory was different. Rory had always been different. Rory smiles at her when he doesn’t know she’s looking, and brought her to the Quidditch Pitch tonight because it was their place — this booth, this booth was the first place he’d held her close, laid his cheek on her fluffed blonde curls and whispered she was safe._

_She’d believed that too, instantly, and for the first time in years._

_“Oh?” Rory teases her, eyes searching hers, but she can hear the hurt in that question._

_“Rory—.” she tries to start, tries to clarify, but he cuts her off._

_“It’s all right, you don’t have to say anything. I know.” Rory brings his lips up to her forehead, and kisses her so hard that she was surprised — when he pulls away, that there’s no silver imprint shining on her skin. He’d lit her aflame._

_“But I want to,” Eliza argues. And she did. Because he did know, Rory knew everything — knew how foolish she’d been once, knew what those words meant for her, and he still stands there. He still holds onto her. His hands were warm, his roughened palms gripping her like he was her anchor and she a flighty ship lost on a tumultuous sea, tossed between white-caps. Heart skipping another beat, she reached for his wrists, repeating it softer, “I want to.”_

_He looks at her with the look of such earnest want she can’t deny herself stealing a kiss before she finishes the thought._

_“What?” He asks, face contorting as if he didn’t hear her, and that confuses her._

_“I love you too,” she says. He shakes his head, his hand lifts to swat away a fly. The moon above is fat, shining on a cloudless sky. If he burned so brightly without stars or moon, what would he look like now? Eliza’s afraid to look. Her hands drop from his wrists — but he didn’t hold her cheeks anymore._

_Darkness envelops her. Dragging at his body like soft, dark molasses. Everything suddenly viewed in slow motion, as she recalls laughter from long ago. Vital memories flash through his mind in a heartbeat and slip through fingers like saltwater. Nothing’s there, nothing — bright and burning or otherwise — just fractured moonlight, limbs unwieldy, thoughts half-formed and listless — and she spins, spins with her hand lifting to the corner of her eyes to brush away crystal salt._

_It sticks. (The sea is salty). It lingers on her fingers when she gazes on the finger pad in a moonbeam and watches water turn red, and she thinks of blood, thinks of parting seas, thinks of it ripping right down her middle, tossing the torn pieces of her into the crashing, thundering waves and hurts. It hurts._

 

{.}

Rachelle hadn’t felt cold since the day Hans had turned her. She had never missed the cold, because for a little over a year that’s what she had experienced down there in those dark cells: cold and agony. She remembered Hans coming to visit her, and she had flinched with every step he took towards her. He hadn’t been the first guy to visit though not many did. Just one, the same one, the same Death Eater that had played with her heart, made her fall in love, and then brought her in for the torture himself. Jacques was his name. He would walk in and cry to her, cry and plead for her to join him, so that they could be together, so that he could stop hurting her. You’re making me do this, he had sobbed out once as she lay on the floor, unmoving, uncaring. She almost laughed at him for being the one crying when it was her body that took the beatings, the bruising, and the curses. What a stupid son of a bitch she thought after so many years of trying to forget he didn’t exist.

She felt cold now. A terrifying freeze that threatened to swallow her lungs as she paced inside the cell she had been so unceremoniously dumped in. Heartbeat rising in anger, in fear, and in panic, she stepped up to the bars and tried to pry them apart with all her might; spelled, like the handcuffs she had been brought in, to withstand any sort of strength. Growling, her fangs elongated without a second thought, and her claws grew out of perfectly manicured nails, both of them wanting to rip and destroy. She screamed and then snapped the cot in the cell in half, and then after each half in half, until there was only a mess of wood and splinters, of cotton stuffing and feathers.

“You can’t keep me in here, assholes! I didn’t do anything, anything!” she screamed after stepping up to the bars again. The ironic thing was that she was speaking the truth. She had been ‘arrested’ for trying to kidnap Lynn Rivers but Rachelle hadn’t even attempted it. They had nothing on her, nothing. They could retrace every single one of her steps from the moment she had emerged out of those cells as a new person, something better than a person, and they would not be able to find a single thing on her. She was too good, no, Hans was good and Hans had taught her well, and now she was letting him down.

“You have no warrant, you have no probable cause, you have the word of a 15 year old girl who doesn’t even remember her name!” She smacked the bars again, grateful to at least have them to hold on to. The ones in France burned at the slightest touch, burned so sweetly, and removed the skin off your bones as soon as you stepped away. Yet, how different were these people from the ones they claimed to want to bring to justice? The Aurors had a license to kill, a free pass to do as they sit in the name of upholding the law. Now Rachelle laughed at the bullshit. She laughed as she paced, a manic sound that didn’t sound familiar to her ears. Pulling at her hair constantly, she growled again and looked around in a haste. She had to get out of here, she couldn’t stay here any longer, she couldn’t be behind bars anymore damnit, she couldn’t!

She started tearing at the walls, leaving claw marks on the surface but it was no use, there was no digging through it for it had also been reinforced. These Aurors had fucking thought of everything hadn’t they? Yet still she kept clawing, trying to dig herself out of there. There was no reason behind her actions, no active thought crossing her mind except a hectic ‘get out of here!’ So she clawed and clawed, her nails splitting and then tearing off completely, until the wall bore the evidence of her struggle in the form of her blood. Crying out in anger she kicked the wall, and then turned away from it, stopping in her tracks as she realized a tear had dropped on her lip. Rachelle could taste it perfectly, the salty essence of the small drop of water and she hated it. She rubbed violently at her own eyes, aghast with herself.

“You can’t keep me here forever! He’ll find me! He’ll find me, they’ll come for me-” she cut herself off with an intake of breath as shaky hands went up to her hair again, patting it down, passing bloody fingers through tendrils that were now knotted thanks to the poor handling she had received. Rachelle couldn’t keep saying that because frankly, she was doubting it now. Would they come for her? They were family, they were a pack, and the pack always stuck together but truthfully, Rachelle didn’t think she deserved to be saved. How could she have been so stupid?! Teenage girls, teenage girls got the better of her, and a fucking wolf-bait had thrown a knife at her throat; she hadn’t been able to stop the silver from digging through her flesh and burning every muscle and vein and skin it had come in contact with. She had been bested by children, and to her, after everything she had lived through, that was the most unacceptable thing.

Hans had already given her a second chance, down in those black cells. He had come to her when she was beaten, bruised, and battered beyond recognition. And he had been so warm, so fucking warm, and it had felt so good that the thought of not being able to have that again drove her to tears her torturers hadn’t been able to get from her in a few weeks. Rachelle had never wanted to be a Death Eater and the more she was hit with either whip, knife, or crucio, the more her resolve grew. She would not join them, she would not join the pathetic son of a bitch who had brought her in chains and who blamed her for him having to do this to her as he clutched her hair in one hand, dug his dirty fingers into her hip and drove into her repeatedly, harshly, brutally. I thought you loved me she had whispered the first time, back when recently turned 16. Jacques had never learned how to love, and in turn, he had taken that ability away from her. Or so, she had thought.

Her brother gave it back to her. Hans had saved her from those cells at her urging, at her pleading to turn her, and took her under his wing, and taught her everything he knew. The pain was erased when inflicted upon others, the happiness returned among those exactly like them, sharing in the common bond, and the love grew naturally out of trust, appreciation, and gratitude. Rachelle always knew that she would love him much more than he would or could ever love her because she owed him everything, and he owed her nothing. She had no bitterness about the truth, because love wasn’t supposed to be selfish, so she loved with her whole heart because it was the only way she knew how to love. Now, however, she knew better, she knew to be more exclusive about her affections and caring. Caring too much was a weakness that her enemies would always use to exploit her, and she knew because she’d done the same. She cared for the pack, solely for the pack, for her brothers and sisters because they were the only ones she could trust.

Rachelle had come so far from the small trembling French girl screaming in the dungeons for someone to let her out. Then she was Jacqueline De Lamarliere, and this treatment was completely unacceptable, and that her father would be sure to put a stop to all of this. She had come so far, only to end up in almost the exact same place: screaming, in a dungeon, telling the Aurors they couldn’t keep her locked in and that her brother would find her and make them all pay. What was the point in growing, what was the point in overcoming every single fucking obstacle life had thrown at her, if she was just going to end up right back where she started? Right back in her deep dark past. Hopefully, not every single thing was destined to repeat itself, otherwise she’d be forced to protect herself against Hans’ attack like she did with her parents. But Hans would never hurt her, and her parents couldn’t, neither could Jacques, or any of the Death Eaters, nor anyone else.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” she whispered as she crumpled to the floor, her elegant dress as untarnished as she wished to be. Dry sobs stuck in her throat as she forced herself to open her eyes even as she clenched hands tightly over her own ears that buzzed with the panic that was happening outside, upstairs, and downstairs; all around her there was talk of what had happened, people who only referred to her as a monster, as the prisoner, as the murderer. Yes, she wanted to scream out, I’ve killed and I’ll continue to kill but what makes you think that makes you any better than me? It was so easy to stand there, point the finger, wasn’t it? Oh it was always so easy.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she screamed again, gasping and now shutting her eyes again. The bars looked too familiar, the cell was small and restricting, and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “I’m not supposed to be here, I don’t belong here, let me out, let me out, let me out!” The scream turned into a growl as her fangs grew again, ripping through her bottom lip, something that hadn’t happened in so long. But her lip repaired itself, the same way her nails had, leaving only the blood in its wake, salty and coppery on her tongue. That single detail just made the experience more real for her. The taste of blood in her mouth, the metal bars keeping her in, the darkness creeping in at the same rate as the cold. She felt so cold.

Rachelle jerked herself upright once more, and fingers curled around bars again as she yanked on them over and over and over again. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” She sobbed, pressing her forehead against the cool bars, almost wishing that they would burn the skin right off the flesh. She wasn’t warm enough, and she needed to be warm.  ”I don’t deserve this,” she cried silently, “I did my time already, please, just don’t- I can’t be here.” At least she had some sort of pride still left. She wasn’t screaming these last words, she whispered them like a secret, as if she were ashamed to be revealing them to the world and she was. She was all but pleading, and begging, to be let out now.

“You don’t understand, no one can understand,” she sniffed and then violently jerked away from the bars and turned around, looking at the wall. She couldn’t let anyone see her cry, not anymore. Rachelle had to find a way to keep herself in control once more, because this wasn’t here. This was Jacqueline, begging for a way out, throwing herself at someone else’s mercy and she was stronger than that… she was supposed to be stronger than that. Where was her strength now, she questioned bitterly. Then she remembered, reason caressing her thoughts with the only source of comfort she would get in here. The same strength she had shown when she’d refused to give in to the monsters who had tortured her. How ironic it was, that it was always men who ended up being the monsters, and then the animal in the darkness, the wolf on the prowl, the werewolf that haunted nightmares, he was the one to show her kindness still existed in the world. Such fucking irony.

“What makes you any better?” she whispered over her shoulder, with her back still turned to jail cell. “You’re no better than I.”

 

{.}

Her awakening is not as dramatic as feared. A sharp, indrawn breath punctuates the quiet. Blue eyes flicker open and take in a sparse, dim-lit room. She’s not sure where she is. How her body told itself to wake, how her mind told her to find the present — but she’s relieved by it. Eliza doesn’t know why, but she is relieved by it. 

Heavy-hearted, she tells herself it’s a dream and lays back on a pillow, chasing the memories that had turned to nightmares. That time was cherished, she thinks — both of them. The first time, Rory had held on to her and reminded her that life went on, and Alcott had triumphed, survived his first potion-less transformation (and attacked Sam…he nearly killed Sam, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t think about that). And the second time, he’d said he loved her. That wasn’t a nightmare, she argues with a lazy mind, rubbing at her chest.

And then she realizes she’s in pajamas, a camisole and a pair of sweats and it startles her hand to still on her neck. It should be a hospital gown, she remembers that now. How had she gotten changed? They were her pajamas — it was her pillow! — but she wasn’t in her room. If they brought her home…if she’d even gone to Alcott’s home, she’d recognize things, recognize furniture.

Eliza jumps up, looking around again, pulling on the sweater-top that went with the pants. It was folded, thoughtfully placed at the foot of the bed she didn’t recognize. Her skin crawled at the mute thought someone else had changed her; the camisole was too exposed. Fingering a ring, she looks at it slowly and realizes she recognizes that too. It’s her grandmother’s; why had her grandmother given her —

“Oh, bloody hell, no.” Her hand rubs at her forehead. Something had happened to her memories, hadn’t they? (That makes her feel better, if she still knew who she was, and it meant she probably was just at someone’s house, that she changed herself). 

“Okay. So just, retrace your steps, and the rest will come back.” 

She didn’t know why she was talking aloud. It felt better than letting the silence oppress her. She moves to the window, the single window, and pushes it open. She hears nothing but the rustle of autumn leaves dead, in the wintry air and the sound of her own heartbeat, steady in her chest. The air is crisp in his lungs and the sky a vivid blue, Nothing else is familiar. There’s nothing outside; an empty ground, a field that disappeared — and then she put her hand on the window and realized, it was fake. Like the ones in the Ministry, this window was enchanted — was she underground then?

Pulling away from it, she mutters, “You were in the hospital. You collapsed at the Gala, the Gala where…where Nadia found Lynn and told her about a plan and they arrested Rachelle and Julio who liked to be called Casanova and Alcott’s neck was snapped — but he did that, Hans did that, because he was transforming, and he thought he might hurt me because Alcott is a moron sometimes, but I love him anyways and …” 

As she talks, she’s walked around the bed and taken in the furniture. There wasn’t much; a side table, a dressing screen (plain wicker), a gilded mirror that made her quiver for the state of her hair. She the lamp on, rifled in the books on the side table and then dropped them, disgusted. Five books, three genealogies of pureblood families (her name was circled on the Culpeper page, why would that be?) and two of offensive spells that would never be taught in Hogwarts. 

Her head was pounding. She pulls back, seeing a glass of water thoughtfully placed on the little counter beside the standing mirror, and a jewelry box that makes her stiffen: the box wasn’t hers, but the diamond bracelet inside had been given to her. She remembers that too well — and remembers who gave it to her. 

“You were in the hospital because you collapsed,” she repeats to herself, going to the door again and shaking on it. It was locked. The thought she’s locked in, underground…

Her breath raises in pitch. “Okay, that’s…that’s strange, but it’s probably for safety reasons…no, I, can’t think of any reason that someone would lock me in to keep me safe but there has to be a reasonable explanation, has to be…” 

She backs up, calling out, “Hello?” but she doesn’t want to think about the fact that no-one answers. Where was she, why was she there, what the bloody hell was going on? Her mother would be livid. Sienna would be cussing the hospital administration out. Alcott might even wolf out — and Rory, Rory…

Hands jump to her face and she rubs hard over aching eyes and a throbbing forehead, pushing blush into her cheeks and licking her lips until they don’t feel so dry. The glass of water beckons to her, but she didn’t want to touch it — didn’t want to touch anything else. 

The bed made up more than three quarters of the small room, she thinks, huffing. No chair, no futons, not even a little pillow cushion — but why should there be? Ten people could sleep in that wood monstrosity. She rolls her eyes, wondering whose bed it had been (if this was a pureblood house it must be an antique). Whomever he was, he was compensating badly. Pitiful, actually. 

She didn’t really want to touch it, or the silk sheets again, but she was feeling faint, fainter than she wanted to admit to. 

“You collapsed, but they fixed it…” She mutters to herself, moving to the only other thing in the room: a tall wardrobe. When she opens it, her eyes go bright and wide. 

“Holy…,” her curse cuts out, because she doesn’t have the breath for it. Shaking hands caress silk and satin; lighter floral prints from her closet and other gowns she’d never seen before that would be fit for a princess. Or an empress. There’s velvet brocades embroidered in real diamonds, two tiered skirts that would float around her until she felt she was dancing on a cloud, fur collars that make her ache for what Alcott and Hols would have said. 

“You think,” she says to nothing and no one in particular, pulling out one and holding it up to the mirror, “you think I’d remember moving into a palace.” 

No-one answers her, though Eliza was rather wishing now someone would. Her eyes were wide and blood-shot, but up close she realized her hair had been brushed — and she was wearing diamond earrings too. Those had been her mothers. And in the corner of the wardrobe was the teddy-bear that Rory gave her. Why had her mother given her earrings, why had her grandmother given her —

“Fuck.” 

She realizes abruptly she was sitting on the ground in front of the mirror now. She leaves the gown there, tucking her knees under her and catching her breath. That didn’t make sense to her; she should have been healed now, if they’d let her out of the hospital, she must have been discharged…

Eliza didn’t care that she didn’t feel she could breathe; she forces herself to stand, continues to ignore the water and only just realizes the mantle has something else. A folded napkin with her name, only it wasn’t her name she argues with no one in particular — Eliza Culpeper, it said. It rests on top of a newspaper, a Prophet. 

“Oh, thank god.” She murmurs, moving to the vanity-top, pushing the water glass aside and lifting the paper. Answers at last, she thinks, wanting to trigger her memories, wanting this to stop (how did Nadia bear this? Why could she remember Nadia, but not how she had gotten wherever she was? where was she?) Her hands were shaking again as she unfolds the delicate paper, but she won’t give in. She won’t sit down - not on that bed again. 

Her first thought is: no, that can’t be the date, I can’t have slept for four days. Though, no wonder I’m starving.

Her second thought is: This man isn’t just compensating, he has no sense of humor. What horrible prank is it to leave a paper and only leave the obituaries?

Her third is: Oh, god, no.

It’s her own name staring at her, and her own picture from her birthday party that summer that blinks over a sheepish, nervous smile. Eliza Marielle Culpeper Simmons, born August of 2011 and —

“I didn’t die!” She snaps it, and nearly rips the paper over the words ‘beloved daughter and dearest friend,’ like they were making her out to be some kind of cliched saint or something. Unable to tear her eyes off the page, reading vividly fast through “accomplishments” and some sappy tale of her “endearing kindness,” at a hospital charity, and then about how she had taught herself to ride a horse — she thinks irritated that Alcott would tell the story differently, until she realizes the paper is quoting him. Backwards, this was all backwards. Her head spins.

It isn’t until she sees a man behind her in the mirror that she realizes the door must have opened (though it was shut again) — and she startles. Startles so quickly she realizes her knees were going to give out again, and so she promptly sits herself against the vanity (she still was avoiding the bed), and stares at him. 

He was tall, his face shadowed and sorrowful, but there was something — something so familiar that if she could focus she thought she might even recognize him, but as it was, she couldn’t do anything but pant and hold her hand to her chest, patting hard to try and force air back into her lungs. 

Still, she had to speak, and so terrified was she thought she should just start at the beginning.

“My name is Eliza Marielle Culpeper Simmons, not — not just Culpeper, I don’t know why that napkin thinks that, but it’s Simmons, S-I-M-M-O-N-S. I don’t know who you are, but there’s been a mistake, okay?” Her hand leaps off her chest, and she holds his gaze with a quivering neck, tucking loose curls back and dropping the paper back to the side table. It jars beneath her so badly she thinks she’s going to break the water glass. All the while, she’s talking.

“It’s Simmons because I actually prefer the common name of my father to my pureblood one, especially after this summer. My Aunt Ellen, she gets irked by it, because she thinks it’s some insult, which is ridiculous and I’ve always preferred to be called by Simmons just because it reminds me who I am - that I shouldn’t be so uppity, and then I met my father this summer, learned why he left, and now I’m really, really glad so — that paper?” 

She gestures to it, furious fast, not paying attention to the feverish way her cheeks flame in the mirror, even though she’s cold, so cold. 

“It has a few mistakes in it, and really I am so, so glad that it’s a paper no one reads for accuracy, because it has my obituary in it? And I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but it’s just chockfull of errors — for one thing, no way would Alcott tell that story like it was something to be happy about, he’d ask me to hit him if he was ever that sappy, and for another thing, as you can very, very plainly said I am not — I am not dead!” 

Her voice hits a pitch that had she been singing, she would have broken the water glass another way, and not just because she nearly hit it, with her waving hand.

“So, sir, as you can very clearly see I’m alive, very alive,— I expect a full retraction. Demand it, in fact.” 

She blinks. Her voice has given out, and then she’s seen his scars. Her eyes trail up his arms, across haunted eyes and she stills. There’s no fear in her gaze as she meets his again; only sorrow. She doesn’t know why, but after a minute of looking at him…Eliza is sad, very sad. 

“…Who are you?” 

&.

 **Harper:** *He almost said it out loud, had to bite down on his tongue to keep from saying it out loud. He almost told her...she reminded him so much of her mother, of Mary. Mary whom he had known for as long as he'd known Lyndsea; Mary who could adopt the same demanding tone laced only with a hint of her inner doubt that she always managed to squash down. He almost said that out loud, said who he was, and almost promised the girl, Eliza who was much bigger than the six year old little girl he'd last seen, that he'd somehow make this okay. 

He would, somehow, in the end because he wasn't alone in this now but he was still impaired from speaking freely. Like Nadia, he'd been sent here as much for his own suffering than her own healing. Snippets of his old life, connections, thrown at him in mockery. Eliza Simmons, best friend of his son and daughter of his wife's best friend, was the closest he had ever gotten to home in 9 years.* 

I'm Angel. *He answered after her words had faded into a brief silence.* Please sit down, Ms. Simmons. You're still recovering and if you agitate your body further you'll collapse. I'll explain as much as I can.

 **Eliza:** Angel? *The word leaves her lips abruptly quickly, and she realizes he's right at least about the one thing -- she's close to collapsing. -Again-, she thinks bitterly, as her eyes trail the gown on the floor. It looks sad there. Silk discarded and forgotten about. Her heart skips a beat, and she brings her hands to her shoulders, trying to rub warmth back into her skin.* I--I don't want to sit on that bed. 

*She tries to explain, even as she pushes off the table and grabs her pillow off the silk sheets. She hugs it over her chest, and looks back up at this man who spoke so quietly, so matter-of-fact. Her chin lifts, slowly as she realizes,* Angel. *It's spoken stronger this time.* Oh, for heaven's sakes -- D'Grey thinks he's really clever, doesn't he? Guardian angel -- that's you, you're who -- so you -- you looked after Nadia. 

*Her voice quivers on a hoarse throat and she forces her lips to still, taking a step closer to him.* You looked after Nadia when she was...that's, that's where I am? I don't understand - I was just, I was in the hospital, how could... *But the room spun and she proved him right, her hand flying up to steady herself against the mirror and then falling to sit cross legged next to it. She tried to -- forced herself, to control the descent. If she had to collapse, she didn't have to look like she was. Even if he predicted it, and probably wasn't fooled.*

 **Harper:** Okay. *He nodded without sparing a second glance to the bed which was decorated and designed with the purpose fully in mind and if he thought it through too quickly, he would very well set the bed on fire. Instead, he waved his hand and drew up a chair while he restrained a smirk at the mention Olivier's verbal repertoire, nodding as she came to small realizations on her own. 

Next she was stumbling, falling, as he knew she would so he stepped towards her, bringing the chair closer but made sure to keep his distance. He did not want her more overwhelmed than she already was; than she would doubtless continue to be. He crouched down, speaking quietly.* Easy, easy. Your organs are still recuperating, including your heart, which is forcing itself to work twice as hard as it has been to pump blood against gravity into your brain. Can you sit?

 **Eliza:** *It wasn't until he conjured the chair that she realized she was missing something very important -- that while she was enjoying the diamond earrings and her grandmother's sapphire (and wanted to pull Rory's bear free to hug with her pillow), there was something far more important.* Where's my wand? 

*If she was with the Death Eaters... (And just thinking it hurt her head), why should she be given a room and a bed and books of spells - with no wand? Not that she would ever use those spells, but ... Angel conjures seamlessly, and brushes the chair towards her, looking as wary of her as she was of him. But when he crouches nearer to her, she was relieved to have him closer. He was warm.* 

Pump blood against gravity in my brain? *She echoes him again, the words not making any sense to her. Dizzy, she nonetheless forces herself to nod and rise again (and she did have to reach for his arm to do so), just to fall back into the chair. She holds her pillow tight, and looks him square, her hand not letting go of his arm yet. 

Not wanting to ask about herself yet, she continues how she started,* You're here to...heal me? Did you give D'Grey what healed Devin too? Is that why he said he was his guardian angel? He said he was Devin's, but that Nadia had another one and -- oh, oh and Mrs. Brackner -- Lyndsea -- he said she had another one too -- which was odd when he said it, because he'd just given her a bezoar--unless you, gave him that bezoar. I don't understand; I don't understand...*She exhales, rubbing over her eyes as she finally lets him go, her voice shrinking with every word and finally giving out.*

 **Harper:** It's a normal process, that's what it actually does, pump from the heart and up against the force of gravity pushing it down, but it hasn't been needing to do that given that you've been laying down; much easier for the blood to pump then. Your body collapsing is it trying to save itself, to get blood in the brain by getting you horizontal again...*Details and facts were something that Angel took refuge in and it was the only aspect of the man that Harper could immediately fall back into. And given that he was almost certainly being listened to if not watched, it was something that could help. 

Or better put, something that would not worsen. He helped her onto the seat again, surprised as she kept a hold on his arm for longer than he thought was necessary but still she did not let him go until she had been done talking and by then his breath had been all but stolen at the mention of his wife. After a few more seconds of silence, he conjured a bottle of water instead, eyeing the glass of it with no pleasure, and held it out for her instead.* Olivier's actions these past few weeks have been of his own making. 

*And that was factually correct. He decided to help Nadia, Devin and Lyndsea himself even if the motives had never been entirely selfless.* I helped Nadia yes...as best as I could. *He looked down at the ground for a moment, knowing he could never forgive himself for not helping her sooner, and knowing that he was as much to blame for her misery as he was for her safety.* As I will help you...in any way a dead man can. *This character trait was a more challenging to get into, the cowardly part of Angel, the broken part.* I will be quite frank with you Ms. Simmons, the Death Eaters have faked your death so that the outside world will never come looking for you.

 **Eliza:** *The facts of her condition made a little more sense this time. At least, she was no longer picturing microscopic anti-gravity machines in her bloodstream, so she counts this in the "plus" column. She fidgets with her pillow case watching him, finger pushing the old fabric back and forth, nose burrowed on top as if she could force it to smell of home. Taking the bottle slowly, she unscrews and sips shallow, afraid she might just spit it back up again. She stiffens at the first statement, understanding immediately, and unable to help a shiver of fear.* His own making. So...you aren't working with him, and if you're not working with him... 

*Shrinking back in the chair, she shivers, lifting both legs tiredly to wrap around the bottom of her pillow now too and squeezing with everything she has to stay steady. Then he was helping the Death Eaters, she meant, but there was something -- something in his eyes, something she couldn't help but trust. Oh, but wasn't that always her - a small voice in her mind snips - trusting any strange man who shows her an inch of kindness. She screws the cap back on, and is about to snap, when he speaks again and her head darts up.* Can't 'of done. 

*It's a breathless, wide-eyed exhale. The frank statement was..impossible, it was impossible.* No, no - they can't have, I can't be ... okay, I am right, here. *Her chin juts, nodding with her certainty, and she has yet to blink though her voice wavers with emotion.* I'm here, I'm not dead. And you're not either. You're right there. Don't say that, don't -- that's letting them win, that is, and I won't. So stop that. *He was looking at the ground, and she didn't want him to do that, she wanted him to -- she needed to look at his eyes. They were familiar to her.* 

And any way, *she lifts her chin again, breathless, but prim,* I can't be, because my friends need me. Okay? Rory finally told me that he loved me, he can't think I'm dead now. *She was babbling, forgetting that Angel couldn't know any of them, couldn't know any of this -- she squeezes the pillow harder, still babbling,* And Devin is trying to help Nadia and he was already accusing half the bloody Ministry and Irene, we have a date at the hair salon on the twelfth, and do you know how long it takes to get into Michelle Rose for a hair appointment? Ages, okay, we basically had to sell our souls to get in there and ask my mother and I don't like, asking my mother, okay, so that is not going to go to waste!  And my father is in town and no Death Eater is going to keep me from finally getting to know, him, especially if he keeps snogging my mother and then there's, there's Al, oh God, Al ... 

*She freezes, her voice giving out again and her eyes shut, as she buries them in the pillow. She's shivering, she realizes, despite the sweats and despite the pillow, despite how warm Angel was crouched near her chair. Voice still choked, she realizes she's talking again before the words process in her mind.* I can't -- you don't understand, he can't, he'll lose his mind, there's so much--he's lost too much already and I know, that you don't know any of these people aside from Nadia and what I said before might sound silly, like just -- silly teenage girl things and dreams, but Alcott isn't that -- Alcott needs me, okay, and there's no bloody way in hell he's going to believe I'm dead whatever they did. Not again, not after everything... He'll kill them, he'll rip them apart. 

*She rubs tears away from her eyes, angry at them and glaring, even though it wasn't Angel in that moment she was angry with.*  This can't happen to him again, especially not as a lie! They took his father, I swore I wouldn't leave him -- and I need him too. Please, Angel. 

 **Harper:** *The brief resemblance between Eliza and Nadia, the fierce way in which they attested the humanity of a man never known to them before, almost made him smile. It was the only thing in her ramble worth smiling about.* I died a long time ago girl, save your breath and focus on yourself. You'll need to now more than ever, you first and foremost. 

*The rest was sadness, made even sadder by the mere existence of hope. Good, it was good of her to cling on to it, the same way he clung to the ring on his finger and the tube of dried lipstick in his breast pocket. Let it be a demonstration of his strength that he did not weep at the mention of Alcott. Let it be a testament of the depth of his sorrow that tears did not even begin to gather in his eyes. The sadness instead settled in his bones, curled around his heart and made it ice, compressing his lungs into believing they would never again know the sweet caress of air until it became a part of him. 

Because the truth was, he hadn't breathed properly in almost a decade now, and he was breathing less now. 

Alcott losing someone else, in another lie; just the thought of his boy in further pain hurt him more than spiked maces or barbed whips ever could.* I'm sorry. *He spoke out finally without breaking his gaze from hers. In that moment, he was apologizing for many things. Sorry she was here, sorry her family and friends had to suffer, sorry that he could do very little at the present moment, but most of all he was sorry he hadn't killed Gustav when he had the chance. Sparing one man had cost the life of many others.* 

They want to recruit you, Ms. Simmons- you didn't wake up in a dungeon cot absent memories, you woke up here. They will extend you an invitation, take it. *It was venom in his mouth, but the alternative was more bitter. If he could be able to explain his reasoning, he would not feel so cowardly but he couldn't, and so he lived with it.* Don't make the same mistake I did in assuming there's only two clear cut options: refusing them or surrendering to them. 

*He should have insisted they place her in his room, but the willingness would have made Gustav suspicious. Still, these half truths and hints weren't cutting it. How did he tell her there was a third option? How did he tell her that she should do what he failed and fake loyalty, to spare herself the pain? How did he tell her that she was in a unique position to gain their trust and like Nadia, undercut their entire operation by a crucial amount? How did he tell her he would do anything in his power to help her out of here, but that ultimately the first person that was going to get her out of here would have to be herself? 

How could he do all that while he pretended to lie broken, surrendered, defeated, unable to speak one safe word to her? His eyes could very well be the mirror to his soul but he'd rather now they were a nice chalkboard or book that she could read out of. She could do nothing of the sort, so Harper just had to hope that she could come to all these conclusions herself and pray to a God he wasn't sure about that it would not take long. He extended his hand again, just a second ago empty, to give her a potion.* Drink this, it's replenishes the nutrients and iron in your system.

 **Eliza:** *It cut her breath in half, or maybe two thirds or some other scientific measure she wasn't sure about that he would say at this point--the way he spoke. First, advice given as a blunt fact that he believed but she couldn't bring herself too with a chastisement attached, 'girl', like she wasn't worthy of a name right then. Angel couldn't be his name either, she realized without tearing her eyes away, even as she rubbed under them to pull away tears. They did this to him, that's what he meant; that's why he was apologizing, and it was the small "i'm sorry" that sounded wrenched from his chest that hurt worst.*  But I can't do that. 

*A quiet exhale bursts from her bitten lips. Eliza leans towards him, confused, hurt, anxious and breathless -- above all breathless. Honestly,* Don't you see, I--I can't, I'm not "me first and foremost", I've never been. Alcott-- he is my best, friend. And that might not mean anything to them but it -- it means something to you, doesn't it? 

*That was folly, because his face hadn't flickered and the quiet 'i'm sorry', the one that hurt so damn badly -- it wasn't just about Alcott, but she wanted it to be true. She wanted something she'd said to have -meant- something to this man. And that's what they want, isn't it? That's what Devin said, that they would pressure everyone with a remotely pureblood name - make them think they could keep themselves or their loved ones safe if they just put themselves first -- and I won't. 

*Her tears were drying at the thought even as fear sets in her bones, crawling up her spine under her skin. If there weren't only two options, she thinks, then he meant there was a third -- if it wasn't between refusal and surrender, what was the third? Pretending to refuse, stalling for time? Or pretending to surrender? She almost asks aloud, when she realizes -- this might be 'her' room, but it wasn't a safe one. Not to talk. That was worse than the gigantic bed. Where could she be safe to speak? 

She tries to ask that with her eyes, searching his, and then is sidetracked when he offers her the potion. She takes it, just to look at it, eyes passing over the gold band on his finger and pressing her thumb down on the cork. Muttering,* You sound like them. Dev and Al, that's all they would do -- give me a potion, tell me I'm being 'emotional' or mothering or something. 

*She takes the potion, because Alcott would want her too she thinks -- and because if she wanted him to trust her, then she was going to have to trust him a bit -- and then flicks her gaze from his ring to his eyes again. His stare was deeper than hers, she realized; she wasn't the only one trying to tell something without speaking it. But staring into his gaze she saw sadness, sadness she felt viscerally in her skin and she was riveted to it, chilled even as she feels warmth from the vial spread to her finger-tips.* 

D'Grey, he said someone woke him up--but Mrs. Brackner, she still didn't want to trust him, and while I don't blame her it -- it seemed harsh, to me, because it seemed to me he was giving us little clues. *Like she thought Angel was now, she meant, like she wanted him to do if he couldn't speak freely. Her chin lifts.* The same mistake. *She says quietly.* 

You don't really believe it was a mistake to stand up to them? Would your wife think it was? *She wanted to challenge him, because she didn't want to be told to give in to the death eaters, she didn't want to be told what to do at all. Just call me Eliza. I have this strange feeling I know you and it's disconcerting to be addressed as if I'm ten years older than I am. *Even quieter, as she lets the vial fall onto her lap.* I'm only sixteen. *It was breathless again.* And they did this to you first? How...how long? 

 **Harper:** *No, Nadia hadn't been that way either, not from the moment she woke up and not until her very last second in here. Fighting for people she didn't remember, for men she'd only met once, for the good of...goodness. It seemed Eliza was woven from the same thread, but a much more focused one.* What makes you think it means anything to me? 

*He managed to speak out, knowing fully well it meant more than the world to him but could she possibly know or guess at that? He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear thoughts before speaking again when she took the potion.* I believe in priorities. Have you ever heard of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? It's a pyramid of a human's needs, and the base, the foundation for it is impossible to build without a solid foundation, is the physiological: health, food, rest. We'll work on those first, then move up the pyramid. 

*He stood again, mostly needing to stretch his knees before they locked in and turned to pick up the small platter of fruit he had brought with him and set aside; fruit was high on natural glucose which she could use right then. It was a good thing he was turned when she brought up Lyndsi, otherwise his hard work to keep composure would have crumbled as sure as his face might have just to be reminded of that night and how he almost lost her, and to hear her being referred to as Mrs. Brackner when she had not had a husband in near a decade. He turned around and walked back to Eliza, holding her gaze as she spoke of clues purposefully. 

He couldn't keep his gaze for too long though, especially at her question. His thumb brushed the ring before he answered quite honestly.* I don't regret it, but I don't know if I'd do it again knowing what I know now. My wife...*he swallows* was always proud of me no matter what I did. *He had to draw up his own chair and sit on it before he collapsed.* Eliza then. *He nodded, and this time when he held out his hand, it was for her to shake.* 3 years, a few months.

 **Eliza:** I don't know. *Her words were small and quiet, even though his defensive question told her she was right. It did mean something to him. Maybe it was just the idea of someone fighting for friendship -- maybe she was reminding him of some specific friend of his, as surely as he was for her. Right now, in fact.* Things like that, I suppose. I have heard of that hierarchy, because Al used to quote it when he was accusing me of being mothering and nagging him to get his homework done. *Her lips flick up sadly, lost to memories a moment and then shuddering as she thinks what he'd be saying now. Still small,* He won't be focused on physiological needs -or- his homework now I expect. *She reached for the fruit platter, instinctively reaching for an apple -- and trying to joke, trying to think like Alcott would, says a bit lighter,* No offense, but I'd really like to keep the doctor away at least -one- of these days. *As she ate the apple, she realized how weak her mouth was -- how hard the skin seemed to be, and rubs her other hand over sore lips, trying not to think about it. Angel looked at her, about the clues - like he seemed to get it, but she didn't understand what after that was meant to be a clue, and her brain hurt already-- could a brain hurt? Well, her head was pounding. Her gaze follows his finger over his ring and she thinks she gets that -- he wanted comfort, and so she nods, even if she only barely understands.* You must miss her. *She guesses, and then sits up straighter in surprise as he held a hand out to her. The gesture was so basic, it surprises her, and she's thrilled by it - thrilled by the normalcy in this extremely odd and heart-wrenching situation. Then her eyes widen, and she forgets again to drop his hand at his answer.* Three years? You've been here for three -years-? *She's searching his gaze if only to not be sidetracked by the scars on his wrist that she could see now, like the ones on his cheek and neck. Breathless,* Why? Why on earth-- why did they -- why do they want...me? *She asks that quiet and all else seems to go out of her as she takes her hand back, embarrassed, embarrassed to even consider asking about herself now even if that's what he...told her to do. He'd just said he'd been there for three years! At most it had been four days for her, and she wasn't convinced that Prophet was right about anything anyways; she couldn't be selfish! But she...did want to know. Why her?* 

 **Harper:** *Of course he did, his boy was smart, always been smart. Always. And Maslow's law was basically common knowledge now, right? It's used universally in marketing, speech, psychology- right well...off topic he supposed. He cleared his throat and then nodded, trying not to think too hard about Eliza being right because she most definitely was. She knew Alcott better than he did; Harper still imagined him as a six year old boy half of the time though that was slowly becoming less and less the case.* I'm not a doctor, I'm just smart. *He nodded silently, pursing his lips together and letting that be answer enough to her other question as well. He did, he missed them both. 

He sighed as Eliza misunderstood him, or rather he misunderstood her. His mind had been ravaged with images of torture, the torture he was so frightened she might endure, that he had answered for that time period instead. Yet Eliza knew nothing of torture, she was 16 who just had her boyfriend tell her he loved her (Harper remembered doing that himself two decades ago; he hadn't told as much as rambled it out) and who could not fathom the extent of these people's evil.*

 I've been here for nearly 10 years...it was 3 before I gave in. *Why her? Because she had the unfortunate luck to be the object of a sick boy's desire, a boy who took too much after his uncle.* You're part of one of the most powerful families in England...and you'll find some of these people are no strangers to you.

 **Eliza:** Ten-?! *And her voice gave out. She fell to a hush. Ten years...Nadia had been gone weeks only, and Eliza knew well how make-up hid bruises. She was amnesiac, and she'd stabbed Al, and--suddenly Eliza was very frightened of Angel. Though he'd not changed in those thirty seconds, he was certain to have changed in a decade. And three years before he gave in? Three years of...but she was afraid to ask. Heart hammering and head spinning, she asks in a small way,* What changed at the end of those three years? 

*Eliza realizes the question was barmy, for if she were too frightened to think of the three years--why ask for what had to be the worst? But she didn't care, she wanted it straight...but not drawn out. Purgatory was a fate worse than hell. And then her eyes widen, insulted by the fact (though that wasn't his fault) and she draws herself up abrupt.*

 Who? Who is it? Besides you. I know why I think I know you now--*breathlessly,* it's because you recognized me. You didn't look at me--you're not looking at me like I'm a stranger. Whether that's because you're empathetic, or I remind you of someone, or you've seen my picture--I don't know, but, *her lungs were giving out again, and she wipes under her eyes to forestall tears, then crashes her teeth into the apple. Chews. Swallows. Gasps, then finishes quieter,* But who is it I'll recognize?

 **Harper:** They hit me where I hurt most. *He wouldn't elaborate any more than that, but whether it was only for her best interest, he couldn't be too sure but it was certainly in majority for her sake. She was proving to be smart though, she would realize the meaning the same as she picked up on his knowledge of her. He didn't prove her wrong or right verbally, instead he answered the other question.* Roswell.

 **Eliza:** *That...felt like he'd just taken a bat to her lungs, but she had asked for it. Her knuckles went white, and she dropped her eyes to the ground. Nodding slowly, her chin perched on her pillow, she darts her gaze back up to ask quietly--feeling compelled, and dreading the answer,* Is your wife all right?

 *She stiffens again at his quiet appraisal. And Merlin, she didn't want to think what caused those scars, on his wrists, on his face, but she couldn't help the one question.* Did...did they cut your neck? 

*The red line on his throat was haunting her. A hand leaps from her knees to rub her own, and then her face hardens and her eyes close. Curious the way he phrased that, she thinks. If it was Sam--and she knew it was Sam, she'd known it was Sam since she opened her eyes in a strange bed--he could have said his first name. Unless it was more than one...* 

Did you change me? *Her eyes fly open, and her voice quavers.* I was in a hospital gown, did you--....*Her breath gives out again, so she returns to the apple and stares at him she doesn't blink.*

 **Harper:** She's alive. *He nodded, knowing that wasn't exactly the question but it was the only thing he could say because "all right" was too big a conclusion to make.* Yes. *They had done just that and watched the blood coat his neck in an eerily uniform way, heard him choke as he tried in vain not to swallow any of it, and then closed the wound and cleared his airway before he died. Again, details too harsh and with no purpose to them if he did utter them again.* Yes, with a spell. *He lifted his hand and snapped to show her- his white shirt turned into a gray sweater, faster than a blink of an eye.* Instantly. I apologize for invading your personal space; I've been healing you since you were brought in, you were in bad shape so I've been close by. *Keeping Roswell away by whatever means he could, telling Gustav she shouldn't be disturbed, she shouldn't be touched, that she needed rest to restore herself and even in the brief disbelief Gustav had acquiesced and forbade everyone, including his own nephew, from going inside; now that she was awake however, he could do very little to keep that boy away.*

 **Eliza:** *She nods, though she's shivering at the answer. Alive? Her head was swimming (or were those her eyes?). Was that going to be her? Would someone ask her someday who had been her boyfriend--if he was all right, and all she could truthfully say was that Rory was alive, on a choked-close throat? A throat that had once been sliced open, he answered factually again and she tries not to flinch, tries not to imagine it--well, hell, she couldn't stop herself from imagining it, but it was only a thin, red line now. Were each of his scars like that? Sam couldn't....couldn't want her scarred like that, he couldn't want to--why did he want to hurt her?! But that question changes on it's way out into,* Has it really been four days? *She's breathing easier now, glad to see the spell and understand, and she lowers her pillow a tad bit, feet unclenched.* Thank you. 

*Quietly,* You...don't need to apologize for--I mean it sounds like you saved my life, so... *But saved her life for what? Was she going to be hurt like that? This explained why he knew her, if he'd been healing her for days...and the thought makes her cold. She wanted to know him. She wanted to think that someone here knew-her-, the real her, not this obituary-holding Eliza-Culpeper that they thought would use those bloody spells. Rubbing over tired eyes again to forestall more tears, her breath quick and heavy she swallows the rest of the apple and finally chokes out,* Where -am- I? Sam...he needs help, I told him that--bleeding hell I told his mother that and not--not the kind of help that Al thought I meant, though now I really can't say I mind his knocking him flat. *She huffed for a second. And then asks really quietly,* I just don't understand...how can you hurt someone you say you love? He wasn't...he wasn't violent, how can he be a Death Eater? He's sixteen--I'm only sixteen!

 **Harper:** *He nodded at her question. Four full days since Gina had delivered her here most unceremoniously; it was plain to him the woman did not care if Eliza died, probably hoped for it in fact. Eliza's thank you didn't belong here, she shouldn't be grateful for anyone or anything in this place, but he didn't say that out loud. Angel would have, he had told Nadia the same or at least similar, but he couldn't be that man anymore.* I can't tell you where we are...quite literally, cannot. Anyone who knows the exact location has a gag spell on them. Can't say. *He pursed his lips together as the panic he had been originally expecting since he said the name Roswell finally shone through. A good thing he did too, because the thought of his son punching the Roswell brat in the face would have made him laugh.* I don't claim to know people, I've always been horrible with people, but it seems to me he's...beyond help, Eliza. *He couldn't say anything more; he might be punished just for saying that much already.* Anyone can be taught to be violent, at any age.

 **Eliza:** *She was close to hyperventilating, even as the calm continuous facts --no, not facts, just statements, Angel just sounds like nearly everything he says was a fact. Putting her hand over her heart to try and quiet it she thinks, he is smart, for now she can feel his point about blood pushing into her head too literally. Her eyes were dry only as she was stuck, in hurt and shock. She bites her lip, hating that thought, rejecting it viscerally--* I can't. I can't hurt anyone, I won't even use a bit when I ride horses--this isn't me! *Bursting out, as it occurs to her,* Oh God...and Al...he'll blame himself if he ever...if Sam...*And then she just burrows her head in her pillow, waiting for breath to return to her.*

 **Harper:** *He brought his chair closer, leaning in, though hesitant to touch her, even if what he wanted to do was offer some sort of comfort to Eliza. Pursing his lips together as she burrows her head in the pillow, he only looks on in brief surprise that she was also suffering for her friend's, Alcott's, sake. He couldn't stop himself from the words that came out of his mouth.* You really love him, your friend...you've mentioned him no less than 4 times already. *He swallowed, reprimanding himself for saying as much as that, so he sought to make it tie in.* Good. Hold on to that, Eliza...hold on to your life.

 **Eliza:** *She stills at that, surprised to even have it questioned--at least before she remembered he didn't really know her, didn't know Alcott. Pressing her nose into her palm hard to chase away a stinging, she nods, suddenly soft.* That's why. *She sniffles again, rubs across her nose and sits up, realizing he'd moved closer and she leans towards him.* That's why, I keep mentioning them--I...I don't want to forget. I'm sorry, I know you don't know them...but I can't forget them. Nadia...she forgot. *Her heart was aching, and she tucks her knees under her pillow, closer to him and looking at his ring.* You haven't though. *God, she wanted to breathe, she wanted her heart to slow. So she kept talking, still soft, ignoring how raw her voice was.* Alcott...it's Alcott Brackner, by the way, if this is a pureblood bastion...you probably know that name...*She rubs her eyes again, then darts up to hold his gaze.* He's the only person who've never left me. And frankly, they already...want him too. He's furious. He should be, I am, we all are...and he's....he's been hurt. And I hate it, because I've...never known a better guy. He's like my brother, of course I love him.

 **Harper:** *The guilt tugged at his heart again as she spoke of Nadia. He nodded, realizing he wasn't prepared to divulge his participation in that. Harper looked up at Eliza again as she spoke to him directly, his own memories. No, he had not forgotten. And he had not forgotten his name.* I'm familiar with it, yes. *What she spoke was in no way happy; she spoke of Alcott being wanted here (and he knew that already), spoke of him being hurt and angry but she was speaking of him and though it was foolish of Harper to think this brought him any closer to his son, he thought it anyways.* They will use him against you. *It was a miracle he was speaking, a miracle his throat hadn't closed up.* Him, your boyfriend, your parents...they'll threaten them, might even hurt him.

 **Eliza:** *The blase way that he said that, that he knew the name made her think that she was being silly about it. And then she wondered how many names would she know. Devin had been rattling the families off--she could know for certain. She felt like she was through a looking glass, and spins over her shoulder to look at the standing glass. She swallows, staring at the unmade up girl, the lopsided curls she'd tossed and ruined, her mother's earrings. Her palm caresses her throat, and then tears start to pearl in her eyes as Angel continued. She nods, because she understands, and wonders if he's warning her for any particular reason and watches her own cheeks flush.* Why? *Her voice cracks and she spins to him, hardly realizing how close she was again, eyes wide and locked on his.* What offer--what do they want, why would they--Al's pureblood! And he's...the best...I don't--so I shouldn't talk about him? How can I hang on to them if I don't? Why...-why-? This...*She rubs at her forehead and mutters,* I mean it, you know. Alcott won't believe it--and he -can- rip them apart. I just...I just don't want him to, not after everything he just...God...he, *she chuckles, mad, teary and rubs under her nose now.* Why would they want to hurt someone who kept his teddy bear? He'd kill me, if he knew I said that but--it's true. And that obituary is backwards--he's the compassionate one, he...he takes care of a whole herd of hippogriffs, and his crup, his Ma named it Satan because he's as much a devil as Al is...this just--this isn't right, this isn't--I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this. Any of it. Angel, I want to go home.

 **Harper:** They want you to join them Eliza, to become a death eater. *He explained softly, stating the obvious for he had run out of things he -could- say.* Hold on to them in silence. *As I do, he wanted to say. As I've had to, for all these years. Throat closing as she continued to give details of his family, he looked down, and nearly begged her to stop, to stop talking, that he could suffer through much but this was near unbearable. Instead he swallowed and looked up at her once more.* Then find a way. Figure out what you need to do to get home, and stick to it, no second thoughts. Cause I can't take you home.

 **Eliza:** *He looked away this time and it confuses her. She wasn't sure what she'd said differently--she really didn't want to hurt him, but how could she have done that? She falls silent, trying to get the tears to go away in her own eyes and swallows hard, hot air that tickles her throat, when he refuses her request. She knew he would...but she'd had to ask. Looking at him again, steadily now, she takes a long, deep breath on weak lungs. Then she nods.* All right. *It sounds differently, this time. Her voice is harder. If he wouldn't help her...she'd help herself. But she wouldn't just do that. She didn't know what happened to him--except his throat was slit and he hasn't seen his wife in almost a decade and he was hurt, and he saved her life. So she echoes herself,* All right, *and then she leans forwards all the way now and hugs him, tightly.*

 **Harper:** *He saw it, the look in her eye that acknowledged that she was alone in this and if she herself believed it then whoever was listening in would believe it too; that Harper had no intentions in helping her out. Yet in his own way, he was helping her even now, just not in a way she hoped or wanted but that was necessary either way. It would just have to do for right now.* What are you...*Her next action confused him and for several moments he just sat there, unmoving, and perplexed. It was with hesitance that he raised his own arms and hugged her back and he was ashamed to admit that he took more comfort than he could give.* I'm beginning to understand why you and Nadia are friends.

 

{.}

"Satan--!"

The exclamation turns to a sigh of appreciation for it's very familiarity before Lyndsea can even get her hands to her hips. When they reach, she's crinkling ebony silk between bare fingernails. No, not ebony (she shakes her head as the damn crup skirts around the short gown), black. Ebony was a word to make things pretty. There was nothing attractive about this day. It was crisp, clear and the snow had melted as if in mockery, but Lyndsea would keep her chin high. 

"Here boy," Alcott's voice was sad as he crouches to the excitable little beast, but he chuckles as Satan nearly collides with his knee. His throat raw and dry, she's still glad of the lighter sound. Her boy was in black too, a suit from Tappleys that she'd only finished taking hems out of ten minutes ago.

"Woah, calm down." Alcott's smile is genuine as a pug nose smashes against his side, a look of light that flashes, flares and fades in and instant. Lyndsi clung to it, the image precious and close to her heart.

The pup (well, he wasn’t such a pup anymore, anymore than Alcott was a boy) still only jumped again. Alcott arches his eyebrow, “What’s gotten into you?” 

For a moment, Lyndsea thinks that it must be Eliza. Satan had scared her too, when she first met him at nine (or was it ten? she’d lost count of how many different way she had tried to comfort Al) -- until the tiny, perfect doll walked up to him, crouched down and gave the demon a big sloppy kiss of her own.

Lyndsea shuts her gaze off. Today they put that gorgeous baby girl in the ground. It wasn’t enough not to think, it wasn’t enough not to feel...and she couldn’t go there, not again. Alcott needed her, Mary needed her. Lyndsea had let everyone down once (twice, God, so many more times) -- she wasn’t doing it now. It wasn’t about the fact she couldn’t think of the right thing to say. It was just being there, that was the difference.

“What’s that? You want me to follow?” Alcott chuckles, patting his dog’s head again. He drags his sleeve up and glances at his watch. Calculates how many more minutes he needs to put in before they need to leave without raising too many eyebrows. Lyndsea thinks, he never wanted to go, could put it off endlessly.

“So she’s not surprised when she hears, “All right, if we’re fast -- down, boy, stop, you’re scaring Ma.” 

“I’m not scared,” she says, inconsequentially, though the truth too much the opposite. Not of Satan, no, not of the devilish little beast she’d come to ... okay, tolerate, like in her own way (and love whenever Alcott was at school, whenever Al was anywhere but home)...but scared, of what might have gotten into him. 

They're walking, shoulders close but not quite touching, her one step behind him, not because she's afraid or because he's protecting her but simply because she can be. That dog had gotten...well, Lyndsea didn’t know how to put it, but she wondered -- Alcott had told her a week (a lifetime) ago that he could smell differences between people -- between bloodtype and gender -- and she thinks, perhaps Satan understood Alcott had something in common with him.

When had the windows frosted over? The day seemed destined to be chilled, bitter ... and bright. 

Then she freezes, as there’s a bark -- a curse -- “Fuck” / “Al” -- Sorry Ma -- and she stills near the door. There was glass on the floor that Satan stopped just at the edge of and Alcott already hurried towards. Now the devil was sitting with it’s tail between it’s legs, like it was sorry, but the puffy chin lifted.

“Alcott, wait.” 

“Did I do this?” He asked rubbing immediately at his forehead. There was a light pink mark there, and she traps breath in her throat. Her eyes still trail around the case and she shakes her head fervently, trying not to recall. 

“Ma, did I do this?” 

Her son crouches down to the shards pieces, the case he’d knocked over (he hadn’t meant to), his hand pausing over a broken, gold frame. Fingers ghost over the scrap of a photo, scramble over his father’s face while she pleads, “I didn’t know you’d come in here too, it’s fine, we’ll clean it later --,” 

“I didn’t know I did either.” 

There’s a red indent from his lip where he bites down. Al glances. There’s a scar, faded white with age now, that crosses two of the knuckles on his right hand. His fingers are drumming steadily against his thigh as he crouches, a product of pent up energy that has no escape route, and he’s staring, staring, staring at the line across his skin.

He’s calm now, and she thinks so is she -- though she hasn’t quite erased the memory of the previous evening, the rage -- Max leaping between them when she’d yanked the bottle away from her son and stood riveted watching his eyes change color. 

It hadn’t started that way. When she’d first walked in, he’d just been sitting on the edge of a leather couch.  Staring, staring and she had no idea what to say. What could she have said for such a loss? Eliza had been there for him, for her, for all of their tiny, dysfunctional family since they’d lost Harper. Alcott had looked at her as a sister and sometimes, when Lyndsea was feeling open enough she admitted, she was a daughter to her too. There was nothing to say, and they hadn’t insulted each other for trying. 

Instead she’d drank her wine glass and read her book, her hand screwed round Alcott’s wrist. He downed the flask and stared, and she pretended he wasn’t looking at the same line for two hours.  And for a while, there was a comfort there, one so wonderful she’d been enthralled by every moment of it. The silence was filled instead by a constant stream of thoughts that she knew grew louder and all the more difficult to ignore as the sun begins its slow ascent into morning.

He got up, started walking, saying he was thinking what he’d say at the memorial, asking his mother where a few pictures were that he thought she’d have wanted. There was something tearing at his ribcage judging by the way he kept slapping at it, something that wants to rip at him from the inside out as he tries to see through the blackening smoke.

And then he’d snapped. Alcott had been huffing, hissing, fuming, pacing -- but no words could leave his lips for the gasps of breath. Then nothing could leave him for flailing (breaking) limbs that would break everything in his path, because if he broke it, then at least he was the one to make him lose it. 

He gives himself over to the sensations sparking through his body, jolts of electricity firing at his nerve endings. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the overwhelming feeling that everything is coming to an end. Barely takes a moment to marvel that apologies and regrets taste like iron and salt in his throat until he choked out those words that had made her run to him, lock her arms around him as if a mother’s arms could still make it all better, “I should have saved her.” 

The floor is cool against his cheek and the sunrise fractures into a million crystals through the window when he wakes. 

That morning, he’d apologized profusely, said he wasn’t even quite sure what happened: but he saw the mess, the broken bottle, the bruises on her arms. Lyndsi kissed his forehead, told him it was all right: at least she could give her son that. All Lyndsea said was that it seemed a pretty simple equation to her, a brow arched: lycanthropy plus alcohol plus rage and grief. Perhaps he should subtract the alcohol, she’d suggested. Her son laughed. Then said that wasn’t the part he wanted to subtract, and pulled her in for a hug.  It was a memory she thought she’d cherish forever -- how strange was that?  

Then he sought his uncle out to thank him. Watching the two of them embrace was another of those memories and she was glad for a moment to think at least they still had that -- still had each other.

They’d always have that.

“Al, we’ll clean later, it--“ 

“Ma.” 

He had that look as he stills again: the look of “some of the pieces from this picture seem missing, or out of focus.” He’s scrambling to gather them all together into something that makes sense. Lyndsea hisses. 

“There you two are -- oh.” Max stalls by her side, looking to her, back to the wreckage, and back to her. She can’t look at him: can’t look away from the broken pieces Alcott held. 

It was his father’s study -- the one of books (not the lab they both tended to avoid) -- and the scraps of wood were dangling from his outstretched fingers, a look of confusion slow in taking over Alcott’s face.  Lyndsea understands in a heartbeat; but it seems to take the rest of her time to catch up. 

“Al, mate,” Max starts towards him, a hand up, “I’m so sorry...” 

Alcott just shakes his head, waving his hand off. 

Max asks, “Was that...” 

“No,” Alcott said, like he wasn’t sure. And he’s right, but wrong, Lyndsea thinks. She’d put the wand their herself. Pulled it from Harper’s cold fingers, tucked it down the front of her dress, kept it close all night -- she hadn’t thought about that in ages. 

Max twists his neck and tilts his head. “You--it’s not your dad’s wand?” 

“No.” Lyndsea answers, quietly. Mother and son exchange a look of secrets. Of understanding. 

“Looks like his.” 

“It’s...not though.” There’s a tiny smile on Alcott’s lips that appears, one he doesn’t dare try to comprehend, even himself. 

Harper’d gone nowhere without his wand. She’d taken nearly as much pride in it: it was the first experiment she’d helped him complete. Well, perhaps he’d say “distract,” but only to tease her, and God -- all these thoughts that usually hurt were only making her smile widen farther and farther.

She thinks she understands why, and by Alcott’s next words, he understood too.

“So it’s okay, really, you ask me - I was meant to break it.” 

That was a funny way to put it, Lyndsea thinks, but she understands. Her son would go after these men, would recover his father’s wand and research -- well. She’d known that since she’d held him in the infirmary wing and forced him to come home with her.  If he was recovering his wand?

It meant there was a part of Harper still to find, and that was not a thought mother, son or brother, were capable of without small smiles. 

Max didn’t understand. When he said so, Alcott laughs. 

“Dad’s wand wasn’t cherry-wood.” 

“...yes it was,” 

The laugh transforms, by way of stifled choking, into a series of muffled, stricken moans - and then all he said was the simple, impossible fact that he remembered so goddamn fucking well.

“Sorry, you’re right, it was. But it was cherry and elm.” 

“...pardon?” Eyebrows snap into Max’s hair and it just makes Lyndsea chuckle too, equally as pained and glad as her son.

“They took his wand, didn’t they?” Alcott looks at Lyndsea without accusation and she says softly, “I didn’t know.”

But of course they must have. Of course the bastards would have taken it when they took the research clones and found someone eventually who could read it without being blinded (was that why they wanted him?).

“What are you--,” Max starts. He never gets the chance to finish. Al was too smug for that. 

“Cherry and elm?” Alcott echoes with a soft smile and then waves his hand over the mess, fixing some of it and patting Satan’s head again. 

Lyndsea just nods, thinking happily (because it had to be happily, because she couldn’t take more) of the day she’d drawn the tree with Harper and he proceeded to say what spell he was inventing. 

“Do you know,” Alcott asks her, not looking quite his uncle, “I believe it’s about time I make my own wand. Been growing the trees long enough, don’t you think?” 

He's almost calm now, the pain so under the surface, it’s almost a memory.  But it’s there, Alcott thinks as he looks at his mother and sees her understanding, his whole life is there, and he needs to fix it.  He needs to fix it before it caves in and takes him under, because endurance and resignation aren't going to prop him up too much longer.

“I quite agree,” Lyndsea says, a knife in her heart and a smile on her lips.

Alcott would win, she thinks. He’d find them, and for some reason -- it wasn’t a thought that scared her, only one that filled her with a since of relief.

Just one thing missing: no way in hell was she not being involved. 

 “I’ll be the judge when it’s done?” 

“Naturally.” Alcott chuckles, sad but...relaxed. So relaxed, it puts new air in her lungs. 

 And there’s a flick in his lips as he asks, “You in too, Uncle Max?”

Max looked even more bewildered now but -- as he shakes his head cutting out with a laugh, he seems to understand the gist. And anything that was going after the Death Eaters...he was more than find with. 

“All right. But how the fuck does one have two wand woods?”

All three Brackners arch their eyebrows. Max answers his own question as he helps Alcott up -- claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’d make a better wand, when they returned (and now it all came back, all the aching pain, but he kept it away from a moment longer because they were stubborn, all three of them, and together with a renewed purpose dammit). 

“My goddamn genius brother sometimes, I swear to God.” 

 

{.}

**Eliza:** *She wasn't surprised, that he simply sat there for many moments--if anything, she was more surprised that he manages to start hugging back, but she breaks into what felt like her first honest smile in...well, she supposed five days, when he did. Tears spot her eyes and cheeks, but she hangs on tighter when she realizes how hard he's gripping her. And it's odd. This didn't feel...like he was a stranger, not at all. Grateful to be clasped tighter she reciprocates, breaking the teary eyed smile only to sniffle, lifting her nose only so as not to ruin his sweater. His remark brightens her too, even as fear settles in her stomach; when would she see Nadia again? Any of them?* Yeah? *She asks softly, exhaling and still not letting go.* Nadia's pretty incredible. And...considering how I rambled, you should meet Al, and Rory, Dev-*she sniffles again, and draws her chin back down and just shuts her eyes to finish the thought.* But not here.*She whispers the last adding,* Whatever I do, I'm getting you out too. Everyone I can. I'm not first and foremost me.

 **Harper:** *He chuckled once, thinking yes, he understood completely. Nadia and Eliza were kindred spirits, perhaps a bit too alike. Eliza ran the chance of, in the middle of trying to save everyone else, failing to save herself. It was not something that you could tell someone to change, no matter how much he wished it so. She was going to get them out then? Nadia had said the same, though she had used the term "everyone" by itself while Eliza added everyone she could. Subtle difference, but subtle enough. Either way, it seemed the Roswells were doing a bang up job of ensuring their own demise by making enemies out of these two ladies.* I don't need rescuing. *He smiled briefly, knowing the true meaning behind that statement before he pulled away at last.* One thing at a time, hmm? Maslow's pyramid.

 **Eliza:** *Her eyebrows flick at his simple statement, but she laughs. It's tiny. Fractured breath through closed lips beneath dark, wet eyes, but it's a laugh and she clings to that instead as she pulls back too. Even though part of her wants to crawl into an embrace and disappear, she holds her chin higher and laughs again just on point.* 

Men. *She winks, tangling her fingers together and rubbing at her grandmother's ring as she's abruptly reminded it's there.* Always so quick to identify a damsel, but oh -- never need to be saved themselves. *She doesn't want to point out that he did as far as she could see--it seemed rude.*

 And Maslow's pyramid again too? Personally, if I'm being honest, sir, Mallory seemed to forget that one needs motivation to even breathe. Or fine, if you're going to say that's involuntary--*Al would, anyways,*--then motivation to get out of bed in the morning. *She cocks an eyebrow, trying to focus on the fact she's breathing more normally now.* Do you have that first then? *Her head tilts, as if it's an innocent question.* Because next I'd ask--well, fruit is nice, but, if I've been asleep for five days--I think I could eat a chicken by myself right now. 

 **Harper:** *Yes, he supposed that's what she thought, that it was his pride and his ego talking. He couldn't say the truth, that he was sure most of that had been beaten out of him ages ago. Lips twitching into half smiles as she kept going on with teases through her teary eyes.* I just wanted to make sure your stomach could break down and process the glucose- any nausea?

 **Eliza:** *Blinking, as frankly the only person she'd ever heard be so scientific about her recovery was her mother (well, when she wasn't praising her own chicken soup), she rubs away the tears and focuses.* Don't think so. Thought right now I'm so hungry I don't know I'd notice being nauseous--as that would get in the way of eating. *Because the human body worked that way, sure. It could for her, okay? Eliza lifts her chin and asks tentatively,* Are there kitchens? Can we go there? *She glances warily to the door; she hated that she might still be locked in. Even if in the scheme of what he was telling her it...was smaller.*

 **Harper:** *He shook his head.* No, I'm sorry, you can't leave the room. *And as much as it was Roswell keeping her in, Harper very well knew it was also to keep the other Death Eaters out. However, he didn't say that out loud; she was frightened enough already.* If you have anything specific you want to eat? The kitchens are stocked well enough, and food is just a snap away for me.

 **Eliza:** *Her breath quickens and eyelashes flick, but she doesn't say another word about it. She was beginning to realize the more questions she asked, the worse news got--but she didn't want to stop talking. Then she'd start thinking.* Anything? *Smiling at the thought she could have anything then, she half forces herself to keep it on her face as she thinks (she needs to stop thinking) there would be enough reasons soon to frown.* Well...when I was upset when I was little, my Mum used to make these...little lemon tarts? I don't suppose...? And chips. The more fried the better. 

*The smile was getting easier,* and I could eat dozens I think--and pasta? The bow tie kind. Only...garlic and butter only, no tomato sauce--I'm allergic to tomatoes. *Eliza doesn't notice she was ordering like it was hotel room service; she just goes on talking in the same breath.* My mother is too. She had a major reaction one summer in Italy I guess, when she was still in school, because they just looked too good to resist apparently--but, I'm "too young for the other Italy stories." 

*Oh, Mother. She'd gone with Hogwarts friends...so she couldn't even get this tale out of Aunt Ellen. Mum thought she hated her, she remembers abruptly, because of Dad. What if she never got to tell her she loved her again? Had she said it that evening--or in the hospital? Eliza reaches for the water bottle, drinking quickly, forcing her mind to think of nothing but swallowing. When she looks at Angel again, she thinks, she needs to know him better--and she needs to ask a question that she didn't fear the answer from. Clearing her throat she asks,* What's your favorite color? 

 **Harper:** *He smiled to see her hesitant one and then nodded.* Yeah, go ahead. *As she listed off the food items, he waved them to appear- transferring them from the kitchen here with a wave of his hand, plates appearing on a floating tray he had also conjured. The pasta proved to be a little more difficult, as he had to spell it to prepare before actually bringing it up, and at her story he smiled and nodded, remembering Mary's allergy and more pointedly the reaction. In reality, he could probably tell Eliza a few stories about her mother than even she knew, but he simply nodded instead, chuckling.* Um, never really thought of that before....*the pasta appeared now next to the lemon tarts and chips.* Probably green.

 **Eliza:** *As food appears :she smiles, surprised but pleased that lemon tarts actually were available. Going straight for one and laying the plate on top of her pillow as she sits cross-legged, it's not until her mouth is filled with succulent lemony sugar that she feels guilty about having dessert first. She'd had an apple! Rubbing the white powder from her lip (and then sucking on her thumb), she blinks as the pasta appears...cooked. In a pot.* Did you jus--did you cook it remotely? *Her gaze leaps to his, eyes round in awe.* I can't even make the instant when I -watch- it. *Eliza she was so glad for the distraction she could have cried. She wouldn't, though.* Green? How come? 

*She tilts her head, elaborating only briefly (and now devouring the fries, one after another),* I think a favorite color can tell a lot about a person. It seems benign, but if a man'll own up to liking pink and not insist you call it salmon, I actually think it means they're comfortable with being a man. And girls can like black or navy without being sad and emo. *She pauses, then allows,* and all right, I may be quoting "Teen Witch Weekly" but still, I think it made good points! *The chips were already gone--those went too fast. She colors slightly as she downs the rest of the water, then lifts one of the lemon tarts and asks,* Please have one? I'll feel less like a pig if I'm not the only one eating... 

*Her smile is soft and earnest and light--and she's not afraid to puppy-dog eye him either. With both hands on the plate, she adds,* Mine's peridot. My birthstone. Though I bought a color wheel recently because I never had any idea how many colors there were really--I mean, besides fuchsia--and well, I fell in love with...*licking her lip, trying to remember the ones she earmarked,* celadon blue, dark byzantium, mantis, catawba, and er--carmine. *It was a pretty color. Still holding the plate up, she adds softer,* These lemon tarts are just like Mum's, by the way...so, thank you. *She didn't know how he'd done that, and she wouldn't ask. She just enjoyed.*

 **Harper:** *He chuckles at her awe over the relatively simple task, at least it was for him.* I've had practice. *If he eliminated the need to go outside of his room, he didn't need to interact with many of the people who had tormented him in the dungeons before.* 

Dunno, I used to wear it a lot before, grew up with a lot of greenery. *He shrugged and then listened in amusement at her logic, nodding through it before he commented.* Any man that willingly admits to liking pink is just trying to impress a woman. And any man that even knows salmon is a color is either gay, married, or a pompous prick. Is that magazine still popular? 

*Bunch of bullshit, really, but as long as something makes money, it's kept in circulation. He took an offered lemon tart with a small thank you, taking a bite and then licking his lips.* Peridot, carmine- I've always believed in being as precise as you can but...it's just colors. *He chuckles and then nods* You're welcome.

 **Eliza:** *He had a nice laugh, she thinks, grateful for the sound. It made it easier to forget his scars--forget where she was.* Can you teach me? *If she was going to do this (and she wasn't sure what "this" was yet, exactly), couldn't Angel teaching her wandless magic...count? She didn't know where her wand was--and the only thing she knew without it was Occlumency...which she wanted to tell Angel, but didn't dare say aloud. Especially because she'd never had it tested by someone genuinely trying to hurt her...her mind was wandering again. Grateful with Angel's answer, she tries not to think how clearly he defines "before" and looks up at him; appraising, but this time not his scars or frown.* 

You should wear it. *She decides, nodding, using the fork (and a bit of stuck pasta) to gesture at him.* It'd look good on you--you have the right coloring, especially for a forest color... *Trailing off, she laughs abruptly at his remark.* Well, I'd quote someone, but Al's cousin is gay, so that...would just make your point. And I can't do his awesome Spanish accent anyways. Salmon looks good on him though. *She wiggles an eyebrow at him.* And it sounds a bit like you're talking from experience--did you try and impress your wife in pink? 

*She cocks her eyebrow, clearing her throat to try to keep the tone light, wanting to make him smile--not make him linger on the loss.* Relatively. I'm more usually a fan of Mademoiselle, but my roommate, Sienna, she gets it...*And now she was the one trying to smile at a memory without acknowledge an ache. Nodding,* Just colors. I figured favorites were the base part of a pyramid in the hierarchy of getting to know each other. *Her lips flick up, almost teasing as she takes another lemon tart. Still smiling she adds softer,* So if you're not a Healer...are you like. An inventor or something?  

 **Harper:** That spell specifically requires you to have knowledge of where exactly the kitchen and the food is located so at the present moment no, can't teach that one. *He tried not to dwell on the implication of that; that his knowledge of the kitchen here was too intimidate for comfort.* I've a limited wardrobe and I don't dress for style any longer. *Enrique's gay? Well, it was his only nephew that he knew of at least. Huh. He wondered briefly how Sandor felt about that before paying attention back to Eliza, and shaking his head with a smile.* 

I didn't need to wear pink to impress her just regular things felt about that before paying attention back to Eliza, and shaking his head with a smile* I didn't need to wear pink to impress her just regular things: magic carpet ride, trips around the world, obnoxious proposal, things like that. *He smiled and then stilled, before he cleared his throat.* But I really shouldn't talk about that...and I suppose. Inventor. I'm just not-very-affectionately known as the Genius.

 **Eliza:** But when I do know, you will? *Choosing with almost single-minded determination to focus on the positive thought that his answer hadn't been 'no' rather than anything else, she ignores what it is she might have to do to be granted access to the kitchens. Granted access...anywhere, actually; but there had to be a way out. Had to be. She'd make there be. Quieting as he dismissed the idea of dressing for style, she gives the open wardrobe a hesitant look; all those silks, satins and jewels...the pair of sweats she was in seemed to be the only thing left her...warm. Everything from the dresses to the vanity seemed to scream "style" (it screamed another word too, but she wouldn't think about that), so she looks back and says primly,* Then we just have to fix the limited part. A handsome man should be able to dress for style -and- be a genius inventor, I think. 

*For he was handsome, she could see it now she was closer. Underneath those scars were kind eyes, and the black bags under those were only evidence he cared about people and stayed up worrying about them. He was too thin (and he'd hardly touched the lemon tart yet, she noticed), he needed to shave his chin (then she thinks the stubble hid more scars) and his looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in years -- but his smile now, especially now he talked about his wife, was as warm as it's beams, crinkling around the edges of his eyes and making the protruded upturn in his lips disappear in dimples. He was handsome, she thinks, it was just hidden--just barely out of sight. 

With her own soft smile she nods,* Obnoxious?! How was it obnoxious? Magic carpet rides and...oh, wow. Well. I'm, *she lays her hand on her heart,* impressed.  *Face lit up, matter of fact,* I've always wanted to go on a magic carpet, float outside the Taj Mahal. And visit the pyramids, and Vienna--where Mozart was born? I love, music, so...Isle of White too--actually I have this whole plan for after grad...

*She cuts herself off as she realizes abruptly: would she even graduate now? She swallows tighter, eyes fluttering shut a brief moment, and when she continues, it's in a different vein entirely.* They...just call you the-Genius? Not even Angel? *Her brows furrow, shivers snaking around her spine and saying soft--but firm, determined.* 

Well, that's rude. Someone ought to teach them better manners. *Her chin lifts; she's aware of the understatement and irony, but pays it no mind as she says instead,* But it does seem to me you possess at least some genius-like qualities in spades so perhaps they're all just in too much awe to get past complimenting you. 

 **Harper:** If you wish, I would teach you, of course. *Not merely that simple spell, but other things, yet he couldn't say that out loud either, and a hint at that one would be caught too obvious.*

 **Eliza:** *The way he said that -- “of course,” like he was expecting to have to teach her other things made her smile tighten in curiosity. She only hoped it wasn’t due to the fact that he expected her to break into one of these people (and maybe that was too kind a word) who called him what they wished, threatened him, tore his throat, and ‘hurt him where he’d hurt most.’ Eliza had meant it; she wouldn’t become one of them. Oh, she couldn’t blame him if he had doubts after a decade -- no doubt other prisoners all started off saying they wouldn’t break -- but he didn’t know her after all, if Angel thought she would.

Then again, he could be thinking he wanted to teach her. That he wants to tutor her in spells of deception the like he taught Nadia (she wished she knew how to do the message-by-Nadia’s-magic-touch that Alcott had made so many jokes about); perhaps he wants her to know how to fight them...but this felt like wishful thinking and it was momentarily as painful as the unusual wave of pessimism.*

 **Harper:** *He smiled briefly as he thought Eliza began to sound like Lyndsi about clothing. Truthfully, not needing to dress for style ended up being a relief at the end, but because it had been part of who he was, of the person he was stripped away from being, it still felt like a loss.* You're kind to say so. 

 **Eliza:** I’m simply being accurate, *She says politely, though she’d made a point of saying it (as he seemed to guess). It showed in his gaze: he didn’t quite believe her. Most probably hadn’t called him handsome in years, she thinks sadly, and it was a shame. He was...in a way, and right that moment, considering he’d brought her lemon tarts, healed her, hugged her -- she thought he was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen. Eliza had learned a long time ago that silly message that gets plastered through every teen-witch and young-witch and children’s programme: beauty was on the inside. 

 **Harper:** *He smiles,* It was obnoxious because I got her favorite quidditch team involved as well as...majority of the press and half of England. *He shrugged but trying not to smile was fruitless by now. Whoever was listening would just make sure to mock him about it, and if by some chance it happened to be Gustav well...his crucios had lost their kick for Harper some time ago. 

The smile disappeared easy enough just to see hers hesitate. She was determined to hold on to the good, the happy aspects of her life, but he could see in her eyes she was finding it more and more difficult to do that.* Well, no, they call me what they wish. *Complimenting him. Ha! He laughed once and then shook his head.*

 **Eliza:** He only made her point for her as he continues with a crinkling smile that made her think of Kris Kringle, and elaborates a bit more on the proposal. She breaks into a wide grin,* Favorite quidditch team, the press, and half of England? I’d marry you on the spot for that. 

*The story resonates with her oddly. It was as though a tiny church bell rings on a frayed rope in an old, dusty hall of memory -- she hadn’t been to a church since the summer, in Paris with Sienna, touring ruins and cathedrals probably doesn’t count -- but something in her kept tugging on the rope, like she knew it. Not because of a teen magazine, not because of some fairytale -- but -knew- it. Her eyebrows smash over her nose. 

Quidditch team proposals were common in books of course. As for the press, perhaps his wife was famous (explains how he could get in touch with a Quidditch team, though as she looks at him she shivers with the simple reminders of how easily he conjured the pasta remotely, conjures furniture from thin air, heals patients from dying and she thinks -- this man could do most anything). The rope tugs in her mind again. Most anything. Genius, he said...

Eliza blinks and starts to say,* Was half of England at the wedding too?

*She never finishes, as the door opens behind him -- abrupt, rude, and she stops all together recognizing Sam.* 

 **Sam:** *Thank God she was awake, had been his first thought when his uncle reached him. The second was a curse; she wasn’t supposed to see Brackner first. Had he had his way, the man wouldn’t go near her again but his uncle insists he was useful in his way. As if he didn’t know why his uncle kept sending him -- first to Nadia, now to Eliza. It wasn’t though Sam doesn’t appreciate a good gloat, but it irks him. How did Uncle not understand that Eliza wasn’t for that?

Mollified as his eyes lay on her and she seems breathless at his appearance, he doesn’t look at Harper. He should be grateful for that, Sam thinks, churlish. He might have not heard their latest comments as he hurried down the hall, but “beyond help” echoes in his ears dangerously.* 

Oh it’s true -- thank merlin, you’re awake...

*He’s breathless too. Nervous, almost, like a kid on his birthday who isn’t sure which new toy to play with for fear of ruining them. Both hands rub at his cheeks and jaw in relief. Belief of her being all right, after the careless way Gina brought her in had been hard to reach, that irks him too, as he’d been so careful to bring the best of Eliza’s belongings for her, to set the room and she was left in such a shape she might still have died. Uncle had tries to reassure him, but he’d had Brackner for years -- Sam still needs to adjust.*

 **Eliza:** I am... *She stands, though her knees weren’t very friendly to the idea as she introduces them to an iron-will of want. Sam smiles at her, stepping in, and ice seems to shoot through veins Angel had only just warmed. Her gaze darts over his shoulder; the door was open.  A chestnut hall lit with little lanterns stares back at her. 

What would happen if she runs through it? Would Sam let her go, only for others to catch her down the hall and drag her back? If she could do the magic-touch messages she could ask Angel to knock him out -- but would they punish him in her stead? Would she be caught seconds from freedom and brought to the dungeons, dark cells she didn’t want to imagine?

No, she thinks ruefully as her eyes slip back to Sam. I would never get through the door.* Sam... *She tries to will her voice not to shake, mouth open in a small “oh” and eyes wide,* What the hell is going --

 **Sam:** Wait, sweetheart.*His hand comes up as she took a hesitant step towards him -- a gesture that he couldn’t help but reciprocate, multiplied a few dozen times, breath expanding his chest. Still smiling at her, for her reassurance was more important,* We should be alone.

*Sam mistakes the flicker in Eliza’s breath for desperate agreement, rather than what it was: disgust at the thought, an expression of the fact she wants nothing less.* Leave, *he says to Brackner, tone haughty. It’s not a request. 

When the man doesn’t move immediately, Sam finally turns to him, eyes narrow as he adds,* The boss wants to see you. *For a moment, it looks like Brackner might interject, and Sam’s hand darts to his waistband, hovers over the wand there. If he dared laid a hand on him, Uncle would kill him, Sam knew that. He wasn’t afraid of this broken shadow; he wasn’t even worthy of his pureblood name. Uncle took it though, so that right was wronged already. Sam smiles again, as he lets him pass, gracious with his hand extended behind him. 

Beyond help, was he? He would regret that remark. It’s only a shame that Sam wasn’t going to be there to see -- but, Eliza took precedence. He turns to her as the door closes in his wake. It locks. He’s about to speak but silences in surprise of her glare.* 

 **Eliza:** So, what are you like the big man now? 

{.}

There was a river that ran along the cemetery’s border, and somehow Sienna knew that was where she’d find him. His face was turned in the direction of the water, but she saw only an unfocused gaze lost on rippling water. The hypnotic statue of despair cuts her lungs to ribbons. Rory. Breathe becomes impossible, so she just stands gripping at a tree, scratching in the bark. 

Stalling a few feet back to give him distance, there’s a wariness in her chest, a pounding heart even as she wipes the remaining tears from her cheek. All throughout the service, she’d been good. As if she couldn’t feel the blinding pressure building in the tip of her nose, behind her eyes, choking in her throat. She swallowed it down, because Eliza deserved to be spoken of well, not just kindly. 

So she’d thanked God instead that for all her familiarity with hospitals, she had none of it with cemeteries. Grams death was the only one she remembered. Well, remembering was an overstatement. She remembered crying until she couldn’t see straight, her eyes swollen and her father’s shaking hands slipping as he tried to put the necklace on. Alcott took over. Alcott had held her hand through the entire parade, whispering insensitive jokes in her ear (asking if she needs another casserole, telling her to look on the bright side: she’d finally gotten that locket she’d craved from the first moment she laid eyes on the gold heart in her jewelry case). 

Alcott was the first to walk away from the grave today, a voice in her head comes warm and whiskey-laced and she wonders why it didn’t hurt more. That he didn’t ask if she was okay (but she likes that he wouldn’t insult her with that, as if she could be okay), that his hugging her(whispering that he wouldn’t let them get away with it) had felt for half an hour but was likely only thirty seconds and then turning away didn’t  _hurt_. Then she thinks she knows.  This wasn’t about her; this was about Eliza, and for Alcott…he was the one who needed the support. As close as they might have been, it had always been Eliza for Alcott. Loved her too much to fuck her, Sienna thinks and she chuckles under her breath. Dry and earnest, because truth hurt too much but God, did she love thinking of lines that Eliza would have said. 

Her chuckle makes Rory turn around, his feet shuffling for a second in weeds tall on the river bank and in that instant, she feels her heart give out. His face was twisted up, mouth parted slightly. Starts to ask a question she probably doesn’t want to hear the answer to, and then he shakes his head half an inch and she lets it go. 

“You did a good job, you know.” And then answering her questioning eyebrow, “The — what you said.” The eulogy, he means, and she thinks she wants to burst into tears again. But he’s smiling, or at least the corners of his mouth turned up and she doesn’t want to ruin that.

“Honestly? The whole time I kept thinking I’d switch the stories up. And Alcott would have to make some joke of course — “ 

“Eliza loved his jokes.” Rory couldn’t help it, he laughs and she does too even though there’s needles in her throat.

“Yeah. Well…thanks,” She says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not about her, she wants to scream despite that being so  _odd_ for her, her Sienna West, to think. It’s dusk, orange light is slanting across the river. Her heart is barely in her chest anymore.

“I’d never heard that story.” Rory continues, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “The radio call in show one, I meant.”

“Oh, well,” she finds herself laughing, “she was—”

“Embarrassed.” Rory finishes for her even though he didn’t know the story. Sienna stills. She rubs sweat from the nape of her neck and her smile lifts honestly. That’s how well he knew her, she thinks.

“Yeah.” Sienna murmurs, because she thinks he seems to need her to say something or else he doesn’t know how he can find further words. He looks skywards and breathes out, “She won a contest and she was embarrassed by how hard she worked for it, so she didn’t  _say_  she’d won.”

Sienna thinks how if in this was a different kind of situation, only a few weeks ago, he’d mock the fact that her hair looks like she’d just come from a salon and she’d tease him saying he was “peasant” and Eliza would have glared at both of them and realizes in her own way, she’d fallen in love with Rory too a while ago. 

“Still won though,” Sienna says stubbornly, and takes a step towards him. 

“Thought you’d be with Al, right now.” He didn’t seem to notice her step.

“Al and Devin are…”

“Yeah, I know.” He tugs on his shirt. He did know. They were off getting stoned or drunk or so angry they might kill someone and he couldn’t begrudge them one iota — but he couldn’t join them either. “They’re going to track down the people that did this and …” 

God, he can’t even say it. There’s a flare of anger in her heart as she realizes he just looks like he’s getting relentlessly hit.

“Yeah.”

“I should be with them.” He says softer.

“Why aren’t you?”

There’s a look on his face, funny and screwy, like he was trying to figure it out himself and then he answers fast and all at once, “Because I don’t see how continuing this circle of violence for even one second does anything but fill more goddamn holes in the ground.” 

Sienna has never wanted to be the hero of this story, and she knows that’s not what she is; they don’t live in strange moments of fear and dread and love and hands that never unclench and hearts that can never let go. Never going back to okay, she thinks, and then realizes: if being a hero meant she had to learn not to feel connected? Neither she nor Rory were ever going to be that. 

She nods, soft with what she hopes is an encouraging smile. “That’s why Eliza loved you.” 

“Sienna,” he starts, voice rough and then forgets after that what he was going to say. She just shakes her head at him, taking a few steps forward again until she could tug on his suit jacket arm and pull him into a hug. 

“It’s true, it is.” Sienna said fully aware that her best friend only got the chance to tell him it twice. “Look, Rory I know I can…be a pain, I know I didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms but it was only — it was only because I was scared, after what she went through, but even  _I_ could see eventually - with all my damn prejudices that spent so long making me so oblivious — if even I could see how much you loved her? Then Eliza knew a long time before you told her. Rory, you did a lot more than a silly radio story ever could have done.

His face shows strain for a moment, he bites his lip mid-cry, but he keeps his eyes on hers. An honest smile lifts on his lips for a second as he nods at her. 

“You…you showed her what real love was, okay? Don’t lose that. Don’t forget that.” 

He nods, and then blurts, “I just can’t believe she’s—”

“I know.” 

“She’s the…” His voice is so filled with rage and anger and hurt and she doesn’t press him when he can’t find further words for a minute. He punches the air, pulls himself up and breathes out (in and out); he had to think differently, he tells himself. Remember her as Sienna was saying, not as the doll he watched lowered in the ground, but with her golden hair like sunlight and blue eyes filled with life.

“She still is.” Sienna says stubbornly, whatever he was going to say. Most beautiful, most perfect, most wonderful goddamn person she ever knew? Yes, she was and is. 

Rory looks around and she sees he’s smiling as he nods, and adds, “You have hope.”

Sienna wonders about that. And then says softly, “Yeah, I do. I don’t think—it’s not denial. It’s just…it doesn’t  _feel_ like…there’s no way she’s ever going to tell me off again.”

That makes him laugh and she softens, shrugging a shoulder and twirling a curl of hair around her ear. For a moment they just look at each other, filled with that same understanding and silly, naive hope but goddammit it was something. 

Rory spoke abruptly.

“She wouldn’t want you to say that, Sienna.”

It confuses her and he stumbles through continuing, “That you’re oblivious, I mean and— Eliza knew, okay? She saw how good you are. She believed in that, and..and you should too.”

It’s as lame a speech as Sienna thinks she’s ever heard from a boy and she kisses his cheek for it. She wraps her arms around him and holds on to her dead, best friend’s, boyfriend, and they walk back together from the frozen riverbank, telling stories about her and laughing and holding on to each other for goddamn life. 

{.}

He had limped his way back to his room. Refusing a wince, refusing to utter even a single sound, Harper walked through the towering halls, a hand holding his side to prevent the ribs from puncturing his lungs with every step he took. Gustav’s patience, Harper realized, was even worse now, more than ever. It was something to expect, he had realized instantly, because his plans had not followed through in the way he’d hoped they would. Nadia screwed them up for him and Gustav was not as ignorant to believe that Harper had not somehow facilitated that for the girl. But because he couldn’t hurt him for that, he decided to take out his anger over Harper talking shit about the Death Eaters, and over talking of his previous life. That man does not exist anymore, he had hissed after a heavy boot made contact with Harper’s stomach as if he could drive the point home deeper and deeper in accordance with his foot.

Unlocking the ebony door with a tap of his wand, Harper pushed through the wood which seemed so heavy to him, before he fell onto his bed. Breath hitched in his throat before he swallowed the sound of pain and brought his shirt up to look at the wound better. It was a dark purple and red in the midst of several other scars that had healed over and were now nothing more than a reminder of those dark days; as if they needed any reminder.

As he popped his bones back in place, healed sore muscles and loosened taut tendons, his thoughts drifted towards the sixteen year old girl that was now in a room similar to his but without being able to get out and in the company of another Roswell. That kid was a downright piece of work, a fitting homage to his psychotic uncle, and he was now alone with Eliza. It had taken his entire willpower to leave without hexing his hand off the moment it reached for his wand. That was the more taxing thing for Harper; having to act like a coward. Telling Eliza that he couldn’t get her home, having to pretend to be intimidated by the likes of a Sam Roswell, and acting like he was afraid of his own shadow were a torture that hurt far more than a kick to his ribs ever could. There were only two people here with whom he no longer had to pretend: Olivier and Hans. For that he supposed he was grateful, even if the latter was a mercilessly prick who bruised his throat and hurt his hand.

With a loud and resounding crack, his shoulder was back in place. Teeth biting down on a dry tongue, Harper still managed to draw a little blood. Idiotic, he thought, when there were so many people willing to do that for him.

His thoughts strayed back to Eliza, and what he could do to help her. Right at this moment, not much. If only he were able to get her in this room, and perhaps speak to her freely. Not just about her situation but about his family too…

It was a solace to be able to hear so much about them, in the same way that it was a curse. Especially about his son, Alcott, who by the sounds of it was only sure to be going through the deepest reaches of hell by losing his best friend. And if Eliza, who seemed to him already one of the modest and selfless people he had ever met, could say this openly and without a doubt, Harper knew that she was right. That on top of the lycanthropy, the Gala, Nadia’s situation—would his family ever get a reprieve from suffering? Harper should have killed Gustav that day; he should have killed them all.

Yet in the midst of the darkness, there was a light that sparked up and remained there in the middle of his chest. It was fueled by images of his son taking care of the hypogriff herd, and of Lyndsea calling out to a crup named Satan to get out of the house. These images of normal instances which his mind had always had difficulty coming up with now traveled across his mind with the ease of a breeze, flipping the pages of an open book and letting him glance at them. A glance was all he needed now for it was more than he ever thought he was ever going to receive.

The longing never went away, the desire to hold on to both of them with his arms and never let them leave. It was such a deep craving that it had already carved out a deep hole in the middle of his soul, a hole which nothing or no one else could be capable of filling. It was that part of him that would always feel empty, no matter how many memories were shared for him to dwell over, or how many dreams racked his mind whenever he was lucky enough to reach that deep enough a sleep. It lived with Harper every day, the edges of it burned and raw and sensitive to the touch. That’s why at one point with Eliza he could not bear it anymore, especially not in that pleading and panicking tone of voice in which she was talking. She had rubbed at the edges with salt and alcohol unknowingly, and his pain addled body had been on the verge of collapsing under the sudden and unbearable friction.

Harper bore no anger towards Eliza for that, however. She only spoke of the memories she had floating through her consciousness because she did not want to forget. After what happened to Nadia, it was logical to have that fear. Harper did not fault the girl, on the contrary, she found her desire to focus on the positive almost to a point of sheer stubbornness to be rather admirable. It was strength, not ignorance, one that Nadia had taught him to identify in people. Harper would keep Eliza safe for her, and for Mary, and for his son. If he had to endure more beatings (and he surely would) then he would, and anything else that might be thrown his way but he just couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, let anybody else down.

 

{.}

**Alcott:** —woah! *hurried sideways and snatched a wood bolt out of the air, and then holds his hand up at his friend, both eyes wide.* 

 **Devin:** *smirk* Hey, mate, come on - you said-

 **Alcott:** *shakes his head, tossing the bolt at the ground and nods again,* Nah, you’re right. Not exactly gonna be prepared when they do it either, right? *Yanking the flask from his jacket, he takes a sip, then turns fully into a ‘ready’ stance, breathing steady if tone alert. Their standing in the woods behind his house, shoulders hunched in his jacket. It’s grey, as the ground is and the sky is and the world is. The suit might as well be ruined, honestly. He would never be able to wear it again.*

 **Devin:** That’s what I’m thinking. *Nodding, as he holds the crossbow up a little higher, twiddling with the edge of it as Alcott takes a sip, his own bottle next to his foot. Just beer, though. He wasn’t lucky enough to have the supernatural abilities. That was part of what they were looking in to, if they were genuinely going to go up against these monsters but — so far nothing on increased tolerance without Alcott actually biting him. Which he had offered to do, but Devin knew well that even if he’d been willing — Alcott would never do that to another living soul. It was reason number seven hundred and twelve that he was so different than Hans.* 

 **Alcott:** Of course. If that’s the case. *Without another word he sprinted, flashing behind Devin (with a hint of pride in his amber eyes, running at that speed intentionally this time) and slamming his arm up under his throat. He smirks.* Gotta be faster than that.

 **Devin:** *chokes, then coughs, elbowing him and wincing as he meets the hardened abs. He swore. Literally and figuratively.* Yeah, yeah all right, point made— *Alcott had gotten stronger when he was bitten — but ever since the potion? He thought it might -take- a silver dagger to get through the steel that replaced his muscles. 

Which was only all for the better. Hissing with breath, he stopped struggling, waited until Alcott released him and promptly hit his shoulder again (it didn’t hurt), fist closed, muttering,* Dick.

 **Alcott:** Only trying to help. *Smirking, rubbing at his shoulder (he was a bit surprised by the hit, and more surprised Dev’s ring had made a pink mark imprint, even if it fades before his fingers reach the momentary sore spot.* 

 **Devin:** Yeah, yeah. *He shook his head, leaning down to reset the crossbow. Steel digs into his gloves, the string stretching as he willed. He was stronger too, dammit. And he would be stronger. It wasn’t a question. Breath hot and steady, Devin stayed focused on twining the crossbow. They were out there, because that morning they had buried their best friend. The image of her was imprinted in his mind. Her soft, blond curls all delicately arranged to fall gracefully around her mother’s diamond earrings, her stilettos (that she’d bought with Sienna), her grandmother’s ring on her finger, dressed in the gown she was supposed to wear to their graduation. Their third muskateer, tres’ amigo, the part of the act that kept them steady — gone. Just like that. If Devin was being honest with himself…he still hadn’t reacted.

It was too much. Lynn had been the one to tell him, and she’d lifted her arms, letting him pull her in and cling to her. Yet even as he buried his nose in her neck and breathed out, he realized he couldn’t reach it, couldn’t even begin to acknowledge the depth of sorrow that placed in his bones. He’d not even known Eliza a year — yet as she would say, it’s not the number of friends or length of time — it’s the quality of character. She always put things so eloquently. 

Sadness was something that he could feel later. He was inconsolable, but tissues wouldn’t fucking help one damn thing.  All he’d been thinking, since the funeral, since he’d watched Eliza’s father support her mother — a united parental unit, what she’d wished for her entire life, achieved with her death — was of his anger. Blood-red, fire-hot, alcohol-inducing rage. 

Alcott had been of the same mind. 

Pulling up on the crossbow as Alcott successfully dodged all but one, he smirks as he sees one nick his friends shoulder. Then he winces, seeing the blood and sets it down, hopping over a log.* Oh, damn— mate, sorry—

 **Alcott:** Sorry? *He snorted, rubbing his thumb over the nick, yanking the splinter out (tracing his thumb over his bottom lip) and shaking his head at him after he sucked his lip clean.* Don’t be such a pansy, Dev. *He claps his shoulder.* Nice shot. If it’d been silver, it might even have hurt.

 **Devin:** *With a tiny, disbelieving laugh he shrugs his friend’s hand off his shoulder and shook his head,* Dick. Here I am worrying about you —

 **Alcott:** Over one little - 

 **Devin:** Crossbow bolt.

 **Alcott:** Scratch. *Moving his arm back and forth,experimentally, amazed as he watches the wound heal with a bit of a satisfactory smirk.*  It’s what we’re here to do. Train.

 **Devin:** *He nods absently, ceasing looking for the bandages as he realizes the wound was disappearing before his eyes and then narrows his eyes.* Yeah, but. Al, you’re not invincible. 

 **Alcott:** Doesn’t matter. *There’s a flick to his smirk.* Long as I get to this Angel, find the potion Ma mentioned, I’m pretty much close enough.

 **Devin:** *He tilts his head as if to say “well yeah”, but is unable to help himself from adding quieter,* You know that’s not what Eliza would say.

 **Alcott:** *His jawline hardens instantly as his teeth gnash together over a hiss, and he ceases trying to fix the suit-jacket.* I can’t know, actually Dev, that’s the point.

 **Devin:** Oh come on, mate. *With a tiny hiss himself of incredulity, even as his face tries it’s utmost to remain soft,* You know.  

 **Alcott:** *He rubs over his lip again, mouth dry, utterly spent and shakes his head.* Come on. Let’s go again. 

 **Devin:** *Five minutes later, the world above was spinning, Devin was coughing and Alcott was laughing, snapping fingers over his unfocused eyes asking if he was okay. Red crimson leaks from his nose, a startling color to add to the paleness of his face and the blue of his eyes. 

But he starts laughing too. It felt wonderful. There’s a mark on his chest, a permanent scar that won’t go away now, from a werewolf’s claws. Made by dark things, as the one on Nadia had: both reminding him day in and day out what they were were still going for. 

Devin had asked Rory to come with them when they stood by the grave. Rory did not appear to have heard. He didn’t move an inch. Just stood there, hunched in a jacket borrowed from his father, staring, staring, and staring at the little gray marble in the pampas grass, the terrible too-short date. A numb statue, two seconds of looking at him, Devin could only hear the internal screams. Ripping, wrenching, roaring screeching pain ache hurt want anger — it was his own. 

Nadia wouldn’t come either. She’d been inconsolable, and it was almost strange — almost, because he knew what a large heart she had, always would have. This was Nadia. Her memories slot over one another, flimsy film tape that’s been exposed to the sun too long — but she was still his Nadia. He could tell there was something else going on, something new. 

It only made him angrier. He wants to smash something just to reset the balance. He’d write it down like she was — when she picked up journalling, Devin wasn’t sure (he was angry that he didn’t know, angry there was some part of her he couldn’t seem to reach), but it seemed to helped her — and that mattered above all. He hates it because it was unfamiliar, and loves it because it made her smile. This was Love, he thought. Love in its worst and best form, love that’s more like a religion in its devotion and worship, love like how that person is the only one and everyone else doesn’t matter at all. He could write that, it seemed appropriately poetic. But he’d rather scream it. Devin would rather write it in blood, carve it into the Earth’s skin in homage to the pain. 

When he’d arrived, just him, he’d accused Alcott of being drunk already. Alcott shook his head at him and passed him the bottle. They drank stolen liqour — whiskey and beer — and rescued a crossbow from the Brackner cellars. 

He chuckles, sitting up.* You know what? *With his other hand, he touched his middle finger to his thumb, rubbing the worn skin there that had developed a callous.* Much as I’m enjoying being your punching bag here —

 **Alcott:** *Al snorts, raising his other wrist, which was at an odd angle and shakes his head at him,* You broke my fucking wrist, mate.

 **Devin:** Shit - seriously? *Tiniest bit surprised, even as he reaches for the tissues inside his jacket again. He’d grabbed them for Lynn that morning. She hadn’t shed a single tear he could see, but the glint in her eyes matched his own. Now he uses it to dab blood away.* 

 **Alcott:** Seriously. *He laughs. And pops it back into place. The smirk on his face was dark and mad, but he’d barely felt the bone break and knew — that meant the transformation would be simpler.*

 **Devin:** Sorry. *He says in wonder, adding with his own smirk,* Though I’m pretty sure breaking your wrist because you hit me at the wrong angle isn’t going to help much when we find them.

 **Alcott:** *He laughs and shrugs, wrapping a bandage around the wrist and then reaching for another beer, tossing it to Devin.* Maybe we just find a spell that makes you invincible instead, let them all break themselves trying to defeat you.  

 **Devin:** *Catching the bottle, he closes his eyes, mutters “episkey” and relaxes with a hiss of momentary, glorious pain as he feels the nose (and cheekbones) mend. Then he shrugs,* Sounds like a plan. *After a quick sip, he added,* Still, I think we should leave the physical training for a bit. 

 **Alcott:** *There’s a weighted pause where he wants to disagree. Wants to set himself alight again, wants to kick the fire until it made him turn. Then he sees the dirt and blood on his jacket, on his pants, thinks what his mother is going to say when he walks in — what Eliza would have, a tiny truthful voice reminds him — and he nods, spinning around.* Yeah, all right. 

 **Devin:** *He gets up and goes to sit with his friend on the log, setting the crossbow against his knee.

They sit resting in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and then one of them mentions Gwendolyn Sykes’ wedding and laments what might have been, and the other brings up the Quidditch season and then Devin’s teasing him how much Alcott was lucking out not having to face Hols’ battle plans and Alcott was reminding him with a smirk the three weeks of study-time he missed in O.W.L. year and it was almost normal. Except for the giant fucking hole in their lives that still bled, it was normal.*


	39. I Fucking Mulan'ed It

{*}

 **Daniella:** I'm sorry -- did you just insinuate you have morality? *She pauses, watching the red liquid pour and then tilts her head.* That sounded odd, let me rephrase. You actually pay attention to ethics?

 **Tony:** *shrugs* It skips a generation...or five. *holds his glass up in cheers.*

 **Daniella** : Cheers. *glass-clink* Tell me about it. I think the last purely ethical Faye was .... ...Damocles. And he couldn't put his own shirt on. Well. According to some people who admittedly, may have been being sarcastic but have honest faces that make it difficult to read sarcasm.

 **Tony** : Ah well, we can't all be perfect right? *smirks and shrugs before taking a sip of his drink.* Honest faces? Those still exist in this world?

 **Daniella** : Oh, you should meet him. *Tiny chuckle, hopping up on the penthouse counter and swinging her heels to click them together.* It's impressive, really -- but, I don't think you can really attribute it to this century, he's more in the manner of ... Victorian ideals.

 **Tony** : You mean back when everything was shrouded in false decorum and corsets that made hips narrow and breasts stand up and say 'Buon giorno'? *wiggles his eyebrows* Corsets back in style, that's my Christmas wish.

 **Daniella** : Mm, *taps nail against wine glass,* corsets are still in style luv, just when you aren't going to bother wearing anything on over top of it. Well. For long anyway. *Gestures at herself and winks,* But I must say if that's the kind of bonding you had in mind, I don't do brothers. Gets too messy. *takes a sip of her wine and tilts her head, smirking* What was it you wanted to know anyway? Though I must admit you do know a way to a girls heart -- I'll never say no to Italian men in the kitchen.

 **Tony:** *snorts, shaking his head and lifts a finger up from the glass to wave back and forth.* I might be a jerk, cara, but I'm not heartless. You wound me, thinking I could do that to my own brother *grins and then takes another sip of his drink before setting it down and slapping the dish rag on top of his shoulder before going to check on the lasagna.* Women seldom do. *he peers through the oven door to see the cheese oozing and melting perfectly, before bringing up a cutting board and some vegetables from the fridge, balancing them in his hands.* No, I'm not gonna try and get anything out of you until you're well fed and until -I'm- well and fed.

 **Daniella** : Cara, oooh...*she beams in spite of her light mockery, perking up on the counter's edge,* Mon dieu, I am a sucker for the sweet-talk in other languages, more please. *Folding her hand and flapping in a gesture half teasing "come hither," she smirks through another sip, eyes following him. The invitation hadn't been...entirely unexpected; if anything, their two seconds of introduction had consisted of "have you seen my brother?", "your brother?", "y-ey high, taller because of his hair--", "olivier has a brother?", and then his disappearing to the gala. When he reappeared with a girl in tow, she hadn't been exactly up for "bonding." But she was still there the next morning, to her surprise as much as his she imagined (more, really), and the inevitable sibling-check out was bound to occur. It was laughable, really. Her siblings had more to worry about in the whole "are you dating a serial killer?" department. Rapping her nail on the glass again, she chuckles,* All right fine, superficial questions then -- do you prefer Tony, Tonio or Antonio?

 **Hans:** Nicknames already. *Speaking at leisure from outside the terrace window, he has his arms folded as he leans on the glass door frame.* Careful luv, he does have a habit to air on the deragatory. *He doesn't move immediately. Well, he might have climbed up to avoid being seen, but he wasn't entirely devoid of manners, now was he? He knocks on the little glass door there, smirking on them and lifting his chin.* You must be Daniella. *He said that without blinking, eyes locked on hers, with the air of one who meant to demonstrate at least limited trust and familiarity: after all, Olivier didn't reveal his girl's names to just anyone. Well. When they meant something. Flicking his gaze to Tony, he continues without missing a beat,* Your brother's lack of communication is infuriating.

 **Tony** : I can see why he likes you so much. *Not that Olivier had said as much, but really, the fact that she was even there at all and had his brother's first name as apparently that was a hot commodity, was speech enough. Placing the vegetables on the counter and then picking up a knife, he deliberated for the split moment before they were rudely interrupted. Turning his head to look at Hans, lounging so at ease out on the terrace, he was almost unsurprised.* Don't be such a sour-wolf. If the nicknames really bother you, just say so.

*he shrugs with a smirk, restraining a roll of his eyes at he knocks on the door. To him, the point of knocking had been pretty much passed over when the man, oh, decided to forgo the front door and climb in through the back like some sort of lovesick teenager with a poem written on a stained napkin.* That's one of his trademarks- like his brooding, and his hair. He is obviously *gestures around them casting a glance at Daniella as he did* not here. So your moonlight serenade will just have to wait another day.

 **Daniella:** *A pencil eyebrow flicked in amusement (and delight) at the comment, but she says nothing on the matter. Truthfully, she didn't know who was more surprised: herself or Olivier, but even the descriptor "likes you so much" was a bit...odd to hear. And anyway, they were rudely interrupted (and saved) by the psychotic werewolf on the terrace.* I must be. *She says coolly, eyes flicking up and down him. *Her question was answered at the "sour wolf" remark or rather - her guess was certain.* And that makes you Hans.

 **Hans:** *Pursed lips flicking up, he unfolds his arms as he says,* He did say you were perceptive. What gave it away? The derogatory, *he gestures friendly to Tony,* or the clothes? *He plucks the collar of his suit, still speaking light.*

 **Daniella:** *Glancing back as Tony did she lowers her wine glass and peers at him critically, adding,* He's a fan of the mandolin. If you're in need of instrument recommendations.

 **Hans** : Mm, yes, I see why he likes you too. *And then he flatly turns to Tony, deciding to ignore the fact they hadn't invited him in -- as if they wanted him to catch a chill or something (never mind that his body ran a constant hundred and five), stepping through the door.* Actually, I had rather hoped to speak to you as well. See now, the last I heard Tony, you had packed up, flown the coop so to speak, after that unfortunate little...incident. *He rests his hand over his heart, saying sincerely if quickly,* You know I had nothing to do with that, don't you?

 **Daniella** : *Hopping off the corner to close the terrace door (it was December, for merlin's sakes, she was in a mini skirt), she stills at that. A single glance between their smiles tells her neither is amused -- and that the "little incident" was likely as small as the Eiffel Tower.*  
Hans: And now you've crashed the party -- ah, pardon the pun. *His lips flick, but his question is stern.* Which tells me Olivier has seen fit to read you in. Am I incorrect?

 **Tony** : *Daniella's comment made him smirk, thinking to himself that oh he liked her too. There was a serious lack of wit in this world and it was a breath of fresh air to find people who were similarly gifted. The knife in his hand which had been cutting tomatoes for the salad so expertly stilled at the reminder and he looked up at Hans again. The smirk on his face in this instant was free of any genuine amusement.* Well, now I know. *He picked up his glass again to take the last swig before going back to chopping.* The situation's on a need-to-know basis, apparently. He's told me what I need-to-know. Daniella *he looks up again at her* you a fan of garlic bread?

 **Daniella:** If you have rolls of after-dinner breath mints, absolutely. *She remarks smartly, heels clacking on the marble steps, and then the hardwood. The penthouse might be mostly one room, but merlin, when the D'Grey's boasted of wealth and style well--it wasn't their personal (unfairly Italian) genes alone that benefited. Her skirt swirls around her knee caps as she adds a bit bitterly,* By need to know, I gather neither of you think I've been informed.

 **Hans:** Ah, *he spins back as if he forgot, when he'd been tracking her with one ear swiveled all along. Must she clack those stilettos so loudly? Rachelle's shoes always did that. Showing off her new purchases with a carefree strut before striking a model's pose. Hans' smile tightens at the thought, but he continues lightly, as if unaffected,* Forgive me luv, it's just that I'm well-aware of, and quite agree with, his preference to keep those on the outside safe.

 **Daniella** : *Prim, curling her hands around the edge of the raised stool next to the island she'd been sitting in, and leaning in with her lips curling,* Then he'd do better never to speak to you again, it seems to me. *As she sees his smile tighten again she just lifts her chin, mirroring,* Forgive me luv, it's just innocent bodies do tend to pile up around you. And with that I do not quite-agree.

 **Hans:** *The impertinence makes him want to sigh in dismissive gestures, as a muscle over his eye twitches. Then his lips curl up a dangerous mirror to hers, even as he slides his hand in his pocket and echoes,* Someday you'll have to enlighten me on your definition of innocent. In the mean time, *he looks back to Tony to remarks lightly,* Garlic bread for his girlfriend? Trying to drive a wedge between them then?

 **Daniella** : *Eyes narrowed and glinting she opens her mouth to say that she wasn't Olivier's girlfriend, then shuts it again thinking it was irrelevant at that moment.*

 **Hans:** Or were you trying to kill me? You have it backwards -- garlic's for vampires. *He clasps his hands together behind his back, adding brightly,* However I do know the D'Grey preference for genuine silverware so if it's all the same to you, I'll use my own.

 **Tony:** Ah, afraid I don't. I guess the garlic bread will be for me. *he finishes up the salad and places it in a bowl, adding a teaspoon of olive oil and vinegar before setting it aside and grabbing the loaf of Italian bread (bought at the store; not everything could be homemade), cutting off pieces of it.* You gather incorrectly, dear Daniella. *He raises his gaze again, saying simply.* Merely trying to make it seem like that for Dances-With-Wolves, here. We really should work on our psychic communication. *pouring olive oil in a small bowl, he added the garlic powder to it, mixing it a little with a spoon as he listened to Hans. Tony, not very respectfully, disagreed. Keeping someone in the dark didn't make them any more safe, especially when the monsters came around, those who hunted better at night.

Being in the dark about the business hadn't stopped him from being hurt, chained and abused. Smirking at Daniella's comments (he really did like her), he picked up a bread and used a brush to apply the olive oil and garlic to one side before setting it on a plate.* You know bread actually reduces bad breath? So the bread with the garlic, I figure they'd sort of cancel each other out. *smirks, shrugging at his logic before he said with false brightness* Oh you're staying for dinner then? *He opens the oven and takes out the lasagna and puts in the bread slices so they could warm and toast for a minute.* Funny, I don't recall inviting you.

 **Daniella** : Ah, *with a tiny chuckle she does a sailor salute.* yes sir, we should get right on that. *The truth was she clearly didn't know as much as she should, but she wasn't going to ask about that until Hans was gone. Which..evidently wasn't going to be soon. Irritated that he'd looked away again, she brushes her hand against her skirt as if to clean her hands and returned to the wine glass, eyes wide and blinks slow.*

 **Hans:** *Head jerking back with mostly feigned-amusement, an open palm gesturing in the air as he says,* Well, I figured I'd overlook the rude absence of an invitation and skip past the part where you pretend I'm not going to wait for your brother, but I see you're not willing to do that. *He wasn't quite sure why his hand was up, or out. Something about spending too much time with Italians, he wagers. He puts it back in his pocket and tilts his head again, still smirking lightly.*  The more interesting question in my opinion is why would you want me to believe she's ignorant?

 **Tony:** Practice makes perfect. *He replied happily before wiping his hands on the dish rag and filling her glass with more wine and his own as well. He was going to need a lot of wine to deal with this cazzo.* The same way I overlook the way you're interfering with Daniella and I's evening in. *He shakes his head and then gestures to the bar* Take a seat then, want a drink? *He takes another sip of his own wine and moves about to get the plates out.* Because the less time she spends with you the better. Obviously, not my choice but *shrugs* had to try. Any of you allergic to olives?

 **Hans:** *He smirks with the light refusal,* Not the kind you're offering.

 **Daniella** : And...*she claps her hands together, nodding while both hands jerk forward,* gross. *She glances to the wall clock. It was an antique, victorian period as nearly everything seemed to be in this penthouse, and she shakes her head in feigned amazement.* Not even five minutes, amazing. Is that a new record, Tony?

 **Hans:** My apologies luv, if I offended you. *He tosses his glance back to her, preferring to stand presently,* I am unaccustomed to the more delicate sensibilities.

 **Daniella** : *Tiny scoff that she swallows lest she make a snorting sound expels from her chest, and then she says beneath narrowed eyes,* If you're going to stay, at least drop such lamentably dull pretenses of being a gentlemen. I assure you, *she takes a sip of her wine, smacks her lip, and jabs her chest with the glass and index finger, smirking.* I'm no lady.

 **Hans:** See, I think you are. *Without missing a beat, as he steps away from the kitchen.* As I think you are far old enough to determine your own dinner company without dear Antonio's interference.

 **Daniella:** And I think that you're well aware it's gross to insinuate you want to drink blood, sensibilities or not, and say such things just to shock and amuse yourself, so you can fool yourself into thinking you're having a good time and thus that you're wanted.

 **Hans** : *Now his eyes narrow, and he nods his head a very small amount, calling back to Tony without looking over his shoulder.* I'm not, thanks. *With another tiny nod to Daniella, as he still hadn't blinked,* Was my assuming you're a lady that offensive? ...No, it's something else. Let me guess, you're acquainted with Nadia.

 **Daniella:** And why would you say that?

 **Hans** : Because it seems rather the whole bloody world is, as they are intent on implicating me for the fault - despite the fact I've yet to meet her. Not that, then? Hm, well, you have a low opinion of those your boyfriend calls friends, it seems.

 **Daniella:** *Taking another sip and smacking her lips again,* I have a low opinion of murderers, yes.

 **Hans** : *With a glint in his eye, and still refraining from blinking he again speaks to Tony brightly without looking from her.* Mm, shame then Tony, believe we're both out of luck.  
Daniella: *She rolled her eyes but...only got half way as she realizes what he meant. Looking over his shoulder and breaking their impromptu staring contest, she looks at Tony. Her eyebrows knit together over her nose.*

 **Tony** : Is there such a thing as vamp-envy? Because I think you have it. *He rolls his eyes, grabbing the knife again after cleaning it and beginning to cut into the lasagna, after turning the stove off. So much for not being the housewife, he thought with brief amusement and even more amusement as he looked up to see Hans and Daniella in a battle of wits, a battle of which Daniella seemed to be much more properly armed. Then again, he was biased. Chopping some olives, he tossed them into the salad bowl and then picked up his wand to levitate the salad, bread, and lasagna to the table and then he stilled and brought his gaze to glare at the back of Hans' head, turning his head briefly to look at Daniella. Guess Olivier hadn't told her about that. Still, not exactly the way he would have chosen to reveal that particular bit of information.* Low blow, dick. You're not welcome to that lasagna. *He grabs the wine bottle again and pours more into his glass, walking away from the kitchen now to the table.* Yes, I've killed before, no I'm not proud of it, etcetera etcetera etcetera, don't let Wolfie spoil our dinner, that's all he knows how to do. *claps his shoulder with a tight smirk.*  
Hans: On the the contrary. A low blow would have been to say who. I merely pointed out hypocrisy.

 **Daniella** : *It ought not to be a surprise. Honestly, what had she expected: dating one D'Grey (were they actually definitely dating then?) and meeting his brother? Their father was known for being a crime king, a vampire, and really -- he might be dead, but what legacy did that leave for his sons? She should know. And if he said he wasn't proud (which was more than she could say for Olivier, a tiny voice said at the back of her mind, one she was trying to ignore), then -- ...no, no she really just didn't want to let Hans get the better of her on the cheap statement, so she kept her chin high.* False equivocally statements might win you tricks when paying in dollar bills, but they won't help you here.

 **Hans:** *Glancing at the hand on his shoulder without moving, a statue in comparison to the boy's harsh-hit, he arches an eyebrow and smirks up at Tony, even as he responds to her.* Charming, luv. I merely thought if we were all in the know -- then why the secrets?

 **Daniella:** *Exasperated, she moves to the table and takes another sip of her wine, swinging hips and skirt to strut away as she often did when irritated.* We're playing that game, are we? *There's a clink as the glass hits polished wood, and she sits, folding fingers together and looking at him cooly.* Then why don't you start with where the Death Eaters are staying?

 **Hans** : Ah. *He chuckles, expelling Tony's hand with a bare shoulder shrug, smirking and taking a few steps toward the table still.* I'd love to play darling, but unfortunately, in that particular area -- I can't. Literally, can't. *His head jerks up, hands behind his back.* There's a spell that ties anyone's tongue whose been there to save them from revealing it. Several spells, in fact.

 **Daniella:** *Immediately,* Fine, then where have you been staying?

 **Hans:** Avalon. *Promptly, and turns to Tony.* And you then, if we're all playing? Taken over your brother's loft?

 **Tony:** Oh please, you used one of the few things you have on me to make me look bad -- to try and bring me down to your level. Aka, low blow, dick move. Very...you. *smirks and then proceeds to shrug it off. In reality, he couldn't afford to care what Daniella thought of him because of it and if she did think him any less, well, maybe things wouldn't go so well with Olivier as he'd thought they might. But it seemed she was determined to be quite anti-Hans, which he had to say he didn't mind in the slightest. Walking past Hans after slapping his shoulder (it didn't hurt), he sat down on the table and served himself a hearty slice of lasagna, a couple of pieces of garlic bread and some salad, restraining a snort at Hans' answer before bringing his gaze up again.* I've got my own, I just prefer his kitchen. *smirks* Dinner is served- oh wait, I forgot. *He takes out his wand again and taps the third plate to transfigure itself into a dog bowl, with the word 'Wolfie' etched around it.* There we go, now come on, we have to say grace first.

 **Hans:** Mm. That would be quite alarming indeed. *As he pulls the chair out leisurely for himself, and fluffs the napkin out before resting it on his lap, reaching into his pocket to conjure his own knife and fork.* If I thought that bringing you to my level was the same thing as making you look bad. *Pleasantly, as he pulls out his own flask too -- with the potion inside gleaming silver, which he takes a quick sip of.* But as I don't have that mindset, you should be flattered I wished to equivocate.

 **Daniella** : Tell me Hans, can you actually see from atop that mountain of ego, or are you too lost in the clouds? *Amidst gathering salad onto her plate she sees his transform and brightens into a chuckle and smile, earnestly lifting her glass to Tony.* Cheers.

 **Hans:** *Oh, dear Lord. Civility was too much to ask for, clearly. He stills, flicking the silver top of his flask and twisting a smirk on tight lips. Amused as well, he flicks his gaze up and says simply,* Now Tony, I think you're going to make Daniella jealous, if I'm the only one who gets such a thoughtfully unique plate.

 **Daniella** : Yes, however will I go on? *drily, and she sips the glass out of habit forgetting she'd started a cheer. Her eyes were on Tony. Whatever she was acting like now, she was curious. She wanted to know the "who" that Hans had mentioned -- had a voracious appetite for knowledge even if it did put her in danger...and she rather thought the opposite tended to be true. And she liked Tony so far (really rather a lot), so she could easily give him the benefit of the doubt. Oddly enough, if Hans would stop being so sickeningly smarmy...she thought she might like him too. It had to be the fact he could keep up with them, she figures and waits for grace, happy that Tony had called attention to it.*

 **Hans:** *Turning back, as he slips his flask away and eating anyways, he pauses before he sticks the fork in at Tony's request. Lightly,* Grace? *A habit his older brother did not share, he thought, or else Olivier always said it silently. Truthfully, whatever their...attitudes, he was rather glad -- for Olivier's sake, that his brother was around. It wasn't as if Hans didn't understand why he wanted him there as much as he wanted him safe. The trouble was, Tony would have to trust him for him to be able to trust him with further information and...he didn't, not yet -- though he trusted him more than Daniella, ironically. He smiles and puts the fork down, folding his fingers together and leaning against his friend's table, the friend who wasn't there -- resting as a perfect gentleman would.* Of course, the niceties must be observed by us civilized, men and women. Perish the day one of us might be rude.

 **Tony:** *Mon Dieu (sometimes the French slipped in every now and then), the man was truly irritating. It was made even more so with the knowledge that Olivier trusted Mr. Big Bad Wolf above all others. That such camaraderie was born out of mutual trust and a connection which Tony would probably never understand. Tony, plainly, didn't want to trust him, he didn't even want to like him and it was absurdly easy not to. So when Daniella lifted her glass to him after his little trick, Tony felt properly placated, and raised his own glass to her with a little wink before taking a sip and setting it down to bring his fingers together, eyebrows arching at Hans' one worded question.* Yes, grace. *He bristled at it being referred to as a 'nicety' but said no more before bowing his head over his hands and closing his eyes.* Dear Father who art thou in heaven, we thank you for this food, and for our ability to cook it, eat it, and enjoy it among friends and reluctant acquaintances. We thank you for blessing us with each rising sun so that we might seize every day as a fresh beginning. We thank you especially for the wine, especially tonight, and may it flow endlessly. And please either hasten my brother's footsteps towards home or give me the patience needed to survive this night. Amen. *He brought his head up again, unashamed.* Now let's eat, and not forget to compliment my great Italian cooking.

  
{*}

It was routine that was going to help her get through the days. Making a list and going through it one by one, crossing out each item with a little more gusto and force than was required and then keep going down the list until it was time to sleep again, or pretend to as half of the time she sneaked into Dillon’s dorm and laid with him. That was almost all she could do anymore, having the strength very little except for maybe pretending she was alright. Everyone kept asking her, well, everyone except Alisha who Irene barely saw anymore. Sighing, she now was stepping out of the communal showers, a towel wrapped around her. She could cross shower out of her list, and move on to get dressed.

Walking to a mirror, she wiped the spot where her face was free of the steam that had fogged it and looked at her reflection. Bags from lack of sleep threatened were present but not very prominent; she had a cream for that. Eliza had brought her tons of witch cosmetics from France when she had been there this summer, along with the cutest handbag she’d ever seen.

The problem was plain and simple: Irene missed her friend. Missed how easy things used to be. Half of her friends weren’t even back in school yet. Alcott wasn’t, Devin and Lynn weren’t, Nadia wasn’t so Hols stayed with her and apparently they seemed angrily determined in training to be soldiers and hunters of the supernatural. Target practicing and sparring and dueling but the thought of all of that was enough to exhaust Irene. Irene was both a lover and a fighter but right at that moment, she wasn’t very inspired to do much of the latter. Why couldn’t she pretend she was a normal teenager? Boyfriend, best friends, loving and doting parents and a brother who intimidated her boyfriend but who secretly approved of him? No, instead she had to deal with Death Eaters and werewolves, with her boyfriend’s guilt over being unable to stop the imperius sooner, her best friends gone in different meanings of the word, and her parents had no idea she had almost died a week ago. Not to mention, her personal werewolf stalker with an apparent fixation with her blonde curls.

She ran her fingers through her wet hair kept straight by the weight of the water before she started pulling at it. It was a childish action, to blame her hair or take it out on her hair, but she couldn’t help it. She both loved her hair, was proud of her hair and it’s length, volume, strength and all of those qualities the telly liked to make ads about but all she could think about most of the time was Ansel’s hands cradling her face and passing his hands through her hair as if she were a doll, there for him to do with as he saw fit and discard when he grew tired.

She hated that she thought about him, knew that he deserved not even that much from her, not one single thought but it was more difficult said than done. It was the lack of control she had reasoned with herself after tossing and turning for the umpteenth time in her bed; the feeling of being used, of knowing that she was helpless against a person with that much physical power. He kept her seated with a push of his pinky and threw her head backwards against the bench with the same finger, after revealing to her the death of his girlfriend was an accident.

She hated that she believed him. That after force feeding her the contents of her flask, burning her throat and eyes and choking her, he could adjust himself as he straddled her and tell her that he hadn’t meant to kill Colette and she could believe him that easily. Truth or not, it didn’t change all that he had done, all of the evil he had spread that night and who knows how many nights prior and many nights to come. Irene’s only wish was that she never had to see him again and yet the look he had given her before he’d disappeared, after everything was over, indicated otherwise. She had gotten away from him, hurt his wolf pals with silver presents, and Ansel wasn’t the kind of man to have a loss on his record.

Irene hadn’t even deleted him from her contacts. Because that’s all she could do, that was the threat she had told her brother Gordon when he had found her drunk a few days ago; that she would delete him off his mobile and Irene couldn’t even do that. It was because she wanted to call him, call him and scream and shout at him for everything he had done to her. She always imagined how the conversation would go, or rather, how the voicemail would go because he probably wouldn’t pick up, probably thought she might be tracing the call like in the movies. But she had it almost all planned out.

You cock sucking son of a twice-damned deranged babbling, arse-scratching orangutan! (That’s how she would start of, witty and clever, like she always did.) Can’t even bother to pick up a phone call from me, can’t even bother to do that? (If he didn’t pick up, for if he did she would instead tell him how she was glad he had spared a moment from yanking on his jewels to answer, but that she was going to talk and that he was going to listen.) Doesn’t even fucking matter, because I don’t want to talk to you, I want to talk at you, I want to scream at you! (Use him, for her own purposes like he had used her, for payback.) You are the most disgusting human being I’ve ever had the horror of meeting, you sick, groveling, smells-like-last-month’s-laundry two-faced bitch. (More wit, more insult.) You don’t get to fucking do that to me, or to anyone, you fucking bully, you fucking psychopath. (There was no such thing as using the word ‘fuck’ and any variant of it too many times.) I hope you die choking on your own semen. (A wish to see him dead, for he had inspired that much rage in her.) You killed her, you asshole! You and the rest of that tail-wagging, tongue-wagging, pack of easily-trained bitch-pups following the head alpha daddy like a line of blind ducks. In fact, you know what you call a werewolf in your pack with half a brain? (This is when she would bring the cellphone closer to her mouth to yell.) Gifted! That’s what! You are weak, and you are nothing. You are nothing and you will always be nothing, so fuck you. (End of the call.)

She had a couple of them, as they all tended to vary depending on her mood, but that was the gist of it. She hated him, she hated him, and she hated that she hated him because her face was not made for these emotions. Wiping at her eyes upon noticing the tears again, she grits her teeth, annoyed. She might not know tae-kwan-do, might not know how to work a crossbow or a gun or even want to, but she had always been a fighter. Irene remembered one night with Nadia and Eliza during the summer, the three of them at Irene’s grandparents’ home (she had only been able to do that once), but she took their hands and then told them they possessed something incredible: a kindness borne not out of the absence of cruelty, but because of the abundance of it and that was why she loved them, they were her guiding light. Then she took their cheeks in her hands and kissed them both. Irene had been drunk, but that did not mean she had been lying. Now it was her turn, but slightly altered. She had to be strong, not because of the absence of difficulties but because of the fucking abundance of it, raining down from the skies, and covering her with them. At least, she had to pretend to be strong until it started being true.

In a fit, she picked up her comb and flipped her hair, combing it down and over her face before conjuring a pair of scissors and she began to cut. Snip, snip, snip, trim, trim, trim, that was all she heard for a few minutes and all she saw was her hair falling in clumps at her feet. Combing through it again, she flipped her hair back, shaking it out. Hair that had been at the middle of her back was not right above her shoulders.

She heard the door and turned to watch Alisha walk in, her mouth dropping as she saw the short length and then took in the sheer amount of hair at Irene’s feet. Irene found herself wishing she had given herself a pedicure if Alisha was going to be so scrutinizing (it had been ruined running barefoot from the werewolves) and when she realized she had, she smiled, feeling more comfortable with herself, of recognizing herself.

“Irene, what did you…?”

“I fucking Mulan-ed my hair.”

“You fucking Mulan-ed your hair.”

Irene nodded and then exhaled, stilling as she realized what she had said before repeating it with tears in her eyes, “I fucking Mulan-ed my hair! Oh my God.” She breathed in and out, shaking her head and then staring before breathing in and out, panicking, and shaking. “Oh my God,” she repeated but in another second Alisha was there, having dropped all her shower things to come hug her. And Irene clings to her, not caring about the towel that threatened to fall around her, she just held her best friend tightly.

“I just wanted all of us to be friends, that’s all I wanted, I love all of you, I just wanted all of us, all of us to just be together, I wanted a family, for once in my stupid, disappointing, shitty life I wanted a real, proper, united, kick-ass family to call my own but no, they took that away, they took it away! They killed her, and then they took Nadia and violated her, and now everyone’s going to war and I’m just here sitting and wondering where everything went wrong- I just wanted all of you to love each other and love me, love me too-” her cries were half mumbled, half screamed into Alisha’s hair and into her shoulder and then at the air, until they faded out with Irene unable to keep coherent words anymore, until she had only sobs to give out, but Alisha took them anyways and held her there, apologizing for her selfishness and her insecurity until she was crying too, the both of them weeping onto each other’s shoulders until they were too tired to do anything else but to sit together in a corner of the bathroom in silence, but together.

{*}

Nine hundred people, give or take a few dozen nobodies, are reported as “missing” to the police every day in the United Kingdom. Their faces paper double-deckers and bulletin boards in coffee shops; the local news broadcasts their image and reads off what they were last seen wearing; teams of dedicated professionals pound pavement armed only with names, numbers, and poloroids. There was no terror worse, tearful parents of the absent plead. Have you seen my baby? I want to tell her how sorry I am.

Having spent most of her life wondering where her father was — what he looked like, if he liked dogs or cats, why he left her — she hates the term “missing.” It seeks to sum up a person, a living human being, in clinical detachment to hide the fact it really flatly only said: We don’t know. What happened, if they’re alive, if they’re all right, if they wanted to leave, if they were happy, if they were still listening to that old vinyl Who record every day or if it had worn through. She hates it. She had hated it. Now, with every part of her, each burning blood cell and bone, Eliza wishes she was one of them.

Discarded parchment fluttered on the table-top instead, declaring every time her wavering gaze lands on it, Eliza Marielle Culpeper Simmons was dead. She died of injuries sustained at the recent massacre in Finchley. Survived by loving parents (that had nearly made her laugh, the paper’s assumption of parents united on her side, instead of those she had). Please send money to Children in Need in lieu of flowers. There were no sidewalk armies, no poloroids, no have-you-seen parchments in the Leaky Cauldron. The people she loved had buried her.

In their stead, woefully incompetent at filling hole but very good at digging it deeper, was Sam Roswell. He hadn’t said anything yet; only gaped at her churlish question and forced a laugh. Her ex’s hands up, one rubbing the back of a sweating neck, the other open palm extending towards her.

“I’m so sorry,” He says.

He always says that, Eliza thinks. But he never means it. If he meant it, she wouldn’t be there. She would be home, curled in her own bed, reading her own book. Telling Alcott to drink less even as Devin fills his flask for him, nuzzling in Rory’s warmth, trading secrets with Sienna. She could tell her mother she was sorry she lied to her, tell her father she loves him anyway. No more locked doors and trick windows, or beds built for kings with their mistresses. Home.

“Sorry for what?” She asks. Even though she wants to scream it. Even though she can think of a few things to fill in. Cheating, kidnapping, death-fakery (was that a thing?) to name a few. Betrayal. That sums it up.

Eliza doesn’t ask this, because she doesn’t want him to lie to her. The simple question meant he’d tell her what he thought was worth apologizing for. Edges of her blue eyes prick wider before he finishes a word.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up to him,” is what he judges she took insult at, “I was supposed to be here — I’m sorry, he’s frightened you —”

“Angel hasn’t frightened me.” The incredulity chokes her throat. Sam takes a step forward. “Being kidnapped frightened me,” Eliza steps back. “Waking in different clothes than I went to sleep in,” she throws a hand up, breath fast and heart unsteady, “My obituary!”

She falls silent to try and recapture breath. What had Angel said? Blood was failing to pump against gravity, working twice as hard in her agitated, cursed body. Sam steps forward again, and again and again, startling in that excitable way that used to make her light up with the thought: he wants me.

“I know, I know — but I can explain, that’s why I was supposed to be here when you woke —,” Sam hurries.

“Look, just.” He stops rubbing his neck, hand slapping his own thigh. “Forget whatever he said, he’s a liar.”

“Angel healed me.”

“I know. That’s why I brought you here — to save you.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” Eliza asks gasping, the ghost of her former strength in disbelieving every word that left his lying mouth.

“Let me just explain,” he said.

Hands hover near her shoulders now. Eliza wary eyes trail over them. Don’t touch me, she wants to snap, but fails to do more than gape at the way he reaches for her to fall barely short, as if he didn’t dare yet. It’s the little things that we do to convince us we’re justified. There’s a wild-eyed look in his eyes — like she was the best Christmas present a pre-pubescent boy could ask for.

“He explained.” She hedges, hugging arms as if she could steady her heart if she pressed hard enough on her chest. “Angel,”

“I don’t want to hear his name,” Sam cuts her off. It’s sharp. For a moment there’s silence. Heavy, dark, opressive silence. The curtain on the fake window flutters to an imagined breeze. Trembling lips press shut, but she jerks her head and he must have taken it for a nod, because his smile warms and his eyes stop roaming over her. Eliza breathes in relief of that, at least.

“Look,” Sam starts again, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snap, I just, I want to help you, Eliza. And if you keep talking over me —,”

“I understand.”

How had she never seen before that when he smiles his eyes twitch? Mind full with the image of broken clockwork, Eliza feels her knees lock, becomes wind-up doll whose handle needs a tweak. There’s a youthful innocence in his gaze. Eliza picks at her neck with nails sharper than the kitty her cousin once rescued, pinching to ease every scattered breath down to tired lungs.

“Thank you,” Sam said, “I really do want to help you.”

“I know,” Eliza pretends she’s lying. That happens a lot around Sam. He was better at it than she, with a lie of relief clouding his countenance so entirely she knows he believes it.

“And after all,” there’s a knowing giggle at the back of his throat, “Did he say he would?”

It closes her throat, but she hesitates anyway, trying to clear her thoughts and puzzle out the odd conversation. Eyes flutter shut, at least until she remembers she didn’t want Sam looking at her when she couldn’t see where his hands were.

The man who Eliza had to thank for her life clearly stated (was it clear?) that she should forget about him…that he died a long time ago. Why had it felt she’d known him? Why did she think she could trust him, why was he so familiar? It was deeper than the knowing that came with putting a name to a face, or a person to another’s memory. This came from her, she knew, a recollection in her heart she couldn’t picture in her mind anymore. It felt as if she’d forgotten a man she’d never met, and missed him for years. But had he said he’d help her?

Angel hadn’t, in fact. She had tried to, had sworn to him she’d help him and all of them too - but he hadn’t said a word of agreement. To teach her spells, yes, to come back and see her. Was that enough, when he said he wouldn’t take her home? A mental voice argues he couldn’t speak freely, but another recalls the flutter of fear he masked with hatred when Sam told him he was wanted and another remembers his advice. They will offer you an invitation. Take it. Do what I couldn’t, don’t make my mistake…

Lifting her chin, she forces herself to shake her head at Sam until she resembles a wronged bobble-head. When she brushes her nail under her eye, she’s not crying, only finishing a painting of her face.

“No, he didn’t.” Sam agrees. “I will.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on.”

The strength in her snap surprises her, as it’s hampered with emotion thickening her throat until she didn’t know how she could breathe through it. Sam gestures at the bed, but Eliza keeps her back straight as if she hadn’t seen it. Damn the fact she couldn’t breathe, damn making her heart work twice as hard in a battle against oxygen, she wasn’t getting back on that bed if he dragged her kicking and screaming.

Which, Sam might, she realizes. Eliza shivers.

When he accepts she won’t sit down and she cheers her mental victory, Sam starts pacing. He clasps his hands together in front of her, pointing with tangled fingers and she’s startled by the air-jab.

“If you’re wondering where to start,” she speaks to make him stop staring and pacing around her, loose fist at his side jangling bones like keys. “The beginning is usually good.”

He stops, turning to smile at her with affection.

“You’re always right,” he chuckles and sits on the edge of the mattress, hands bracing on his knee-caps. Hesitantly smiling, she nods at him, to show she remembers too. His hand on her shoulder squeezing, his eyes bright and glued on her as he tells the rest of the guys, the older ones — the seniors — how smart she was, how she kept him in line, saying she was like the missus - even telling him what to wear (and she did make some suggestions, she thought, so it was only fair he could tell her which dress to wear out). Oh, Eliza remembers all of it.

“Was I right when I said you were an asshat for sleeping with one of my friends?”

That clouds his smile as she thought it might, but after a moment it’s not in anger. That surprises her; what did she do if she couldn’t attack him over it? His grey eyes were tainted sad, shoulders slumping and body crumpling on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, you were.” He says in such an earnest, honest way that Eliza thinks: if she couldn’t believe another word out of his mouth, if she hates him until the end of time itself — at least he knew how hurt she was. At least he knew that behavior was unacceptable.

“I made a mistake, Eliza,” there’s distance in his eyes, “God, so many mistakes.”

Sam’s voice breaks and she titters, pushing memories she usually hated to think about to her mind’s forefront, a buffer against feeling sorry for the boy who had lied to her, who had taken her heart to wear around his neck like a trophy and stamped on it…she didn’t want to listen to this.

“Yes.” she agrees, unable to think what else she could say. Sam looks like she hit him with a bat and she winces, searching and looking for more buffers to keep herself from feeling guilt.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he swears at her earnest, “just know — Eliza…I never meant to hurt you.”

For Gods sakes, she wanted to say, wondering if he knew how much she hated that line. Eliza hates cliches. She hates the word, the fact it is never spoken, never without deragatory judgment attached to it. How could he think she’d be so gullible as to believe that, a stereotype and statistic in psychology books? That wasn’t her.

She wants to be novel. bright, original, a star. Sexy. So when she had walked in and saw the Victoria bouncing in time to Sam’s pounding rhythm, brunette strands tossing like it was caught in a wind warmer than those blowing on the Mediterranian, squealing and making freeze frame faces, all she wonders at first is how she became a collossal joke.

“Fine, you didn’t want to hurt me. But you did want to hurt others. You made Hans attack Devin, right?”

“No one makes that man do anything.” Sam brings a hand to his throat, rubbing in the kind of way that makes Eliza think it was in memory of pain.

“Don’t give me that, you asked him to do it.”

“Yes,” and this time it’s his agreement that swings the bat into Eliza’s chest. Why did she want to be right, again?

Breathless, “And you poisoned him in the hospital?”

“Technically Sienna —,”

“I don’t want technicalities, Samwell.” She snaps. “Did you insure Devin was poisoned in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“…how?” She wants to know, thinking of the terrible look in Sienna’s eyes the last few times she’d seen her, the haunted, grey and wide eyes. Sam’s face tightens and eyes fall back to her tapping feet. Uncertainly, as he closes his eyes, she tucks her heels beneath her bottom now, hiding them from his view.

His answer was low.

“Angel makes a lot of potions,” he explains, a shoulder shrugging when his eyes open again, “one of which acts as an inhibitor of short-term memory. It has a side effect of sleeplessness, which makes a person hallucinate all on their own, forget and most importantly - susceptible to suggestion. Victoria put a few drops in her coffee in the morning, within three or four days she was off to Devin’s room.”

Sienna had been the one to find her. Her shrieks of indignation and curses too proper for her ladies’ lips had been welcome — her question of why she hadn’t interrupted Sam and Victoria less so. They looked like they were enjoying themselves, she had said meekly to her roommate’s arched eyebrow, who was she to stop them having a good time? (Uhm, his girlfriend? Sienna never could help herself interrupting). It was just sex, the fifteen-year old Eliza responded even quieter, buried in denial. Just sex…

Just sex, Sienna had snapped and spun on her heel, ready to march off to find them while Eliza begged her not to. It wasn’t until she broke into tears and buries in Sienna’s side that her friend stops. For two hours she lets her cry and shovels ice cream down her throat between sobbing outbursts, until they came less frequently and they were laughing on matter’s of celebrity marriages, fashion-never-evers and other highlights of Teen Witch Weekly.

She’d broken up with Sam the next day, and for months Eliza pretends it was all her own idea.

Sienna, who had the stickiest nose since those guys at NewsWorld Corp and black hair thick of secrets, had never told anyone. She’d never even told Eliza she knew it wasn’t her idea to leave Sam. All Sienna did was plant pamphlets in her hand and tell her they were going to France in the summer, and that they were going to find her father. And we did, Eliza thinks miserably of what Claude Simmons would be like now…did he go to the funeral? Would her mother have let him?

And now Sienna had paid the price for her loyalty, she realizes, angry with Sam, bewildered with why he’d go after Sie, and snapping,

“So, Angel’s potion, Victoria drugging and Sienna poisoning. Are you going to take responsibility for anything?”

“I’m trying,” Sam argues, defensive and taken aback. “You asked me how. I said I made a lot of mistakes.”

“You did,” she agrees and then steps forward, hesitant but eager, unable to help herself, “but if you want to make amends you can right now — let me go home. You want to tell me everything, that’s fine, just—tell me at home, tell me in my house, let me go.”

“I can’t,” Sam dismisses the thought out of hand and she stops moving. Ice shoots through her veins. With eyes on her socks, like he was sorry to stop her in her tracks, gaze full of desperation to be able to call her forward. With a weary voice that cracks, he repeats himself, “I can’t — Eliza, if that’s what you really want then I — I would want that for you too, but I…I, can’t.”

“I don’t understand.” Eliza starts, heated and panicked, chest expanding so quickly for an instant she forgets how hard it is to breathe. “You caused this, you did, you started —,”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He asks her, wringing hands filled with sweat, shaking wide eyes at her filled with insincere apologies that he believed, hopeless.

“Then fix it!”

Dancing along the top string of her vocal chords, it snaps with her exclamation. Sam matches her pitch with twice her emotion, hands shooting to the dim-lit ceiling, “I can’t!”

His forehead tilts to stick to his palm and elbow jams into his knee, his shoulders shuddering as he fights for breath, and Eliza tries to think he deserves the misery but — but what kind of person would she be if she liked watching someone suffer? Wouldn’t that make her like them? The ones who got off tearing Angel’s throat only to fix it, the ones who poisoned Mrs. Brackner and who snapped people’s necks like that was just no big fucking deal?

Sam’s shaking breath and head were filled with little murmurs. “You don’t understand”s becomes “I just wanted”, “I only wanted”, and “it was just”s — the started sentances that seem to have no finish for want of an end to deep shame.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he promises finally, seeing her take a step closer. “But I don’t know how to make you believe me…”

“Tell me the truth.” Eliza says. Their blue eyes lock. She clasps her own hands together, and sits on the chair Angel made for her. Tucking fingers into her palm and heels around the leg beneath her, she tries to ignore dizziness to listen.

Sam lifts his chin at her, a ghost of his usual smirk on his lips, like he’s amazed by her, like he’s impressed and grateful to her. Eliza’s cheeks flush and she tears her gaze from his, looking at the silk that still lay on the floor. It was too familiar a gaze for her comfort. The first time she’d seen it had been across a crowded party, a room filled with older blondes who didn’t dress in proper sweaters (or wear bras), whose tongues were loose (and skirts looser)…but he looked at her.

Doubletakes to her side made it clear. Sienna, who usually commanded that attention was tucked into Alcott’s side so tightly, Eliza suddenly loved being the third wheel. With her best friends paired off, all the men looked at her, and she loves it. The attention, the compliments, the free drinks. Eliza had never been a star before.

“I was angry, that’s the truth.” Sam starts, rolling fingers together and Eliza thinks, yes, yes that she could believe. Her voice was too tight to say another word.

“I hadn’t wanted to lose you,” he continues, hopeful on her gaze. “But I tried to respect your wishes, I did —,”

“You’ve had me kidnapped against my will and had my death faked.”

“That’s not what’s happ—Eliza, you want me to start at the beginning, yes?”

Eliza quiets, now hugging knees to her chest. A breathless pause falls where he looks at her so guilty, so weary and she realizes he hadn’t snapped again — he wasn’t getting angry in response, he just kept trying to explain. Her head spun. Then she nods.

“I meant, in January. I left you be, at least — Eliza, I loved you, I love, you, I always have, I couldn’t just…it wasn’t easy to try and act like that…suddenly meant nothing.”

She looks at her ankles herself now, because she couldn’t take the hurt in his wide-eyes. God, he looked like he was about to cry. This wasn’t fair, she thinks bitterly, it wasn’t fair at all…but maybe if this was how he felt, maybe they could come to some understanding, work together…she had to be able to make him understand that she didn’t want to be there. She has to be.

When he realizes she won’t look up again or say anything, his voice breaks again while continuing on, “But I did, didn’t I? Even at the party Devin first came to…my dear cousin, always thinking he was better than the rest of us—,”

“No he doesn’t.” Eliza whispers, bitter and irked and wishing her voice was stronger. But her lungs hurt. “Devin came to that party in January thinking you all were an elite club that he was never going to be a part of. That you were all better than him, and he just wanted to belong.”

Her breath scatters as her heart skips a beat and she thinks he doesn’t hear her as she finishes, “I understand how he felt.”

Whether he heard or not, he doesn’t comment on it. Just purses his lips.

“The Quidditch match where his sister rammed Alcott — ”

“Lynn apologized for that.” She whispers again, but he doesn’t seem to hear that either.

“—it was the first time in a month that you were near me again, and I didn’t want that to stop. I didn’t want it to go away, I didn’t want -you- to go away. So I made nice with Devin — he’s my cousin! I wish he -could- understand, I don’t quite understand…”

“You took Nadia!”

Sam flinches, and swallows.

“Later,” he whispers, “that’s later, it’s all later…after this summer, after…”

Eliza was shaking her head, incredulous and hurt. “After what?” He doesn’t answer, reverting to the story wide-eyed and speaking quickly, so quickly it was like he thought he was running a race and near the end, and sprinting, hard and fast and couldn’t breathe or think but goddamn he knew he was going to finsh the race.

“Hanging out all of us in the Forbidden Forest — all of us, you, me, Sienna and Al, Victoria and Devin…it was like everything was all right again, like it was all going to be okay. But you said I wasn’t being friendly enough still — so I tried to make that right, and Hall was going after Devin, wasn’t he? My friend — hell, he’s more than that, he’s my cousin, he’s family — but it went wrong, you hit me, you hated me —and I thought…I had thought that if I did what you wanted, you might be able to forgive me eventually…don’t you see, that was all I wanted? All I ever did?”

Eliza’s shaking her head, tears in her eyes but she doesn’t answer because she can’t. She doesn’t have the breath for it.

“And then you tried to kill me.”

The statement — like it was a fact — was stated as a bullet might and she startles, hurt and nearly falling off the chair.

“What?” She snaps, or tries to. It’s a gasp, a gasp that leaves a throat too closed for further words. Her head was spinning, she was fragmented between the past and present and memories and the fact she knew he was wrong but — but didn’t everyone make mistakes, when they were trying to win someone they loved? Lord, her head hurt.

“I did not try to kill you!”

“Sorry, not you.” Sam hisses, and now he’s angry again, she can hear it in bitter words and a quick-snapping tongue, and a shiver of fear snakes through her spine.

“But does Alcott ever do anything but what you want him to?”

That stings. Alcott does plenty she doesn’t want him to, she tries to argue but it falls on a flat throat. Yes, he drinks often, he smokes on occasion, he’s insensitive and crude — and yet she knew, Sam was absolutely right. Because God if she didn’t love Al for it. God if she didn’t think he was well withing the right to swear and scream for his terrible luck, to try and drink away suffering and inhale smoke as if the fog would cover his pain. And God, if she didn’t love the insensitive little jokes that remind her they were all only human, the quick-wit that makes her laugh, laugh so hard she thinsk she might burst with the good feeling.

Then she realizes what Sam thought.

“He didn’t!” She startles now off the chair, standing straight and hurrying towards him, taking his clasped, sweating hands and squeeizing, a gesture that makes him startle so quickly he nearly falls off the bed.

Squeezing, she swears, “Sam, it was an accident.”

Of course he wouldn’t believe that. Alcott had always hated Sam. He was the only one who tried to talk her out of seeing him, who reminded her on Saturdays that she shouldn’t be left alone waiting for him to maybe-show, and had been genuinely bewildered when she pointed out Sam was the only one to think she was pretty — and didn’t he understand that? Didn’t he want that?

You’re not pretty, Al had started, breathless and insensitive as ever — for he took too long to finish the thought, long enough that she was hurt, long enough for her to wonder if anyone else could find her pretty when even her oldest friend who she thought of like a brother didn’t. You’re drop-dead gorgeous, Liza. A smirk crossed his lips before he cups her cheeks and brings them to smack into her forehead.

Alcott had been the one to punch him when he tried to kiss her the first weekend they broke up. Knocked him flat. Devin had too, in May, fed up with trying to win his cousin’s and their cronies approval — but more than anything fed up with listening to Sam insult Nadia. Alcott had done it at the ball too…and Devin, the night before, had threatened to kill him. In fact, they kept beating Sam up, she realizes, and wonders why she’d always wanted to cheer.

When had she become someone to approve of violence?

“It was an accident,” she swears still trying to squeeze his hands as if she could squeeze belief into him, “Alcott didn’t have the Wolfsbane potion that night, we’d tried to get him deep into the forest, deep enough to be away from anyone but you…I didn’t know you followed me.”

“So it was my fault, I was ravaged to the point of death?” Sam snaps at her, even as he tangles their hands together and tries to pull her up. Frightened, Eliza pulls her hands away to snap down at him.

“I know that if it wasn’t for Hols you -would- be dead.”

Sam doesn’t seem surprised by that though, and it puts a cold in her stomach she doesn’t know how to shake. Twisting away from her, his hands fall to his sides and he nods. Just once.

“I didn’t know that for a long time,” Sam sounds bitter, “not until Hans. My uncle, he…he’s the only one who was able to figure anything out, Eliza.”

And he spins back to her, desperation back in his gaze, folding his fingertips together like he thinks he can pray hard enough for her to forgive him. She wonders if that’s why Angel calls himself that; an in joke for himself of the broken people who used him, and still looked to him for help.

“My mother was sorry, of course — but she couldn’t find anything, she didn’t have any idea who did anything. But I knew, I knew I saw Hols that night. My father didn’t want to hear it.”

That was almost spit. Sam only refrains on the simple fact that he wouldn’t spit -at her-, she thinks, and is for a moment grateful to him. And then she’s sick for it.

“He said, I needed to put school-boy grudges behind me. That he was disappointed in me — they both were. They both wanted me to accept Devin, be a bigger man than him, be ‘better’, they were so busy — so busy trying to tell me to be a Roswell, to be better, they didn’t give a damn if they ever found out who tried to kill me.”

“It was an accident.” Eliza hisses again, only then realizing what Sam had said, for ever she came to Alcott’s defense first. Her heart was aching. “No…wait — your mother, I talked to her, Sam, she’s horrified!”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam’s lips twist. “Horrified that I might have brought doubt onto the family name by continuing to be angry at Devin. I’m aware.”

“That’s not —”

“But my Uncle.” Sam didn’t want to hear it, and her heart aches with the icy shot. “He figured it out. He’s one of them, here, he has been for years — years he’s been waiting. He gets it, you know. My dad never approved of him either.”

“I’m sure that’s not —,”

“Isn’t it? Dad tried to tell him to stay away from me this summer, twice. So much for family above all.”

“Sam.” Eliza’s heart was breaking so fast she didn’t know why she even felt so sad. All she knew was she felt misery deep in her bones, so, so…cold.

“Uncle knew what to do.” He says it quickly, “And he, actually gave a damn what happened to me, and he taught me — he taught me what to do, but to do that…to do that, he had to bring me here too.”

Eliza stills. Her arms cross over her chest. Her mind fills with the image of Angel’s neck, with Nadia’s panic, with the dismembered bodies at the Gala — so much blood, so, much red to slip in…to fall…

“I had to know pain.” Sam isn’t looking at her now, and his bottom lip was trembling, “I had to know…what Cruciatus would feel like, and…well. I won’t—,” his gaze snaps to hers, voice wretched, “I won’t scar you with more details.”

Eliza nods, riveted in terror and hurt and somehow unable to look from his gaze.

“To his own nephew?” The question was so quiet she was surprised he heard her. Then she wonders what else he’d heard from her, what else he pretends not to notice. The wild-eyed want was reappearing, a manic look, as his lips twitch.

“So, yes. Hans figured out over the summer, that Alcott was a werewolf, he put it together — he recognized the signs, he said — and he attacked Devin when my Uncle asked him too—,”

And then he was in the hospital when Devin woke up, Eliza thinks without warning, as if he wanted to make sure Dev didn’t die…D’Grey had said the pack weren’t death eaters, hadn’t he? She thinks for a moment, she glimpsed the difference.

“—and Victoria took Nadia, and brought her here. They took it over, Eliza, I didn’t — I didn’t have anything to … I haven’t done anything else. I had to…pay my debt, see. I had to become one of them.”

His uncle manipulated his anger, is what he meant, Eliza thinks bitterly and tries to think how to phrase it. Mr. and Mrs. Roswell genuinely wanted to help Sam when they tried to get his uncle to stay away, but he wouldn’t listen to that…

“Tell me about the Gala.”

He does, and she barely listens, for Nadia had told her all of it before. Nadia had known every facet of the plan, of their plan, as if it was seared into her brain — and she hadn’t known why (but she wouldn’t think about that, Eliza couldn’t think about that). Eliza asked because she wants time to figure out how to get Sam to see what his uncle had done, that it was his parents who wanted to look out for him — but she’s distracted as she realizes Sam was unconscious for most of the Gala.

Yes, that’s right…unconscious and hand-cuffed to an armoire, she thinks, momentarily proud of Alcott. A sickness settles in her cold stomach and she shuts her eyes, trying to process everything. Nadia hadn’t mentioned her, she wants to say, but swallows it back: she wouldn’t put her in danger like that. Who knew who else she was endangering if she revealed all that Nadia knew? Who had told Nadia in the first place?

“But I was in the hospital.” Eliza inserts in his recitation, as his voice fails. Sam crumples. “How did I get…”

“There’s a woman, Gina.”

Sam didn’t like her. Eliza could read it in every inch of his face, and she feels a little better for that.

“They marked you because they knew I loved you — to use you against me, I expect, if I ever show signs of wavering again.”

Eliza says nothing. They will use them against you, she hears Angel’s voice again. Your mother and father, your boyfriend, your friends, Alcott…

“When I realized—I convinced them, I convinced my Uncle to help instead, that you could be an ally, that you should be given a room instead— that you needed to recuperate…” He trails off.

“That’s why you said you saved me,” Eliza’s words are breathless.

He nods at her, and seems to lose his voice to say anything else. This was all backwards, she thinks as she falls to sit on the floor and lean her head against the wardrobe. She wants to shout, she wants to scream — she wants to strangle him. How could he do this — how could he think she’d become a death eater? Did he really think she was going to be grateful for this?

It was his fault, it was — all of it, he caused every inch of their pain these last few months by involving the Death Eaters. They’d taken Alcott’s father years ago, they’d torn families apart all their lives — and maybe, maybe if he’d had his father, maybe Alcott wouldn’t have felt obligated to seek out those centaurs to prove himself and he wouldn’t have become a wolf — and if Sam hadn’t been attacked, would this have happened? It wasn’t Alcott’s fault, though. It was Sam’s, she reminds herself, it was Sam who chose to do these things, to trust these horrific people, who ordered attacks on her friends and…and all in the name of loving her? Tears prick at her eyes as she feels so responsible, so ultimately responsible for all of it.

But his uncle manipulated him too, she thinks bitterly, wide-eyed and near tears. And hurt him? Why did Sam trust him so much when…

“God, Sam.” She looks up at him, and realizes he hasn’t stopped staring at her, and she gets it now: why he wanted to be the one to explain, why he thought she should be grateful. If it wasn’t for Sam, she might have woken up in a dungeon cell, or maybe not at all. But if it wasn’t for Sam, the Death Eaters wouldn’t have come after her and her friends at all.

“How could you be so stupid?” She asks and he laughs, laughs in a breathless kind of way that infuriates her and tells her she’s right: he knows. He knows already, how broken he was and he was trying to convince himself he could fix it from here, from now on.

“I don’t want it.” Eliza snaps, bitter and shakes her head, arms snapping to her sides, breathing heavy and hard, “I don’t, not any of it, I want to go home, right now. I just want to go home. They can make me forget all of this. I won’t tell anyone what you did, I won’t tell anyone what your uncle did — I won’t, just…just please, Sam, let me go home.”

He furrows his brows at her and then he stands, hands sliding into his pockets taking a few steps away from her. She can’t see his face, or figure what he’s thinking but then — Eliza wonders, could puzzle out an insane’s person remarks anyways? Not for sense, surely…it only made her as insane as him.

“This isn’t love.” She tells him, and watches each individual vertebrae in his spine stiffen.

She’s so proud of herself for saying that. Sienna, Alcott, Devin — how many people had had to tell her what real love was? Sam had told her he loved her for the first time a year ago. He looked at her in that way, that way he had earlier: enamoured and he called her sexy.

No one had ever call her sexy. She was fifteen and when he first says it, she was pretty sure she didn’t know what it even means. Sexy was some fine line for her, between Audrey and Marilyn and it seemed to have a lot to do with tossing hair in the wind, standing over air vents and smiling like you expected a camera to freeze frame. It hadn’t gelded with her image of herself and truthfully, she’d always been a bit of a prude before then…but Sam didn’t seem to notice, so she pretended not to notice when he unbuttons her sweater for her, teasing nonchalant how hot it was in here.

It had confused her, confused her entirely how Sam could have hurt her - how he could have slept with her friend, if he thought she was so sexy, so gorgeous. Twisting on the floor away from Sam, she finds the standing mirror and looks. A bruise appears in her mind’s eye on her cheek, the marks from his mouth on her neck, and then the scarf he’d given her to cover it up, apologetic. The next day he’d brought flowers. That wasn’t love, Alcott had argued.

She stares into the mirror deeper, curled in a ball, trying to find herself in the reflection, underneath the pale skin, pockmarked skin (she’d pricked it with her own nail, she remembered), and can’t see anything. Look deeper, she reminds herself, quiet. Her hair wasn’t just blond — it was three different shades of gold and yellow, like the sunlight crayon on her colorwheel. Her cheeks were flushed rose from fever, and fever was good — a fever meant she was alive and fighting. The pajama’s that Angel had put her in for comfort were soft, a teal camisole and lavender pants and she — she can’t quite remember what the exact shade it was crossed with was, but she knew to look for the deeper shade, she was trying, and didn’t that count?

You deserve better, Sienna said — and how much did she want to believe them, why couldn’t she just…do it? It had still surprised her even now, even a year later, when Hans — damn him — had told her how pretty she was. A beauty with eyes so captivating she’d make men lose their souls, he’d said. They flick to gaze at Sam’s back in the mirror and she prays that wasn’t what they’d done to him.

No, she thinks bitterly, chin lifting — no, stop blaming yourself; it’s Sam who made the choice, just as he was trying to make this one for her. And fuck, even Hans — even the murderous wolf who forced her best friend to down a potion and threw Nick through a window not caring if he died, who put Devin in the hospital without a care and had Ansel attack Irene, and Rachelle attack Lynn — even fucking Hans Lawrence Ricard seemed to understand that love meant you didn’t take someone’s choice away from them. That it was something precious, the antithesis of destruction — that at it’s purest core it meant inspiring someone, not controlling them. Like the woman who saved a country from a tyrant by simply telling stories.

Or like Angel had just said when she challenged him, when she could see the hurt in his eyes and want she imagines must burn deep in his soul — when he brushed his thumb over his ring and said his wife was proud of him no matter what he’d done. He hadn’t seen her in almost a decade, and Angel still knew it was her choice as much as it was his choice, knew (prayed) she’d support him and love him for it. Would Rory, she wonders? Rory, whose eyes she could drown in and whose laugh was so earnest, like each one took him by surprise. Rory, who wrapped her in his arms to hide her from the world, like he could protect her from sheer force, who whispered in her ear that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. Would Rory understand, if she’d done something like make the potion to drug Sienna?

She had to believe he would. Even if he didn’t know she was alive, even if he didn’t know she was coming back to him — she, she had to believe he’d be there waiting. He loved her, and he knew what love was.

“Stuffing me in a room and convincing someone not to kill me, by telling them I’ll be a Death Eater, that I’ll be violent and break the law, that I’ll hurt people — that’s not love, that isn’t saving anything. That’s breaking me.”

“You don’t know what breaking is,” Sam had stiffened so hard she thinks he breaks his neck as he spins to look at her, eyes wide and blood-shot and she remembers abruptly, all other thoughts cleared away: I had to know what pain was…

“Please, don’t find out.”

Sam spins and then he falls onto the floor, onto his knees back beside her and she squirms, scrambling to curl into a ball against the open door. Her arm slips into the chest and she draws out the teddy bear that Rory gave her, and squeezes him to her chest for comfort.

Sam notices this, and seizes the advantage, informing her, “I brought as much as I could — but I, I can get more, well I can try…I wanted you to have your things.” His gaze dances over her neck, lingers, and then to her ears and finger as she pinches the diamond earring. “Gina brought those—your parents must have…put them on your body.”

Eliza shivers, and her eyes shut. Then snap back open. No, remember, you don’t want him near…

Sam hadn’t moved, he was still sitting on the ground near her.

“I want to go home,” she says quietly, “please, Sam, please there must be some way —,”

“There isn’t.” His face is hard, panicked and he reaches for her with a desperation she can’t outmanuever, but when his hands close on her shoulders, she realizes how cold he was. “Please, if you don’t — if I can’t go tell them you’ll learn they’ll…”

“Hurt me?” She asks wide-eyed, breathless but…not disbelieving. She knew. That was what Angel said too. But she didn’t want this, she didn’t want any of this, she wanted her home, Eliza wanted to fucking go home! Tears were pricking.

“Don’t let them, please.” He squeezes her shoulders and she wonders how Sam had gotten so strong, for there must be ten tons of pressure on her shoulders, ten thousand more on her heart, on her head, everything was close and heavy, and hurt, it hurt so much already. A tear falls on to her nose and sticks there.

“Please, Eliza. If you just…”

“Just what?” She breathes out, panicked, trying to expel knives from her chest. Then she understands. If she just become a Death Eater wasn’t the answer at all — he wanted her, he wanted her with him, and he’d do anything to make it happen and she realizes - she can’t pretend, not this, not when he was leaning so close and it was making her skin crawl.

“Please, let go.” She begs him, and he startles at her voice. For a moment, he doesn’t move. His lips were ghosting near her cheek, and she thinks he’s trying to pet her, or squeeze her like the bear she held, like she was just something that was his to mold and —

He lets go. His hands move up and she darts at both of them, not seeing the flash of anger in his eyes, only the pain in him as he pulls back on the floor.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” he says as if it’s a compromise and stands up. Eliza swallows and then starts nodding, nodding quickly and rubbing tears away from her cheeks. “You’re still recuperating.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” She says, and then she stands up again. His neck jerks back, recoiling as if she’d hit him. …Again. Her hand was itching to do just that, actually.

It makes her think of that cat again, the one she had mimicked by pricking her neck. Missy rescued the poor creature they found beneath a porticullis on their terrace. The kitten had tufts of missing black fur, shivering on white paws and looked a bit…well, pathetic. That was the thing about Sam too, she thinks briefly, tangling curls in her nails and piling them on her shoulder. He was pathetic.

Sam was the guy who blocked his own shot, the son desperate to prove to his father he was worth more than a second glance. So desperate to have anything of his own that, once he gets the tiniest crumb of anything, he gets so jealous and angry he doesn’t have everything, he immediately chokes out any goodwill he has earned and ends up right back into his man-cave of loathing and low self-esteem. And it was pathetic.

Eliza doesn’t like him, not anymore, but she can’t help but understand him.

“Eliza…”

And there it was, she could hear it in his tone: the threat implied. If she didn’t decide to be a Death Eater, to be with him — they’d torture her.

“I won’t.” She says, and her eyes are drying as she sees him clearly, wondering why she’s not more afraid.

“I’m not that person, Sam. And it doesn’t matter what your afraid of, whether you genuinely are afraid for me and sorry you started this — or if you just think I’m gullible, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what threat you make, or that they make — I won’t trust you again. I won’t love you again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry that you’re hurt. But you hurt me too. And you hurt so many, many more people. Devin, Nadia, Alcott — all those people at the Gala, Sienna, Rory — hell, fucking even Victoria, you’ve hurt her — you’ve -destroyed- her, and I can’t love that! I can’t, I won’t. And I’ll tell you what else.”

Sam was near the door now, looking at her in a way he never had before, a click back in his jaw and eyes wide with panic, hurt and fire. She lifts her chin trying to be taller, and wishes for her heels — she wouldn’t put them on, not when he was the one to bring them there.

“I’m sorry your Uncle is such a fucking, psychotic bastard.” She says it easily, not a trace of fear in her voice or eyes, those eyes that she had hooked into his soul. “I’m sorry what he’s done to you. But I won’t be you. If it comes to my death or my willingly hurting someone else, anyone else — then that obituary over there that you brought, that you made happen, that won’t be a lie anymore Sam. So you should think about that, and think about what love is because you really seem to have a fucked up definition of it. ”

His hand twitched towards his wand and then he stops, as if he’s surprised at himself. She doesn’t know why he’d be so surprised. He’d only made Eliza’s point for her.

“You realize what you’ve started — that’s the only reason you’re scared, isn’t it? Alcott loves me, and you’re right - there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. You think the next time will be an accident? And Rory? Rory will tear you limb from limb. Sienna probably already owns your ass in the Ministry — she’s sneaky like that. You saw what Lynn and Hols did, to Rachelle, right? They’ll be less kind to you and honestly, when they team up, I’d run away, far far away. And you saw what Devin did to Casanova? He’s got potions of his own too. Irene will smash your head in with a bottle, then drink it over your body in celebration. Justin will join in, I’m sure — Trent and Alisha…hell, In fact I think the only person who is going to cry at all when you die is Nadia — and not for you. No, she’ll cry because she’ll be sorry they had to do it, because she had to help, because that’s who Nadia is. She’s a saint. But she’ll do it, and you know, I think that’s the strongest of all. She’s better than me, frankly, because I won’t shed a single tear. I can think of a few others too, who won’t. In heaven or here on earth.”

Angel, she meant, Angel wouldn’t but — she couldn’t say that, god Forbid he was already hurt.

“I mean I didn’t even mention my father yet and you do know I found him, right? What do you think he’ll do to someone whose trying to hurt his baby girl?”

“I think someone with common sense can see with that many people attacking me —”

“What father do you know whose rational when their child is hurt? Oh, that’s right. Yours.”

Sam was shaking but at that, he lifts his hand and she moves quickly in case he smacks her. He starts to - she can see it, but she raises her hand too. That seems to make him think better — and she should be scared, if he has another option to hurt her and make her comply but she can’t. It truly is pathetic. He’d opened the door and started to go through it, and she follows, follows him to it and slaps her hand to the door frame, not knowing how she was standing or hold herself up but she wasn’t going to fall until he was gone, she simply wouldn’t.

“You don’t want to hurt me?” She arches an eyebrow at him, echoing his lie, “You’re the one trying to kill me, Sam. I won’t let you. I don’t do what you want anymore, and I won’t let you push me around. You can try, you can do anything - but I won’t break, not for you, not for someone so pathetic. So get the fuck out, and you tell your Uncle it’s time to play.”

Sam slams the door shut so hard she has to step back to insure it doesn’t smash her face. And then she turns around, falls backwards onto the bed, and breathes in, slow, steady, and heavy. But Eliza bursts, full of fire and light, her first honest bit of joy in hours and days and maybe weeks — because she understood what real love was, and that it’s worth fighting for, no matter how sorry or hurt she was for the broken ones, or the tragedies in the world. No matter if it had been ten years since you laid eyes on each other, and no matter if they couldn’t remember you.

Eliza just smiles.

 


	40. Cry Me A River

She really was rather pretty, which was more the shame. When he first laid eyes on her, he’d closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. It seemed appropriate, given their hallowed dim lit location. Hair of golden tresses, she had paused noticing him just in the edge of one moonlight beam until she’s illuminated in his eyes in silver light. Her eyes were dark in that kind of way that he recognizes, the navy that had once been sky-blue, before the bird fell under weight of a thousand hurts and drowned in the sea.

Toying with buttons and laces on skimpy attire that in the morning would make the tourists scowl and glare, she murmured a small greeting. Voice husky, eyelashes black and long and fluttering. Gazing unabashedly into his eyes, she offered him in her own version of a predatory, knowing smile.

To him, a tiger, it came off as a kitten trying to look mean.

She’s watching him with that look like she knows, she just knows there’s something wrong here, that he’d come back too early from the Gala and for a purpose counter to hers--watching him fight internally the wish he could choose someone else, but knowing he could not. She’d seen him. It would be what they call -- the killing of two (sky-blue) birds with one (grey) stone.

Her name was Sarah. The name -- solid, stark, properly English, was only more irritating. It steadies him. The thought that they were not meant to be here. That this was France, and he was Olivier D’Grey, and he had not spent his entire adolescent life studying to take over an empire only to watch it crumble to broken interlopers.

And she was broken. No older than twenty-one, she was -- he thought -- barely younger than his twenty-four years, but she might have been nineteen, or even eighteen. Gustav seemed to take them younger every day, throwing them in the cataclysmic black cells he’d carved from sheer stone beneath a holy symbol -- the cathedral, and his personal quarters, heaven -- the pit beneath, hell. It took no great genius to conclude which she’d emerged from.

It had occurred to him after he slipped past her it wasn’t their first meeting. He’d seen her rip a tourist apart once, for daring too close to their secret entrance. Watched as she seduced the man away from his family and sealed him in a tomb, alive, like she couldn’t bear yet to seal the deed herself, like his slow suffocation was nothing to her guilt of playing murderess. Her skirt swung as she stalked back around, found the man’s wife and gave his children free lollipops.

And she was broken now in another way, again, both arms useless at her side and one ankle - which he’d snapped with a click of his fingers when she dug a stiletto heel that took it’s name too seriously in his side. Red still slips down his slacks from the shallow cut and ripped shirt. Too intent to mend even his own skin, to heal himself where he would not heal her, he wishes she would just yield.

“Of course you won’t, will you? Yield.” He crouches behind Sarah, coaxing the stick-straight hair back from her shoulder, the golden strands straying too close to an open wound.

“After everything Gustav did to you, no torture seems worse.” He muses for his answer, for Sarah’s shaking in anger more than fear...or had been, until he named the man who would have broken her and a shiver traced up her spine. It infuriates Olivier for a moment only; the lengths the bastard would have made necessary. Then he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and D’Grey rests the knife under one breast.

“He’ll rip you apart,” She spits at him with wild lips, making him spin her neck to avoid the gob, her fly-away hair sticking in his mouth instead. D’Grey laughs.

“Oh, he would.” Her skin was hot. Burning. His fingertip stills on her pulse, presses red into the flames and simply sits there. “You’re right sweetheart...the man would flay me alive. But not.”

The knife flicks, effortlessly cutting the thin wire to free bountiful flesh. He cuts the other, licking his top lip and breathing in her rising pulse.

“Not, because I’m hurting you. Gustav never cared about you.”

“That isn’t true,” she whispers as if she’s not sure and he relaxes a bit against her to know at least it would be over soon.

They’d been there an hour. When he took her, drugging the wine she’d been sipping and pretending was holy, he seized her wholly from the back of the tourist-trap of a church -- skirt, wand and stilettos. He’d been impressed when she woke again in his father’s old study -- his now, his. All of this was his. Save for what he had to reclaim.

That was an hour ago. She kicked him with a knife, he cut her shoulder until it nearly hung free; she slapped him, he broke her. Shouts of disbelief, of betrayal, of anger and then -- then that telling shout that she’d always been suspicious of him (though “four days” was hardly forever, he’d wanted to say, rolling his eyes). The shout that told him he was right to do this. Not justified, not absolved...but correct in the logical assumption he’d made that sprang him into violent action, like an coiled asp striking out -- right.

“He cares about all of us.”

It’s sad really, how deeply she was deceived. This was what he wanted to stop, D’Grey argues with himself, but the voice was dim in his mind, as his breath ghosts down the back of her neck. Thumb brushing the blood off her shoulder, as if he’s desperate to keep her hair clean, the pin-prick of blood stains his finger maroon. Had he truly cut that deep? He couldn’t remember.

“As objects,” D’Grey agrees, his dark eyes trailing down her front. Her shirt ripped and torn, pink pockets of skin peek up at him, concealing and reappearing as she squirms beneath him. There’s a whimper in her pulse that tells him he doesn’t have long: the drug would wear off and she’d be free to use magic again. It makes his gaze lift.

“Not you, Sarah.”

“Shut the fuck up.”   
  
He laughs then, “You know that, don’t you?”

Her anger flushed in the cheek he forces to rest against his, forces to look down to her stomach where he rests the cool blade.

“I mean,” he’s still chuckling, “Of course you know. He put you in a cell, he took a whip to your bare skin--”

Little goosebumps pop beneath his chin, and for a moment he lets her struggle because it was easier that way, to let her own body exhaust her, not because he enjoyed her wiggling that made perfume waft up his nose and chase away the stench of both of their wounds.

“Stop.”

But there was one more thing he had to say, one more thing he guessed, one more thing that would make Sarah his instead.

“Did he force himself on you too?”

A quick intake of breath catches in his ear when his knife cuts her hem, and slips under the broken skirt. Now she’s still.

D’Grey shuts his eyes. Oh, Gustav, you’re making this too easy -- he wants to say, wants to point out the remarkable idiocy of such colossal hurts. Just once he’d like a challenge. Just once, he’d like to have to struggle to think what to say. An adrenaline agent in Devin’s IV to let him recover faster -- and warning him of Nadia’s condition, and even Eliza, who only heard of it, had looked at him with trust. A bezoar for Lyndsea (and one tiny whisper that Alcott had looked like his father for a moment) and Harper was his. All he’d had to promise was to let Harper kill Gustav himself.

Nadia -- ever the worthier opponent, ever the headache he couldn’t unravel in his mind because she wanted nothing from him except a good person (and that was why he knew how young she was, how remarkably innocent and inspiring -- to think there was a way to both be a good person, and beat the monsters), -- Nadia, remained what this was about. It was funny, the lie he was coaxing from her lips: another life, a few more weeks, he’d probably have been able to make it true.

A sacrifice, then....a pity. Well, perhaps Sarah would take solace in the fact she was helping her after all.

“And that was why you helped Nadia escape. So he wouldn’t do it to her too.”

Her refusal is a hiss, as if she can’t stop herself from saying it, but she knows he doesn’t want to hear it -- and so she tries to say it as fast as possible. Then she whimpers in a flash of pain, and he doesn’t know what spell he’d used.

D’Grey sighs, shaking his head. Her neck shakes with him, her hair soft as silk as it ghosts against his, and her eyes are hooded.

“Yes, you did,” He whispers it, pressing his lips to the top of her neck. “It’s okay, really, it’s done now...it’s all done.”

There’s a tiny cry, breathless, of “No...” again like she wasn’t sure and he tastes salt when he kisses the corner of her eye. His hand slips across her shivering, sensitive pink skin from collar bone to cheek and turns until the girl collapses against him.

“Yes,” he whispers to match her breathless exhale, coaxing her, fingers caressing her neck, unclenching his solid knife so he can press his palm flat around it’s hilt. He brushes back and forth, ghosts his fingers in a delicate swirl on the smooth inner thigh.

“Tell the truth, darling. You hate him.”

There’s silence. And then,

“Yes.”

“He hurt you. He broke you.”

“Yes.”

Her heart was pounding in his ear, and her voice raises.

“And you want him dead.”

“Yes!” She shouts.

D’Grey smiles. And then he kills her.

Blood.

{*}

**Alcott** : I'm sorry for running out on you, *sheepish little shoulder shrug and then tips flask back only to discover it's empty, and he exhales. Placing both hands together around it and squeezing, he falls to rest elbows on knees. When he looks up, a bitter smile has taken over.* You don't remember this--and that's the point actually, but Nadia, I've been interested in wand lore my whole life-or so it feels- and it's because of what I saw when I was six. *Calmly, though his eyes grow weary with emotion.* My father died in front of me. Protecting me--saved, me. *Swallows tightly,* From these same monsters. When he was showing me the latest in his wand lore studies. But the thing is, he didn't just study wands--he studied all kinds of things, including, including traumatic amnesia. And. *On a dry throat,* I know I'm not him. I know I could never grasp it on even the tenth of a level he did. But I have always been incredibly goddamn stubborn, and *he lowers the flask to his knee and leans back in the seat, moving to stand. He approaches her steady.* I read as much of what was left of his research everyday for three years. I think I can help you. *He stops, with his head tilting and voice still steady.* No, I know I can--I just don't know what we're going to find. But if it leads us to--these monsters, I'm up for trying if you are. Anyway.

*He shrugs a shoulder again and squeezes out the last few drops of his flask.* Forgot you didn't remember--irony at it's finest. *Then he pockets the flask.* But I didn't want you to think I was being rude. *And, he admits quieter to himself, he didn't want to back away from something he might be able to do, because sometimes it tugged on hidden chest strings. What would his father have said about that?, he wonders. As he always wonders. So he adds,* Well I mean--it was that, and I didn't want to further interrupt you and Dev, o' course.

**Nadia:** *Alcohol. It was one of the most poignant things surrounding the past few days, and would continue to she imagined. Irene kept looking at her as if she were going to yell at her for it, but that would be insensitive. She wanted to be supportive, help however she could...she almost forgot she was supposed to be helped too until at this moment. She wondered how weird it must be for him to reveal information to her again. About as weird as her hearing she'd known it before, Nadia supposed. She bit down on her lip for a quick moment, nodding enthusiastically even as she fought with the realization and confusion that his story struck a chord of familiarity with her. Why?* Of course, yeah I'm up for it, thank you, really. *The half smile was only there for a moment.* Here *she reaches inside her coat jacket and takes out a bottle of shiny green liquid* Irene gave it to me, just in case, but I don't see myself opening it.

**Alcott:** *Both eyebrows arching as his gaze pierces the bottle, the smell so sharp he felt he could already taste it on his tongue. And it was --would be--like heaven. It reminds him of the other thing he had spent two days now attempting. Since Devin had been poisoned, he had made his own Wolfsbane, but there was another potion he had no idea how to replicate...one he had no idea how long it would last. But did it even matter? (Even with the full moon only four days away again?) He knew the silver liquid was still in his system, but aside from claws and teeth he couldn't seem to get near what had been so easy that awful night--and he didn't think he'd ever been so angry in his life.

Alcott cracks a small smile and he takes the bottle from her, and nods.* Irene always does have the best-- thanks. *Moving to the nearest counter, he set the bottle down, unscrewed his flask and as he was pouring, tried to keep his voice even.* Well. To start...as simply, as possible--is there anything else that you've been told, that you remembered something from the...second time they took them? *He looks up, as he set the bottle down.* Like in the hospital, I mean.

**Nadia:** *She nods, it had already been made apparent to her that Irene was the provider of all liquors. She was learning as much about them as she could. Nadia frowned briefly but then cleared her throat, stepping up closer to him, shaking her head.* No, no, it...what you said about my wand? It's like the words were some sort of key because something just...clicked. *taps her head* Here. Except there's a lot of locks. I just hear his voice, singing the song. And I feel his guilt, fear, it was a little scary. And I was remembering about Hogwarts. I remember playing Quidditch, where the Hufflepuff common room is, how to get into it, things about the castle and classes, but just that.

  
**Alcott** : *Stilling as he slowly reseals his flask, he swallows on a terribly dry throat and tells himself it's the constant intake of alcohol. He'd tried to give his mother the flask. She had gone white and pushed him off, saying she knew his father would have wanted him to have it--just as Benjamin had given it to him when he turned of age--and revealed she'd already thought the same as him. She had a flask. Engraved with her initials, actually, and was twice as stylish as any he'd ever seen--but as she'd said, she wasn't drinking anything public again.

He slips the flask back in his pocket, calmed oddly by his own thoughts and looks back to Nadia. His brows and lips flick, words coming slowly,* It is a pattern. At least, I thought it might be, and you're confirming it. *He folds arms over the countertop and leans forward, turning the information over in a mind that echoes with his heart's struggle for a normal beat. Nod as slow as his words, he says kindly,* First--It isn't "just" that. *His tiny murmur is gentle, on a hoarse throat.* Any memory recovered, is important, and precious. Especially if this condition--these locks--have an order; you remembering Hufflepuff first could be a clue to the pattern. *Lifting a hand, he allows,* Or the wand might be, as you say you think this man gave it to you, *His breath quickens,* or it could be the song--could be all three, could be something I've not thought of yet. *He rubs his bottom lip, trying to think how to explain this in simple terms.*

Memory impairment--there's inevitably two causes, each to varying degrees of seriousness and--you've answered which it is with you. The first is an issue in damaged storage, the cells themselves--and while memories cannot ever be fully erased, that is a much more...permanent basis. That isn't the case here, Nadia. The second cause is a blockage in accessibility. Like you said...locks. *He grits his teeth, but tries to keep himself calm.* I would wager there's nothing wrong with your memories at all, Nadia--only in your ability presently to...reach them. They aren't gone. We find the keys, you'll open those doors.

*Rubbing his hand over his forehead to rub away sweat and anxiety, he looks back to his own folded and waits a long moment. And then it just bursts from him, as he loses all pretense of clinical attitude or calm detachment, words coming rapid and breathless,* The thing is. Locks--that is exactly, I mean word for word, what my father wrote about--and you say this man is guilty, and I would bloody hope so, what he's done here, and I really, truly hate the thought that hearing it frightened you because that isn't what this spell was for--because, Nadia, the reason I know it's a pattern is--you're you. You are, you're still...All right, yes things have changed, we all bloody know that,* his lip trembles,* but you know -- you know how to speak two languages, you still pinched me for God's sakes. You don't remember how you became you, but you're still you.

*His voice cuts off and wide eyes leap from fingertips to hold Nadia's gaze. His voice is broken. Fingers unraveling, he shakes his head slowly without blinking and finally admits,* That's my father's. One of his more genius ideas, really. *He holds Nadia's gaze silently for what feels to him an eternity. Did wolves not need to blink or breathe? He didn't think he'd done either in...ages, not really, not properly. Eliza would have known all this instantly, he thinks miserably--she'd get it, or if not the research...she always, she always knew what to say to remind him of something he'd known but forgotten.

He couldn't hear her now. So Al finally breaks eye contact, clasps his hands together around the bottle again and continues lower, still breathless,* Of course it's backwards. He conducted this research, this spell, to help people recover parts of memory without overwhelming them--by locking away potentially traumatic events that had caused the issues until a person heals physically and can do so in their own bed, their own home, surrounded by loved ones--it was never...it was never meant to -take- someone's identity from them, they, they've twisted it like they twist everything. *A long, long exhale leaves his chest and he feels like smacking his head against the counter. But, two people with head injuries probably wouldn't have been that helpful.*

You said he made a promise--that all your memories would come back. *He says abruptly, looking back up, eyebrow arching.* Did he--do you remember what he said before that? Or just right after--how he thought they would? Because the thing is--if he's using my father's spells, then...he would know perfectly well that it'd take years on it's own--so unless he's a blasted idiot, he thought there was another way.

*Al's breathless as he can't help but think now: no way in hell he wasn't supposed to be involved. It was his dad's--he really wasn't being arrogant to consider they would use it, twist what his father did for good, to piss him off--to call him out? It couldn't be a coincidence. And now he thinks for a moment that he does see Eliza, shaking her head at him, and a lopsided smirk appears on his lips as he finishes softly,* I mean, he probably is a blasted idiot-but if he could do my Dad's spells well enough, well. That takes talent.

**Nadia:** *She couldn't deny that she was happy that Alcott was able to identify the anomaly because of his father's research. But she was also wary of how the man who had done this to her gotten ahold of the same research, or was it possible to happen to do the same thing after all these years.* I know that, of course I know how treasured each memory it just...I wish I could have remembered people first. *She shrugged, licking her dry lips and then standing next to him and attempting to follow his train of thought and explanation, the little wrinkle on her forehead between her eyebrows becoming more pronounced as he went on.

It just didn't sit well with her Alcott insulting the man who did this to her, even though she knew logically, he took her memories. She should have been more furious about that. Her expression softened however as his became more livid or rather vivid with every word. His father's ideas, the father he'd lost- no, the father that had been taken from him. The death eaters were trying to degrade his memory, and that on top of all things right now...* Well, i remember it was after *she almost said Gustav's name, and for a moment she grew sick as his threat boomed in her ears, she breathed.* Well, after I got this. *She motioned to the scar on her face she didnt bother covering with makeup. That wasn't a lie.*

I remember...I remember saying goodbye, after his promise. I remember before...before...nothing about him. *She shakes her head and then she looks at him again in the same silent gaze.* We don't have to do this right now, you know. I understand this is difficult for you and...well, frankly, you look like hell. Trust me, I've been there. *pauses* Too soon? No?

**Alcott:** *His gaze hardens as he follows her hand flick, a choked off breath flushing itself down his bruised throat. The scar was one of a few; the other injuries, Healers had confirmed most were already treated with apparently remarkable care. Bastards, Alcott thinks, knowing full well they would play that "game"--torture, then healing to get you to crave their compassion...but then, Nadia didn't say that was how it went for her. How could she, when they fucking put themselves in her head?

Over and over he turned the basic facts she'd given him in his mind (he wouldn't be able to stop singing Frere Jacques if he tried), but nothing bloody new was occurring to him. Oh, he could do his father's preliminary spell to confirm suspicions, but then what? That wouldn't tell him the pattern. Nadia had clues locked in her head--they were playing with her still, acting like she was a fucking envelope and pawn and he was the one they wanted to lure. Was it better or worse that he was glad of this knowledge?

  
Alcott didn't care if it was a trap. If figuring this out returned Nadia's memories to her and had an added bonus of thus telling him who the fuck these men were, those she hadn't named already, or where they were--then, good. They wanted to bait him? Vicious they might be, but frankly--they were nothing more than five year olds with a school-age grude. Only he was going to kill them for it. (The wolf in his chest roares in approval).

Only there was a problem with his own righteous journey: he couldn't fathom what wandlore he was meant to say, to guess--Nadia was depending on him for this. He didn't feel as if he'd been left a legacy at all, not now. His father's son--that was what they all said, to make him feel better, to placate him--but surely his father would have guessed by now? Or at least have a backdoor entrance around the locks, a lock-pick, something, anything...

His father hadn't left him instructions. But that was because they never gave him the chance to. Alcott's jaw clicks. So instead of a legacy, he felt now all being his father's son meant was having a job given to him to do--like a shovel--and a hole to fill. A great, big, fucking gigantic hole. Actually, make it two holes. He filled one. Two days ago.

When he'd buried his best friend in it.

Alcohol didn't so easily fill this one as dirt and flowers had filled that one, when he threw them in all those lovely little condolences piled in the worst bloody way. Liza would have liked them, though. She loved flowers. Especially white roses, as they reminded her of innocence, she said. He'd joked that red ones were just white ones covered in blood--but even he (probably) wouldn't laugh at the metaphor now. He wasn't that insensitive. Not when he was honoring Eliza, anyway.

It was for that reason he should his head at chuckles abruptly at Nadia's tiny question.* Never too soon. *He counters, running his finger against his bottom lip to taste the lingering perfume in the air. Chanel no22. The flowery one. Still smiling and chuckling, he softens and says fervently to Nadia,* I want to do this now. I cannot...I can't keep waiting for the full moon and sitting around drinking endlessly while the men who murdered my father, who took his research and robbed him of his bloody life's work like taking his life wasn't enough--who took you, who hurt you--who poisoned my mother for sport, tried to kill my girl, and who fucking murdered Eliza get away with it! The only person in this whole goddamn world who never left me, who never judged me, who always saw the best in everyone and was downright a pain in the ass about it -- the person who could make me believe in anything...they took her. They killed her.

*Alcott looks away, irritated his voice risen so glorious is passion had broken on those last three little words. His eyes were filling, but he threw those away with a single eye wipe and stares blankly at their carpet. Then he continues, voice as steady as ever.* Eliza would have hated vengeance, though. I know that. So I can't do nothing. Yes, I'm in hell, but far from meaning I'm useless--it's...focusing, me, to try and remember that--that Eliza would have wanted a path to justice that strays from vengeance. Excepting allowances for maybe a bitchy comment or two--but see those I promised I'd leave to your sister.

*Alcott cracks another small smile, more calm now.* Nadia--I can ramble about wand lore for all time probably, but besides. The phrase I said, what I thought was an aphorism? According to Ma, that's--it was something my Dad made up. This isn't a coincidence. I'm supposed to do this. *He sticks his hand in his back pocket after taking a napkin to clean his face off. When he holds her gaze again, Al lost the look of a broken puppy, a hint of his wolf's blood pumping blood hot in anotherwise stoic, determined man. He nods at her.* There's a spell, first. If I do it while saying the first phrase again exactly--I can at least see which neuron regions it affects, and go from there. I won't be reading your mind, don't worry. *His lips flick up as he adds casually, more steady now and on his feet too,* Those little fantasies you've got about me can remain secret. *And Al winks.*

**Nadia:** *The frustration was apparent in his face if only for the briefest of moments. She was starting to pick up on the couple of habits of these people who were her friends: Rene filed her nails when she was antsy, Hols cleaned her camera when she was angry, Devin focused on technicalities to hide he was hurt, and Alcott hid behind a smirk that had as much cheer as a...well, that comparison was painful. Even to Nadia, who had no memory of the girl who's absence they were all suffering, it was still tough especially when she felt so personally responsible. But Alcott's smirk broke now, right at the end, talking about Eliza. Sincere sadness in her eyes, she nevertheless tried to keep them dry. She didn't get to cry, not right now at least. It was a mutual moment of keeping tears at bay.* Okay then.

*She nodded, understanding him wholeheartedly. Nadia wouldn't question that again* Go ahead. *She nodded, though she wasn't too pleased and then managed a chuckle of her own at his addition.* Oh, this -isn't- the part where you reveal we've actually been having a secret affair all this time? Ah *she snaps her fingers* well, I'll manage. *Shrugs and then takes an intake of breath to prepare herself while nodding , brief smile on her face.* Okay, ready. Fingers crossed for good luck. *She crosses them and holds them up for him to see.*

**Alcott:** Dev say something? *He had laughed in surprise, and was more surprised to realize his chuckle was so genuine. Rubbing at the wrinkles in his lips, he clears his scarred throat and continues teasingly,* I mean, I wouldn't blame him for being worried if I was available of course...

*It was preposterous for another reason, though, besides the simple fact that Al had long since understood why Hols said Devin and Nadia had been married since birth. As he said, 'if he were available'...and frankly, Alcott was hardpressed to think he'd ever be again. When he and Sienna had broken up, he'd been convinced he just wanted something casual, something easy. Besides, her face at the realization of his "furry side"...(or was it in realizing the enormity of what he'd kept from her?) ...who was going to want anything serious with him?

Hols Graft, the girl who'd once hit him with the beater's bat he'd...stolen from her (oh all right), simply never ceased to amaze him. And now, especially now, he had to admit: he wouldn't know how to be without her there. Maybe that was why, in part, he felt it was his responsibility to help Nadia. She was Hols' sister, her family. Starving for his own, Alcott smiles as Nadia holds her crossed fingers up and reaches for the twisted sign. Settling her hand in his, he squeezed tight.* Okay. Close your eyes. If anything feels wrong, just tell me.

*With his other hand he raised his own wand, own eyes shut and murmured the incantation. He'd never done the spell for real before (he wouldn't test anything on his animals he hadn't tried on himself first), but doing the spell on him...clearly hadn't had the same effect. There was a whorl, flashes of pain at the front of his mind he hoped she didn't echo, and then he saw what he meant to: a series of locked doors, her thoughts interpreted exactly as the spell intended.

The mind--separate from the brain, which was only an organ--was not easily "read" anyway; he wasn't going to hear Nadia's thoughts, he couldn't plant ideas (though that concept fascinated him), and anything he saw, she'd see. This spell simply provided an order to the chaos, gave them both an image of something that wasn't there to illustrate what was. He had struggled to try and clear his mind before saying the words, but now he found it easy, a breath escaping him once he saw the hallway. Had he cast Legilimens, he might have been able to break through--but he wasn't going to invade. Likely as not, her mind would arm itself so intensely, neither would ever find what they were looking for.

Exhaling slowly, he grips her hand to remind her it was all right, to test their physical connection, and repeated the words of his father's teasing adage. Alcott spoke to the letter of what he'd said before,* Apple wood, hm? Well, at least you know it won't rot. *Nothing yet. He continued a bit wavering, glad that at least, whatever she'd see and hear he couldn't--he didn't want to hear Frere Jacques, not in a voice different than the one already in his own mind.* It won't rot. Oh come on, you know - that saying? An apple wood is never rotten? *Now Alcott sees it, there was a flash of the cracked open lock, and he looks for only a moment, unable to help himself--and then pulls back both physically and mentally with a gasp. Lowering his wand tip from Nadia's forehead, he looks at her with wide eyes, and squeezes her hand. Apologetically he asks,* Are you all right?

**Nadia:** *She nods at Alcott's instructions, breathing out and closing her eyes. She trusted him, and what he was determined to do: help her, not just for her sake, but for everyone's sake which was what motivated her to help at the Gala, and what kept motivating her to find ways to help even now. Her memories held the answers, but to what? She wasn't sure. Only one way to find out. An intake of breath was her only response to the spell taking effect as she realized she could almost feel Alcott's consciousness in her own mind which she saw through his point of views.

She'd been right, there were locks, locks on doors; Nadia braced herself, unsure of what would happen next as he spoke. At first nothing, but as he said the last phrase, there was the sudden wave again, as poignant as the first time, the song so loud in her mind that she couldn't keep it in.* Frere Jacques, frere Jacques. Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines. *She opened her eyes, breathless, with a whisper she finished the song.* Ding daing dong...ding daing dong. *She nods.* I'm alright. I heard him again, like the first time. *Felt him again too, his other thoughts, his other emotions.*

**Alcott:** *Hearing her sing the song again made him tense, near flinch and he reaches instinctively for his back pocket. Brushing his thumb against the top of his flask, he felt better. Alcott looks behind him to one of the paintings on the wall. It was a landscape, probably in the family for generations. He then nods, steadied by her words that it worked even if his thoughts were scattered and breath near nonexistent. Gesturing behind them to the couch still wide-eyed, he speaks slowly,* I'll get the book then. *He twists back to look at her even as he heads to the shelf, peeling out one of his hidden tomes. There was something else in her gaze.* What is it? *He asks breathless, trying to think only that by using his father's research to erase her memories he could fix it, rather than his anger. Unrelenting, his knuckles were white, fingertips drumming over the book's spine.* Nadia, what is it? *He says,* Is there something else he said?   
  
**Nadia:** *It was a bit absently that she followed him to the couch he gestured to, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts that threatened to amount to a headache again, but she had a better control on it this time around. She recognized the same thoughts again: he was sorry, his promise that she would get her memories again and to trust him. She opened her eyes again, not realizing she had closed them and then looked back at Alcott as he stood with a book in his hands. She waited until her breath was steady to say it out loud.* Find me. He...he said "find me".

**Alcott: *** This was as emotional for her as it was for him, he realized abruptly. Whatever the memory, this incident--what had twisted her mind up, had been hard for more reasons than the spell. Perhaps the healers conclusion of trauma induced loss wasn't so off after all. He swallows hard.* Find me? *He echoes, thumb cutting itself on the book's edge. Blood blossoms on the pad. Al didn't notice. Shaken, he barely heard the phrasing, as he echoes it again louder, and drops to sit on the glass table.* Find me?

*They were taunting him then. They were taunting all of them--telling them to find him, daring him to (that doesn't make sense, the Eliza-voice in his mind quivers, but even she was hesitating and so Alcott found it easy to ignore. For what was the alternative--these clues were a rescue? A rescue for a man who...* We will find him. *Alcott swears it, near spitting it under his breath and rubs at his forehead. Hard, back and forth, he felt he was digging into his own skull.* All the better if he's foolish enough to want to be found. Especially by me, after he's -- *he rubs a sore throat. His eyes shut. He tries to say steady through shivers and quivers and gritting teeth,* -- my father died to keep them from having his research, El-- *He stops abruptly, the wrong name tasting bitter in his mouth.*

Nadia. *He corrects quietly, and then looks back up to her, stricken.* He died protecting it and protecting me, but guess it didn't matter. At least one of them can read his research, and if they want me to find him--then they want to use me too. *His voice quivers and dies over his simple recitation of his word's again --"find him"-- as a knife was in his heart, and he didn't know why. He looks to the book he holds, opens to pages filled of his father's unruly script with his own notes, and says in a dazed whisper,* The most powerful wand bred the most confusion, you know. It's a joke on the fact the Elder wand can't be replicated. Wand makers say it as a joke, but as it's the oldest joke there probably is...

*His fingers brush a diagram on the page and he says determinedly,* Wands of elder never prosper.

**adia:** *Given that it was such an emotional subject for him, Nadia didn't speak up in what might have been interpreted to be the man's defense. After all, the voice in her head didn't sound taunting, or cocky, it was desperate, hopeful. Even if she said that however, she didn't think Alcott would believe it, that he would try to tell her that she was mistaken because these were after all the people who killed his father. So she remained silent, and pretended not to notice he almost mixed up her name with Eliza. They were all broken about it, Alcott especially. Gustav knew what he was doing when he picked her to "deliver his warning". She might not remember the girl, but everyone around her did, and almost all were directly affected and what affected them, affected her. She cast her gaze down in guilt, in shame before swallowing the lump in her throat and looking up to hear about the information.

Not understanding where he was going with it, she suddenly lifted a hand to her head again, hissing. Thoughts that were her own rushed into her head. Spells this time, other knowledge she didn't know she'd had. How to make double fudge brownies, her favorite Disney movies, Quasimodo!, writing in her diary, how to read tarot cards...she remembered her mother, her father. Family...family. But the sudden ache in her chest wasn't for her own family...*

So many years. Years he's waited, absent sun...or son?...sun nor son. "He'll figure it out, I know he can." *she gasped and opened her eyes, reciting.* Riddle me that, riddle me this. The door lies under the gargoyle's kiss. Down and down in the building's abyss. Opened not with a handle, not with a key-- but by a simple tap tap tap: one-two-three. Accueillir avec plaisir.  
*She breathes, passing a hand over eyes as she realizes they were wet.* He loves them, he loves her so much. *Her hand now passed over her chest where breath came erratically.* There's a lot, a lot, so much- *You musn't tell him, she heard in her own thoughts. You musn't tell him what you're realizing. And she knew exactly that the "him" referred to Alcott. Why? Her wide eyes had not yet left her friend's face.* I remember home. My mami, Chace- *she sniffed, wiped at her eyes, her tears were as much for joy as they were for fear* Al, it's, it's working. Whatever you're saying it...I'm remembering.

**Alcott:** *He almost asked her to stop. Though it would be selfish. Though he was the one who started it all, he wanted her to, to just stop. Was this some kind of cruel joke or terrible parody? She had it backwards, if so, but Alcott wasn't fool enough to think that as anything but for show. It was years spent in too much sun, too awake to reality, too brutally aware of being absent a father. She had this backwards, and he was going to ask her to stop even though he knew the words weren't Nadia's, he was going to, only he couldn't find the breath. Anymore than he could find the will to reject the idea he could figure it out, because he would. If they wanted him to play at his father's research, wanted to toy with him as his son--that was exactly what they would get. It had never seemed like a burden before, to be a child of his, and he wouldn't let it be one now. And he was glad but for the searing hole in his chest, as Nadia continued with words like a bad poem or the best nursery rhyme he had ever heard, and then french he didn't understand. Lowering his gaze back to the book, he clenches his teeth and tries to find the smirk that had so easily graced his lips for so many years, so many of them. But he couldn't. Another bad joke, he thought, for wasn't it the Brackner thing to smirk?

Steadying his breath as she dies off and rubbing at his closed eyes, now he wants to tell her to get out. He wants to tell them all to go the fuck away. He wants so much, so much it aches, so much he almost threw his book. But it was his fathers, and he couldn't hurt his father.

Alcott swallows tightly. And then again. His throat was still stuck together, as if her words and her memories were gathered there to remind him he couldn't simply tell her to leave; that was cowardly, that was unfair. He was glad she was remembering, he was! Proud to be right. His fingers pop off the lids as he unclenches his eyes and he forces a weighted smile against his lips.* I'm glad. *He nods, and the moment he does the feeling overtakes him; he was glad, so glad Nadia could remember, so glad he could give her at least something. He nods and nods, and folds his hands over the book, squeezing and clenching his hands together as he feels he might burst. Echoing in another gasp,* I am--I want it to work, and now I want to know what the hell that was in French and try and figure out what the hell building has a tapping--I mean besides Diagon Alley but--*

He pauses, and his chin lifts. Frere jacques? It wasn't that it was what his father sang to him then, it was that it was french. The thought it wasn't as tight a connection to his father after all makes it easier to breathe, even as he feels another knife. Slowly, he says,* They're in France. Yeah? *He tilts his head.* The song, the language...and Rene said it's where Ansel is from, Rivers said Rachelle shopped there and spoke it--they've been hiding in France. *He swallows tightly, raw and hugs the book closer to his chest.* What I said. It's...the last thing my father ever was teaching me. Which makes sense. *His voice hardens,* They must have overheard. They would have been listening before coming in. So. *His shoulders fall and he looks back to Nadia, suddenly pleading,* Tell me what you remember. Home. Tell me what it was like.

**Nadia:** *Her words became smaller and smaller until they died out. He looked angry and sad and overwhelmed and she didn't want to do that to him so she went quiet and breathed heavily even though there had been no physical exertion on her part, it felt like she was out of breath from having ran around the Hogwarts lake, collecting little pieces of her memory one at a time, putting them in a backpack that got heavier and heavier the more she more she ran.* I don't know, I never saw outside. They kept me in the dungeons they were a half a mile down and when I went up...it was always dark. High ceilings, wide narrow hallways. Looking out the window...never saw grounds, just the sky. But it makes sense doesn't it? These things when you say the right words, the y're like clues. *She nods, knowing he was way ahead of her there. A riddle solver, she was not. And he was the son of a genius, who was figuring this out all by himself. Looking at him oddly as he asked something very peculiar of her, she exhaled, trying to find a way to describe it.* I remember the cabin slash cottage my mom found and renovated before I was born, in Devon, near the forest. I remember, Belle opening the windows and pretending to be Snow White and singing to the deers and animals to come help us with our chores when we were younger. I remember my dad's mansion, so different from the little cabin in the woods. It's huge and on a hill, overlooking the beach but we still have two swimming pools- indoor and outdoor. And he'd put me on his shoulders and we'd play chicken with the triplets. I remember Hols in pigtails and two monkeys climbing her back and one if them tugging on her hair and my mom screaming at Hols that she was gonna get rabies and Hols was angry because she thought the screams were upsetting the monkeys. I feel as if...I'm watching it through a projector and then I walk in...I feel like being immersed in warm water an inch at a time...*she smiles, wiping at her lips and then eyes.*

**Alcott:** They are clues. For a bleeding treasure hunt, only I doubt there's a pile of gold at the end of this rainbow. *He tried not to sound bitter, but the best it seemed that he could accomplish was... snide. He stands, turning that information over in his mind too; French, gargoyles, high windows, no grounds...he wasn't an expert on French geography for fuck's sakes! He had no idea. It was a big country (he thought), and this needle was either forced or trained to resemble it's own haystack.

Running his sweating palm against his red shirt, he undid a couple of the top buttons to breathe. He knew Nadia didn't know why he'd asked that. Until she finished...he hadn't really known either. Collapsing onto the couch beside her now, he rests the book with care on his knee and nods at her, a small smile on bitten lips beneath his haunted eyes.*

Sounds...wonderful. Well, I never had siblings, *frankly,* so I suppose I've never dealt with their evils either but--it still sounds wonderful to me. *This house they were sitting in was gigantic. It struck him more now, how easy it was to get lost in, how small it made him feel sometimes, how empty even with the staff. Jimmy wasn't very talkative, Lauren was usually chiding him about something his mother left him to do...there wasn't anyone in the house worried about rabies and he figures pranking Uncle Max didn't have the same effect.

Rubbing above his lip, he says slowly,* I think they wanted to have more kids--my parents, I mean. My dad had two brothers--and three kids for Brackners, in this house...it was the smallest number until me. *Raising his eyes to Nadia's, he smiles more honestly as he admits,* This house was given to my ancestor Garrett, turned from a bishop's palace when he was given his titles. *With a tiny smirk, he continues,* Because he fell in love with and/or seduced, take your pick, the married sister of his liege lord.

*Alcott wiggles both eyebrows at Nadia as he continues,* She got pregnant. And in the resulting scandal-slash-coverup, her husband was killed, so she marries my ancestor. Mum still wears her engagement ring, actually. They had six kids. Six. Well two were from her former marriage, but still--and Garrett, he had a brother and a sister--honestly Nadia, it's nice to know I didn't get it all from the wolf--my libido was evidently historically strong.

*He winks at her, though every smarmy gesture appears to twist the knife in his chest deeper. Quietly,* So...I think they always wanted more kids--I know Ma lost one. Few months before we lost Dad. *He sighs, heavily, tracing the markings on the book cover with his thumb and shakes his head.* I'm glad I can at least give you -your- family memories back. *He nods repeatedly, and his hand stills, eyes still on hers.* And that does sound like Hols. First thing we ever agreed on, you know, was that Hogwarts and the Ministry is truly terrible in their treatment of the centaurs.

**Nadia:** *She nodded, smiling to have been able to help in any small way, and it really was small just talking about her memories. She also remembered thinking sometimes it was such an annoyance, having so many older siblings, especially when four of them were male (because obviously Chace counted cuz he was born minutes before) but right now she felt blessed and thankful to have them, and then a little sad for Alcott's sake. The house was huge and very lonely. But as he explained about his family history, she couldn't help but to smile and giggle. Oh lord, well...that was quite the people to descend from. Wondering who she descended from momentarily -- she quickly set the thought aside, but not her amusement though even that was short lived as Al recounted the fact his mum had lost a daughter years ago. She frowned as she heard the same male voice again, "I was supposed to have a daughter", but also set that aside. She puts her hand on top of his and squeezes it, holding his gaze and then nods.*

Thank you...you know one day, this house, oh my bad how dare I underestimate its size, manor *she teased before continuing* is going to be yours. Then you can use that historically strong libido to try and fill up every spare room and populate the world with Brackner offsprings. Or adopt, like me and Chace were *(they weren't, but that was still official)* so...it won't always be this quiet. And if...that didn't help in the slightest, feel free to forget I said anything and if it made things worse just let me crawl back into my shell like a turtle before you kick me out.

**Alcott** : *Surprised as she took his hand, his gaze dropped to it. Smile hesitant but growing and genuine, he took a shaky breath. Squeezing her hand with both of his, he shakes his head at her abruptly, jarred by the idea he'd kick her out as if he hasn't just been wishing for solitude.* N-no, that did help. *He raises his gaze back to hers. Breath still slow and weighted down, he knows it's from tiredness now, nothing more or less. This emotion was exhausting. Even to a wolf apparently. Al felt like asking, then what was being a wolf good for!?* I mean--I don't...quite know, about having...kids being what I am...*He pauses, then coughs and says quickly,* And I mean I'm a fifteen year old guy, of course. But adopting...that's a thought. I'll file that in the discuss with Hols in a few years pile. Like, ten. *Maybe. Paying zero attention to the fact he'd just half admitted he thought he would still be with Hols in ten years, his words stay soft and as light as he could keep them.* I will figure the rest of this out, Nadia, I swear. And I have another few ...rhymes, to try--but to be frank, I think your recovery is more important than hunting down vengeance so, whatever my drive to impatience...I think we should wait a little while before we try again. I don't want the force of this spell to do permanent damage to your memories or mind.

*He squeezes her hand and then lays back in the couch, eyes tracing the grooves in the ceiling.* And...just as frank...I'm not sure I can take more right now either. Not that I'll ever forgive you if you admit that I said that to anyone. *His chin knocks into his chest hard, still looking at the ornate ceiling.* What you said...so many years absent son...*It hurt. Just to say aloud.* I mean...I haven't gone anywhere. My father's study and lab--it's just down the hall. But in some ways it feels I am absent that--I mean, can you be a son without a father? *He looks up at her curiously.* I mean yes, I have Ma, so I'm her son--and yes, obviously biologically speaking I had one--but that's not what being a father really is. It means being there for your kid. When they're sick, they won some award, or when they need advice. That's why adopted parents can be better at it than the biological ever was, right? Donating sperm doesn't mean you're a father.

*Alcott looks skywards again, and takes his free hand to rub his throat. He knew what he meant: that it was love that made a father, but he couldn't say that either.* It's not just love though, either. My uncle, he loves me. But he's not my Dad. He can't be. And maybe, maybe it's that I won't let him be--but is that really so wrong?! *He frees both hands now and goes to stand again. Rubbing the back of his neck, pacing, breathing and swallowing, he keeps speaking whenever breath supports him.* I still remember my Dad. It's been almost a decade, but I do. I still learned from him--still do, in fact, every time I read his research. *He gestures at the book he'd left on the couch.* And more than that too--I remember watching him that day, but not just his death, because that was...that was the smallest part of it, honestly. I remember he blinded one of the bastards who came, remember him standing up to them to protect me and I--I try to do the same. I remember that I gave him a cookie I'd stolen, and what he said about wands--it's all still relevant, ever more so! And I know he loved me. I don't think love is stopped by death. If it was, then none of this would hurt so fucking much. But what is stopped by death? Is him being there if I'm sick or become a fucking wolf, him being there to laugh with me if I get some bullshit award like he did - that order of merlin -- or celebrate for a real one, and advice? Marble does a very poor job telling me what to do. I mean, unless you get hit with it--then it might be effective. I don't know. *He collapses and sits on the edge of the couch now, both hands squeezing his kneecaps. After a long pause, he remembers what started the rant and half laughs to himself,* God--you can tell I've been drinking. *He looks back up sideways to her, ravaged but calmer now.* All I feel I can be as a son is what I learned when I was six. The rest...I'm absent, because he's always been.

**Nadia:** *Brightened to hear him say so honestly, she smiled.* I'm glad then. *She nods, understanding his various points, especially about only being 15 years old (because it was the only one she could emphasize with) but even still, it was something she remembered thinking on a few times: where she wanted to live, how many kids she wanted, that sort of thing. She chuckled, refraining from teasing him and then listened as he continued, telling her he wouldn't try anymore today and while she was anxious to remember more, she couldn't deny being exhausted. Her little mental!her had just collapsed on the side of the lake, face down, and sang a little hallelujah chorus before shrugging off the backpack.*

Admit to anyone that Alcott Brackner isn't in fact impervious to the human nature of fatigue? Or is it stamina? *smiles* I won't tell a soul. *She watches him with his head laid back and was momentarily debating doing the same before his question stopped her, causing her to swallow on a dry throat. Nadia nods with his point- being a parent, well the more important part of it was just being there. His uncle had been there but there was always a disconnect because as Al was saying, he remembered his father, and Max was not his father. It wasn't a position that could be replaced, not easily.

She looked at him with sadness, not pity. Sadness that came from having the knowledge that there was nothing she could say that would help this time; the knowledge that really he was just a boy who was lost and grieving and who just really wanted his father. Nadia almost went against the voice in her head; she almost told Alcott her suspicions but she didn't because right now just an identifier. You're still you whether you have a plethora of identifiers or just one. But that's a bunch of...technical bullshit, you just...you miss your father, you want him back no matter how impossible it is and it'll always hurt.

**Alcott:** *It didn't feel like fatigue, he nearly said, but truthfully he likes her reason better. He was a bit...afraid to continue. But he wouldn't admit to cowardice. With a heavy sigh at her words, he finally nods, admiring her ability to cut through the rant and remarking simply.* Like you're still you. *He smiles at her and wonders why his lips hurt. Then he says simply,* Yeah. You're right. Though it would hurt a little less I think, if this asshole didn't insist on this playacting. It's cruel when all it does is remind me what I lost--what a great person he was, who I can't ever have, while toying with you. It's cruel and it's just the latest in their crimes. *He shakes his head slowly, muttering under his breath,* Find me... *Those two words were going to stay with him, he realizes, until he did find him. And asked him why he thought he could use his father's memory like this.*

**Nadia** : *She smiles softly and then nods at his point in agreement. Right, like she was still herself.* But with a few tweaks. Version 3.0.2 instead of 3.0 *That was a technology reference she wasn't sure he was going to get but that she was ultimately ecstatic about because -she- did. She pursed her lips again as Alcott spoke of the man doing this as a play actor, doing this for spite and cruel purposes. But was he really?...She was so confused. She wished she could talk to Devin about it.* We'll find all of them, and we'll bring them to justice for everything they've done. I believe in you, in all of us. We'll find a way.

**Alcott:** *Hm. As he admits there's a tiny flick to his furrowed eyebrows like a flutter of amusement in a melodrama,* All right I don't exactly know what that meant but it sounds kind of right so I'll go ahead and nod my head anyways. *As he speaks he nods. He feels his heartbeat restarting a few times with her continuing words and says softly,* Yeah, we will. I just keep...*Wanting Eliza. Wanting his father. Wanting to not fucking turn into a wolf or at least have that potion last forever because if he was ever in a room with Hans again he was very certain he'd wind up with worse than a snapped neck. But he couldn't say it, couldn't say any bit of it, because Nadia had hope and fuck--he couldn't take that from her. Being alone and hopeless was the worst curse there was. He looks up to finish his thought.* Nothing--just, keep thinking that, okay? *His brows flutter again as he asks curiously,* Do you trust D'Grey? He said he met you, it must have been when... but you didn't say his name to the Aurors. Why?

**Nadia** : *He had more doubts than her, or rather, he thought he had more doubts than her but in reality, out of all of them at the moment, she knew the reality of it more severely. But externalizing a positive attitude would help internalize it and honestly there was just...no alternative for her, none. Otherwise, why did she bother fighting back in the first if she wasn't going to keep fighting?* I don't think just think it, I believe it, I feel it, I am it. *And it helped being sober for her, but she was the black sheep among her friends it seemed.* D'Grey?

*She blinked, not having expected that and then nodded.* He helped me. Small at first, he made me dinner after days of water and moldy cheese, he gave me the knife- which I know you're not particularly fond of but it saved my ass down there...and he gave me a journal, to help collect my thoughts, keep me from going insane...sad I lost it actually. And he helped Devin, he kept my location secret after I snuck away at the Gala, he helped your mum...I trust him. At first I was furious at him, because he knew all about the Death Eaters and didn't do a thing to stop it but...I think he's realized now, he can stop it, help stop it. He said to me "do you think I like having these people here? This is my city, my people..." though that's not exactly verbatim, I was a bit too busy glaring at him to take him word for word but...honestly, he wants the Death Eaters out as much as we do.

*Or rather, Gustav.* And he's not only doing it for himself, for his own interests...I mean, he is, but he cares about at least one other person too and if you care about one, you can learn to care for a few. So yeah I trust him, so I didn't give him up...they won't find him anyway, and before this is over, I suspect we'll need his help again.

**Alcott:** *I am it. What a powerful statement that was he thought, wondering if he could possibly sum up his purpose so easily. It was difficult, when he felt all he had to fight for was blurred between vengeance and justice; nothing he did would bring his father back, or Eliza. He wanted to--he would, protect his mother, but she was determines on her own; that was why he wasn't the only werewolf presently in the house. He hadn't admitted that to Nadia or anyone though, and he was more focused on the answer to his question. He nods, a bit absently, but there was a flare in his chest as he realizes with no small measure of surprise it was the answer he'd wanted. Drily,* Not too fond of? Au contraire, I have a healthy respect for anything tough enough to take me on.

*He slaps his knee and leans back again, nodding in agreement.* I know he helped Ma. And I...saw him. At the funeral. He didn't stay, when he saw I spotted him he vanished--but left me a message, saying he wanted to talk to me. I was wondering if I...trusted him enough to go. *He pauses, looking at her curiously.* His city? I thought he was Italian. Huh. *He'd have to look into the man then, hopefully he knew something about a gargoyle's kiss.*

**Nadia** : He was? *That surprised her though she quickly realized that she shouldn't have been surprised that D'Grey would do something surprising. He was always two steps ahead of all of them and just when she thought she had something about him figured out, the puzzle ended up being not a 50 piece like she thought, but a 100 piece, then a 200 piece. They were at 1000 by now.* Well, he won't hurt you. I don't see why you shouldn't go. *Now she was a bit disappointed he hadn't reached out to her though, but she let it pass.* Yes he is but...well I don't remember much about the D'Grey crime family. *This would be much easier if D'Grey could simply tell them where it is. Or did they have some sort of gag spell on? Is that why these messages came in clues instead of simply being a simple game? She was so confused.*

**Alcott** : *He nods absently, frankly not caring too much for whatever the bloody subtle intricacies of their criminal world politics. It gave him a headache. If D'Grey could be trusted to help, it was useful, if not it was pointless and worse--time wasting. Sliding back into the couch, feeling every weight atop every bruised bone, he turns to Nadia. Waiting a long moment, he breathes out,* Hey, Nadia? I'm...really glad you're all right. 

**Nadia:** *As he slid on the couch, Nadia did the same, finally letting her head made contact with the cushion. And by God if it didn't feel like the most comfortable pillow made out of fluffy clouds (she didn't need to be reminded clouds weren't actually fluffy thank you very much). She turned to look at him as he said her name and then smiled brightly and heartened.* Thanks, Al.

*She scooted closer and then gave him a hug; he might think it strange given that she didn't remember him still but that was just...who she was.* I'm really glad I didn't succeed in killing you. *Her smile was small* You're going to be alright too, you'll see.

{*}

Tony should say the dinner was a catastrophe. That's what his mind was determined for it to be but in the midst of the snark, the sarcasm, and repressing eye rolls and insults, Tony had actually found himself enjoying it. He would of course give the majority of the credit to Daniella if he was ever questioned out loud. Nevertheless, it was not an evening entirely wasted, though now judging by the look on Daniella's eye, he would find himself passive-aggressively interrogated about details on the little fact Hans' dropped so casually upon a later date. Still, couldn't dwell on it too long, there were other things to get done. The first was to actually step foot home.

Home, sweet home, he whispered with both bitterness and longing in his breath as he looked in front of the huge front doors that were the custom of French Victorian mansions. Or maybe it was older than Victorian; he couldn't remember very well. Tony had spent a lot of time in his life running away from his family, and what being a D'Grey was supposed to entail.

Stepping inside was like walking into a dream, or a nightmare, he couldn't be too sure anymore. He'd had just as many good memories as bad with the place but it was the bad ones that remained more easily ingrained onto his memory. He closed the door quietly, only realizing afterwards that he was behaving as if he were in a museum, or in a library; as if there was someone around that would reprimand or pass judgment on his every move. It was still a hard feeling to shake off. Taking off his jacket and tossing it at the door, one of the coat rack hooks elongated and twisted to catch the jacket in the air and bring it back to place it properly on the rack as Tony watched with a small smirk in amusement and not in the fascination he had the first time he'd seen it.

Tony kept walking down through the mansion, listening to the sound of silence flood his ears before they were suddenly popped with a sound Tony had thought he'd imagined. But no there it was again, coming through a door that was open only a sliver of the way up ahead. Tony knew there could be no one there but his brother, and whoever he might be entertaining. He stiffened, remembering their father's words, 'every parlor is a conference room', and for the man that had been doubly true; he ran his business from inside the manor so it would stand to reason, so did Olivier.

Clenching down on his teeth, he swallowed the bile and the comments that would throw them into an endlessly recycled argument over the same things of before, but the curiosity didn't leave him, and he stepped through. His brother's back was to him, and the scene registered a second later, but it was enough to draw him speechless, and breathless.

&.

His brother’s voice.

Olivier wakes. Suddenly. Totally. A switch flipped on, snap. Blackness to brightness. Stop to start in an instant as his eyes flash open. He’s been called, his chain jerked, and he realizes he’s standing again. He doesn’t know when he did, when he’d risen. That pounding call, that lust for stolen life was drumming in his head like a borrowed heartbeat and zipping along his veins. Hunger screaming for him to sate it, desperate need to rend, to rip and to kill, that he could not ignore. And he’d never felt more alive.

There’s blood dripping from his lip, sweet and languid, and more coating his hand as he raises the right one to rub life back into tired, dark eyes. Then he sees her, a flamboyant figure on an old carpet his father traded for in Persia, an offering of black silk and gold hair, pink limbs and scarlet. So much scarlet.

Olivier shakes, and rubs harder and harder on his eyes again as if to wipe away tears that didn’t fall. Rubs dry, flaking blood from his hands, his face, wiping the smears from the sides of his mouth; he steps himself out of the sticky, coagulated puddle that’s pooled beneath him, soaking his clothes. His knees are still damp and dark.

Sorrow chokes in his throat, but he looks around to his brother--looks to Tony, looks to the brother whose life he paid for in blood innocent and non, and straightens to see the disgust in his eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” He says, though what he means is that he wasn’t supposed to ever know.

Olivier remembers, with clarity so sharp it burns, the exact pressure it takes to sever a head from a neck, the way the blood flows fast at first and then slower and slower, the way sweat and tears make everything salty and slightly acidic, the smell of shit when the bodies finally let go; it gags him and mixes with bile in the back of his throat. He keeps track of the numbers in his head, totals the lives from the past year, the ones who never cried out and those who couldn’t stop screaming. He doesn’t know any of their names, but he remembers them, and he knows why they died.

And he knows why Sarah died, and it stirs him back into action.

“Don’t say anything.” Olivier snaps it, and it occurs to him he’d never heard his father’s voice in his own throat before.

Don't say anything, that's what his brother had said to him. After walking in, after seeing that, that was all he had to say. That and that he wasn't supposed to be here. Thousands of arguments rose up and then died in his throat as he struggled for breath again. What difference would there be to say that Tony went as he pleased, that Olivier had no right to say to him, that his brother wasn't their father-- but at that moment the only thing he could see were the resemblances. As if Olivier was a vampire himself, for blood smeared at a corner of his mouth as if he had ravaged the girl with his teeth instead of the knife he held in his hand.

Olivier's wand snaps out, and in an instant the figure’s vanished, transfigured to bones dry and cracking dust on top of the drying blood. Another instant and she’s in a bag and the carpet’s clean as if he’s spent weeks scouring each drop by hand. He ties the present to Gustav, and then stalks across the room to the opening door, hands it to Maxwell. His father’s former second and now his, he smiles at the guard who he’d mistakenly called uncle as a small boy - and receives a smaller one beneath eyes haunted. Low murmurs were exchanged that later Olivier wouldn’t remember speaking; the instructions of where to go, who would be waiting for him.

Olivier knew he’d have to speak to Gustav about the matter himself; was, in fact, looking forward to using the incident for it’s actual purpose -- but he’d let it fester in Gustav’s mind first. Taking a vial from his pocket and his wand, he pulls the tendril --the memory that Sarah had given him, and in that action redeemed herself in his eyes, though she’d never know. Only now the memory was safely tucked in the vial did he whisper to the bag of bones, “You’ll get your wish.” He’d see to that: Gustav would die. Pain first was likely too, for Harper would do it, as the man had asked. Olivier D’Grey was more than a man of his word, see. He grants wishes.

Everyone got the fairytales wrong but the brothers Grimm.

Tony had no knowledge of when he had stepped further into the room and away from the door, but his feet moved on their own accord. Drawn to the pool of blood with horror. Oh, if only it were just horror. His hands threatened to shake at the sight of the spilled blood, curling inward like they wanted to wrap around a warm throat and do some ripping of their own. It was a desire that he'd long been in constant struggle for control. After all, they were unnatural, his brother and him. Born of a vampire, born out of a being that was technically dead, with the help of magic. Their bloodlust was inherent, something that not even the few years he'd spent with his mother as a child could stomp out. Tony remembered how she looked at him sometimes, with that little adoring smile when he showed up with something that he hoped would make her proud, but behind those smiles, in her eyes, there was always a latent fear that he didn't understand until nearly a decade later. She loved him, he never doubted that, but she was also afraid of him, of the person he could become.

Maxwell left with a head jerk, and then another and that reminds Olivier that Tony was still there - that Maxwell would have of course nodded to his brother. He spins. The room clean, he took a handkerchief out and rubs his face similarly, then lifts his chin and stares, without blinking, daring judgment.

“You wanted in, Tony.”

Tony ignored Maxwell, not even registering it was him until the man had departed and the evidence was gone. Just like that, the body was turned into bones, the blood was cleaned off a rug that was worth more than half of the world would make in a lifetime and it was as if the whole thing had never happened. As if the girl had never existed. Now he turned his eyes back on his brother as he spoke again, and that single sentence, that single expression, as if it Tony couldn't speak a word of it because he'd brought this on himself? Bullshit.

He closed the distance between them to send a fist to his face.

"That's it? That's all you have to say? I asked for this? I asked to be here, I knew what I was getting into- no! You said it yourself, I wasn't supposed to be here, I wasn't supposed to know! All your talk of protecting your city, protecting your people, reconciling a man with his wife- you just want the throne back, don't you?! Nothing has changed, has it?!"

The fist aimed at him -- that, Olivier didn’t expect. It wasn’t until it collided with his jaw that he remembered his other wound, the one still bleeding -- shallow, but steady, like water prick-prick-pricking away at a dam that could only help, for all it’s stonework and balustrades, but burst. It lands hard, bruising his bone, and only then does he remember that Tony’s just as strong as he is. That he’d forgotten: spending so much time with those inherently weaker.

They weren’t gifted immortality or cursed with the need to feed; they aged near-normally (he knew he looked older than twenty-four) and they could eat garlic, walk in the sun without magical aid, drink holy water by the gallon. They also bruised as anyone did, bled as anyone did, and could died as anyone might. It was little things that had stuck; tiny differences at first that masked the largest of all, their affinity for blood. Their muscles naturally chiseled from a few days work out, and they were faster, like they’d trained all their lives for a triathlon. That thought makes Olivier want to smile, if he wasn’t so near vomiting, because in so many ways -- wasn’t that exactly what they’d done?

Stronger, faster and...meaner, he thinks irritably, rubbing at a sore jaw: his brother was in every way his match.

Snorting in disbelief at the familiar attack, thrusting his thumb away from his lip and turning his head to swallow back an immediate urge to slam him back, he’s only stalled by the wound; which he looks down to, rips the fabric off of, and mends with a wave of his hand, "No, I didn’t want you to know -- but tell me brother, what exactly did you expect coming back? What did you think you were signing up for -- to stick one man in a cell? And that the men loyal to him, oh they’d just, magically forgive us? You imagine you’d be like an undercover agent, and then a government judge would take care of it for you when you stuff a few pieces of paper in his hand? Because that worked so well the last time?!"

Hearing his own words, Olivier stops abruptly, realizing that he might have stalled his fist but he hadn’t stopped himself from launching an attack after all. That went too far, a tiny rational voice in his mind thinks, reminding him of his father -- but it’s drowned out by a hundred other voices telling him of other things he could shout, and he drops his own fist - stuffs it into his pocket and breathes heavily.

"Don't be a sack of shit, not now, when you have that woman's blood on your hands!" And on his face, on his knees, on his stomach- no, that was Olivier's own blood. His teeth gnashed together again, unable to think clearly, and trying to keep his fist from flying again, knowing that this time it would be anticipated, blocked, and reciprocated. And what would throwing more punches prove? Would it make him feel better? The answer was as nauseating as the scene that had laid before them had been: yes. Yes, it would make Tony feel better to draw blood from his own brother and that sickened him.

"I expected you to be honest with me! I said I needed-to-know, and I meant it! I didn't want to find out like this! You're always just so hellbent on keeping me clueless for my sake that you don't realize your precious plans to keep me safe always backfire!"

He had to focus on that, and not on the verbal lashing he'd received, the reprimand of choices in the past that Tony would never be able to fully regret because they were the right thing to do. He had wanted it stop, he wanted his father's entire business demolished and so he took it upon himself to do just that. It had backfired, for in the end no one plotted against Remington D'Grey and got away with it. That had never ceased because after all, Tony had never once plotted or planned to kill his father, but it had happened anyway.

"And I told you."

That’s hissed too, even as he spins around and stalks towards the standing bar, itching to move and itching to do something. Anything, anything to keep himself from attacking, at least physically -- while his blood still ran so hot.

"I told you that I would do whatever it took, whatever it takes -- Tony, not stride some moral high-road that’s just going to get me killed!* He spins around, towel in hand, scrubbing the blood from him as if he’d forgotten now he could do that with a spell, "Wasn’t that what you said your reason for coming back?"

That hurt him to say as much as the look on his brother’s face. The look of horror, of guilt and frustration -- frustration above all, transparent in his anger. It felt like he was looking into a mirror of his own emotions, and his eyes were narrow, fighting to keep them down -- fighting to steady and be cool and logical, all those things he needed to be, to keep from being a monster.

"And that's what happens when you 'stride along the moral high road'? You get killed? No, that's great, that's--," he bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything more, anything that would just make it worse. That's not what he wanted to do! That's not what he was here for, he just...

"Yeah, I was just foolishly hoping I wouldn't have to save you from yourself on top of all everything else."

Tony grit his teeth, curled his hands into fists and shook his head from side to side. This was not the way, this was not the way to do this. This was going to war for peace -- he scoffed -- because that always worked out so well.

"Do you even want to stop killing?"

Olivier was insulted by the truth and by the misunderstanding, and most of all by the last question.

"Logically or physically?" He half spits it, gesturing at his brother’s shaking fist, "You know the urge as well as I."

"Of course I do, the difference being I don't give into it, Olivier. I don't try to make myself feel better about the murder of a person depending on some logical explanation- because yeah," he drops his hands to smack against his thighs, "I'm sure this has one, so go ahead," Tony raises his arms again, beckoning with his hands for him to continue, "let me hear it! Give me the reason you keep ripping your soul into pieces.

Olivier exhales hot, indignant and hurt and angry by the way it was phrased.

“ 'That woman' -- that woman’s name was Sarah. Before you get all high on her innocence, I’d watched her murder a father twenty feet from his daughter, and give the girl a lollipop. But then, it’s also true, dear brother, that she was broken by Roswell, and she wanted him dead. I just--I just reminded her of what was already true."

The statement makes his throat hurt, like it burned on the way out, and he throws the towel back over his shoulder, trusting that if it didn’t land on the bar, a spell or elf would fix it later.

Tony closed his fists and hit the air before passing a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily. He kept from a barbed comment of, well at least he knew her name, as he kept from another comment that it didn't just fucking work that way. Killing something that was evil didn't just get you a free fucking pass, it didn't work that way. Every time you killed, your soul split. That was the way it worked, it was what allowed for the creation of horcruxes, something their father had so long to create for himself before he realized as a vampire, well, he had no soul to tear up into pieces and hide anymore.

"That's a pleasant way to put 'torture', reminding her of what she already knew," he turned away from his brother, throwing his hand in the air, unable to look at him for a few moments. He couldn't, because his brother spoke in a way which made logical sense, he'd always been good at that, and it was a trait Tony had tried to mimic after he'd shot his father and staked him to his death. He would have killed Olivier, would have turned him, and his brother still had a chance, their father didn't. He wasn't going to let their father kill his brother, so Tony had killed him first. Logic. Reason. It didn't take away the self loathing.

Stuffing both hands back on his sides and breathing hard, Olivier breaks and says quieter, "And I want him dead too."

"But it was never going to happen, if I didn’t do something, because everything I’ve done in the last week? Harper’s wife would be dead. Devin Stuart would be in a coma which likely means that he couldn’t have put a knife in Rachelle, that she’d never have been arrested, that his sister would be in a cell instead -- how many people do you think I can save before Roswell thinks, oh hey!" His shoulders lift with a little shrug, feigned ‘oh i have a novel idea’ in epic mockery, "maybe I’m not on his side!"

He stares at his brother as a statue for a moment and then shoulders and eyes and self all fall. But his voice is hard, "I had to do something--and Sarah had seen me that night, she was as suspicious as Roswell was. So I took care of it. In doing so, I also gave Roswell the traitor he’s been looking for -- which just so happens to keep Harper safe. Which reunites him with his wife, eventually. Tell me brother, have I lied to you once? And my soul -- porca miseria, you’d think after all this time you’d stop harping about something already long torn apart. Unless you’ve got some kind of spell to sew it all back up, shut up, okay? That assumes we even were born with one in the first place."

And some times, Olivier was certain he wasn’t.

He raised his gaze, angry, and disbelieving, and hurt, at his brothers words. Gritting teeth, he stepped up again, feeling poison bubble in his throat, trying to keep words insulting words at bay for his brother had just struck him in a spot he knew was weak and vulnerable. And if Olivier was so determined to be a dick, well, Tony could be just as bad.

"You know, I can see your mouth opening and closing, but you know what I'm hearing instead? Dear old dad. He'd be just so proud, Olivier! You were his protégée after all, chiseled and hammered to follow in his own footsteps, and I was the one holding you back well, here I am," He raises his arms again, eyebrows arched, "holding you back again."

"I walked away from you already, more than once, I am not doing it again. That doesn't mean I'm going to keep my mouth shut about it, but alright, I'll play the game."

Tony grits his teeth, "I've done it before too, you know? What was necessary, even when it killed me inside, I did it, for you and I'll do it again and keep doing it because you're right, I am here to keep you from getting killed, whatever it takes. I just won't pretend I don't hate it, I won't try and cover up my guilt under logical explanations, because what you're doing is wrong. I expect I'll have to do my own share of wrongs by the time this is all over. But I'll pray for forgiveness, for mercy on my soul, which as you said, may or may not exist," he spat that out before he continued, "but at least I have faith. You should look into it."

Rigid, Olivier's first thought is oddly of rigor mortis; that if he was just so like their father than he must be made of dead flesh and stolen blood. And oh, that must be a stake then burying in the heart (that didn’t beat), with the thought that technically there was blood on his suit, staining his chest and shirt that wasn’t his, that he’d taken. Stolen.

Their father would be proud. It was a fact, and his brother meant it as an insult. It was understandable he did -- after all, their father had intended on killing Tony. He’d only been stalled by his blood lust, sinking his fangs into Olivier’s neck -- he lifts a hand to it in memory, rubbing across his throat -- because Dad didn’t mean to kill him. What Tony saved him from wasn’t death. It was a fate worse -- and what his brother means now is that it was for naught, that he’d become him anyway. How once he might have shivered in pride of the news!

Their father commanded respect with a snap of his fingers, had built an empire out of nothing and lived a century without being challenged. Why shouldn’t he want the same? Wasn’t that the reason he was bred? A brother wasn’t part of the initial deal -- Dad had miscalculated how long the magic he'd done lasted, or underestimated his lust for the same woman twice (Olivier wasn’t sure), and because of it Tony had nine years away from him. Nine years with their mother, a woman he’d never met.

Until Olivier had taken that from him, until his eleven year old self had been idiotic enough to leave a letter for his father’s guards -- it was this room, in fact, that he’d been summoned to. Ordered to explain, he could have come up with any number of lies that kept Tony’s identity safe from him. But he didn’t. He wanted his Papi to fetch him (and Mami, but that part went wrong), he wanted their family to be together -- and it was his want that dragged his brother down.

Olivier didn’t understand why Tony seemed to think it was him holding them back.

His brother was stepping closer and closer to him with every word, and part of him wants to snap back again, drive a stake in his brother too -- that what all Tony said was that he was the same as him, but with a ten thousand pound weight of guilt around his neck chaining him to a mountain of self-importance and holier-than-thou attitude. Why was it religion was always involved with forgiveness? Did the cross he painted on the knife in his pocket cancel out it’s deed - make him a holy warrior? It must get so tired up there, Olivier almost said, or so lonely -- but it’s the last thought that stills his tongue.

His throat is raw, and all he asks is, "Why do you even care? Hm? Because you will stop Tony, if I fail your morality test, as you’ve done every time. Go back to hating me, walk away again, because at least when you’re not here," His finger jabs into Tony’s chest, "at least then I don’t have to be reminded how badly I’ve let you down."

"I've never hated you!"

And it was that which he had to snap first, because the mere thought of it drove him mad. How many times did he have to repeat that? He'd said it at the Gala, and he meant it at the Gala, and now again the accusation was being thrown at his face as if his word meant nothing. And against his brother's own beliefs, he guessed it did. There was nothing able to get through that thick skull of his, nothing at all, not even the likeness to their father, if anything that filled him with more purpose. Now Tony wondered why he didn't hate his brother, and in the same question, figured out the answer.

"And I will never be able to hate you, you're my brother."

The finger poking his chest caused him to waver in place, take a half step back, his eyes softening for a brief moment before he forced them to harden again.

The immediate shout is echoed in his eyes as they ask for him, why not? Tony hated the business that was his life -- hated their father, hated how they were born, why shouldn’t he hate him too? And after all he’d done to him? He’d never have needed saving if he’d kept his mouth shut all those years ago and let him go: he wouldn’t have needed to be saved from Gina (they took him to get to him, to make him comply), wouldn’t have needed to shoot and stab (it was him his father wanted), wouldn’t have needed saving when he was fucking fourteen years old and choking -- none of it. This all began with me, Olivier thinks, when his brother provides an answer to the question he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

"Too fucking bad then, you're going to feel it. Feel guilt, feel remorse, those are the right fucking things to feel and not just bury deep inside. You're wrong, brother, I'm not going to stop but I'm not going away now and you why now? Because I had the fucking epiphany, after all these years of running away from father's shadow and the shadow of this whole fucking organization I tried to take down, I realized something."

He breathed through his nose to expand his lungs, so maybe he could stop being so out of breath. But in wanting to do that, he took away more of his breath than he meant to, and to gain it once again for he was fearful to say it out loud, but he was gonna say it anyways because hell, he was already here, he'd already made a big show about it, he wasn't going to back away now, he was Antonio D'Grey, not the legacy of his father but his own person, with his own legacy in the making.

"Olivier, you're all I got. While I was being beaten by that bitch while she was getting off, I realized the only way I was getting out of there was if you'd showed up, and you did. I've lost count of the times you've fucking saved my life, at your own expense and how do I pay that back? I leave you. Well, I came back, and I'm here now, and I'm not leaving so learn to live with your guilt in the front seat of the car as I learn to live with mine."

He breathed out again before adding in fake bemusement with a tight-lipped smirk. "It's good for the soul."

Tony shook his head and turned around, passing a hand over his face again as he muttered, "The only one I got, I mean how sad is that? I can hear the song now, Cry Me A River blasting over the speakers." He tsked in annoyance and then stepped towards the bar to pour himself a hard drink.

And oddly enough, the reason given was already seared into his mind: as it was the same reason he’d first brought Tony into the life and into this house. They were brothers.

So perhaps it was that, the fact that he felt the same way -- felt, not thought, not with logic and reason as he did everything else, but felt with every part of him -- that he realized he believed him, and trusted this time what he’d been struggling to trust for days: Tony wasn’t leaving.

“Thank you.” Any other words of his bone-deep relief and gratitude stick on a raw throat with emotion, and the thought that they were supposed to be stronger than that: the D’Grey brothers and men.

{*}

“The purple. Definitely.”

Breath seizing in her throat, her eyes dart up from adjusting the bodice and swivel through three reflections to find the eyes on her, looking for that telling jade gleam. Clutching fabric at her breast, she snaps, “Get out.”

He does the opposite. Ever he strived for a contradiction. Private, that’s what the door had said. Well, private showroom: it was why she stood on a carpeted altar and her own image peeked back at her from every side.

“Violet is the color of royalty, after all.”

Stefanie rolls her eyes, free hand going to her hip and tugging the skirt back down. It falls in a flourish. She won’t grin until she realizes his pout. At least that was something, she thinks, pretending it wasn’t her provoking him further.

“If you call me milady, I will smack you.”

“Ah, I would never, Stef.”

Ansel’s lips curl in a way that makes her wonder abruptly if he thinks it’s a joke to treat her as a lady. A shiver trails it’s way up her back, gaze trailing over him. Sprawled on the store’s plush little chair, he wore a dinner jacket rumpled with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is shorter, a finer cut than the last time she’d seen him, when he slipped an antidote down her throat for poison she’d never have swallowed if not for him. When she’d gripped his hair between nails like claws as he fucked her against a window. As if it was a distraction, from the poison riddling her. As if in penance.

She waits for the punchline, and Ansel never disappoints.

“If you prefer ‘wench’, I am ever willing to oblige.”

“I prefer ‘grace’ or ‘majesty’.”

Ansel smirks, a lazy sort of look, as he peels himself off the chair, arms out wide. He’s got a champagne flute in one hand, twisting between two fingers and swirling gently. Compliments of the store owner, Stefanie knew. She wondered if the store owner did.

“Come on now, Stef.” Stepping onto the dias, his words were ribbons spoken, twining with breath softer than the silk she wore. She turns away, pretending she doesn’t love the laughter in his throat at her show of refusal. “We both know that isn’t true...”

His hand outstretches, hovers as if made weightless as it floats on breath. A hard jade gaze snaps to her reflection, riveting on her gaze. The hand curls through the air, tracing and dancing. In the mirror, he seems to be touching her. Her eyes were trapped following his long elegant fingers, the image fooling her anyway as goosebumps riddle pale pink. Her fingers unclench on the dress, one by one, until the corsetted bodice rests untied, silk loose against her skin. She’s exposed.

“...and I hate when you lie to me.”

Mirrors lie, she remembers what her mother said when she’d found Stefanie knee deep in her powders and heels. Mirrors lie, and people lie, and the only person she ever needed to know she was beautiful was herself. Back snapping straight, she narrows her gaze on his.

“You lied to me.”

“I never have.” It’s spoken so suddenly she realizes he believes it and gapes. Three open mouths look back at him, and he chuckles -- she doesn’t see another flash in those dark, soul-gripping eyes, not a momentary ink that paints him hurt -- she won’t, see that -- she only sees the proffered flute. And refuses it, as she always does.

“At the Gala, you did.” She snaps. “You could have told me the champagne I was drinking was poisoned.”

Instead, Ansel just lifts the smirk and flute back to it, taking a sip of the bubbly substance she’d lost her taste for.

“I could have. I didn’t say it wasn’t.” He jerks his head, like his ear might meet his shoulder blade and stays behind her, looking in the mirror. Stefanie slips off her heels beneath the gown. She wouldn’t quiver on those stilettos, she tells herself, not for his irritating ease.

“And it seemed faster and efficient to just give you the antidote instead.”

Why was it he would chuckle at that, with such dark, grey-eyed mirth? She had nearly died, she wants to snap, didn’t that mean something to him?

“Efficient?” She gapes at him again, shaking blond hair in ringlets off her shoulder, “Tell me Ansel dah-ling, what if it had claimed me just five minutes faster? Would you have minded fucking a corpse on the window instead?”

The laughter this time is bright, and his hand comes to curl around her shoulder. Damn wolves. His skin was running it’s usual hundred and two degree fever, she saw. Lovely. Not like she didn’t want to sweat in this dress and be forced to buy it then, or anything.

“There you are. I was wondering. You’ve been staring at the mirror like you don’t know whose looking back at you for ten minutes.”

Stefanie’s gaze lifts back from staring at his hand on her to the mirror; with her wit taken momentarily by his words. There was a seriousness in his gaze, she sees.

“It was a bit astonishing, cheri. To think you couldn’t see how beautiful you are.”

How would he know that? She wants to ask, but the words stick in her throat. How could anyone recognize that loss in someone’s reflection apart from themselves? Unless they’d done it themselves. His fingers dig into her shoulder, leaving red prints. Unless they know because they’ve had trouble recognizing themselves too, she thinks with bated breath that inhales, slowly draws in his name.

And then he smirks again, murmuring, “Oui, darling?”

The ribbon-words wrap around her throat and she scowls. She didn’t want -- she didn’t need this to be a goddamn joke, why was everything always so easily humorous to him?

“There I am?” She snaps. “Don’t make me laugh,” as if that wasn’t farthest from her at the moment. “You’re the one that disappeared. It’s been two weeks, Ansel. I almost died! And all you do is -- ”

“Drop you into Tony’s arms and tell him to get you away from there when hell was breaking loose?”

She didn’t expect anger in his voice at that. That wasn’t fair, she thinks irritated and childish, he didn’t get to be -angry- about it when she could so easily have died. When others -- when innocent lives had been lost (though she had noticed Irene was not on that list). When he’d aided her brother -- the brother who left her, while she choked -- in killing twelve and then spirited him out of the country.

“And why was hell breaking loose?” She snaps, swiveling on him and breaking the intense stare from the mirror.

“Why was there an attack? To what grand and great scheme did I almost die for -- so the Death Eaters could announce their return on the world scale to bind together again and eradicate all people born without privilege of wealth but with the genetic gift of magic. “I mean, do you even give a damn about blood purity?”

“Can’t say I do, cheri.” Ansel’s stiffened as she turned to him and matches her stare, words ice to her flames.

“See, I knew that.” She hisses, “because I know very well you knew someone who was born that way. Loved her, in fact.”

She could actually see his temperature rising, she thinks in amazement -- in fear -- in thrill. And so she keeps going, despite red flags and warning signs in his gaze.

“So why in God’s name were you there?”

He has both shoulders now. She doesn’t know when that happened. Doesn’t know when the mirror pushed against her back, or the room spun, or when she’d lost the ability to breathe -- but she thinks, she hadn’t been breathing before either. And maybe he preferred her that way, she thinks bitter and trying not to pay attention to the untied bodice brushing into his crumpling jacket.

There’s a silence.

“I wasn’t there in God’s name,” his words are in a low murmur that strike her lips, “but in my brother’s.”

Brother. Hans. Hers. The one who he would do anything for, whose life he claimed now he owed since Hans pulled a knife from him, healed the silver poisoning. And she couldn’t say she wasn’t glad he had -- couldn’t say she didn’t love, her brother for it. But she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, why Ansel had so quickly forgotten that he’d never have hurt anyone - would never have the guilt she knew lived in the photograph in the wallet peeking from his crumpled jacket pocket - if her brother hadn’t bitten him first.

“Inspiring. Delusional, bit creepy since he’s my actual brother by blood and you’re holding me this closely -- but inspiring nonetheless.”

He chuckles, but she sees even the grey-eyed mirth is gone. A shock goes through her spine.

“You’re a real Saint Peter, Ansel,” she hisses back up at him. “So loyal, but you know what I think?” There’s bruises in her bones and scarlet in her cheeks, and later she’ll have to pay for the tearing dress but she can’t bring herself to care very much. Every iota of her (com)passion was focused on the boy who gripped her so close, so tight, so hard in his own flames that she couldn’t imagine caring about anything else again.

“I think before the cock crows three times, you’re going to deny him.”

Ansel doesn’t move, doesn’t release her, eyes searching hers. She brings her palms up, resting on his chest and refuses to blink. Her hair is swept up to leave the back of her neck exposed, tendrils of golden hair framing her face in curls as he breathes delicately.

“I won’t.” He hisses.

“Peter denied it too, baby. But you know what I think they got wrong? They got wrong the fact that Peter should have denied him. That there was every earthly reason to. Oh, I know the point is to have heavenly faith and everything, but I don’t believe you have to be without logic and common sense.”

“Stefanie --,”

“Why are you here, Ansel?”

“What?” He asks with such surprise he lets her go. Or had he done that before? The glass is cool on her neck, and she thinks, he can see her from every angle, every pocket of rose-tinged flesh he lit aflame, and now he douses her. Or had she done that with her question?

“Why do you know that I would be here?”

She sees his dawning comprehension as he presses teeth into his bottom lip. They were unsharpened. When sharp, he’d pierce the skin. A rush starting from her toes floods through her at the single thought.

“Of course I remember, Stef.” He says quietly, eyes green and light, lighter than she thought she’d seen them in years now. His fingers trail in her curl, then down to the loose bodice. “That one, was blue satin. It was a bit long for my taste really.”

In spite of the fact that she was trying to make a point, Stefanie finds herself smiling. “I assumed that when you ripped it.”

“I paid for it anyway, didn’t I?”

And she’s happy to see an actual smile too now. That day was their third occasion since they’d met in the bar. Not a date, just an occasion upon which she called, asked if he’d any interest in a lunchtime drink and he wound up escorting her “for the pleasure of her company,” to this very store when she said she needed to try on gowns. Most men said the line: Not surprised you’re a model, some variation of it. Not Ansel. Ansel asked if she’d made the gowns herself.

Talent, he appreciated he’d said when she asked why he’d thought that, and later she’d found herself doodling a design on a napkin while in make up, slipping sketches to her boss. That was before he knew she was Hans little sister. Before she knew he was her brother’s second, the first member of his new, self-made family.

It was easier then.

“You knew I’d be here.” Her eyes flick up to Ansel, and she arches hers slowly, saying calmly, “but Hans? He wouldn’t. You gave me the antidote, you’re here to determine if I’m okay -- I haven’t heard one word from my dear brother.”

“Rachelle is --,”

That makes her hiss, and straighten, hard against the mirror.

“I know where Rachelle is. I know, that he chose to try and save her instead of me. What’s more, he failed. Killed eleven people and a twelfth is still recovering, but he failed to get her back.”

“They moved her.” Ansel hissed and she realizes abruptly, Rachelle was his ‘sister’ too. It irritates her. On good days, she liked Rachelle, on her best - she would have been honored to think of her as a sister too. They could do each other’s hair, wear each other’s clothes -- merlin knew, she had fantastic taste.

This wasn’t a best day. This wasn’t even a good day. This was a day she was reminded the black-haired Frenchwoman had replaced her, and she despised her for it.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll find her,” she snaps, “sure you all will.”

“Stef --,”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I am sorry, that she was hurt, sorry that you lost her -- and I don’t have doubt that he’ll get her back, that you all will.” Her hand hits his chest and he shakes his head at her, seizes her wrist and holds fast.

“He proved that already when he chose her. I’m the one he left behind.”

He hadn’t blinked in years, she thinks amazed sometimes. Ansel leans in then and presses his lips to her forehead, and she realizes abrurptly against him as he sears his kiss in her skin, she can’t see his eyes. She can’t see what he’s thinking or doing. All she sees is his bunched white shirt, loose buttons, the open jacket, a flask -- all things resolutely Ansel. She smells him, feels him, hears him -- but she can’t see his eyes, and it frightens her. He was breathing her name against her skin like he didn’t know what else to do. She’d thought he’d grab her. Rip this dress. Press her into the glass. Imagined it, the feral grin, his aching groans from deep in his throat. Searching fingers deep in wet flesh. Warmth.

He pulls away from her instead, cups both cheeks and shakes his head.

Stefanie blinks.

“He didn’t,” Ansel swears, and she doesn’t know what to believe for the briefest, fluttery moment, “He just trusted that I’d take care of you.”

Her nod is slow and hesitant, but that at least - she could believe and she speaks slow, under her breath.

“I trusted that too, Ansel. And then you left too.”

His voice hardens,“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” her heart skips a beat without care to the thought she knew he could hear it, “just as you didn’t have to be there at all. Didn’t have to hurt Irene, or poison the champagne -- you do all that for -- ”

“You have no idea.” He hisses suddenly, eyes flashing and she realizes his hands have slipped from his cheeks to her throat so fast she can’t keep talking (though should she? should she bother? why, when he was so entirely convinced his soul was damned?) and instead she hisses, riveted to him, braced against his flesh.

“Hans saved my life -- I’m not the only one. And he didn’t do it once, but twice. The knife you know. The potion, on the other hand? I know you know what I’m talking about -- that’s why. That’s what it’s for, that Stefanie, that is why I was at the Gala, because I am never. Never. Going to be without that silver potion again.”

His voice is hot and gaze intent and she realizes suddenly, there’s fear in him. Of course he doesn’t want to be without the silver potion - of course he can’t trust himself turning without it. Colette, she thinks miserably, the woman he loved, the woman he lost, the woman he killed. It went further back too, she knew. Impulse was his oldest demon. A devil to whom he always surrendered. It hurts her, seeing the anger in him and fear and she shakes her head with rising panic -- he has her throat still.

“I don’t give a fuck, what I have to do for that, Stefanie -- just as I don’t give a particular fuck about blood purity. And Rachelle is my sister too -- and right now, she’s in hell, while you’re standing here feeling sorry for yourself and trying on pretty little dresses.”

That makes her hiss with the little breath she has, snap out, “When you dropped me unceremoniously in Tony’s arms and ran away, like you’ve been fucking doing all your life? I went home with him.”

He stalls: breath, words, blinking. Everything. It should make her stop. Impulse was a demon they’d always shared.

“Rode him half the night,” she hisses as though she was trying to use her words to tighten his tie, yank on it. It almost seems to work. That makes her smirk. “Delicious. Absolutely, delicious.”

“Tony D’Grey.”

She hears the shivers of contempt in his voice and she thinks, victory.

“Yes. Actually thinking about calling him again tonight.”

“Only waiting a week? My, isn’t he special.”

“Not even to ask him over, you know, just to hear that sexy Italian accent in my ear --”

“I’m sure he doesn’t feel used at all.”

“ -- though it is very hard sometimes you know, accents and all, not to just sneak a few finger brushes against myself--“

“I’m aware,” his grin turns wicked, “I’ve heard.”

Stefanie’s eyes narrow. “Don’t worry, no no, I don’t feel violated at all.”

“In fact, I’ve been an active participant,” Ansel’s smirk turns triumphant.

“You know what?” She hisses, irritated and flustered. Glowering. Goddamn him. “I think Tony actually deserves more, than my flaunting him right now, so I’m going to shut up. At least he doesn’t think murder is vengeance, or hunt down innocent people for sport.”

“Yes, you probably should,” Ansel agrees pleasantly despite a flash in his eyes, jade in the grey, “Now you’ve taken his bed, flaunted him, used his body, sucked him dry -- you don’t really need to use him anymore.”

That, hurts. Partially because she realizes...he had a point. She’s breathless a second, and she narrows her gaze on him.

“Is that how you felt? When I didn’t call you back?”   
  
It was an accusation. Stefanie didn’t know why it came out that way, when she’d realized she’d hurt him but, she couldn’t take it back - not when she sees she beat him in that instant, not when she realizes she had him as much as he had her. Despite the hiss in Ansel’s throat, he speaks with as much knowledge of her as she had of him again and it dries her throat out.

“You left me, you left him. I understood. You thought me a monster.”

No, wait. His knowledge wasn’t drying her throat. That could be his hands on her neck again. Pressing into her skin, burying breath in her throat, trapping her in his heat. She’d bear these marks for days.

“I didn’t think you were a monster,” she hisses. He doesn’t believe her, she realizes, but she doesn’t know how to assuage a hurt she hadn’t realized she’d caused. No one had ever taught her that: forgiveness was something that was weak in this family, compassion something that always just seemed to cost her everything. Everything she had.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t want to be the one hurt. It’s what you do.” She breathes, and he swallows her words,”When you’re the one left behind.”

Ansel looks at her steadily, and then jerks his head as if he can’t - he kisses her forehead and then pulls back.

He mutters, and she hears a trace of ‘can i’ and something about ‘believe that’ and she thinks she hopes there wasn’t a “how” in front of it all but it’s too late -- she knows there is.

And then he speaks and she’s infuriated, wants to rip his claws from his nails, those teeth from his mouth and gouge his eyes; like he must, she realizes, want to do with her.

“Abandoned,” he echoes, breath on her lips, then, “so you betrayed me. As you betray him. As you think I ought to betray your brother.”

Stung, she wants to slap him, but he takes her wrist and presses it into the mirror instead. The other stays on her throat. She struggles -- kicks him -- knees him, in fact, hears a satisfactory groan, wiggling so her hair falls out and the dress nearly slips off her.

“I’m not asking you to betray him.” Stefanie hisses, “I’m asking you to see sense. For him to see sense.”

It’s all she gets out before he presses, just lightly, just, just enough and she falls compliant to him. Her eyes stay defiant, and he loves that. He loves that about her; there’s nothing he could do to make her mind bend as her body does for him now, and truthfully, he doesn’t ever want to.

“Then that’s your mistake,” he may as well be speaking while kissing her now, for how close their lips are, as his tongue dances near the crease. “Your morals aren’t mine, I’m not human. Your brother isn’t. So I don’t care. I can’t. I won’t. What I do care about, is keeping control, and my family. That’s it.”

He seems to realize she can’t breathe and a gasp pops back into her throat as he releases her, backing up and sticking his hands in back pockets, hard. It’s then she sees the broken champagne glass on the floor. She narrows her eyes.

“And me.” She says quietly, “You came back for me that night, and today. Hans didn’t. How long do you think before he does it to you too? How long do you think before he betrays you too?”

She’s breathless, yet fucking again, and rubs at her throat.

Ansel doesn’t say anything, and she can’t see his eyes again. He just goes rigid, dark. She thinks briefly how she wished he’d step back into the mirrors, that they could resume against the glass where they’d left off all those years ago when they were different people, and they different now.

Her eyes dart back up when she hears him ask quietly, “Betrayed and forsaken, aren’t we a pair?

She stands there for what seems ages. Just looks at him. There’s an apology in his throat that doesn’t make it to his lips, but she thinks: that’s all right. She wouldn’t have accepted it anyway.

So instead she asks, “So what do I know I prefer?”

He arches an eyebrow at her, turning back around slowly. Her lips quirk up with a small smile.

“Not wench or grace or majesty -- you said we both knew I preferred one. Which?”

Ansel takes a second, his eyes jade once more and she thinks -- he’s about to smile, like he wants to smile but can’t quite make it, can’t quite cease being sad enough to do so -- and then it seems to burst on him all at once. A wide, bright, innocent smile that makes her lock her knees together and stifle a giggle. And his answer, was accurate, so true it leaves her breathless in his wake.

“Stefanie.”

She bought the purple one.

{*}

**Nick:** *He knocks on the open glass door as he steps onto the patio, seeing Hols sitting on a swinging bench and smoking.*

**Hols** : *looks up, thinking her mom and Brad were out for the moment ready to throw the blunt away and then sees its only Nick.* I thought you were with Nadia.

**Nick** : Was, yes. They’re all playing video games now, she and Lynn are kicking ass against Devin and Chace. *He walks over and sits down next to her.* I didn’t know you smoke.

**Hols:** Smoked.

**Nick:** It’s very much present tense at the moment.

**Hols:** *She chuckles and then exhales* Yeah well, just this once. I quit at 15.

**Nick:** When you’d start?

**Hols:** 14 and a half. *grins* not a very long relationship but *offers him some*

**Nick** : No thanks.

**Hols:** You expect me to believe a Californian surfer dude has never taken a hit before?

**Nick:** Well, no, but don’t want to. I prefer to stay sober.

**Hols:** *snorts* You and Nadia, both. While everyone else around you gets plastered.

**Nick** : There’s different ways of dealing with grief.

**Hols** : Nadia says she doesn’t want to numb it, any of it. *She rubs her forehead* That she wants to feel it ransacking her entire mind/body/soul combination.

**Nick:** …Why?

**Hols:** Fuck if I understand her, Nick. *She takes another hit, swallowing on a dry throat.* As a reminder? I don’t know.

**Nick:** Yeah well you can’t blame her, Hol. After being locked-

**Hols:** *Quickly, not wanting to hear the reminder (as if she needed one anyways)* I know. I know, I just…sigh. I wish I could help.

**Nick:** You are, I mean *he teased* when you’re not getting high you are.

**Hols:** *Lips twitch* one time.

**Nick:** *He chuckles, swinging back and forth slowly on the bench with her.* Yeah.

**Hols:** It’s not fair to her, I know it. *She sighed.* We should be helping her, and here we are stuck mourning and her big little heart is determined to help us instead.

**Nick:** She’s still Nadia, Hols.

**Hols:** And I’m so fucking glad for that. Because she is, she really is and no one is gonna break her, she did not break and she did not give up I mean look at all she did! She’s a hero, Nick.

**Nick:** She is-

**Hols:** But she paid the price for it. Scars, so many of them— the veiny one on her shoulder from where she was -impaled-? *She hit the side of the bench with her open palm and gripped* It makes me so murderous. I wish there was something I could do.

**Nick:** Hols, being there for her is enough.

**Hols:** But it isn’t. *She narrows her eyes thinking of that pink haired bitch and then remembers she has to talk to Lynn about it too.*

**Nick:** It is. Everyone’s doing their best to help Nadia remember- she remembers you, she remembers Hogwarts and classes, her home.

**Hols:** Thanks to Al.

**Nick:** *nodding, agreeing* Thanks to Al.

**Hols** : *her bottom lip quivers* He’s hurting too, Nick.

**Nick:** *nods* We all are.

**Hols** : He’s hurting worse.

**Nick:** Sienna’s hurting the same way he is, you know.

**Hols:** *She hesitates a moment and then bites her lip, nodding.* Yeah I suppose she is.

**Nick:** We just have to keep reminding them they’re not alone.

**Hols:** That’s what Lynn did, for me I mean. *She leaned back in the chair.* Remember me telling you about Keagan and Corey?

**Nick:** Of course…though I think it’s a little different-

**Hols:** Is being left by choice any easier? *She shrugs.* I don’t know, maybe it is. But Lynn was there with me through it even if she had no idea how to help me, she stayed.

**Nick:** Exactly, Hols. Babe, you’re making my point for me. *he smiles*

**Hols:** But see it didn’t matter really because I still spiraled. Grades dropped, couldn’t eat anything, one party after the next, getting wasted and high and sneaking off on Lynn. *she purses her lips* She yelled at me more than a few times over it. Had to hit rock bottom hard before I got up.

**Nick:** What was rock bottom?

**Hols:** Pregnancy.

**Nick** : *his eyes widen* what?

**Hols** : Hmm *she takes another hit* Some douche that lied about having a condom. I was too drunk to realize but he was over 17, and dad pressed charges.

**Nick** : That’s…that’s horrible Hols.

**Hols:** It happened, I’m over it. I just…*she pursed her lips again and shook her head.* I don’t want anyone here falling into rock bottom. I hate that, not being able to do anything.

**Nick:** Sometimes, we just have to stand aside and let them do things their own way and fall down. We just have to make sure to help them get back up again.

**Hols** : I’m doing that though.

**Nick** : No, you’re trying to catch them, Hols. Not the same thing. *He takes the joint from her and takes one hit before passing it over to her again.* Good shit. *coughs a little*

**Hols:** It’s Chace’s.

**Nick:** *incredulous* Chace smokes?

**Hols** : Skater. *Shrugs* They’re all a bunch of potheads really. He got this from his last competition in L.A.

**Nick:** Well, no wonder it’s good then. *smirks* we’ve got premium quality everything.

**Hols:** If you say so, darling.

**Nick:** *He smiles and then tugs Hols towards him, hugging her and kissing the top of her head once.* You’re doing as well as you can be.

**Hols:** *leaning his head on his arm* I need to do better.

**Nick** : You don’t. We’ll be okay. We’ve all got each other.

**Hols** : God, you’re such a fucking hippy *she exhales in a huff* I just want to kick some ass.

**Nick:** *chuckles* You’re talking to the guy who shot a werewolf in the chest.

**Hols** : Talking to the girl who ripped an arm off a werewolf.

**Nick** : Fair point. *Grins* We make a good team, unstoppable when Lynn is here.

**Hols** : You really can’t go more than a day without her anymore can you?

**Nick** : Right now, not even a whole ten minutes.

**Hols:** Time’s almost running out then, you’ve spent like 7 minutes here!

**Nick:** *smiles and then pokes her side* Come in with us, watch Nadia kick ass. It’ll make you feel better.

**Hols** : *she smiles and then shakes her head* Nah. I really did need to be alone for a while.

**Nick:** I messed that up huh?

**Hols:** Just a bit.

**Nick:** For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s only Nadia using her little big heart to try and help everyone.

**Hols:** I’ve got a big heart?

**Nick:** Huge. I’m just glad to know its also available for humans instead of the animals and the environment.

**Hols** : Hahaha. Limited time only otherwise I’m very selective. *sitting up*

**Nick** : Then we all consider ourselves very special for your care. *He smiles before standing up.* Last call. You know you want some pita chips with salsa.

**Hols** : …that does sound good. Or you know what’s better?

**Nick:** Hummus?

**Hols** : Okay now you’re just reading my mind. Is this a Cali thing?

**Nick:** As a matter of fact it is. *smirks* I know what makes vegans happy. Avocado and chipotle black bean dip, plantain crisps, pears dipped in peanut butter- that’s especially for you.

**Hols** : A very lewd sound is gonna come out of my mouth if you don’t stop.

**Nick:** *grins* Can’t eat them out here.

**Hols:** I hate you so much.

**Nick:** You love me so much.

**Hols:** *takes the last hit and then shakes her head before standing* I’m only coming in for the food.

**Nick** : And me.

**Hols** : And Nadia.

**Nick** : And me.

**Hols** : And I need to give Lynn a big hug and a huge smooch for being amazing.

**Nick** : And me.

**Hols:** Not you.

**Nick** : You’re very good at denial.

**Hols:** *Walking in and then looking over her shoulder at Nick* Hmm?

**Nick:** Good enough to pretend the world denial doesn’t exist.

**Hols:** Don’t know what you’re talking about.

**Nick:** You’re unbelievable. *he wiggles his eyebrows and then raises his voice as he heads to the living room while Hols heads to the kitchen* I mean how DARE you come on to me?

**Hols:** What?! I did no such- *comes out of the kitchen and throws a rolling pin at his head* Don’t believe him!

**Nick:** *ducks it before sitting down at the couch with a grin.*

{*}

Curious how two simple words could have that much of an effect on a person, much more than any of the other sentences they had shouted at each other in the time that had gone on. That simple expression of gratitude, the two words 'thank you', were enough to calm his frantically beating heart and bring renewed air back into his lungs in a much more normal manner than before. Yet Tony could only nod in an attempt to shrug it off without actually having to literally, shrug it away. A shrug was a sign of insignificance, and this was not that.

Olivier nods back to acknowledge that he believed him, arms folding over his chest, as his brother backs from him to fetch a drink. It’s good for the soul, oi vey. But he was glad to hear it, glad to realize in his bitterness and lashing out he hadn’t ruined his brother’s deep belief -- because frankly, he wished he could understand his faith. And then snorts, a bitter bare chuckle as his eyes flutter shut at the mutter and the song (which starts playing in his head). He nods absently again, in the way that said he understood, because that he might understand most of all.

“Well, don’t throw the pity party and not invite me -- because you’re the only one I’ve really got too.” He chuckles, and turns to him as a latent voice in his mind abruptly wonders about Daniella -- about the woman who had slept on his couch and in his arms that night, the woman who had promised him she wasn’t letting this go...and then thinks about what she’d snapped at him too.

And that reminds him...

“Weren’t...you having dinner with Daniella? I mean, I can’t help but think you must get along rather well -- never known another to harp on my soul like she does besides you.”

“Oh great, party of two then!

So he poured his brother a drink, because it felt like the right thing to do at the time. He didn't ask about Sarah any longer, just thought on the words of explanation his brother offered that Tony had so casually dismissed before because he hadn't wanted to hear them, and while he knew that he wasn't done talking about this, because Tony did want to know if Olivier was just doing all of this to get their father's empire back under the D'Grey name, he also knew he couldn't continue to keep talking about it now. And when words ended, alcohol began. Offering the drink now to his brother, nodding at his question.

“I was, and oh, no wonder I liked her immediately then. Then Duran Duran stopped by looking for you.” Duran Duran....Hungry like the Wolf -- oh come, it was funny if you knew the pop culture reference.

“And we bonded over ragging on him, all good fun.”

Olivier shakes his head in amused dismissal as he tried to figure out which Duran Duran song was meant to tip him off -- but as his brother points out they’d been ragging on him, he knows instantly.

"You have a remarkable gift for the depth of nicknames you can find to call him a wolf, you know that?"

That wasn’t the real remarkable thing though. Olivier looks down at his open jacket and his knee-caps for a second, seeing the blood and hissing to himself. It had been a little while since he’d been forced to the extreme he was today, and the sight afterward usually made him strip and throw the clothes in a fireplace immediately. He didn’t want to wear this again. And sure, it might be a waste of good Italian leather and silk, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to replace them.

Feeling his brother might have a problem with that, he refrains. Instead he cleans them off with another wave of his hand and pockets his knife. His thumb brushes over the white cross on the hilt, before he lifts it to cup a drink instead. He thanks Tony with a nod and murmur, adding,

"Actually, what’s remarkable is that you get away with it -- you know not many do just “playfully rag” in good fun on Hans."

Tony smirks, giving a fake bow, taking it as a compliment because honestly, it was.

"Thank you, it's a gift." He had to find ways to amuse himself whenever the man was in the vicinity otherwise he felt like he might spontaneously grow wrinkles and gray hair just by the sheer amount of frustration and annoyance he felt over his brother's most trusted friend.

Then again, because he was his brother's most trusted friend it also meant that he refrained from doing any of his favorite dog tricks to him like put him in a chokehold or break his hand, that sort of thing. He briefly wondered if the man knew Tony had enjoyed his sister in the same penthouse they were all eating in. Best not mention it out loud, just in case. He wasn't afraid of Hans, some would say (including the man himself) that that was especially stupid of him and Tony couldn't say that he disagreed.

Olivier swallows, as he hadn’t quite wanted the first time Hans met Daniella to be without him. But...the first time? After a hesitant sip, "She didn’t bolt then?"

Swallowing another gulp of the drink as Olivier cleaned himself off of anymore blood, Tony chose instead to focus on the question his brother asked about his girl. Though Olivier would not actually call her his girl at the present moment but as far as he could tell, it was only a matter of time.

"Don't worry, he took his share of jabs at my expense too, for instance, now I have to explain to Daniella exactly why I'm a murderer. And she stayed!" He claps his brother on the shoulder, "No running away, actually, she looked quite up to speed and in her element." He takes another sip with a smirk, "She on need-to-know status too, then, or just uniquely talented in looking like she owns the place?"

His brows furrow and then he scowls at the explanation, taking an abrupt sip of the drink and shaking his head. Oh, for heaven’s sakes...speaking of people who desperately needed a little bonding time, his brother and oldest friend were perhaps at the top of his (incredibly short) list.

"Will you?"

Daniella staying though...that was a surprise; she could be quite holier-than-thou herself too, as he’d said before. Just as he did from his brother...he appreciated that of her, appreciated that for some bloody unknown reason she seemed to see something in him -- the real him -- that was worth liking. He looks to his drink to smile at the amber liquid, as if it was the reason for a flare of warmth in his chest that reminds his heart it needs to beat. Falling into the sofa (for he was exhausted, technically healing, and he wasn’t thinking about either) and setting his drink atop the leather arm, he chuckles away his exasperation.

"Should I take it you informed him of his sister’s bedroom preferences, then?"

The question makes him still, running his thumb around the alcohol he kept sipping at every reminder. The burn it chased down his throat was oddly soothing. But then, he’d always appreciated flames. Looking up, he speaks slowly. "I’d say both, actually. I haven’t tortured in front of her, if that’s what you’re asking. She is, however, aware of who I am -- aware of who we are, in more ways than one. Her father’s Ryan Faye."

Olivier tries not to sound bitter as he says the name, though he doesn’t know why when she’s not around -- and he fails anyway. Of course he did. The man was both the reason their father had been able to enchant their mother, to be able to have his kids and was the one who’d taken him before his first birthday. Not that he could remember that. Voice hesitating on principle he says, "She’s the one Dad worked so hard to kill. As such, her death was faked, and she didn’t meet him until she was six. And I met her," He takes a sip of his glass, nonchalant now, "when she was attempting to infiltrate to take everything down -- you know," quite abruptly he smirks, "come to think of it, am I going to have to be worried about you stealing her?"

**Tony:** Well if she plans on sticking around, can't very well lie to her now can I? *Besides she had those eyes that said she didn't tolerate any bullshit and Tony knew better than to get in the middle of a woman on a mission. And if this mission involved the betterment of his brother, Tony was all for helping. He glass was halfway to his mouth before he scoffed again, shaking his head.* I don't have a death wish, or the coccoon of protection that comes with being in his pack otherwise Wolfie 2.0 would have keeled over a long time ago I expect.

*It was easy, so easy, to joke about these things. Joking was easy, it was safe, and it was pretty damn fun, so he was glad he had that to fall back on at least, when everything was in the shithole. Humor could be quite the saving force.

And then there were some things in which humor had no place in. His glass stayed on top of his lips, never taking a sip as he listened. Ah, she had spoken of family legacy but Tony hadn't quite caught her name, otherwise he would have probably been a lot more nosy for Faye was a name known in this family. Oh, they went way back.* Surprise, surprise. *But the more he heard about Daniella herself, the wider his smirk grew. He knew there was a reason he liked her! Survived their father and then tried to come back to bring it all down. He took a sip of the drink now after wiggling his eyebrows.* Nah, we're already too alike to be anything more than friends. Why would I want to be with someone that reminds me of myself? *He shrugs and then raises his glass again before taking another sip and plopping down on the opposite couch, making sure to keep the drink from spilling.*

You know, she said something alone the same lines 'I don't do brothers'- do I just have that sort of face? *He gestures to it with his free hand.* A face that screams heartless, betraying, asshole?

**Olivier:** *Officially and finally confused, his brows furrow further and head tilts. Damn. Usually he could figure out his brother’s codes without getting that look of brooding -- damn his sense of humor. With a slow chuckle at the back of his throat, thumbing the side of his glass, he questions,* You think...Hans would have killed Ansel?

*That didn’t make much sense to him, and he blinks and then he shrugs it off abruptly as he realizes what Tony meant. Oh, Lord. Eyes wide, and mouth in a tiny “oh” of amusement, he chuckles again,* With Stefanie too? *His hand waves back and forth in accordance to “with” and with a bit of a civilized Italian gesture of coupling.

All right: “civilized.”*

Well, that’s news to me. *He tilts his head in a bit of surprise, saying lightly, joking as much as his brother,* I do hope she didn’t say -his- name rather than yours...for your ego’s sake, and what not. *Both his eyebrows wiggle, tone in amused disbelief even as he questions seriously,* But if you know her other...you’re...not planning on seeing her again, are you?

*That would be something worth noticing. Especially if it put the shoe on the other foot, to borrow the common expression as he sips again, as Tony had been so eager to start seeing Daniella. He waits, for it to sink in, and then laughs again despite the fact that nothing he’d said before had been a laughing matter -- because it was what Olivier knew how to do,* I don’t know...perhaps because your mirror’s your oldest companion? *He winks, setting the glass down on the side table and then setting his eyes to the ceiling. Waiting for a moment and letting a comfortable silence fall, he thinks of Daniella and the legacy she spoke of, smiling to think she’d already shut Tony down -- even if he had no doubt it was as much a preemptive joke as it was anything serious, because his brother wouldn’t.

It was something else Daniella had mentioned to him that he thinks of now...as there was an older companion to Tony than his mirror, than even their nonna. Rubbing his throat again, as it seems afflicted with a ghostly pain, when he tilts his head back down his lightheartedness is gone entirely. The question was too serious for him, especially with his mind still trying to work out if he did or did not want to be like his father. What other option for him was there, one tiny voice had asked, what other person had raised him? It made sense that Tony would cling to something better when he’d had...well.*

Tony. Did you find her? When you were gone?

**Tony:** For sleeping with his sister without any prior affiliation to the man himself?....No, maybe not, maybe I am being harsh. *But chop off an arm? Well, that was less out of the realm of possibilities- he was joking, these were jokes- oh, it was because Olivier hadn't been aware. He couldn't blame him, Tony had only taken a guess after the man deposited in his arms with that worried look on his face, and then of course she had already been marked by him, a small bruise on her neck. Tony couldn't quite remember specifics but he'd probably left his mark on her too, a mark that would fade. But Wolfie 2.0, now that was another matter altogether. A matter he would not willingly get in the middle of.*

Nope, no plans. And she left quick enough for me to take the hint. Though, if she ever needs to use my body again, I will of course, not turn her away. I am a gentleman. *He takes a drink and then swirls his drink in the glass, smirking and chuckling at the joke being made at his expense. Haha, was it a crime to have a mirror in every room? It was just as much for the decoration, honestly.

And then his motions stilled. Tony didn't have to ask who Olivier was talking about, for the pronoun had been so weighted that it could only stand to be one specific person, one specific woman. It was the same way that Olivier knew that Tony must have searched after he had left, both of times. Clearing his throat, he finished the rest of his drink and then admitted with a brief nod and a small his.* Yeah. Once...showed up at her door. Took her a few seconds to recognize me and she let me in but ah...*he chuckled though he had no real amusement in his voice.* She's married, you know. Two girls, guess she's just destined to have them in pairs. *shakes his head before clearing his throat and accioing the canter so he could fill his glass again.* Anyway it was obvious, she built her life, she seemed happy so I left. Didn't talk very much, but she asked about you. Felt like a dick when I couldn't find anything to say: "he's good" I told her, "he's still in France"...*he exhales and shakes his head again* Such a cazzo.

**Olivier:** A real Mr. Higgins, yeah. *Was that too obscure a reference to make? Sometimes he couldn’t tell; his brother had been the first one to introduce him to what was “actual” music and culture as opposed to the musicals and art periods ... that admittedly, he couldn’t help but still enjoy. Still, nothing replaced the Who for him now, except maybe Floyd.* Well just in case, I’ll give her your number then...when this is done.

*”This”, yeah, the entire overthrow of the death Eaters who had his beloved Paris in a death-grip, and facilitating two murders at least -- but “this” summed it up. He knew his brother might not agree with keeping people in the dark for their safety but...Stefanie had enough danger associated with Hans, and if she was sleeping with Ansel...

Finishing his own drink, he was glad he swallowed quickly--as otherwise the news might have choked him. Everything else was forgotten as he stared at his brother. He’d found her? The question ‘why didn’t you tell me’ was stalled in his throat; the same reason he’d never asked before. Olivier didn’t believe in prolonging his own suffering - especially for such an infantile want he knew better than to cling to, the idea that the woman might still want to know him after everything.

Yet when he heard she asked about him, he smiles briefly, undisclosed want in his eyes and he flickers his gaze from his brother. He barely heard the repeated insult, as he was too focused on processing the facts she’d been given. Good and in France...irreverent facts, (and one a bit debatable), but he was pleased nonetheless that she’d asked. Of course, a logical voice in his mind remarked simply: Tony might have made that up for his sake...but he didn’t think about it long. Olivier wanted to believe it. Even with all the evidence to the contrary.

He’d not wanted to ask the first time Tony disappeared...because the immediate reason she left was not gone. Their father might still have come after her again. But he couldn’t do that now, so he’d thought he’d ask...

And it was her other news that made his eyes widen instantly. She’d married? He had sisters? Speaking of people to keep away -- far, far away, actually. There was a choked noise in his throat and he lets his fidgeting fingers fall from the glass and pick at a loose thread on the nearest pillow. Hell. Blinking, shakes his head but only once-- as he can’t dismiss it further--and then says calmly,* That’s good she did though. Good for her. And you’re right she...she deserves that life.

*But he can’t help but have his gaze flick back as he asks,* Did you meet the girls? Our -uh, half sisters?

**Tony** : Yeah, of course. *Who was Mr. Higgings? Why couldn't he have said Mr. Darcy or Mr. Rochester? Oh right because the first had the social skills of a mentally deficient spider and the second one was a sexual predator with one too many skeletons in the closet.

When this was done. And exactly when would all of this be done actually? When Roswell was taken down? What about the others that would try to rise up in his absence? It would be up to his brother to institute, ah, 'clean up control' right? In truth, this was a never ending cycle and Tony just wished that his brother could see that his life could grow to be so much better away from all of...this. He almost laughed; he needed a new noun.*

Yeah, she does. *Their mother was...honestly incredible, for all that he could remember. And she still was, still beautiful, with dark brown hair let down in soft curls she didn't have time to keep fixed while she ran around making sure the house and the girls and her husband were all taken care of. There was no room for Tony or for Olivier in her life. Maybe it was better that way, last thing she or those girls needed was to be involved in anyway in any of this.* No, they were at school, I just saw pictures. Carina and Angelina, 10 and 7. She wanted me to stick around but I just...I couldn't. *he shook his head and then cleared his throat before bringing his gaze back up to his brother's.* You've never mentioned mom before.

**Olivier** : I understand.

*He says simply, wondering if he could have stayed -- wondering if he’d even want to meet her. He was angry, even if logic told him it wasn’t her fault, because shouldn’t it have been her damn responsibility? She’d given birth to them both, but she’d only fought for one of them -- and she’d lost both too. Still, at the question, he twisted his head back to meet his brother’s gaze and nods.*

She was never safe before. *He answers the unspoken question simply, in a dead-pan voice filled with too much knowledge. Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he winces as he sees even for all his scrubbing and scourgifying there was blood under his nail. He had to get in a shower. Didn’t that make his point though?

Dropping his hand to his knee-cap, he flicks his gaze to the secretary desk that had been Dad’s, the one he’d cleaned out and scrubbed down one day with Lysol, only to find a hidden compartment with another gun in it...and a stack of photographs. Pressing his teeth into his bottom lip he thinks first that their mother’s photos of Carina and Angelina were likely displayed on mantlepieces and over fireplaces, but that their father apparently had some sense of nostalgia.

Standing, he crossed to the desk, rummaging past his own documents, twisting protruding rosewood as if it was a key, sliding the compartment doors locked like a chinese puzzle, and pulls out the old box. Letting it fall onto the desk, he works to unlock that too with ease nearly inhuman; his mind simply saw the pattern from the moment he’d first looked at the box. Shaking his head to clear the thought, he pulls the stack out again, and drops it for Tony to peruse.

On top were the oldest photographs, the ones from the twenties -- his father’s sister, predominantly, captured unmoving in black and white and sepia. She was gorgeous too, hair as black as Tony’s was, with eyes that were likely blue -- though he’d never asked his father that. There were photos of both of them growing up and then her wedding photo. They’d never met her, considering she’d have been one hundred and two when he was born, but they knew her granddaughter quite well; the one they called nonna.

The photos gained in years and subjects far past family; there were two or three landscapes of places he didn’t know, and one of a bar that he did: the first one his father owned, shortly after he was turned, with his father’s arm around someone named “Pete.” There were three girls he didn’t know, in portraits that looked like they were given to actresses resumes. Margaret, with a large flowered bonnet on the dock and B52s in the sky behind her as she waved (and chased the hat down, laughing). “Dolores” was the first in color, spinning around in a hoop skirt and toying with blonde hair while she pops bubble-gum. The last, “Ellen,” she was the shiest, wearing a long simple Aline skirt and green sweater, carrying a book and constantly begging the camera person to put it away. Each had the name and date, but the most recent photos, those at the bottom of the stack, he imagined Tony knew better than him.*

Mom. *Olivier says simply, fingering the edge of one of them -- there were several, all from the late nineties and then the year he was born -- and then dropping it abruptly, slipping his hand into his pocket again as if he was afraid of a scrap of parchment. Dad wouldn’t be proud of that, he thinks surly, as he flicks his gaze up to Tony again, shrugging a shoulder up at him.* Least, I think so. You tell me -- I just found it when I cleaned out his desk.

*As much as it might have been, his words weren’t bitter, for he’d been glad of the glimpse, happy to see her captured in a smile. They finally put a face to her name. He didn’t know why his father kept the photographs -- for all the things he’d taught him, Dad never had explained why he found memories important (at least beyond business purposes), saying often the opposite. But it couldn’t have been good, he thinks bitterly now; when their father wanted something, even if he loved them, they tended to get hurt--worse than if he’d never given a fuck at all. She wasn’t safe, he’d said.

Toying with the hilt of his knife with his hand still in his pocket, he flicks his gaze back up to his brother and adds,* I’m not Dad, Tony. She is now. So. Thought I’d ask.

**Tony:** *Yeah, if there was anyone who was going to understand that it was his own brother. It was probable that he understood to a level that a Tony hadn't achieved yet. it wasn't the same for Olivier, he never had any time with their mother, not any that he could remember at least. And he never wanted to know anything about her, or rather, he never said anything about it. So because he didn't, Tony never pushed the subject especially because living in a house with a vampire guaranteed that no conversations would ever be private.

The explanation surprised him, given that Tony hadn't ever thought that Olivier would be thinking that way but now it made a lot of sense. He was ashamed to have once ever thought his brother indifferent about their mother. Olivier was a master of hiding his true feelings, hell it was probably one of the few things Tony would admit he got from the family legacy, but he was his brother; he should have realized it went past that. Olivier was right, she was safe now, but only to a point. Olivier took over their father's business, he had enemies, and he was only going to make more throughout the years if he never stopped. Tony had already proved that when you wanted to hurt someone, you went after the people they cared about. Getting their mother back in their life even for a second, would put her at risk, would put her two young daughters at risk. Tony could be known to be selfish, but this was beyond him and beyond his brother.

Tony watched Olivier curious as he stood and went over to the desk. Not quite the best of memories with that desk, he had to admit to himself as he took another sip and then paused as his brother took out an old box from a hidden compartment in the desk. They were all about secrets, in this family. He picked up the stacks of picture as Olivier dropped them, and perused through them. He saw his father, even younger than Tony remembered him with his sister, for the resemblance was uncanny. He browsed and browsed until he was finally at the age he would be for the rest of his life, well, if you could call it that.*

Our father: a secret sentimentalist. Who knew? *The smirk died as quickly as it tried to appear on his face as he browsed more pictures. Places, people, strangers really but that to his father they'd obviously meant more otherwise he wouldn't have kept pictures of them in his study now would he?

And then came the women. He had to hand it to his father, he had great taste in women. But the word taste became at once too literal in Tony's mind and he wondered what exactly his father had seen in them. Did he love them, in his own way? And what happened to each one of these women? Did he leave them, after he no longer wanted to be with them, once they got too old or too boring? Tony had never talked to his father, he never wanted to talk to his father about anything at all- he spent the majority of the time he was growing up here behaving like an asshole but this was a side of Remington D'Grey that he hadn't even been comfortable admitting even to himself. Why else would he lock it away?*

Mom. *He repeated as the pictures became familiar. Their mother, years before, looking almost exactly like he remembered her save for subtle differences, especially in her eyes. What did you see in him, madre? Questions he hadn't even thought to bring up to her when he had seen her, and probably never would. He dropped the pictures back on the pile as gently as he was capable of being before raising his head again.* Right...well you asked, now you know. *He finished the rest of his glass, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.*

**Olivier:** Well, you know what they say about those D’Grey boys.

*A secret sentimentalist...ha. Well, that was one way to put it, he supposed, amused. Truth was, he was curious who had engineered such a fascination with time into his father, because he wasn’t so sure the idea was faulty. Especially as Tony and his own existence proved -- he continued to think about a legacy. An odd thing for a vampire to obsess over, one who could live without the bane of it on his complexion or life’s cost. In kinder moments, Olivier had even thought that his father’s attempt to turn him -- despite it being not at all what he desired -- was born out of the fact that he didn’t want to be alone forever, that he loved him. Those moments always twist his stomach, for he doesn’t want to think about the fact that had the choice been put to him differently, had his father not also acknowledged that he was going to kill Tony -- he might even have said yes.

He didn’t know his mother, just as Tony didn’t know their father. Olivier chose to look on the brightside; instead of the focusing on the fact that he was never good enough for their mother, and his brother too good for Dad -- he simply chose to think how badly one parent had wanted each of them, and wasn’t that enough?

Still...he was glad at least to have been right, that he did at least know what his mother looked like and he almost wants to pick the photo up again and pocket it. What that would help though, he didn’t know; it was simply unnecessary pain and potentially dangerous to her -- for while she was certainly safe from him, she couldn’t be safe from Gina -- Carina and Angelina wouldn’t be either. So instead, he picks the photos up and replaces them in the box. He finishes the thought with a little smirk beneath scrunched up eyes as he feigns remembering,* I think “Cry Me a River” is their theme song.

*Sliding the box away and the desk shut and locked, he chuckles under his breath and returns to get himself another drink.* And I don’t think I’m drunk enough for it yet, so. *He shrugs a shoulder, placing both glasses on the bar marble top (after he summoned his from the couch and his brother’s from his hand with a finger-snap). As he mixes, now that he’s breathing steady he says calmer,* I said I’d tell you everything you needed to know -- but I omitted things I didn’t want you to know, and you’re right. That was wrong. *He lifts the glass up to his brother as if offering a truce, saying simply,* So ask me. I’ll tell you everything, if you ask.

**Tony:** *He snorted then actually laughed at that, now the damn song was going to get stuck in his head.* I think I am, I've been drinking since before I got here. *clears his throat and then starts to sing it* Told me you love me, why did you leave me all aloooone? *In a higher pitched voice* Cry me a riveeer. *He snorts again before groaning.* Stupid song. Isn't J.T. dead already? *The glass flew away from his hand and he just watched it fly away with a raise of his eyebrow and then sat up, always welcome to more liquor. After all, it took less alcohol for him to sing and dance than it would his brother...for Olivier you might have to empty out the entire stock to get him to laugh wholeheartedly without anything holding him back. He reached for the glass, not tearing his eyes away from his brother as he offered the truce.* Wait, did I, *he put his hand up to his ear and then motioned with his other hand for him to repeat it* say that again, I am right? Give me enough time to just get my phone out to record this. *Or did muggle technology still not work in the mansion? Ah well.

In the seriousness that he could afford to give the situation, he was trying to think of what else he really wanted to know. The problem, Tony realized, stemmed from the fact that at the moment he didn't know what he needed to ask about. It was already established more killing would have to be done, of Roswell and Gina at the very least. The plan would involve Harper as well as the 15 year old Nadia Tudor back in England. And then after all of this was over, what exactly did Olivier plan to do? The very last, at least, he knew he wouldn't ask right then because that was at the end, that could wait. He sighed.* You're a buzz kill, Olivier. Here I am, thinking you're prepping yourself for karaoke and you're making me use my brain.

Can I take a quick shortcut and just ask what you've omitted? *smirks cheekily before taking another drink.*

**Olivier:** *The sudden serenade makes him burst into a chuckle, more of disbelief than genuine amusement at first and then...well, then a little of both. He shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink and shrugs a shoulder as if to say “yeah, yeah” while his little brother made fun of the offer, his smile remains implacable as he realizes in the instant how simply, incredibly grateful he was that his brother was there.

Hmming, he points out,* Recorders won’t work in here. Magical or muggle. And I’ve got a ward that spells unwanted Animagi away -- Roswell turns into a fly. Appropriate, isn’t it? *He wished he’d known that sooner, actually, it would have saved him time.* In fact, apparently the only thing I can’t keep out of this room is my brother from opening the door. So, *he toasts him with the glass,* thank you. For alerting me to my security hole.

*There’s a pause, and then he rephrases after another quick sip,* Our, security hole that is.

*Spinning at the question, he laughs as Tony does and shakes his head. He opens his mouth only to shut it; if his brother had wanted specifics on those he had killed, on all he had done in the last year...then he knew enough now to ask. As he hadn’t, he wouldn’t volunteer that information further: not specifics. Only potential enemies, and well, he’d just taken care of the only one that he had not already informed Tony of. Murmuring as he swished the amber liquid back and forth, his head comfortably buzzed now in a manner that kept him calm, calmer than he’d been all day, he says seriously enough,* Besides what you just saw, there’s nothing impending. What I -would- like to do, is introduce you to Harper, but there’s no way of getting him out of the headquarters and I must admit. *He clears his throat with a shot of the drink, grits his teeth and gasps.* I wouldn’t want him out quite yet, he’s too perfectly placed to gather information. *Narrowing his eyes, he realizes why it was Harper he mentioned and says slowly,* I suppose what I omitted - and this was less intentional, more coincidental, was what it is Harper has been able to do for them -- I mean, it’s not just healing them, the memory potion with Nadia, or even what he’s done for Hans.

*He turns, a dark kind of glint in his eyes as he thinks about it, walking slowly back to the couch, turning the man’s accomplishments over in his mind: at the back of his mind the things that he wanted to ask of him...later, when he’d killed Gustav and Gina.

Slipping his hand out of his pocket again, he tosses his brother his wand saying,* He made me that. Looks normal, but it has two woods twined together, is capable of... *There’s a pause, a shiver of undeniable want to explore in his voice,* ...a lot, more than a normal wand. He also makes a potion which -- I admit, I have no taste for, as I view pain management as a way of understanding my own capablitilies but that has allowed Roswell to send his henchmen into places without the ability to feel nearly all pain at all. It makes them near invincible...least until they bleed out, or the like. And...ah. Yes. One of the right hand men, Julio...he took a potion of Harper’s too, Julio alone was never tortured after initial refusal. That, I have to ask Harper about myself.

*He takes a sip of the glass, bringing his leg up and resting his arm across it, ankle bouncing in time as he looks at his brother. There’s a light smirk on his lips as he asks,* Apologies, for being a buzzkill. Rather eager to avoid a repeat of today’s scene is all -- and eager to get the whole, info-sharing part over with. *He jerks his head to the desk, saying as well while he opens the lock with his hand without getting up,* The top left drawer, *it slides open,* there’s a schematic of the manor and it’s protections. Just for future reference...and tell me if you spy any more holes.   
Tony: *he snapped his fingers, tutting in fake disappointment, even though he wasn't surprised. This was both house and office, home and business, and you couldn't have people eavesdropping in here and then going over to those people they were actively trying to take down otherwise Tony feared he would just have another 'date' with the pink bitch.* A fly? Tough break. I always thought mine would be something like a panther, or a hawk. But a fly, yikes. *And wasn't your animagus a measure of who you were? Right, well, this guy was sincerely lacking.* That's what I'm here, filling up holes.

*Now onto the more serious business. Tony was glad to hear that there were no more planned executions, though the relief of that was small given that plans changed and improvisations were always needed. Another quick swig let him clear his mind away to focus on the other facts. Like there was no way in hell Tony was ever going to walk into wherever the Death Eaters were hiding, and apparently there was no getting Harper out now, which just seemed to perfectly coincide with the fact his brother needed him inside. But he was going to assume that if the man was a genius it meant that the only way Olivier could be taking advantage of him is if the man allowed it.* He's done more? Who is this guy, exactly? *He caught his brother's wand, frowning as he realized that this was not the same wand he'd seen Olivier have growing up, and then was soon explained why it was. His eyes could not have gone any wider* Two woods- *He could even it feel it, the power of the wand as it laid on his hand, and this wasn't even his own wand, this was his brother's, an entirely different person from him and he could feel it. That, on top of potions that didn't allow them to feel pain, and a potion that was allowing werewolves to turn at will, Gustav Roswell was building a fucking army. They had their sights of England, that much was true, but if they were allowed to keep expanding, that would be the destruction of everything.

Handing the wand back to Olivier, he took another sip of his drink as he was understanding more and more the using whatever means necessary to stop these people, whatever helps you sleeps at night, Tone.* That makes two us. *He really wanted to stop being need-to-know but Tony could tell this would be a process.* Holes, right, on it. *takes a drink without moving*


	41. Voicemails of Secret Fan Clubs

**Harper:** *Olivier had informed Harper the last time they spoke that he had included his brother in all of his plans. Ever hesitant, Harper had concluded he would just have to trust Olivier’s judgment there before the man had expressed wish to have him meet his brother in person. Harper quickly relayed that unless Tony was willing to come into the headquarters, there was no way that was going to happen; Gustav ‘allowed’ Olivier many things, especially since the suspicion was moved away from the man, but he would never allow Harper to leave the premises. Nevertheless, Harper was not without wit. He would not, leave the premises, but he could travel up to the higher levels, the ones available to the public, as long as Gustav was away. So, they worked something out. Slipping up stairs, garbed in priests’ clothing, he made his way to the box for confessions, the left most one, away from the main entrance. Sliding in, he sat down, and found he was not alone.*

 **Tony:** Forgive me, father. For I have sinned. It’s been a year since my last confession, and let me tell you, I have my share of doozies. I’ve compiled a list-

 **Harper:** *he cuts him off, a bit put off by the act before asking* are you Antonio?

 **Tony:** Tony, or Tonio, if you wish. *he smirks, though he knows the man cannot see it.* My reputation precedes me.

 **Harper:** No, I know very little about you, but your brother, he said you’d be here.

 **Tony:** And here I am. *he raised his arms and then sighed, thinking to himself he should really stop the effort when the man couldn’t even see him through the screen, well, not very. The same way he couldn’t see much, especially because Harper seemed determined to stay in the shadows.* Don’t worry, we’re safe to talk in here.

 **Harper:** I added another ward, just in case.

 **Tony:** *pleasantly* Of course you did.

 **Harper:** I mean no offense-

 **Tony:** Oh, none taken, I know you don’t trust me.

 **Harper:** *he admits it plainly* No, I don’t.

 **Tony:** You would be crazy to, you don’t even know me and here you are, trusting my brother in his judgment of me.

 **Harper:** Telling me that I shouldn’t trust you won’t make me trust you anymore, no matter what you’ve been taught by popular culture.

 **Tony:** I never said you shouldn’t trust me, buddy, I just said you would be crazy to. *he smirked* but I suspect your sanity is far from intact.

 **Harper:** *he snorted* That’s one way to put it.

 **Tony:** Ah, so the man does have a sense of humor. God does exist.

 **Harper:** I’m not so sure myself. *he said casually*

 **Tony:** *He ‘ahhed’ and then shook his head before adding just as casually* Take it from someone who’s studied the bible more than any single man in his twenties should, God’s always been a bit of a…well, bitch. Sorry, God.

 **Harper:** *his lips twitched in brief amusement, about to say something before Tony continued.*

 **Tony:** He holds a grudge, he’s not very merciful, I mean, he did flood the entire earth. Jesus, Jesus was the merciful one, the bring me your sick, your poor, and your hungry! Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

 **Harper:** I don’t really fancy talking about religion.

 **Tony:** No, you’re right. *he waves his hand* Too deep a topic for the first date.

 **Harper:** This isn’t a date.

 **Tony:** *smirks* Of course it is, a blind date. Look how well it’s going, especially seeing as how I can’t actually see you.

 **Harper:** Trust me, *he admits with a dark chuckle* you’re not missing much.

 **Tony:** *he pauses for a moment, wondering really how bad the man must look and feeling instant regret for what he had suffered through, but as always, because he was Antonio, he had to turn it into a joke.* So I’ll be the Beauty, and you’ll be the Beast.

 **Harper:** *he snorted, shaking his head*

 **Tony:** Or is Quasimodo and Esmeralda more appropriate here?

 **Harper:** Are you done?

 **Tony:** Making classical Disney references? *he shrugs* Nah, don’t think so.

 **Harper:** *he snaps suddenly* Are you taking any of this seriously?

 **Tony:** Settle down there grouchy pants. I know what’s wrong- you haven’t had a good boy in a while. This is a catholic church after all-

 **Harper:** *He shook his head, moving to get out of there* I’m not risking my neck for this-

 **Tony:** Now, now, wait just…wait. *He didn’t say anything until he heard Harper sit back down and then got closer to the screen* Look, you don’t laugh much. I get it, there’s not that much to laugh about but it does make things much more bearable.

Harper : *He exhaled and then paused, swallowing back a retort because he actually did remember how to laugh, he had done so once or twice in either Eliza’s company or Nadia’s.* How much did your brother tell you?

 **Tony:** The majority. I’m not one of those yearning for dirty details. *he gritted his teeth and then he spoke softly* I only went through it for a couple of days.

 **Harper:** *He sat up, a little interested.* What do you mean?

 **Tony:** Ah, yes, well I suppose my dear brother wouldn’t share that story. Well *he immediately went to reach for a flask only to realize he didn’t have one on him. Church and all* let’s just say I got acquainted with a particular woman with pink hair who loves chains a bit too much.

 **Harper:** *distastefully* Gina.

 **Tony:** Yeah, that bitch. *he snorts and shakes his head* She had fun and that’s how Gustav got Olivier into this mess.

 **Harper:** Threatening you. *he tilts his head* How come I’ve never heard of you?

 **Tony:** *he smirks* Father wasn’t very eager to boast of me, and the only reason I haven’t changed my last name is because it ties me back to my brother, and that, I’m not ashamed of.

 **Harper:** You’re ashamed of your father?

 **Tony:** A sin, I know. Fourth commandement- honor thy mother and father. That’s pretty much down the drain too, as I broke another commandment alongside this one, probably at the same time.

 **Harper:** *He licked his dry lips, deciding not to ask because it was Tony’s business, even if he was stating it plainly.* I don’t understand why your brother wanted me to meet you.

 **Tony:** More like wanted me to meet you, Harper. I asked in to this, to help my brother out, and you know a part of him probably wanted me to see for myself that you wouldn’t be an easy man to take advantage of.

 **Harper:** *his eyebrows arch* How do you consider that?

 **Tony:** That’s his thing, well I guess in some form it’s mine too, appealing to a person’s most basic desires to garner some help from them.

 **Harper:** He’s not using me.

 **Tony:** Well, they always say that.

 **Harper:** I didn’t have to work with him, I didn’t have to trust him, you know. All of this that’s going on, that will happen, is the culmination of a plan that I devised five years ago.

 **Tony:** Well, you’ve certainly been a busy bee.

 **Harper:** Not much to do when you’re stuck in a room by yourself all this time.

 **Tony:** Fair point…God, I think I would go crazy.

 **Harper:** I might have already. *he shrugged*

 **Tony:** …my brother promised to reunite you with your family.

 **Harper:** *he exhales* it’s a nice sentiment, but I was always going to reach them…one way or another.

 **Tony:** I didn’t believe him at first. He’s never been much of a cupid, my dear brother. But I don’t know, something’s gotten into him, or maybe someone, a few someones. All female of course, that’s just how it works isn’t it. Men just walk along the long winding road of life, think they know exactly what they want, who they are, and where they’re going, when all of a sudden a woman pops out of nowhere and throws your whole life for a loop.

 **Harper:** *he smiles softly, thumbing his ring again and then nods* Sounds accurate, yeah. Has it happened to you?

 **Tony:** Nah *he scoffs* I never stick around anywhere long enough to have that happen to me. Well, I used to not stick around.

 **Harper:** What’s changed?

 **Tony:** My brother needs me. I know very well he could do this without me…but at what price? What cost? I’m here looking out for him, making sure he doesn’t get killed.

 **Harper:** Sounds like you’re trying to do something much more than that.

 **Tony:** Well, that sounds like a conversation for another time, father.

 **Harper:** I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this again. *he breathed out* I could be discovered.

 **Tony:** Ah, but you haven’t.

 **Harper:** I didn’t say easily discovered. I did put some effort into this.

 **Tony:** Some! *he snorts* Wow, that’s great to know, that I’m worth some of your effort, Harper.

 **Harper:** You should actually consider that as some sort of compliment.

 **Tony:** Are all geniuses this full of themselves?

 **Harper:** Just the ones held in solitary.

 **Tony:** *he sighed again, nodding, and rubbing at his nose and biting on his lips before he spoke.* I just wanted to meet you to know that you have another ally on the outside, Harper. You’re not alone. Repeat that for me.

 **Harper:** What am I, five years old, learning the alphabeet?

 **Tony:** Don’t be such a liar, you probably learned the alphabet before your second birthday.

 **Harper:** Closer to my first, or so I’ve been told.

 **Tony:** *he smirks* Anyway, I just wanted you to know that. And that I will do everything in my power to make sure this plan carries through. And let me tell you, I have a considerable amount of power.

 **Harper:** Are all heirs to crime organizations this full of themselves?

 **Tony:** I’m not the heir.

 **Harper:** Technicality.

 **Tony:** But yes, the answer is yes. It’s confidence though, Harper, not cockiness.

 **Harper:** Some people don’t know how to tell the difference between the two.

 **Tony:** Easy, confidence is knowing who you are and cockiness is knowing who you are and trying to push it down people’s throats. *he smirks* If anyone ever takes me down the throat, trust me, it’s on their own choice.

 **Harper:** *dryly* Charming.

 **Tony:** We could be good friends, Harper.

 **Harper:** I don’t really want friends, Tony.

 **Tony:** I know, you want to get back home.

 **Harper:** And kill the son of a bitch that got me here.

 **Tony:** *he pursed his lips, swallowing and then nodded* Yeah, I guess you do.

 **Harper:** *he noticed the hesitance there* You think I shouldn’t?

 **Tony:** Oh no buddy, that’s your choice. I’m not getting into it, I’ve enough of my shoulders without trying to save the soul of the world.

 **Harper:** *he’s a bit confused, and that was saying something for him, but he didn’t say anything anymore* Fair enough.

 **Tony:** Also, handsome, I’ve got a favor to ask.

 **Harper:** *he chuckles and then nods* Of course.

 **Tony:** Didn’t know I wanted it till two seconds ago, so don’t be cheeky. It’s only if you can.

 **Harper:** What do you need? A wand?

 **Tony:** I like my wand, thanks, no I need to know where Gina works.

 **Harper:** *he frowns* Why?

 **Tony:** Gonna pay a little visit.

 **Harper:** You’re mad.

 **Tony:** If I wasn’t, this would probably never work out for the better.

 **Harper:** Your brother-

 **Tony:** Need not know of this.

 **Harper:** I’ll tell him if he asks.

 **Tony:** Yes, this mutual trust thing. *he sighs and then just shrugs* listen, I’m not going to kill her.

 **Harper:** And what exactly are you gonna do? Reason with her?

 **Tony:** For all you know, maybe I liked those chains. *he smirks*

 **Harper:** …*he licks his lips* she works in the London city morgue, the wizard division.

 **Tony:** How appropriate.

 **Harper:** She’s a metamorphmagus, Tony. So be careful, she might not be as you remember her.

 **Tony:** But if she’s not expecting me, there’s no reason for her not to wear her more favored skin.

 **Harper:** I suppose.

 **Tony:** Thanks for the information buddy. *he taps the screen of the confessional with his knuckles* Pretend this is a pat on your back or a high five.

 **Harper:** People still high five?

 **Tony:** Awesome people do. But serious, about my confession now. Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. I’ve had impure thoughts.

 **Harper:** Tony-

 **Tony:** Sexual ones.

 **Harper:** Charming.

 **Tony:** About the nuns.

 **Harper:** This is ridiculous-

 **Tony:** No father don’t leave! I need to discuss every aspect in significant detail so that you might with your heavenly given power, absolve me of all sins in my wicked, sinner’s heart!

 **Harper:** It was nice to meet you, Tony.

 **Tony:** We’ll see each other again, don’t you worry about that Harper. And thanks. Now I’ve given the screen a kiss, pretend it’s your cheek.

 **Harper:** Are all Italians this much trouble?

 **Tony:** You’ve met my brother, you tell me.

 **Harper:** It’s hard to believe you’re related, actually.

 **Tony:** *he smirks and tilts his head* I know. Ciao, Harper. *and with that, he takes his leave.*

{*}

**Irene:** Ladies and gentlemen! *She raises her glass and then looks around at the bar (not the one she was standing up on- wow it was high up here)* Or more appropriately attention whores and scumbags! *She giggled and stumbled a little before she raised her glass again* I have an announcement! My best friend...is dead. Yep! Dead. Gone. The light of her life has gone out. She has checked in her library card and checked out of life. Finito. Kaput. Sayonara, no more!- *She takes her hand back* No, don't -touch- me señor! I will kick you in the low hanging gonads, mister. Don't think I won't.  
  **Gordon:** *He exhaled as he walked in, not expecting it to be this bad. His little sister, drunk and rambling on top of the wooden bar. Thank heavens it was only a Wednesday night, and it wasn't too crowded. He walked over to her and then hissed* Irene Lucille Burns, get down at once!  
  **Irene:** Daddy? *She looked down, surprised at her full name and then found her brother instead. Odd, he never used her full name.* What are you doing here, oh sacred prophet? *giggles*  
  **Gordon:** I'm friends with the bartender, he recognized you- be glad no one else has. The reporters-  
  **Irene:** Oh let them come! I love cameras! *she posed for one and then spilled a bit of her drink on the table.* Ahh, what a waste!  
  **Gordon:** Irene, get down-  
  **Irene:** *She kicked when he tried to grab her ankle, right in the nose. Stupid idiot brother.* Don't tell me what to do! I'm sick and tired of anything with a cock between its legs that isn't my boyfriend, telling me what to do.  
  **Gordon:** Lovely boyfriend you have if he's let you go out like this. *He rubs his nose after a hiss, shaking his head.*   
 **Irene:** He doesn't knoooow, duh brother. Or rather, he thinks I'm with friends and friends think I'm with him- I'm mourning! *she takes another drink* Mourning! My best friend's wings have been clipped. She left exit, stage right. Took the final plunge! She is dead, Gordon, she's dead! *She dropped to sit on the bar unceremoniously.* My butt's gonna hurt tomorrow.   
 **Gordon:** *while straightening her up and taking away her glass.* You're supposed to be in school-  
  **Irene:** Don't you mean the looney bin? *she giggles before she exhales* Who cares about school- have you been listening to a word I've said?! *She tries to slap his face, but he dodges instantly.* Oh my god Gordon, we're in the Matrix! There is no spoon-  
  **Gordon:** Goddamnit, Irene, you are 15 years old! *Grabbing her hands and pulling her off the bar*  
  **Irene:** 16 on the...on...*she frowns* Oh whatever I don't remember the day, you can't remember it when you're sober! So don't blame me.  
  **Gordon:** Come on, we gotta get you home.  
  **Irene:** Home is where the heart is, Gordo! And you know where my heart is? I don't know either because its shattered, into millions of *voice gets higher pitched* teeny tiny incy wincy little pieces.  
  **Gordon:** Irene-  
  **Irene:** My best friend is dead! My best friend is dead and gone and she's never coming back. My other best friend, can't remember me! At all! I'm a stranger to her! My other best friend and I are fighting. My gay best friend isn't supposed to take sides but me over a family member? *She scoffs* Yeah right, because see Gordon that's what normal, functional families do, they protect their own, not pretend they're mentally ill and lock them inside the house for the full summer!   
 **Gordon:** *Barely wincing once, he notices she's not budging without being dragged and then simply carries her.* Let's go.  
  **Irene:** My other best friends are even more fucked up than I am. They were her boys, her boys! They won't last a day without her, which is horrible to say given that they have plenty of people in their life including girlfriends but you know, no Eliza! Al and Liza grew up together, Dev complimented them and fit in as the third cog, he could have practically grown up with them the way they are around each other and that's over now! Over.  **Gordon:** Rene *he sighed and then got her in the back of his car, climbing in after she was in.* I'm sorry. *He motioned for the driver to keep going.*  
  **Irene:** *Not seeming to have heard him.* And my boyfriend- my boyfriend was imperiused by this werewolf grade-a asshole, oh I'm sorry you have no idea what that means cuz you're a muggle- imperiused basically means to control your mind- my boyfriend's mind was controlled! His sister threatened! By this sour alpha bitch cock motherfucker because they wanted to take -me-. Ansel, such a cool dude he was too! Total party buddy material and he just threw that all away by being a hole licking shit slinging dickwad. I hate him, he is so gone from my phone list. *she hiccups*  
  **Gordon:** *He was frowning now, having a hard time following the narrative of a drunk 15 year old but it involved werewolves and mind control and kidnap attempts.* Are you alright?  **Irene:** *gasps and then just looks at him, her eyes teary* Have you really not been listening-  
  **Gordon:** Your friend died, your other friend lost her memory, another you're fighting with, the other's taking the other friend's side and two of your other friends are fucked up worse than you are.  
  **Irene:** Except, one of them is a werewolf so he can never -get- fucked up worse than I am, alcohol speaking I mean. And the other's just woken from a coma.  
  **Gordon:** Wow.  
  **Irene:** Yeah, fucking wow. Whoopity fucking hip hip wowzers. Fuck my life. *she takes off her heels and throws it forward*  **Gordon:** That's still no reason to go out and get drunk by yourself.  
  **Irene:** Haven't you heard?! I'm exactly like our mother, so I'm just doomed to a slow and dreadful downwards spiral with booze and drugs.  
  **Gordon:** *Immediately, worried but forceful-* You're not-  
  **Irene:** I de-test drugs. *slurs and drops against his shoulder* Drugs are for slugs. And lugs and bugs. Won't get no hugs from me, that's for sure.  
  **Gordon:** Irene, *he sighs and shakes his head* you can't do this, leave school and drink at a bar- drink with your friends in basements. Preferably while wearing jeans and a sweater not...whatever this is.  
  **Irene:** Technically, it's lingerie. A slip...it's pretty covering you know! I mean, probably showed half the world my hoo-hah up there but I didn't plan on standing, otherwise I wouldn't have worn a thong.  
  **Gordon:** I would hope so. *dryly and then moves her hair back.* I'm sorry about your friends. You're not alon-   
 **Irene:** Of course I am, idiot. So so alone! Especially right now. Idiot. Daddy's little idiot. *leans away from him* You're supposed to be smart. Try this on for size! Father- hates me.   
 **Gordon:** He doesn't-   
 **Irene:** Mother, doesn't recognize me most days-   
 **Gordon:** And desperately calls for you during others.   
 **Irene:** How fortunate that those days I'm not there. And you! You-   
 **Gordon:** I care about you.   
 **Irene:** Oh bullshit, bull cocking shit. The only reason you came tonight was because you didn't want this to get to the papers- "Daughter of Lord, underage drinking, strutting her ass like a bitch in heat-" more like bitch in mourning! Bitch in sadness! Bitch in despaiiir.   
 **Gordon:** Irene, stop talking about yourself that way.   
 **Irene:** but I am a bitch. Or rather, society has judged me and has declared my forceful personality worthy of a rating of ball-busting bitch....haha, ball busting bitch- three b's.   
 **Gordon:** We're here.   
 **Irene:** *Suddenly straightens, fear crossing her eyes.* Home?   
 **Gordon:** My flat. No need to tell dad.   
 **Irene:** *She swallows and then nods a little more at ease.* The driver won't tell- Hey! *She crawls over to the little window that separates them from the driver* You won't tell, right?   
Driver: My lips are sealed Miss Burns.   
 **Irene:** *beams and then kisses the glass, leaving a pink lipstick stain on it* Thats for you, thank you, you need a raise. Gordon *she turns around again and crawls to the door* he needs a raise.   
 **Gordon:** Whatever you say sis. *He scoops her up again, out of the car and up the stairs to his flat.*   
 **Irene:** *Inside she pushes off his arm and lands on the cool tile of the entry hallway.* I've never been here- dont turn on the lights, shame shame! Know better, that's only gonna hurt me. *She puts a hand over her eyes* Just pretend its a dirty one night stand and you don't even want to look at the girl too well.   
 **Gordon:** *God help him. He shook his head and chuckled, taking her arm again and leading her to the guest bedroom.* You can have one my spare shirts to sleep in. In the morning, you'll tell me how to contact- bloody hell!   
 **Irene:** Dolce! *she beams and then runs over to the open window where her precious little owl was waiting for her.* Isn't he precious? He knew where I was.   
 **Gordon:** An owl...knows where you would be?   
 **Irene:** Magic, big brother. Magic. Do you have a pencil and paper? Or pen and paper? Paper's kind of non-negotiable.   
 **Gordon:** I'll write the letter. To whom do I make it out to?   
 **Irene:** *She bites her lip, petting her owl and thinking on it.* Dillon.   
 **Gordon:** *eyebrow rises briefly* The boyfriend?   
 **Irene:** *She nodded and then headed over to the bed and slumped on it.*   
 **Gordon:** *Fine, well, at least this way he could maybe meet the bloke. He excused himself and then wrote the letter quickly, explaining where Rene was and that she needed to be taken back to school in the morning. He returned and then asked.* What now?  **Irene:** You fold it and send it in an envelope and put it on Dolce's beak, and he'll take it to Dillon.   
 **Gordon:** Fascinating. *he does just so, addressing with a simple name on the top and then offers it to the owl who takes the letter with a snap and then flies off through the window. He stares after it with an astonished smile and then a little chuckle.*   
 **Irene:** *she waves at her bird* Bye baby, be safe, momma loves you.   
 **Gordon:** *He chuckles again and then turns to Rene, all curled up on the bed.* Do you need a bucket?   
 **Irene:** I'm not going to throw up. I never throw up. *shakes her head and hugs her pillow.*   
 **Gordon:** Alright, well good ni-   
 **Irene:** *Her head rises from the pillow* Could you stay with me?  **Gordon:** *He stops and turns back, surprised.* Really?   
 **Irene:** Don't look at me like I have cooties. *pats a spot on the bed next to her* I'm a cuddly drunk.   
 **Gordon:** I thought you were an obnoxious drunk by the looks of it. *he gets into the bed with her after taking off his shoes, sitting against the headboard*   
 **Irene:** I was mourning. *Lays her head on his chest and hugs him around the middle.* Still am.   
 **Gordon:** *softly* I'm sorry about your friend, Rene. But do you think she would want you acting like this?  **Irene:** No. She'd hate it. *she sighs, tears starting to fall down her eyes.* She hated seeing people sad- fuck....it's past tense. *She blinks repeatedly to move the tears out of her eyes* Every time I talk about her now, it's going to be past tense. I miss her, Gordon. Already, I can't...*she exhales and wipes at her tears again*   
 **Gordon:** *He brought his arms around her too, squeezing her tightly.* It will be okay again one day.   
 **Irene:** It hasn't been okay for years, Gordon. *She wiped at her eyes.* I just delude myself that it is to get through a normal day.   
 **Gordon:** I'm sorry.   
 **Irene:** You've said that already.   
 **Gordon:** For not stepping up to dad.   
 **Irene:** *She looks up at him, curious,*   
 **Gordon:** I don't like the way he treats you...it's wrong.   
 **Irene:** Do you hear that?   
 **Gordon:** *frowns* Hear what?   
 **Irene:** The angels are singing a hallelujah chorus. Somewhere in the city, a big band has kicked to life in celebration. Crowds gather chanting "it's about time" and "fucking finally" while a parlor singer waits for the piano introduction to cue her start to the song *sings* Aaaaaaaat laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssttttt.   
 **Gordon:** *He snorts and then laughs despite of himself.* I can see now that you took the whole humor of the family.   
 **Irene:** *She smiled, happy to have something to smile about.* I like your laugh, Gordon. I like making you laugh, we should laugh more together.   
 **Gordon:** *He smiles and then nods slowly.* I'll try it.   
 **Irene:** Promissseeeeee. *she holds up her pinky.*   
 **Gordon:** *chuckles and then takes her pinky with his* I promise.   
 **Irene:** Good. *she drops her head back on his chest and she spends a few minutes in silence before she starts again.* Gordon?  
  **Gordon:** *His eyes had drifted close but he opens them again quickly* Hmm?   
 **Irene:** If I died, do you think someone would mourn me this much? That they'd be out of their minds with grief and doing stupid shit because their world just turned into a dark oblivion without me? Cause I think I would be normally mourned, that I would cause sadness not complete devastation.   
 **Gordon:** *He frowned and sighed, kissing the top of her head* The sun would mourn you eternally, and never again shine as bright.   
 **Irene:** No...no that's Eliza. She was the sun's favorite. Along with Nadia, Nadia is the sun sometimes, but evil has messed with her too...*she nodded sleepily and then yawned.* I'm talking about me, myself. No one's favorite.   
 **Gordon:** That's the drink talking.  
  **Irene:** *yawns again* Drunk words are sober thoughts.   
  **Gordon:** That's pretty true, yeah. Irene?  
  **Irene:** Yes?  
  **Gordon:** I'd be inconsolable.  
  **Irene:**...yeah?  
  **Gordon:** Yeah.  
  **Irene:** *she smiles and then hugs him tighter a moment, whispering* I love you, Gordon. Even if sometimes you are a spineless ass kissing bootlicker.  
  **Gordon:** *he smiles.* I love you too.

{*}

**Rebecca:** *All the foresight and knowledge in the world it appeared, couldn't beat Pamela Stuart's network of people in London. Rebecca was thrilled. Two seconds after "Gina" and "pink-hair" and Pamela had her tongue stuck out, a quick-snapped remark about the "virtues of a little mystery" and had her on her way. The City of London Morgue...how goddamn appropriate; wasn't Marcus just oh so clever? Rebecca had her hair up in a ponytail, so she could keep her blue-eyes peeled for information, and she had been standing stiff as a -- well. The things through the door she was outside of, for the better part of an hour when Gina herself chirruped something to a coworker about getting a drink for lunch (Becca really tried not to think about Marcus then too). Lights flicker out. Door locks. And Rebecca fishes out her flashlight, moves slowly to the desk, and by the time she has it turned on realizes she's not alone two seconds before he did. For one terrified moment Rebecca was certain it was Marcus - because of course she did, and he was all tall-dark-mysterious-in-black-silk. Then she sees his eyes. And blinks.* ...What are you doing in here? *She says, thinking she might try to sound like a security guard...right, she should put her flashlight away then.*   
**Tony:** Jesus, woman! *He exhales then in a shouted whisper (one of his many contradictory statements) lifting a hand to his chest as if he could calm his heart once more with his mere touch. Now Tony, he had always been talented but he had yet to develop, under his immense self control, the ability to control involuntary muscle functions like the beating of his heart for example.* Give me a heart attack, why won't you? *Now he narrows his eyes in suspicion eyebrows arched.* Who are you?  
 **Rebecca:** *For a moment she almost laughs - even though that was absurd, even though there's a gasp in her throat - but it was just...she'd thought it was Marcus, and instead it was someone who...didn't seem to mean harm. Well. Her, harm. And his shout-whisper had -- well all right she supposed the real reason she was a bit flustered was because she and Rowland had just had twenty-four hours ago quite a lot of fun with the idea of her "giving him a heart attack" but ... this was a more serious subject. She exhales at the question.* ...Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. You startled me. I --erm. I'm....*she searches his eyes for a second and although she couldn't ... really See anything (it's because she didn't know him, a truthful voice mutters in her mind, that it's not really "that easy" all the time and she shuts it up because she doesn't want to think how easily she could read certain others), she lifts her chin anyways. Straightens her back and said simply, because at the very least if he was in there rummaging around then, they had the same goals.* I'm someone who thinks Miss Courtenay is trouble, and I'm looking for proof. *Her hand rests on her hips, fiddling with the torch.* And you?

 **Tony:** No name to go with that illustrious title? *His eyebrows had arched for the purpose had been surprising. Was this something that Gustav had asked Gina to do, something regarding this woman? Otherwise, what could this woman know about her?* I'm someone who -knows- she's trouble but not disillusioned enough to look for clues. *He, after all was, was actually here to talk to the woman, but had found Gina newly departed so he decided to stick around fora bit.* But mad enough to attempt to reason with her.

But usually I go by Tony.

 **Rebecca:** *Her lips flick instantly at the irony.* Rebecca. *There's an innocent chuckle lacing her words and so she softens and admits,* Sorry - I was...thinking about another title my daughter gave me. *Actually she was thinking about her Lady Cowen persona more than "Duchess Divineria" but, it sounded better if she just admitted "daughter." Especially because her mind was filled with lingering worry for both her kids...and her husband, come to think of it. Her head jerks back at "knows she's trouble" and her back straightens. Well, what were the chances of that? ...Actually, Alec probably knew the exact chances. The tiniest bit rueful she admits,* Well Tony, that I understand...though I think I've had my fill of reasoning with mad people. *To say the very fucking least, actually. Her brows furrow, a charming smile to belie innocence curling across lips that knew every single word well, she sways the tiniest bit as she adds,* ...okay so as someone who -knows-...can I buy you a drink? In a shameless attempt to find out what trouble you know?

 **Tony:** You're a mother? Really? *Huh. And yep there was the wedding ring, right there. Damn. Ah well, it was better that way, picking up women at a morgue just didn't sound very classy, just plain weird. He chuckled at her comment because in his mind there was mad, there was completely bollocks,...and then there was Gina.* Not that I usually turn down anything a beautiful woman has to offer, but I'm not gonna tell you anything. That's my business as your trouble with her is yours, complete and separate.

 **Rebecca:** *...Okay, sue her, but two days ago she'd been told she was a hundred and fifty years old (all right, she was content with letting him think that and he'd actually said she didn't look it but --still!). So perhaps the genuine look of shock on Tony's face was doubly flattering and she chuckles, her lips twitching.* Yes...of two. *That was inconsequential.* All right sir, you've flattered me, *she waves it off and tucks her hair back and then exhales,* so, consider me properly flustered and still not at all deterred. *Picking at a curl still she shrugs,* You don't have to. Though I'm not entirely convinced that it's separate, and as neither of us will know if we keep being wary, and if you know more than I do - *wasn't that strange? she loved it, frankly, and...also hated it,* - I'll start, you tell me if it is separate. *She drops her hand and lifts her chin.* You say you're mad enough to reason with her? Well...this probably isn't separate any way then, because the person I know her to be associating with is ... known for seducing with insanity. Him being out of her life could only be beneficial to her reason. *Her eyebrow cocks.* Have you heard of Marcus Ellwood?

 **Tony:** *His congratulations to the lucky husband then. He shook his head and then crossed his arms casually over his chest as she kept talking. Rebecca seemed quite determined to get information out of him but as far as he knew, this would be a one sided transaction because he had everything to offer and she had- hold the fucking phone. Marcus Ellwood? That couldn't be- was it? Oh how he wished his brother was here, he would know for certain as Tony tended to space out on family history lessons but as far as he knew, that's the vampire that...holy shit, could it be him? And what was Gina thinking about dealing with this man? This was beyond madness, this was suicide, Gustav can't possibly know this. And if...Gustav didn't know, that means Olivier probably didn't know either. It means having an actual advantage over these bastards. Okay, now he was intrigued.* Alright, you've caught my attention. Drinks you said?

 **Rebecca:** *Ah. His face (and eyebrows) were incredibly expressive -- she didn't need supernatural sight to realize that she'd just said a name he recognized. And had no affinity for which, admittedly did make her at least the tiniest bit happy. And granted, she'd said Marcus' name because she thought it -might- grab his attention (and if it hadn't then, their troubles were really separate), but...okay one of these days she was going to walk up to a random person on the street, ask if they'd ever heard of Marcus, and be happy they hadn't: that he wasn't actually the center of the universe whose name couldn't be said without spreading fear and shivers. Irritating. Rubbing over her forehead she smiles as he agrees and says as lightly as before,* Definitely. Started as a bribe but if you do know him then -- you know why I desperately need one, frankly. Dozen. And...to not get caught in this office - er, again - so. *She jerks her head, chuckling just once,* Shall we?

 **Tony:** Not personally, just by ah...reputation, I suppose. Though if you do know him, honey, I'm buying you the whole bottle, forget treating me. *He let his arms fall back to his sides and then nodded, walking towards the door and holding it open for her, making sure no one was passing by as well.* I saw a bar just a block or two away on my way here...*he chuckled and then shook his head* Why is it that the bad ones persevere, eh?

 **Rebecca:** *That made her smile honestly, and only ever more so as it reminded her of how Rowland had only released her arms tonight when she promised (in addition to: coming home safely, that she loved him, that she wanted him there but they couldn't trust anyone else with blair and alec right now, that she would not be gone more than two hours or else he was within rights to call the cavalry, AND no his ears weren't beet red but she had accidentally left lipstick on them she thought) -- to bring back a 'wholesale' of crisps. Chuckling, she nods, following Tony out and tucking the torch into her back pocket, echoing,* I'll need that, thanks. I've been acquainted for...God, way, way way, too damn long. *As the chilled night air struck her face (and took hold of her hair), she brushes strands from her lip and nods that it was fine with her, hands in her pocket. She hated the cold now. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she sent Rowland a quick message, and then turns back to Tony saying brightly,* Fair warning, just told my husband I'll be back a little later due to drinks with an incredibly attractive Italian. You may have to duck swords. *Her lips flick up, even though that wasn't actually the message. Exhaling at his question she furrows her brow and then says stubbornly on a small smile,* Actually. Normally, I would say you're right, but in this case... *Her shoulders straighten as she says, determined as ever,* Marcus is the one whose surprised -I've- persevered this long. So I'd say I'm going to prove it's the good ones who win. Again.

 **Tony:** *he grins* Now who's flattering who? And is my accent that obvious? *He didn't even notice it that often, just when women pressed closer against him and asked him to whisper things in their ear in the most romantic language in the world (who cared if he was biased?)* Consider me warned. *They exited the morgue now, and honestly he was glad to be out of there. Way too creepy and it felt like the setting of a bad zombie movie. He turned back to Rebecca as they continued walking, eyebrows arched* This long? You don't look a day over 29. *smirks before he says in sing song* Someone's got a seeecreeet.

 **Rebecca:** Obvious? No. Worth listening a little harder to be able to hear? Oh, absolutely. *If he was going to continue to flatter her, she didn't see why she should refrain from doing so. For an instant, she thought of what Rowland would say about how she continued to be so insistent between "if men can then why not women?" but -- oh, she was definitely going to enjoy home. Even as she was glad to meet and find Tony, was curious (/a bit anxious) to hear what he did know, was amused with his company -- she also felt like she'd been running on fire all day, empowered, bad-ass, and was looking forward to reaping those rewards. Laughing at the sing-song way Tony spoke, good-natured, she licks her bottom lip and bites down on it, nodding. First to him, then to the bar they were nearing -- Merlin, it was cold.*

Ah....yes. And wish I had less actually. *Even if she knew it was what kept her alive at this exact moment. As they enter the bar, she turns to him, unbuttoning her coat and saying simply,* Of course it seems, so do you Tony. And since, if you know Marcus's reputation than...my apparently looking years younger than I am and have known him for this long -- well. *She clears her throat, and holds her wrist out to him, stubborn and pleasant.* You should check for a pulse. I don't mind.

 **Tony:** Any chance you're unhappy with your marriage? *He wiggles his eyebrows with the tease and then takes his coat and gloves off once they enter the pub, putting them in his pockets and then grins as she brought up his primary concern.* Alright. *He took her wrist gently and laid two fingers on it, feeling for the pulse and ah there it was.* Yes, completely human. Not that I wouldn't have bought you the drink either way. *He took his hand back and then shrugged before going to sit down.* Okay, so story time then. Who's secret sharing first?

 **Rebecca:** No...no chance, though thank you. *She laughs. It's honest, wide, bright -- and has to do nothing at all for the first time in their conversation with being flattered, or even the fact that Tony meant it as a joke, a tease (as his wiggling eyebrows prove). The thought, that she could be unhappy with Rowland, that there was simply ever anything else or any-one- else in the world that she could ever have wanted more, was simply, utterly, placidly... absurd. A love story spanning three centuries (in fifteen years time); since she first laid eyes on him at the ball she had known, known so completely she flustered and alarmed him when she could not stay away. He kept her safe from harm, burrowed in his arms, when a werewolf ravaged the town -- a wolf whose name had today appeared, on her daughter's school register; he'd chosen to tell her then, of his magic - when he used it to keep her and his family safe, though it might have cost him his life.

Two days later, she had trusted him with the biggest secret she'd had then, and in someways, remained so today: that she was not, noble Lady Rebecca Cowen from Russia. She was just Rebecca, Becca or Becks sometimes for short, from a flat in lower Manhattan whose parents owned a book store...a hundred and twenty-six years later from the day they were talking. He intervened, when she was being accused of theft and in danger of an eviction that would have cost her friend's life -- took the fall for her, thrown onto death row. Sitting in that dirty, gritty dark cell alone with the thought he'd die in the morning -- and yet when she'd tried to convince him to recant or run with her, do something, anything -- all he'd said was he could never have done anything that would put her in danger. "You have to be safe, you have to go, home," he'd said, with a light in his eyes as he told her, told Damocles, their love was worth it all.

And she'd had to leave him.

Only a year later to return, after being haunted by visions of her Evil Twin, a woman broken -- a woman broken and beaten by her own grief for her fallen brother, and warped by the very monster they were still discussing now. Rowland was the one who reminded her that she was beautiful, when that disgusting mercenary pig had kept her alive only to rape her (well, try) -- and Rowland was the one who tracked the bastard down. They'd cross centuries together on an accident, and truthfully she probably could tell the monster now he was right -- that time travel that far back was impossible, because it hadn't worked. As if the universe refused to separate them, and she had to admit, she thought the universe had owed them that one. Rowland was the man who made her believe there was innate goodness in someone, in anyone -- in this world, that had only ever shown her so much darkness.

He was the father of her two children, the one who picked a turbo-ing Blair up seconds before she smacked into his knees when he came home from work, from a job he'd taken himself to school for to start again with nothing, for staying with her had meant it likely he might never see his own parents, his oldest friends, or any of his seven siblings ever again. Yet Rowland still smiled. Still believed in God. Still made her laugh every single day and held her close at night, looked at her like she was precious and the world as miraculous. He found joy in the simple act of living, and he inspired her to feel the same.

And while the town faced a hundred knights and a dragon down, they'd been forced to separate, to trust each other so completely with tasks likely fatal -- as indeed, Rowland had poisoned the woman who'd stolen her identity and bound herself to that dragon. It was the worst night of her life, and that...that was the day she'd met Marcus Ellwood.

So Rebecca could not think of a possible answer to the question: any chance you're unhappy with your marriage? but to laugh, fully and honestly and well. She was glad of the opportunity. It had been days since she'd felt that relaxed. She shakes her head at Tony, gaze lit up as she was reminded of all of that in an instant. Her words were polite, firm, and if they were in a box it would be a pink ribboned one stuffed with caramels and chocolates so full it carried the weight of a centuries old legend.* He's Rowland. I'm Rebecca. That's all there is to it and yet it's...it's everything.

*Once he determined she wasn't a vampire she grins, nods and shrugs her coat over a chair backing.* Would you have? *That surprised her, actually, but then she supposed she had ever only met the one vampire. One...one had been enough. More than enough. It taxed her to even match him, and here she was striving so desperately to beat him once and for all. Rebecca sits, and then laughs once at the question -- thinking briefly of all the secrets she had just thought, and really how long it might take to even begin to go over it so she tilts her head, saying slowly.* Why, don't we go together? *Her brow meets her hairline, a light smirk playing at her lips.* With how and why we know Marcus, and ... go from there with how we might be able to help each other. So.

*Her chin comes up, sitting ever the proper lady as she folds finger tips together and says simply,* I, met Marcus, when he was with a woman who had donned my appearance and was using it to ingratiate herself with acquaintances of mine whom she wanted to kill. He, was using her for an experiment that would eventually call for him to betray her, to her death. The night she died, I was with him. My husband would say he'd kidnapped me and there's a certain amount of truth to it, but I... I had gone with him willingly, I chose to, because .... *She thinks back even though she doesn't have too and she shakes her head very slowly, admitting with a small, almost sheepish smile,* ...well, because I had to have it my way.

*She takes a breath and continues,* It...wasn't smart, of me, but I was furious. He had just killed the woman my childhood friend was dating, after he'd been violating and controlling her for two months -- the reason he killed her? Just because she had the nerve to break his mind control. And he was trying to kill a lot of others at that same time and -- and so, I yelled at him. A lot. Including one thing he cared about more than...anything, it was the only thing I think I said at all that touched him. *And he appears to have learned from it, she thinks bitterly and hurries on, because she couldn't think of that right now.* And the thing is he, hates me. Maybe as much as I hate him. *Not nearly as much as he hated himself, she thinks, before she thinks: stop it.*

As to my secrets of age and what not? They're the reason I'm alive right now. When I yelled at him, he tried to kill me. *Her hand flutters to her neck and she squeezes, hard. But her words were firm and quick.* He misjudged me. I almost, almost killed him -- I came I think, closer than anyone had in...years; if he wasn't so bloody strong, I could have gotten a stake in his heart. He fled instead. And he couldn't come back...at least not until he thought I was dead.

Now we're fifteen years later, *Her lips quirk, and she holds up two fingers,* Two days ago, he saw me on the street, and kidnapped me - well, grabbed me, anyway. I don't know what he's doing here. I don't know why he's back in England. I do know why he hasn't killed me, and that it's a "yet", well. *She shrugs a shoulder,* He thinks it's a yet. I do know that if he's here, he's doing something, that people's lives are in danger, and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen.

Six hours ago, *she's down to one finger,* my husband and I took my eight year old daughter out of school, when he showed up, bribed his way in, and just -- apparently, spoke to her, gave her ice cream bars, trying to coax the information about me from her and also of course, to show me how easily he can get to those I love. I won't let him do this again. Gina's acquaintances with him, she's helping him with whatever it is -- so I was starting there.

*With a tiny smirk on her lips she tilts her head, arches an eyebrow and says brightly,* The fact you haven't bolted from the table is both encouraging and a bit...alarming, actually, but thank you. *She winks.* There. That's my story. Hence drinks. And yours?

 **Tony:** *Everything. That was a pretty all-encompassing word. To be someone's everything, well, that must feel special.* More power to ya. *He grins and if he had a drink, he would have held it up to her but they were devoid of them right now till a server came up to them that was. He signaled for one, just to make sure and then nodded.* I try not to discriminate. *That was possibly, a tad bit hypocritical but she didn't need to know all his dirty secrets. After all, this was only their first meeting. And yet here they were, discussing freely how they came to know this man, and at first it was his turn to listen.

And boy, did he listen, for it was quite a tale. His eyebrows only seemed to arch higher with time. That was, well bloody hell. The server came around after she ended and he only turned to him and said* Scotch, lots of scotch, *he turned to Rebecca again for a moment to ask- scotch good with you? you know what? *Turns back to the server* Bring me a bottle *he took out his credit card and gave it to the man* that is a full bottle story right there. He's that bad? I'm just- hold on, haven't quite finished wrapping my head around all that. *Kidnappings and murders and imperius and threatening children and going head to head with a vampire- hey look something they already had in common! Granted, he had succeeded, but still.* And you say he's working with Gina? How do you know that? He mention her?

 **Rebecca:** *A smile spread over her lips, slow but steadily, and she chuckles with a quick nod, gesturing that he just take his time. Well, then the server arrived.* Excellent with me. *Her nod brisk, her tongue flicks against her sore, bruised bottom lip and then she holds her hand up, adding the caveat,* Anything but Tasliker. *Was that scotch or whiskey? Oh, Jude would yell at her, she couldn't remember in that second what the specific difference was. It was either all scotches were whiskeys (and not all whiskey's scotches) or ... or all whiskey's were scotches (and not all scotches whiskey). One of those. Didn't matter.* You really don't have t--- *Too late. The server was gone.* ...Thank you. *But she wasn't having Tasliker again anytime soon, no matter how good of a drink it had been. Maybe celebrating his death, that would be a good moment for it. ...Her heart went still when she realized what she'd just thought, aching and she felt -- for a moment -- nothing. She saw. A woman whose face she could never forget, her arms around Marcus' neck, teasing him. Rebecca shut her eyes, blinking and rubbing. The moment passed with her anger gone -- buried in an avalanche of hurt and still -- when she drops her hand, she's smiling at Tony, smaller and nodding.* He is...now. *And how she hates that her bottom lip quivers with it and she focuses on Tony's face. Gorgeous blue eyes, eyebrows that jumped around his face with joy or shock or - she imagined anger -- yes, she could focus on him, that cleared her mind. The other thing she felt herself do more than thought of, was close her hand over her left one, pressing hard onto her ring. Warmth floods through her, reminds her why she was there. Still, she just lets him have a moment, and then chuckles - bitter, raw, and shakes her head.* Oh no, not with. No way. Gina's working -for- him. She might think that it's with...but in reality, it is kind to her to say she's actively working for him at all, but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. Likely as not? He's simply using her. For a lot more than blood or sex, though potentially one or both those too. *She sighs, exhaling and rubs her finger over her ring again, looking at her hand as she echoes herself.* He really is that bad. Now. *She was the one who needed a moment. Yet when she looks back up, her eyes are perfectly clear.* It--yes, he said two days ago... he was surprised she'd lasted him this long. I was tracking down where she works. But. *She lifts an index finger, saying almost teasingly,* See now, I'm the one telling you everything. No offense Tony, but you've admitted you know him, and you happen to be at the office the same time I'm there, miraculously knowing something that can help me? *She shrugs a shoulder.* Remember how I said Marcus hasn't killed me yet because he wants to know how I'm still alive, wants to know my secrets? That. *She points at him with a little lip twitch,* That right there, is the question he asked. How do I know. *Rebecca didn't genuinely think he was there for Marcus - because she knew damn well that Marcus wouldn't care if Gina lived or died. But she needed to know. Just as she'd used the opportunity when he verified she wasn't a vampire, to verify -he- wasn't one. Her smile remains soft.* I told you my story. I think I'm safer keeping at least -some- of my secrets until I know who you are, at least a little. *Shrugging, but brightly,* If you're genuinely trying to talk sense into Gina, then I apologize. And if you were sent here by Marcus, then. *She smiles slightly.* Then you know already I'll know, if you lie to me.

  
 **Tony:** Oh it's no trouble spending some of my unearned money. *He smirks, waving his hand off to assure her it was okay, besides, he was going to take the rest of the bottle to go, he was sure. He nodded then, at the description of Gina though he wasn't sure how accurate it might have been. She had sure seemed in complete command of herself as she chained him up and played with him as a toy- he needed this scotch here, pronto. But if Marcus was using Gina...he didn't want to have to feel sorry for the woman either, fuck no. He was glad when the bottle and glasses arrived, taking his credit card before also slipping the server a tip and thanking him.

As he served them the drinks in glasses he looked up at Rebecca again, eyebrows arching before his lips widened into a smirk. Wariness was to be expected here, but he was also wary himself of a woman that spoke all of this, who claimed to know information about Marcus enough to bring him to an anger vicious enough to let down his guard (a vampire was always on his guard, and Tony knew that, Tony inherited it), and who was someone a human lie detector.* Hate to break it to you darling, but I'm not nearly that nefarious. I just look that way.

*He hands the glass and then clinks his against hers before taking a drink.* I'm no puppet and in my point of view, step into my fancy Italian leather shoes for a moment, you interrupted my intervention, connecting Gina who is so heavily tangled in my life to Marcus who could be said is the indirect originator of all my problems -a stretch really, but still. Two people connected to me, you there, offering me a drink with that quirky little smile- I'm just making sure you're not fucking with me here. *smirks* But fair enough, I'll share. Reason I know Marcus: he turned my father. In the 1920s. Fact of fib?

  
 **Rebecca:** Fair enough, darling, *she responds instinctively, immediately -- delighted to accept the drink.* Though you see, while... you weren't lying that you did desire to speak reason to Gina....you're not doing so out of a desire for her well-being. So my interest was piqued. Beyond that, I suppose you could say, this long dealing with the man -- I'm not putting anything past him. Sending a pretty face works to fool women just as much as men.

*Lips twitching over the rim of her glass, she kept eye contact throughout his sip, not saying another word. Her entire concentration was glued, fixed on his to try and discern the stretches from what was absolute fact -- or fiction. The grey-areas were what always nattered her...especially if someone believed a thing true; after all, that was what fooled a polygraph. It didn't stop her. But figuring out where it was a lie and what part of it was true...did become a tad bit more difficult.

Her eyebrow arched and ear perked up: indirect originator of all his problems? That...well even if it was a stretch to Tony, it...certainly didn't mean it was a stretch to Marcus. As she'd just said. She wasn't putting anything past him.* You're right. *She says honestly, smirking herself,* we both have considerable reason to think the other too much a coincidence for trust. *She cocks an eyebrow.* I don't believe in them, after all. I'd hazard a guess we're both on fringe edges of the same story.

*He had left England, but a century later he returns, once they're all dead and gone? If he had gone to Russia, meant to kill her family ... there was simply no way he had moved on. Subtlety, she reminded herself with the image in her eye of Marcus winking at her, telling her how he'd learned and she shivers once. Then her eyes widen, her lips purse and she takes a sip herself. Long, a gulp-swallow-hiss that took a quarter of the glass with it. She hardly noticed, whilst nodding and lowering the glass to the table again, welcoming the burn.*

1926\. *She nods, arms still folded near her glass and looks back at him curiously.* And your last name is D'Grey. Mine's Stone. *But she was tilting her head: utterly amazed. He had a pulse. He was human...but if his father was turned in 1926...Rebecca's eyebrow arches. And then she can't help herself, too curious.* And ...seems I'm not the only one with a secret against aging. If your father had you before he was turned. Last I checked, vampires can't procreate... *So then..oh, this was fascinating. What exactly was he?*

 **Tony:** Oh I could give a shit about her. *He shrugs easily enough, only wondering idly how she could tell deciding well she didn't really need to know the exact reason as he was lost on it himself. He had no idea what took over him when he asked Harper where to find Gina, just figured he would know when he saw her. Didn't work out very well, but at least he had met Rebecca. Who seemed not to have been sent there by anyone as much as he hadn't, and yet here they were anyways. Travelers on a distant path- someone once somewhere wrote that he supposed for it was too good to be his own creation.

His gaze lifted again, eyebrows higher than before. Okay, how did she know that? That wasn't legilimency, he hadn't even been thinking of the details, they were just in the back of his mind he supposed-*

Oh, that is totally unfair. And a total violation of my privacy- please tell me you use those powers for good and not to like...get nuclear launch codes and state secrets. *he smirked taking a longer sip of his drink.* I really don't fancy you doing that though, if you want to know anything cara, asking works pretty well as I am an honest divulger. For instance, "So Tony, how do you exist?" I would tell you my father and mother had sex. See? Factual, if a little unhelpful.

 **Rebecca:** *A woman he couldn't give a damn about who was equally entangled in his life, and yet he was there to talk her down, from trouble he knew she was in...this only got more interesting. No, wait, she had that wrong. The trouble he knew she -was-. Which meant...ah. Her face sombers for a second and she decides she doesn't want to ask what it was Gina had done to him, at least not for specifics - and she'd stray away from that now too. It was his business, he was right -- both in the office, and now. And further more, if it was particularly nasty...she'd prefer not to see.

Another shot of the glass burns down her throat. Tilting her head she chuckles once and then says in a tiny, tiny voice,* ...Sorry. *And she meant it, she always had. Save the once. Save when she'd actively tried to search for information the first time, found a world of pain she ought to have left alone and used -- exploited -- to get even.

Another shot.

She lifts her gaze back to his, sincere and earnest, speaking through her sheepish, quirked smile.* Seriously, sorry-- I thought you were asking for a demonstration....I know it is. Believe me, I wish sometimes I couldn't do it. It's unfair to you, it's unfair to me. *Brow cocking as his had, she chuckles the tiniest bit,* Went to a wedding once. Woman says I do, I'm sitting in the aisle and realize three weeks ago she was fucking the best man. I mean. How do I say Congratulations after that? Talk about an awkward reception. I'd have left...but, well...it was an open bar. *She winks, though really she hadn't left because she hadn't wanted to allude to knowing anything was wrong. She couldn't turn it off at times; and he'd specifically asked "fact or fib" and oddly enough...maybe she should do this more often, after the hour that Marcus had spent needling her with facts and fictions about his past century, she realized abruptly: she had better command of it in the last two days than she...ever had before. Oh goddamn him.

Another shot.

Her lips twitch again and she says lighter,* But, yes, well I mean. One of my best friends is already a nuclear astrophysicist, if I wanted -those- I could have them anyways. *She shrugs idly, teasing.* Right now, only thing I'm using said powers for are to try and stop a vampire I'm too acquainted with from ruining lives -- but I promise. *She puts her hand over her heart.* I ever stray too close to the dark side, please feel free to yank me back.

*That drink went too quickly. She was happier now though, lighter, and found herself laughing at his "factual" statement and squeezes her eyes shut to chase away--hoping, praying, that the alcohol and looser faculties wouldn't mean she starts calling visions about his parents doing that. Even if they had to have been gorgeous to create said specimen, really. But she lifts her chin and nods.* Quite right. Factual and unhelpful. What I'm more interested in is -- you said you knew of him, not that you've met him. Is your father still in touch with him...?

*She was...warier about that question, considering it kind of implied she thought he might be involved in this too. Her gaze floats back to the bottle as she thinks: she really wasn't trying to invade his family history...it was just...if Marcus had been turning vampires in the 1920s who were helping him now... well. She supposes.

For all his show-and-tell, she wanted more information of what he'd done in the 20s. Of what he'd done in the fifties. Of what he'd done for the last century and the century before that -- it helped her appear all-knowing in front of him, helped her keep that mystery weaving deeper which could only in the end eventually put her a step ahead of him. Maybe a few toes. That was all she needed. And Rebecca knew, whatever she could see, whatever she could tell sometimes - whatever visions she had... all it had ever taught her was that she was as far from all-knowing as the local paper was.

Marcus, she knew better than she'd ever wanted to (she tries to forget she asked for the information, forced it, in fact) -- but everything he would ever do, everything he'd ever done or said? Of course not. No one knew that, not even the person themselves. You spent a lifetime trying to figure out who you were, redefining who you were, changing and growing and inspiring.... and she supposes: she could understand a bit in that instant why Marcus was so fascinated with uncovering her. He had endless lifetimes (well, so he believed); he could uncover more of the world's mysteries than anyone, if he so chose.

And what was the point of that? Once you figured it out...it's meaningless. Centuries alone doing that...finding something you couldn't understand had to be like a breath of fresh air, no matter how you hated it or them. She'd only spent thirty-six years of it: knowing if someone was throwing her a surprise party, knowing if a boy might call back or wouldn't, knowing things she'd never asked for -- all the way until she'd made the decision that dammit, at least, she would ask for them, control it as best she could from now on. She knew the urge.

So she adds,* I love that, by the way. *Nodding, she gestures with a pinky finger to his neck,* the cross I mean. It's not gaudy...it's actually pretty. *Sexy was the word she'd thought of but, she wasn't that drunk.*

 **Tony:** *he waved his hand again, much more at ease after the simple little word that was 'sorry' for he might be just a little on the defensive of anyone trying to meddle in his affairs. But as long as she didn't have any malicious intent, he was more than willing to let it slide especially for a woman that was downing so much alcohol. That would catch up with her later, but it was a clear attestation of how much this Marcus was messing with her head. He hummed* What a shame the poor groom's bride is a whore.

*He wiggled his eyebrows and took another drink while she spoke of nuclear bombs and yanking her back from the dark side. Oh such irony, that someone would ask that of him even in jest.* Ah, I'll make sure to do just that, and now I have a contact if I ever want to launch nuclear warheads. *She was funny he decided, and at the moment quite bitter but still not straying from her purpose- she wanted information.

He shook his head,* Nope, dad's dead. Dearly departed dead dad D'Grey- alliteration. To him *he raised his glass and tried not to laugh cause it would sound too bitter and then looked down at his cross- a simple thing really on a black chain and a cross made of pure silver yet intricately carved.* Oh, thanks. My brother gave it to me a few years ago.

  
 **Rebecca:** *Chuckling at the song she reaches for a napkin, licking her upper lip and pressing the whiskey free, nodding, having forgotten she'd done what she was about to say and laughing quite honestly. That might be the scotch too, but she was relieved to be relaxed at all -- which was odd, because she'd spent so long trying to be the opposite, terrified of what she might find out if she relaxed her mind enough. Yet, wasn't she stronger this way? Enjoying herself, learning more, accepting herself as she was: it was all she had. And it had been pretty damn effective the first time.

She grinned,* Oh my God yes though the -- we worked together, so the next time we were on the desk together, I just started playing that song over and over again right after she got back from her honeymoon -- the look on her face was .. priceless. I mean, I didn't interfere further at all -- just, told her she should do the right thing but -- I'm pretty sure they're still together. *She shrugs a shoulder, saying lightly still,* Does that mean I shouldn't have a little bit of fun with it? I don't think so. *She flicks the napkin back and then smiles adding,* Thank you. *Only then she went still again. Oh...hell. Eyes wide, she shakes her head as she quiets and adds sincerely after a moment,* Oh. I'm sorry.

*Uncomfortable, she looks to the glass he raises, lips quirking up in a way that she thinks...there was more to this story she didn't want to know. She waits a second. Then just ventures, teasing on a raw throat,* ...see? On the bright side, now you know I'm not all knowing or anything. *Her smile softens as he adds the necklace and she nods, absently,* Well .. I mean, Italian leather shoes, all that black, *she gestures amused* -- if it had been gold it would just be tacky. The silver's pretty. *And expensive, she thinks as he looked down and drew her gaze to it better, realizing the carvings.

Clearing he throat she adds,* Brother? *So there were two people connected to this born somehow of a vampire? Interesting. And..a bit heartbreaking she thinks, but Tony seemed more than pleasant -- trust might be a little up in the air still, but she was definitely liking him even without it.*

 **Tony:** Oh now that's priceless *he laughs, amused and nods.* I definitely approve of having a little fun every day even at the expense of others, just a tiny bit! *he squishes his thumb and forefinger together to show what he meant before taking a sip and shrugging at her condolences.* Its alright, happened years ago. *Refill of the glass, oh she had him beat anyways so he was thinking twice about trying to catch up.* Yep, older brother. He was the prodigy, I was the mistake. Anyways, *he waves it off* Listen, about Gina....she's mixed up with bad people, as bad or worse than Marcus really. You don't want to go into this alone.

  
 **Rebecca:** *The mistake? Her eyebrow flickers at that word, finding it a bit odd considering -- a vampire had to have worked pretty damn hard to find a way to have children at all. She was going to ask Brandin. But in that moment, she let it go; neither that nor what his father's death were thing she could see he wanted to talk about. She stills, head humming pleasantly and vision's edges a little bit blurry now but she found herself as clear as ever as she leans forward a bit and asks quieter,* I was beginning to suspect. I'm not alone - my husband, the childhood friend I mentioned ... *She trails off thinking that she still didn't quite fancy either of them in a room with Marcus but - that was only be expected, neither of them wanted her near him again either. She understood. And she still had a "date" set with him the next afternoon. Lord knew where, but at precisely noon she was going to be standing outside the same botique as before, because frankly, she wasn't keen on the idea of giving Marcus more places to find her. He knew her too well too; was too familiar, too "intimate  
as he'd said. She grits her back teeth but says quieter yet,* But that doesn't mean I'd be adverse to further allies. ...Tony. What, was it Gina did to you? You don't have to give me specifics or -- or anything...but "bad people" is a little too vague to...well. Stop. Save people from.

 **Tony:** Yeah, okay, I'll rephrase- you're going to need an army. Unless you're highly specialized black ops, it's just not gonna work. *The last thing Rebecca needed was Gina snapping her fingers and using her influence with Gustav to have the death eaters rain down on their family given that he was damn sure Stone wasn't a pureblood name; they'd probably do it for fun too, maybe shine the dark mark on top of the house after they were done- no, no, Rebecca couldn't know what Gina was involved in but how would he get her disinterested? Impossible it seemed. He took a long swig, saw that he emptied the glass and poured again. Could he scare her off by telling Rebecca what she did? Probably not.* Oh we just had ourselves a little bondage and discipline slash sadomasochistic session without a safe word, not very keen to do that again. *He drank and then rubbed his lips with the back of his hand* I don't do well with allies- really, I say anything more and I might be killed. *he smirks though it wasn't particularly funny*

 **Rebecca:** *Her lips twitch and she shakes her head admitting first,* Not highly specialized black ops, no. What I am, is an owner of a bed and breakfast, a wife, and a mother. *The glass in her hands slides across the table, squeaking as it does and rests against the bottle as he pours again. Fingernail ringing on the edge, she shakes her head slowly.* And he? Picked a fight with my. family.

*She lifts the glass to her lips and takes another steadying swirl-and-sip -- but this time, she hardly swallows; her mind was buzzed enough. She shakes her head very slowly, not taking her gaze from his as he recounts with black comedy that twists her gut, brutally reminding her a moment of all she'd seen Marcus do to Amber.*

...And you want to -reason- with her? *Rebecca asks surprised, and then blinks several times.* Why did she have...what did she have to gain? Why would... *Her back straightens up in complete surprise as she looks at him, adding first.* ...I'm impressed. And thank you. Thank you, for reminding me there actually are people who seek justice over vengeance. *But it was the first remark that still stuck with her, because she looks up very, very slowly and realizes what he meant.*

An army. Far as I know, unless I was taking on the government itself here...- which I know, I'm not, the woman who gave me Gina's address? She's the Minister's sister in law. *Her eyebrow cocks up, but her own mirth is gone too now, and she couldn't blame it on the whiskey or even on Marcus. No, this was older and deeper.* But there is an organization, if you can call it that, that just announced their return to the world stage. *Her tongue was digging in disgust into the roof of her mouth.* Eleven Aurors, five security guards, a waiter, and a sixteen year old girl.

*She recites, so cold she's mirroring his black, bitter comedy now, a curl to her lips. Rebecca shakes her head slowly again scoffing off the pureblood name...* Courtenay. Naturally. Ellwood, Courtenay...all right. I don't want you to be killed, Tony. So I'll talk. Let's see if I can guess then, some of these bad people you haven't named, won't, and are in no way disclosing what these people might have in common. *She counts off on her fingers, casting her mind around.*

The Weston and Baudet lines died off but ... there a ... Ricard? Roswell? West? Maybe a Baker, Armand, a Selmy? And if you're in France...oh, God I hope De Lamarliere isn't on this list, their ancestor was a good guy. Too good, really. *Rebecca's arms fold over the table and she leans forward , fingernails digging into the back of her own palm and now she wonders how she hadn't thought of it before. She shakes her head with her jaw snapped shut.*

And, my last name isn't as illustrious -- least in their eyes -- as yours. Right? So theoretically here then, my husband - he'd be in more danger. *She exhales, eyes narrow as she thinks it over, shaking her head: it seriously went back to that? All the way goddamn back to -- Rowland was supposed to be safe here, dammit! She'd promised him that over a hundred and forty five years ago! Shaking her head she said in a low hiss, finally and abruptly, biting down on her thumb and very tempted to brush it against her nose.* Fuck.

 **Tony:** Well you're going to pick a fight with not just one vampire but a whole *he moved his hands around, trying to describe it failing and then exhaling* legion. There, that's a good word, legion. For they are many. *Yes he was rather the fool wasn't he? When even the young wife and inn owner was questioning his actions? Truthfully, he didn't even know himself, he just shrugged and then scoffed.* Well that's what I'm here for, restoring faith in humankind and what not. *Oi vey, not at all. And oh dear, Rebecca seemed to be stumbling upon an epiphany. He had said too much, too much, oh Christ (sorry God), Olivier was going to eviscerate him. Just more civilians getting into the middle of it, or worse in his brother's eye, the actual government.

"Because that worked out so well the last time" was what he heard in his mind, over and over again here. He almost spoke out who said anything about France but that would give him a way. A good thing Hans wasn't here either, hearing his "sister's" last name was proving to be enough to set him off. How did Rebecca exactly know what Rachelle's ancestor was like though? He should probably keep drinking until it either made sense or he stopped caring. Down went another drink.*

Fuck sounds about right. *pours her a drink- they were going to finish this bottle.* Lets say hypothetically speaking you're right, and very well informed. Hypothetically, what would you do about it? Because see, I get Marcus being your direct problem but this hypothetical issue...the players are already on this hypothetical board, and already playing and sorry but it's chess, not poker, you can't buy in. Wow, I should really stop drinking, I'll tell you anything.

 **Rebecca:** *She holds the glass out and nods, repeatedly. Lord in heaven, it appeared she was underestimating Marcus all along for all her knowledge -- maybe because she knew damn well he didn't care about how pure someone's blood was. Didn't make a difference what it tasted like, she figured. So she'd never thought...* I'm glad. *She shakes her head, holding the glass up to him as he pours it again, hardly even noticing anymore how much she was having and scratching over her eye, continuing,* That someone's looking out for restoring faith in humankind I mean because. That's what I believe too. But Lord does it -- this -- he, makes it difficult. So thank you. *She toasts him, downs it and then chuckles, propping her head up as it felt a bit...weighted beneath her curls.* Hey, you're secrets are safe with me. Human lie detectors can still lie, contrary to popular belief. *And okay maybe her head was heavy from the alcohol too. But she thought it likely it was more from the soul-crushing sudden weight of hatred, terror, sadness and shock. Then her nose wrinkles and she says slowly,* In this particular hypothetical? Not let them know we made the connection.

You're right. This needs an army. But more than that. I, can deal with Marcus. *Her arms are folded over each other as she's leaned forward, still tapping her nails around the glass. Tap, tap, tap - matching her racing heart. Her words were as certain as ever, despite the dizziness and drink and oh-holy-hell her mind was trapped in because of this one thing, Rebecca was perfectly certain. She flicks her gaze back to Tony's blue eyes and says simply,* And whether or not reasoning with Gina succeeds, I've never met her, if I go near her - I tip people off besides Marcus. You're right, I won't do that. *She takes a deep, steadying breath.* And clearly you, your brother, and whomever it is -- you're working with...

*She narrows her eyes briefly because -- clearly? Not government here either.* Taking on Marcus too, with all of that? That would be...suicide. No offense; it's just -- hundred and fifty years, and I can count on one hand the number of people who bested him in some way. And none of those ways include his death. *She shrugs, adding a mental 'yet' and then feeling her stomach twist.* But in any case, I sincerely doubt - and I can know tomorrow - that Gina has informed anyone else that Marcus is involved. He wouldn't want that. *She shakes her head, then has to fix her hair curls again.* Which, is only our advantage. We're on two fringes of the same story? Fair enough, we stay that way, but we provide a bridge. *She nods,* In case and when we learn something that might help one of us or both of us, flip this goddamn chess table over. *She cocks up an eyebrow and adds in a quieter voice.* The other thing I'm going to do? *Taking a deep breath because -- she knows what she's going to do and she has to steel herself for it and also stop the room from spinning, she just slides both hands to her hair, tugging them back and pressing hands to her cheeks all through one, long inhale. When she exhales, she says only,*

Something I really dislike doing. Ask Brandin Faye for a favor. *Her nose wrinkles, but she smiles very slightly.* Marcus was in England in 1885. That's the reason I know the list of those names -- they were all those who were fighting then. My husband's...*she hesitate's only briefly remembering to put in* ancestors, and Brandin's -- a man named Damocles? Google search him if you haven't heard of him. But he threw Marcus out - faced him solo if some of the stories are to be believed, but. *She shrugs a shoulder, a fond small smile appearing on her lips as she remembers,* Ignore the bit about him not being able to put a shirt on by himself -- you could find him in a few museums too. In any case. *She clears her throat.* If anyone is going to have more information...it's the Fayes.

*She shrugs a shoulder, and finishes the glass once and for all, abruptly realizing ... the bottle was empty. Her cheeks were likely to be bright red. Ah. Glance darting back to Tony she says a bit softer,* I think, I should get home. Before I pass out on this table. So. *Pulling out her purse, she scrawls her number on the back of a business card and scoots it over to him. And when she does she goes rigid, her finger brushed over his for a split second and she forces her eyes shut.

Breath stops. Her heart skips. And then it all restarts again and she shakes her head, her hair out and looks back up at him, moving her hand to squeeze his just once.* ...don't, ask how I know or -- for specifics because, flatly, I don't have them but -- *Her words of assurance were quiet, but sincere, a small smile on her lips.* Olivier's your older brother? *Her smile flicks up, delighted to at least have the happier thought.* You're right. He's ... not lost, not forever. And when you need him? He'll come through. *She nods firmly, pulling her hand back and moving to stand, tucking her clutch back away.* Thanks for the drink..s. I am definitely buying next time, Tonio. *Rebecca salutes him as she walks away before pausing at the door, winking with that quirky smile again before she turns on her spiky heel to go to her husband.*

 **Tony:** *He chuckles, nodding* Right, I mean, not that I think human lie-detectors have an usually to refer to but I believe that. *Pretty women, in his opinion, tended to be quite the natural born liars and secret keepers; maybe that was just Tony's luck.

He's glad to hear Rebecca's plan isn't to charge head first into it, and he believes it when she says she can handle Marcus; she'd been handling him for a while now right? Right. And right at that moment, he wasn't Tony's problem, so he kept nodding in agreement. Tony wasn't a hero, he was just trying to do good for himself and the only family he had left.* That sounds like a hypothetical good idea. *he finishes the drink in his glass, smirking at her use of 'goddamn'.

And then there came a name that he did recognize and not just from the family legacy files or the pureblood history lessons. Fayes. As in Daniella Faye, as in his brother's girl- oh, they were going to have even more quality time! They were going to trade secrets, braid hair, that sort of thing because 1885 was clearly before 1926 and he didn't know about Marcus before then. Or hardly anything.*

Oh but we were just having fun! *He mockingly whines before nodding and sitting up again to take the card, though she doesn't quite give it up at her first and her eyes don't seem like their entirely there; Merlin, maybe she was more drunk than he thought.* Do you need me to call you a cab or...? *His eyebrows arched as instead she saw fit to squeeze his hand and...grant him all knowing knowledge. Damn it, he'd say he didn't like her doing that- what was she doing with her brother's name? Now he -definitely- was going to kill him. And was she smiling for?

His head tilts, just staring perplexed and wondered as she talks to him about something no one could know. He could only nod, a bit dazed and then exhale before he chuckles at her salute and he salutes her back, watching her walk out in all her quirky, unique splendor and then disappear back to her everything.*

Lucky son of a bitch.

{*}

He'd needed to get out. Barcelona was definitely...that.

Graciela Brackner, his first cousin, and Alcott were resting near the basketball court, on some cliffside near the Brackner's ridiculously large (and very colorful) house; the wind was making a mockery of Graciela's hair anyway and she's perched on a fence and she was just saying like,

 **Graciela:** "--so you think you can do it?"

 **Alcott:** "Oh, I know I can. It's more a question of if I've done the calculation of which wood pairing right--"

 **Graciela:** "Oh okay muchacho. *winks*

 **Alcott:** "Ha ha--"

 **Graciela:** "No but, seriously, good for you. You can finally stop using that tome as a pillow."

 **Alcott:** "It's not a tome. *sheepish smirk* And it's certainly not a pillow -- "

 **Graciela:** "Well how would I know? You've never let me read it."

 **Alcott:** "Yeah, cause I don't want you going blind--perdoname, por favor-"

 **Graciela:** "It's Brackner eyes only! -*breaking into Spanish*-"

 **Alcott:** "Woah, woah, easy--I just meant that I don't know for certain what that spell was in particular, so-"

 **Graciela:** " So if I go blind you just gotta... grow my sight back or something, okay?"

 **Alcott:** "Sure. *laughs* You wait right there."

 **Graciela:** "Can't do that yet?"

 **Alcott:** "What do you mean...yet?"

 **Graciela:** "Pft. Al, if anyone's gonna figure it out-- it's you."

 **Alcott:** "Do me a favor and remind Ric not to spread that around the school--"

 **Graciela:** "Aiee--everything is the reputation, si?"

 **Alcott:** "Si, *winking; pauses...then softer,* And thanks."

 **Graciela:** "Thanks?"

 **Alcott:** "For saying I could do it."

 **Graciela:** *nod, then hesitantly* You could...not that it makes it fair. You know I don't even...remember him."

 **Alcott:** "-after lips tighten in sad smile-...well, Graciela--you were...four."

 **Graciela:** "*tiny nod* There are a few pictures of him holding me though. Day I was born--first birthday..."

 **Alcott:** "*smile turns to smirk that doesn't reach eyes*-Thank God it wasn't your father holding the camera then--"

 **Graciela:** "Oh--right!? Have you seen the pictures of us in Madrid?!"

 **Alcott:** "Ah-I think that calling them photos is a bit of favoritism shown to your papi, babe-"

 **Graciela:** "You make a fair point. Besides. He's in the photos."

 **Alcott:** "..in Madrid?"

 **Graciela:** "No, I mean, when I was born."

 **Alcott:** "...right. *exhale; then smirks* Well I hope he was there. Or else, your mother--"

 **Graciela:** "Oh she'd have killed him. *wink* Tia Lyndsea took the photos--mostly."

 **Alcott:** "Surprised Ma didn't prefer to be -on- the film."

 **Graciela:** "Well I think that's why there's fewer photos of your Dad...he couldn't stop taking them of her."

 **Alcott:** "You should see the albums at our house."

 **Graciela:** "Oh I am so remembering you said that when we come next time--"

 **Alcott:** "....wait, hold on--"

 **Graciela:** "Why? *goes handsfree on the fence* You were such a cute baby! Do you still have your teddy bear...what was he called..."

 **Alcott:** "I will push you off the cliff.*amused*"

 **Graciela:** "That's a terrible name for a teddy."

 **Alcott:** "It'd be worse if it turns out prophetic."

 **Graciela:** "You couldn't murder your sweet baby cousin now could you?" *batting puppydog eyes*

 **Alcott:** "...Cruel."

 **Graciela:** "I beg to differ."

 **Alcott:** "Does your mother know you use those powers for evil?"

 **Graciela:** "Of course. She's the one that taught me."

 **Alcott:** "And people complain about the men in this family."

 **Graciela:** "You give them plentyyyy to complain about."

 **Alcott:** "Only plenty? *finger snap after checking watch* Damn, I haven't filled my quota--"

 **Graciela:** "Oh for God's sakes! *pushes his shoulder/hops off fence* ...hey. Do you want to see them? The photos?"

 **Alcott:** "*small smile after an exhale/nods* Gracias, hermosa."

 **Graciela:** "You're lucky you're my cousin. If my dad heard another boy saying that to me--"

 **Alcott:** "He'd have to beat me to them. *flatly*"

{*}

...You killed her, you asshole! You and the rest of that tail-wagging, tongue-wagging, pack of easily-trained bitch-pups following the head alpha daddy like a line of blind ducks. In fact, you know what you call a werewolf in your pack with half a brain? (She must have brought the phone closer to her mouth to yell) Gifted! That’s what! You are weak, and you are nothing. You are nothing and you will always be nothing, so fuck you. 

 **Ansel:** *The phone stayed near his ear even as her voice disappeared. Standing at the window, his eyes were on the sea outside. Brilliant view. Two stories down of the abandoned, broken stones of the castle that pretended to be ruin, there was nothing but rushing blue crushing against grey and churning black. Pinching lip between his teeth, he turns at leisure; he hears them as he lowers the phone, but he knew who it was.*

 **Hans:** *Moving with the casual grace usual to him, he pauses as he enters the room. Well, "room" was an understatement; this, to be precise, was one of his favored in the structure he was refurbishing from boredom and a need to remain busy. There's a small smirk on his lips while he sets down a set of drafts on the wood. Ansel, on the other hand, looked...troubled. Pushing the t-square out of the way with one nail, he asks without looking up,* Anything interesting mate?

 **Ansel:** *Clearing his throat, he looks up from the phone, wiggling his nose together and shakes his head, a smirk appearing in an instant.* Nah, nothing.

 **Hans:** You sure? *My, how fast his heart was beating all of a sudden. Hm.* Nothing from...*looking up, his eyes cast over the bridge of his nose,* say, my sister?

 **Ansel:** *He clicks the phone off, then rolls his eyes, irritated. As he slides it in his back pocket,* If you want to know how Stefanie is, you could always try calling her. 

 **Hans:** Well, see I've always been able to count on you knowing everything there was to know, mate. 

 **Ansel:** Make me sound more like a stalker, why don't you, mate?

 **Hans:** *Yes, this was genuinely interesting wasn't it? He lets a moment pass -- it wouldn't suit either of them if he had to resort to reasserting himself, would it? Leaning over the print, he frees a pencil from his ear and adjusts, drawing a long, slow line as he answers with a shrug.* If I thought you were stalking my sister, I'd be a bit less friendly.

 **Ansel:** Would you? *His breath was hot, eyes going hard and he pulls away from the window; he needed to stop staring at that dark depth that -- really wasn't that far away at all.* That'd be news to her, I think. 

 **Hans:** *Chuckling under his breath,* Yes, Stefanie does have a flair for the dramatic. *He flicks the pencil up, catching between his teeth with ease as he adjusts the ruler again. Tongue pressing against the stick, he looks over the bridge to his friend. His brows furrow: troubled was rapidly becoming an understatement. Wonderful.* 

 **Ansel:** Your relying on me to be your own personal Stefanie messenger service has her believing you don't give a damn about her. *Flatly, and he rubs at the back of his neck; it sticks in sweat and he shakes his head, stalling instantly, tongue between his teeth.* Why do I bother? 

 **Hans:** *Lightly, but his eyes are narrow,* Just respecting my baby sister's wishes, Ansel. *She was the one who didn't want anything to do with him; she'd made that clear oh...too many times by now.*

 **Ansel:** You sure? *His head snaps back to look at him. Why did he bother? Why couldn't he stop?* You sure you aren't just running away because you don't want to look her disappointment in the eye? 

 **Hans:** *That makes him perfectly still, except for a twitch above his eye. Then his chin lifts, resettling his head and chest to regard Ansel with fever roaring across his veins,* Have you something to say to me?

 **Ansel:** *Hans looks at him curiously, like he was mildly interested in this little toy soldier that had decided to speak up from the chess board and it infuriates him -- but seeing that look, hearing that demanding, dangerous voice of his alpha makes him take a second to pause. And breathe. In and out. With his eyes on the window, he answers instead,* Just that you can get your own damn message -- it wasn't Stefanie on the phone. 

 **Hans:** I know that, mate. *His words were crisp, but he doesn't quite resume the draft yet. As he hears Ansel's tiny-under-breath laugh, he lifts his chin and knows he's right when he says,* Ahh. 

 **Ansel:** Ahh, what?

 **Hans:** It was Irene.

 **Ansel:** *The laugh buries in his throat and he looks away from the window to meet Hans gaze. It was a quirk of his. When things meant something to them, others look away.*

 **Hans:** *Brows furrowing in curiosity, his smirk flicks,* You didn't really think she'd be your new number one fan did you, after you kidnap her?

 **Ansel:** *He takes a step forward; but as Hans straightens he stops. God, his heart had to stop it; he usually could hide that better from his pack mates (but never his alpha).* Bit melodramatic of a term, really.

 **Hans:** Well, I say kidnap. *Lips flick, shrugging,* Though I'm well aware, you leaving Zach in charge there is usually your tactic when you want them to get away, isn't it? Start the chase off right?

 **Ansel:** And why did I try to kidnap her, anyway? *Now he takes a step forward, caught and breath hot.* Oh that's right. You told me to.

 **Hans:** *A little whistle under his breath, his head tilts. There went his heart again; skipping beats and being all -- well, as he'd said --melodramatic.* She really did get your knickers in a twist, didn't she?

 **Ansel:** *Another step, after his breath caught,* We've lost Rachelle -- 

 **Hans:** Thank you, for your incorrect assessment of the situation --

 **Ansel:** \--and why? Why is our sister sitting in a jail cell right now? Why -- I mean you do know that Allison isn't pureblood, don't you? That --

 **Hans:** *Flatly,* That remains between the three of us. *There's a low trace of a growl between his clenching teeth now; a flash of red in his eyes.* 

 **Ansel:** Well, *a smirk appears even as his eyes dart around and shoulders jerk back* of course it does. Of course it does, because otherwise the people you're in bed with might just kill her.

 **Hans:** Is that what you're worried about? I assure you, Ansel, it's not who I'm in bed with that's the problem. *He takes a step forward now himself, setting the pencil back behind his ear.* I won't let anything happen to her either. Allison is only here, after all, because --

 **Ansel:** Because I asked you to save her. *He hisses, chin coming up but - he's stopped walking as he's approached now.*

 **Hans:** Because I did as you asked, yes. *My, how feisty. His eyes twitch again.* As see, that's what friends do. In fact, *with an eyebrow arch,* I can't think of a thing I've done to you to inspire this.

 **Ansel:** *It was on the tip of his tongue -- all the words from Irene's beautifully-scripted rant -- but he lifts a hand and says instead,* Why are we helping them? This isn't our fight.

 **Hans:** You know very well why, Ansel. *His voice turns cold.* I haven't kept it from you. 

 **Ansel:** *Utterly lost, his voice is bright as he speaks with a little smirk,* Then once we have Rachelle, why don't we just rip that bastard Roswell's throat out, grab Angel and just -- go?   
 **Hans:** *He thinks he might burst a vessel trying to restrain himself at this point but he just cocks an eyebrow at him. His heart was pattering like a piston, worse than the birds outside.* Where?

 **Ansel:** Doesn't matter! *His hand swipes in the air.* I hear India's nice this time of year.

 **Hans:** *Nope, couldn't restrain the chuckle that time.* 

 **Ansel:** Hans. *His eyes narrow with anger and irritation, but he clasps his own wrist as he drops his hand.* 

 **Hans:** *Sigh, if he had to spell it out, then fine.* And how precisely would that go? The rest of them just going to let us skip out with their prize? 

 **Ansel:** *Rolling his eyes, they're darkening with a glint even as his smirk only widens,* Well then we kill all of them. Been too long since we've had a good hunt. Problem solved.

 **Hans:** Problem far from solved, actually. *Oh, Ansel. He chuckles, lifting his hand to pat his shoulder and shakes his head.* See, this is why you could never be General, Ansel.

 **Ansel:** *Irritated, he waits a moment chastened to catch his rolling breath. Then hisses.* Go on. Enlighten me, then, oh brilliant commander.

 **Hans:** *He pats his shoulder a little harder this time, then drops his hand again.* Fine. Let's say for the sake of argument, we do that. We manage to survive, we get Rachelle, kill every one of them and spirit Angel off with us to -- India, even. What reason does he have to ever make the potion for us again?  
 **Ansel:** Could give a damn for his reasons: we make him.

 **Hans:** *Tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow up at him.* Sounds like you haven't quite done your research on our beloved guardian Angel, mate.

 **Ansel:** *With an eye roll,* Three years in the cell, ay I heard, I get it -- 

 **Hans:** Do you? *His voice suddenly sharpens. With a step forward,* And how long do you think you would last, Ansel? You think the transformation's bad? It's paradise, compared to that. When you're hanging from broken thumbs and flayed like a human pumpkin, left up for decoration for all hallows eve -- how long before you're begging for your father to take you away?

 **Ansel:** *His breath catches (heart refusing to beat a moment), but he refuses to look away. That. He wouldn't dignify with a response.*

 **Hans:** Trust me. *He squeezes.* You might be uh - adept, at causing pain but -- it's nothing compared to what that man's already lived through. *Squeezing tighter, he releases him and shrugs, pulling back with an innocent smirk even as he knew he spoke the truth,* He'd die before he gave you that. 

 **Ansel:** And when you and D'Grey have taken down the organization? *It seemed he was destined to challenge today - at least when he was being treated repeatedly like he was four years old.*   
 **Hans:** *A small smile appears on his lips as he steps back to his T-square and pulls the pencil out, using it to gesture between them, correcting,* When we have ripped that organization apart.  
 **Ansel:** What's going to get us the potion then?

 **Hans:** That, *he leans back over, resuming drawing,* I'm working on. You just get me that moon glitter, and then we'll never have to worry about it again. 

 **Ansel:** Five of us won't. *He shrugs a shoulder, hand slipping into his back pocket as he steadies his breath. It bumps his phone. Oh, dammit.* 

 **Hans:** Well, that's a start. I have it under control. You trust me? 

 **Ansel:** *With a cock to his eyebrow, he shrugs a shoulder and doesn't look around .. and then realizes yes, he does. So he nods.*

 **Hans:** Excellent. Jesus, you had me worried for a moment there. *He shrugs a shoulder, but doesn't look away from drawing. They're silent; Ansel returning to the window and he just drafting, biting and chewing on the back of his pencil.*

 **Ansel:** *Stefanie would have something to say about taking the Lord's name like that. But now he was thinking, oh, Hans had guessed right in the one regard: and he was itching to see Irene again (just to start the hunt properly, understand...) and he only breaks his silence when he remembers why precisely he couldn't go ask Rachelle to join him.* Who was she? 

 **Hans:** Hm? *Not looking up, he draws another line.*

 **Ansel:** The woman. *Tracing his claw in the glass, he's half drawn an ice cream cone in it. It fogs with his breath.* Twelve Aurors, well now, that's nothing. *He looks over, picking at the glass.* Went through them like butter -- but then one woman shows up...

 **Hans:** *Taut, stills, clenches his teeth shuts his eyes and exhales in a hiss of need,* She's no one. 

 **Ansel:** *With eyes narrow, he peers around, eyes fixed on a seagull and tracing it's flight, picking at the window.* No-one?  
 **Hans:** *His brows furrow, then he looks up and says simply.* Her name is Laura. She's irrelevant now. 

 **Ansel:** She's hardly irrelevant when she's th--

 **Hans:** *Back ramrod straight, he flicks the pencil. It burrows itself into the glass next to Ansel's ice cream cone. It cuts him off, and he lifts the T-Square, the silver edge of it, ignoring the burn in his own hand.*

 **Ansel:** *He waits a long moment, letting out a breath. Ah, look at that. He regards the silver but -- feeling against the idea of being speared with it he says only,* Never keep anything from me, do you? 

 **Hans:** *He lowers the T-square back onto the mat, and resumes drawing.* And mate, go see Irene. 

 **Ansel:** *With a chuckle, he nods and pulls back away from the window nodding at him.* 

 **Hans:**  *When Ansel was at the door again, he stills him calling,* Ansel. You know you can trust me, right?

Ansel: *He looks back over his shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips and nods softly.* Yeah. With my life. Always.

 **Hans:**  *The smile spreads on his own lips and he nods.* 

{*}

**Olivier:** *Pen twirling in hand, as he hears the creaking step he stills and his eyes shut. His veins seem overloaded, flooded with pride, with wariness, with irritation and above all a gut-wrenching, furious -- relief.* Tonio. *The Italian nickname instead of the common betrayed his emotions, but he just shakes his head from side to side.* I'll go call the hounds off then. *Truth was, he really in that instant give a damn if his brother knew or didn't how glad he was to see him walk back through the door -- and he was a little nervous to turn around, wary of scars he might see reopened, old wounds reiterated. But he turns his chin stubbornly, and is surprised to realize his brother looks fine. Drunk, but...fine. That just made him more irritated. Then his pen tip jerks back down dotting an "i", crossing a set of "t"s and he hits the book so hard he pokes through the page, but pays it no mind. Just caps, shuts the book, tosses it to land on the coffee table with a thwack of papers and exhales in a light, disbelieving chuckle.* So is this payback, hm? Because I didn't tell you all the nuts and bolts right away? *His hand slaps at his thigh,* You track down Gina and go after her, *and lifts to hover gesturing thumb to his heart,* without even telling me?  
 **Tony:** *Okay, there was no way Olivier could know what he had just done. Even though, really, he had said nothing at all! Nothing at all- okay, he had revealed his father had been turned by Marcus Ellwood in the 20s but who cared? Not him, not right now. He had a couple of more beers before heading 'home', deciding, that yeah not a good idea to go see Gina when he was drunk off his ass so he would just have to try it another time, maybe...he didn't know anymore.

What he didn't expect was to be yelled at the moment he stepped foot through the door. Well, maybe he wasn't yelling, maybe it just sounded like that in Tony's ears- well, he was Tonio now. Rebecca had called him by that too, geesh, really, that was both cool party trick and just creepy.*

Get your head out of your ass, Olivier, okay? I didn't go there to tick you off, and no I didn't tell you, my bad, forgot I was supposed to check in with you. Don't even have nothing to worry about cause I didn't see her so just relax and stop yelling at me, pretty pleaseee. I'm drunk, and not sing Justin Timberlake drunk, more like actively contemplate suicide. *he hiccups before raising a finger* Which is by the way, a joke.

 **Olivier:** You're hilarious. *He rolled his eyes, flicking his finger and closing the parlor door behind them just from force of habit. As his hand slides back into his back pocket, both eyebrows jump up into his hairline exasperated as he points out,* Not at all like that isn't exactly what you might have been doing walking in to her place of business after all -- *he takes a step forward and lo and behold, his hand has already jumped back out again to gesture with, because he can't help it.* It isn't like I ever had to stand there while she tried to do just that after all -- *another step* -- I know, what you went through, because I saw it, dammit, you think I'm ever going to do that again? You get your head out of your ass, Tony, *he stops walking,* Because this works both ways. *Still, his voice was lower. Especially as he realizes the amount of alcohol his brother was reeling from, expelling from it seemed to him (though perhaps, heightened senses and what not) every single pore. He shuts his eyes, exhaling and then folds his arms to rest behind his back asking in a much quieter voice.* If you didn't see her. Then why did you find a bar and drink it? Porca miseria -- *his hand comes back up, hand jerking and immediately, a little glass vial from the bottom of the bar zooms towards his hand. He snatches the hangover-cure from the air, and pushes it into his brothers open, wavering palm,* You're going to collapse, come on. *Attempting to shepherd his brother into the couch, he exhales and adds,* I'm sorry, all right? When Harper said what you were going to do and then I couldn't get you on your mobile--I was anxious.

 **Tony:** *He exhales, rubbing his lips hard and then bringing his gaze up to bring Olivier's though admittedly he had difficulty because any sudden movements and then the room would spin.* Seeing it and actually being hung there by those chains is a very different thing, brother, just so we're clear.

*Geesh, he didn't even realize why he felt the need to drink, or rather, not even after Rebecca had left.* Because I did see someone else and she told me about how she was being accosted by this asshole so I bought her a drink, two, three, six? *He shrugged. She'd left in higher spirits, good for her! Tony was always glad to help put a smile on a woman's face, while he'd left in lower. He takes the vial then, knowing what it was and fumbling fingers work to unstopper it before taking it quickly and tossing the vial over his shoulder.* I'm not going to collapse- *he stumbles and then stops his fall by just aiming himself at the couch, clipping down there.* I couldn't very well have my mobile going off while I was infiltrating her evil lair- wait, *his brows furrow, and now he grins belatedly, smirking* did you apologize? You say all these things because you know you can't be recorded- has it always been this bright here? Also, this potion is faulty.

 **Olivier:** *He knew that. He knew why Tony had to say that, but it still stung - the memory was so stark for him. Welcoming Roswell into his home, offering him tea and crumpets like his father always had done for all his English customers and comrades -- being forced to sit on this couch, smile and nod his head along to words he hated. Words that were dethroning him from half of what he owned, insulting him with lies of friendship. Olivier had been amused; the platitudes he spoke been so easily given and forgotten about. He’d not intended Roswell to walk out that door -- well, that had occurred later during the meeting, when he had realized every inch of the man made his skin crawl, and that even imperiusing him would not be enough.

And then that little hint. The tiny mention that his brother had run afoul of an acquaintance of his and that if Roswell was his friend he could take care of it for him, and all those grand words and thoughts of killing the man on the spot gave way. His jaw had clicked, he imagined, as Roswell had praised him too, said how much like his father he looked and not realizing his folly. Oh, he resembled his Dad in that moment of course. His hands had ached to rip his throat open. Just like Dad. Taste his blood, see him turned into living art, spit on his bones and light his glasses on fire. D’Grey wonders briefly what precisely Harper intended on doing...he could offer a few tips.

Years of control had reasserted itself after a few steadying moments in which he hadn’t breathed. A shut mouth catches no flies, as Dad said. Then a cruel smirk had crossed his lips, and he’d lied. Told Roswell he hadn’t needed to work so hard, though of course he approved of how dedicated it was, that he’d been intending on merging with him for quite some time. He’d flattered, praised and twisted his own words until he could see Roswell’s wariness fade to a general distrust and it wasn’t until then he asked. If he could “just go fetch his brother from his bondage fetish,” like it was a joke, like it was so goddamn hilarious and intuitive of these English scfamies.

Blood dribbling down his exposed front, head lolling as Tony swung on legs that no longer supported his weight, his arms had been suspended from the ceiling spread-eagled with iron manacles digging into his wrists. The sight wasn’t one Olivier would forget. All Tony could do for an hour was vomit and make his own jokes comparing himself to Jesus. Days recuperating and then argument they always had ended up in - the one he’d picked, the one he’d used to insult Tony into leaving again, muttering a prayer he’d be safe that way. He knew it wasn’t the same thing -- that there was a difference in the tortured captive and the coerced who made the bargain for him -- but Marone, was he not going to put up with Tony doing anything as idiotic as provoking the puttana to try again.

And he couldn’t help but think that since that moment, though no knife had slit his chest or iron clasped his wrist, all he was had been a tortured captive, studying and biding his time for the moment he’d destroy his jailers.

The protestation he wouldn’t collapse didn’t even make it out of his lips before he stumbled, and Olivier shook his head in a sigh of exasperation. And amusement.

“Fine, fall with style then.” He says, rubbing his hands together and sitting on the coffee table in front of him so as to keep an eye on him - listening keen through the rambling drunk-speak that was far from unintelligent. Tony was quite good at that.

His lips twitch at the assertion he apologized and he shrugs both shoulders exaggeratedly, rubbing palms together that braced over his knee.* Did I? I think you imagined that, brother. *Waving a hand to dim the lights even though...they were already fairly dim he shook his head and chuckles at the last.* You should give it more than thirty seconds to work, maybe. But hey, you want to sleep it off first that’s fine with me - shall I fetch your baby blanket?

*Olivier was relaxed, finally, just as he was curious -- too curious about this woman his brother had mentioned, because it usually didn’t bear stating that if he was drinking he was with one. Now, it was the “accosted by an asshole” that had his ears perked. Arching an eyebrow and clapping his hands together he waited a moment before asking,* So you were playing white knight?

*It was a tease the way he put it, but his question serious. As ever.* Because I don’t think getting a woman this drunk is exactly chivalrous, Tony.

 **Tony:** I do everything with style, that *he pointed his finger at Olivier...the full Olivier on the right that was* is my prerogative. *He nodded before deciding, nope, he didn't like nodding and resting his head backwards on the couch cushion. This was a fine couch.* I fucked one of the maids on this couch, do you remember Gabriela? Comfortable couch, gorgeous woman.

*So it really shouldn't be a surprise that he was frequently attracted to older women even now. He closed his eyes briefly but at his brother's tease of getting him a blanket, he opened one up to glare at him.* Yeah, fetch me a pacifier and my onesie while you're at it, dick.

*This could all be psychologically examined some way, Tony was sure. It would probably all lead back to daddy and mommy problems because oh didn't they always? Boring. This was why he had slept through his Psych 101 class in university.*

She was -not- this drunk, she's a beast. Married, two kids, bed and breakfast owner, very little tolerance for bullshit. Besides, she left and I kept drinking. I think she's psychic, bro.

 **Olivier:** *He snorts, thinking vaguely he did remember her (he was meant to remember everyone he met, every face seen and word spoken, to be weighed later for potential use). Tony had a style with remembering too, it seemed.* Hey, I half expected you to say comfortable woman, gorgeous couch.

*He cocks an eyebrow, getting off the table and spreading his hands out,* And that if you wanted to be alone with it...

*He breaks off laughing, amused at his own words less than he was at the relief he felt. Falling into the chair on the other-side, he summons his journal back to him and then pauses. The married-kids part had explained why he wasn’t meeting her right now (for all his broken commandments, Tony only seemed further determined to keep to the others, as if it would sew back the scattered remains). The last qualification on the other hand, made him narrow his eyes at his dozing brother curious and skeptical.* Psychic? Like, crystal ball and hippie scarves?

*The words were sardonic. Olivier didn’t want it to be serious, despite a glint in his eye that proved he already was.* She offer you palmistry? Because hate to break it to you, but I think that’s -another- type of woman you were meeting there...

 **Tony:** *He shrugged, thinking well, she had been comfortable too but he would hardly call the couch gorgeous. And he wasn't that kind of drunk anyways, he was in perfect control of all of the words that came out of his mouth.* You're full of jokes tonight, olive oil. How great, just my luck.

*Couldn't Harper make them a better hangover potion, s'il vous plait? He would ask pretty please with cherries on top and get him anything he wanted. At least he wasn't seeing two of everything anymore.*

No, like knowing shit she shouldn't know about me- now that was freaky. *he nodded* Can they do that? Magical psychics- what are they called Lookers? Watchers? Oh! *he clapped his hands together* Seers! Ah, ding ding ding, points for me. *He mocks the roar of a crowd by cupping his hands around his mouth and then throwing his fist into the air for a job well done. He lets it fall back on the side of the couch with a chuckle.*

She should sell tickets, go on the road, world tour. That vampire would probably keep following her around though.

 **Olivier:** *The smile drops from his face. He hardly listens to Tony’s search for the right word: mind wrapped up in the image and base, certain dislike. Omniscience wasn’t possible, he knew that, because he used all manner of skills to make it appear daily as if he was. To underlings, to enforcers, to rivals; his eyes shut to give a moment of silience as he thinks: to Sarah.

Things like what? *His brow arched up,* Our last name does make us easily recognizable if as easily misunderstood...

*Freaky wasn’t the proper word, as it gave the image of wide-eyed danger, scampering hearts, rushing adrenaline and blood. It was seductive. Someone knowing what they shouldn’t: that wasn’t rude, or freaky or thrilling. It was dangerous certainly, for them and for their subjects, it was unnatural -- oh, like he was, like they were -- but flatly, it was a trick.

Olivier hated to be tricked.

‘Vampire’ being added to ‘Seer’ on the other hand, now that, that was cause for flat concern.* What vam-- the man she was accosted by was a vampire?

 **Tony:** Okay, now you're getting your angry face on. *He commented easily, leaning off the couch again to rest his elbows on his knees.* The subtle one, the 'wait, this is smelling funny to me, it definitely, yeah, it's smelling like anchovies, i don't like it' face.

*He was sooo not in the mood to discuss anything further, God, this sucked. But if he wanted his brother to keep being honest with him, he had to be honest too. Wasn't very fair to Tony right now, but whatever.*

I didn't tell her my last name, I told her Tony then she just...guessed, knew, I don't know, D'Grey and at the end of the conversation, called me Tonio instead, things like that.

*He paused and then leaned back, bracing himself.* Oh yeah the vampire is Marcus Ellwood and she has reason to believe he's using Gina for dastardly and heinous schemes.

 **Olivier:** I didn’t think you had given her that. *The words - casual, matter of fact, understanding, bitter - left his lips without another thought. That was unlike him. But then, Tony was certainly known for his ability to get him to misbehave in all manner of different debaucheries. He prided himself on it.

But still, it didn’t surprise him; in fact he would be more surprised his brother had given his true last name willingly than a false one. Particularly at a bar. Olivier enjoyed the shivers of recognition, the quick intakes, the sudden obedience and lip curls -- almost more than the hisses and clenching fists beneath downcast eyes as they acquiesced to his wishes so graciously (he thinks abruptly that Daniella had neither shivered nor glared, but spoken his name plainly to call him out on both masks). Tony, on the other hand, was as likely to punch someone calling him “Mr. D’Grey,” as they used to for their father, as he was kiss them.

Anything else he was about to say was thrown from the window at the last remark -- the oh yeah, “i picked up the milk” afterthought that made his eyebrows pop over a jawline made hard as stone.* Marcus Ellwood. Marcus Ellwood is working with -- Gina is working for Marcus Ellwood?

*Say the name three times and anything you wish can appear, he thinks. His fist clenches around the side of the chair, as if his fingers pretend it’s Marcus’s throat. The general “I don’t like this,” attitude his brother so eloquently described was replaced with flames. For a moment, he’s not even sure where to start.*

Who -was- this woman?

 **Tony:** *And they were right back to that weren't they? Olivier was proud of his lineage, Tony significantly less to a point where- no, no, he really hated it. The one thing that he and Olivier would always fight about. He didn't really want to fight right now though, next category please. Evil psychotic monsters for $1000, please. The answer to evil psychotic monsters for $800 would have been 'Who is Wolfie?' after all.*

His name does kind of roll off the tongue. *He said casually after noticing how many times his brother said his full name.*

Rebecca Stone, who's apparently very well connected with the Minister's sister-in-law and yadda yadda- look, apparently, some time ago, Marcus messed with her and her friends and killed a lot of people, did what villains do, and she got to him, stabbed him in the neck, but he ran away before she was able to stake him. So now I guess he's come back to offer revenge on her except he's hired the services of our dearest Gina. I obviously told her to stay away from Gina because she didn't even want to go there and have hell descend on her, and she told me to stay away from Marcus and you know what, right at this moment? Gladly. We have enough on our plate. So please, if you're thinking of chatting with the woman, don't. I liked her, the last thing she needs is more people meddling in her affairs.

*He closed his eyes* Ah, see, this is why I kept having drinks. I feel the need for one right now. *He wasn't going to, obviously, but the urge was there. Was this behavior enough to call him alcoholic? Whatever.*

 **Olivier:** *The sudden avalanche of words, the whirlwind of information he hadn’t expected and didn’t quite know how to believe only made his face furrow in that awful brooding look until he rubs it away. How could he believe all of this though? She might have called him Tonio and guessed his last name -- Olivier might have kept his image and name out of French papers in the last two years as much as their father had his first twenty, but it didn’t mean it was impossible that he could be recognized. Especially after the Gala, especially when he was insisting on twining himself in this fight, especially to someone who knew the English Minister’s sister in law. It was sketchy, uncertain -- a trick.

Versus a solid reason not to believe it, one based on intel well-gathered, even by Hans.* Unless this Rebecca Stone was a grave you were talking to, or a ghost -- *How could a ghost have drank?* -- I mean. Some, time ago? *Olivier’s eyes were wide now, mouth half open and he half scoffs.* I’d say so, yes. Marcus Ellwood has not spent more than... give or take some days two weeks in England, since 1885. I know. I’ve looked.

*Didn’t really feel like getting into the whole ‘you tried to find the vampire that killed and turned our Dad a century ago?’ argument though. He’d just turn into a hypocrite considering how irritated he still was that Tony had tried to go after Gina without so much as notice. He arches an eyebrow, adding,* At least, not he doesn’t in anyway like that -- killing groups of people, being forced to flee? He pops up once or twice through the years, was here in France in World War Two, and the trail goes entirely dead after the last time Dad saw him, which was in 2002.

*Actually, he didn’t erally feel like acknowledging he’d discussed that with Dad ever, but in that moment he hadn’t really had a choice. This was how he knew omniscience wasn’t possible: anything he knew, there was a reason he gathered it. This woman...it wasn’t possible. She could be a plant from Gustav, from Marcus himself, she could be insane -- but someone who had bested him in England and alive today, no.

But then, a shrewd little mental-voice reminds him, he and Tony weren’t supposed to be possible either, were they?*

 **Tony:** 1885....that's a long time. *His brows furrowed but he quickly stopped himself from frowning, not wanting to look like Captain Broody Brows sitting across from him. See this is probably why he should have paid more attention in the history lessons, or taken more of an interest in actually giving a fuck.

Great, now he was going to have to give a fuck.*

It makes sense now though, she said that the reason Marcus was letting her live it was because he had expected her to be dead and here she was. So let's say she's 170 years old or something- damn, is she hot. *He nodded.*

Whatever it is, Rebecca firmly believes it, and I guess so does Marcus- you know, I didn't hear you promising me not to go talking to her so you can go ahead and do that now.

 **Olivier:** A hundred and seve--*Oh, dear Lord. Olivier finds himself laughing anyway,* I wasn’t suggesting that she was actually around, then. I mean unless he turned her too.

*That was possible. That would explain her knowing about Tony too. Though...that wouldn’t explain why Marcus didn’t know she was still alive, damn -- his brain was starting to hurt. He decides it was less important to focus on her, more important to focus on the information: he sincerely doubts, that Roswell knew anything about being in league with a vampire. That gave them an advantage.

He shakes his head slowly, blinking in surprise at the repeated request and rolling his eyes.* You really think I’d hurt her? *He asks, defensive and ... maybe a bit hurt, but he wasn’t focusing on that.* If she has to deal with Marcus’ wrath right now -- and provided she wasn’t a floating hallucination of your drunk mind (can he convince himself he believes that much longer?)-- then no, of course I shouldn’t go to her. It would only tip Marcus off that we know, which could tip Roswell off. As if Gina isn’t looking for a reason always to discount both of us. *And drag them back to her peculiar entertainment from hell...but he didn’t want to think of that either.

He waits a long, moment and then finally shakes his head, drops his gaze and shakes his head. With tongue between clenched teeth he asks,* How much about Marcus do you know? I’m gathering you never talked to dear old Dad about him.

 **Tony:** Noooop-uh. *He popped the p with his lips and then shook his head.* Perfectly human, checked her pulse. I mean, she could be a Time Lord, right now I'm willing to believe it all. My horizons have been widened.

*He opens his eyes now, shaking his head at his brother.* No, I don't think that. What I do think is that you don't like not knowing. *But one thing he liked less was other people knowing more so of course, going to her now would not be beneficial especially if she was being watched- logic, logic, logic, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.*

I never talked to dear old Dad about anything. *Except the disappointment Tony had turned out to be, how he wanted Tony to start distancing himself from his brother, that he wouldn't let Tony drag Olivier down with him, you know, cheerful things like that! Once when he was still a boy he had asked to see his mother- he didn't think he had ever seen the man look more disgusted.* I just know he turned him in 1926, that's the extent of my knowledge.

 **Olivier:** I don’t like not knowing. *It was flat.* But I promise, I won’t talk to her. I might ask you to though, fair warning. *The quick joke makes him laugh - Tony always makes him laugh. He had since they were little, since he was six and discovering his almost-five year old little brother in the church Nonna had brought them to, and he’d made some joke about thinking he’d be taller - puffing his chest up, saying he’d be taller than him some day at this rate.* I think she’d prefer Time Lady. Just ... guessing. Since I’m...not at all sure what you’re talking about.

*That was usual of Tony too. Widening his horizons, showing him what there was outside his father’s world (it had never felt like “their” father, not when they were little). But Tony hadn’t always been bitter, Olivier thinks, eyes hooded a bit. Not as he was now, when he’d said “dear old Dad” to say it as Tony did, only to hear a visceral difference even when they said the same words.

He never blamed, Tony for it. He couldn’t even say he “wished it wasn’t so,” his brother’s wit and dry humor was disarming at times -- but livesaving at others. But it never escaped Olivier either that he shouldn’t have had to grow up so bitter. Not once. So even though he’d asked the question with the intent on telling him more, repeating the old history lessons -- fishing the file out of his double-encoaded safe -- he heard himself say something else entirely,* He was wrong, you know. He wasn’t wrong about a lot of things, but about you -- he was always, fucking wrong. And ... *His throat sticks, searching so a slow smile appears as he prefaces to give himself time,* and get your recorder out, because I’m only saying it once.

He waits a moment, not breathing, not looking away, not moving. Somber and serious, the smile still hasn’t moved - even as he finally finds the words. “I’m sorry, that I didn’t tell him that. *After another pause, he slides his hand into his back pocket, shrugging his shoulder and said simply enought,* Should have told him to shut the fuck up, actually.

 **Tony:** *He smirked, chuckling* Noooo problem. I would be more than happy to. *It wouldn't be a chore, that was for sure. Unless she said more of those things to throw him off, like Olivier could be saved. That, that had thrown him for a serious loop that kept him drinking. It wasn't relieving to hear the words, if anything it made him more frightened.* British sensation Doctor Who- do you own a tv? I'm getting you a tv.

*He expected a history. He geared himself up for a history lesson, to know more about this Marcus and then possibly cross-reference it to whatever Daniella could or would tell him, and cross-reference all of that with the conversation he'd had with Rebecca, but that's what he had received. Lifting his head again as Olivier started by saying their father, dearly departed dead dad d'grey, had been wrong. Now that itself was a miracle, and then wrong about...Tony?

His brows furrowed yet he didn't tear his gaze away from his brother as Olivier continued talking and got a smile on his face, not even to point out that Remington not being wrong a lot was strictly debatable, because he was too invested on whatever it was his brother felt he needed to say.

Tony would have to buy a pensieve. He couldn't record this conversation but he could store it in a little vial and look at it as often as he liked- wait, no, that sounded pathetic. Rewind, erase, start again.

He swallowed a newly grown lump in his throat and then nodded, only nodded, because for the very first time in his life, Tony was speechless and though he couldn't admit it out loud, touched.*

An hour ago, I think I would have been drunk enough to kiss you for it. Right now...just drunk enough to say, and mean, 'thank you'.

...Does this mean you've been president of my secret fan club all this time?

 **Olivier:** *Fingers pinching and fidgeting in a loop on his slacks he shakes a head at his brother’s soft, first nod. The gratitude wasn’t wanted -- wasn’t deserved, actually, and it wasn’t the reason he’d said it. He’d said it because he realized he somehow never had -- somehow in between all their arguments about Dad, about the business, about their lineage and religion -- somehow in between life-saving(s), he’d forgotten to point out to his brother he should have stood up for him to their dad more. That the thought he was a disappointment, worthless, a dead-weight without purpose or motivation (god, why was it he could hear Remington D’Grey’s voice so clearly, had he that many memories of hearing it or overhearing it? And how many more times would he have said it that Olivier couldn’t have overheard?) -- all of it, was fucking worse than insulting and humiliating, it was just -wrong-. He didn’t know how he’d forgotten to say it. But, he supposes with a quieter shrug, least he was saying it now.

A grin spreads with his brother’s admission and he shakes his head, poking his own lips as he still fidgets. With a breathless chuckle, he says,* Hour ago I was ready to throttle you for going off half-cocked. So I guess we’re both glad we waited an hour then.

*He exhales, and then laughs again - again, always!, like his brother just couldn’t help himself, like his brother had defined that at least he had a purpose when he made someone laugh and found solace in it. Olivier’s hand drops to the side of the arm chair as he shakes his head.* Yeah, I actually got a secret collection behind a false panal in my closet you know? Photographs, newspaper articles, school report cards, your old football jersey, lock of your hair - you know, the normal things.

*His hand flicks out and again, a bottle zooms into it. This time, just water. He tosses it at Tony, smirk flicking up.* Not, offering you more alcohol right now but you did say drink, so. *He summons one for himself. His throat for some reason was perfectly dry. After a long gulp, he looks back up, speaking steadier,* I don’t want, to be like that, Antonio. I don’t want to be wrong, true, but not about ... facts, and figures, they get fixed, I fix them. But...about people. *They, were much harder to fix, he seems to say, though the words don’t make it out because -- he can’t ever seem to stop himself from trying. He exhales,* I do not want to ever be that fucking, idiotically, incorrectly...dismissive. Not, of anything, or of anyone. Especially if I ever -do- have a son.

*He pauses. Then he takes another swig, smiles, and lifts his eyebrow as he admits,* ...did I mention I had a few drinks earlier too?

 **Tony:** Half-cocked- *he chuckles and then shakes his head. Alright, so maybe he deserved that seeing as how it was techinically speaking an accurate description, but still. The insinuation that he was half anything, nope.*

My biggest fan. *He drawled out in amusement again, chuckling. He was funny too, Olivier, in his own way. Tony liked to think that he was the one to blame for that, took pride in it really. His father had never laughed, at least Tony had never heard it...and if he had it was probably maliciously.

He grabbed the water bottle, it almost slipped through his fingers but he had caught it, and then unscrewed the top before holding it up to toast and drink, only now noticing his mouth was dry, so he was half way gone through it by the time Olivier started talking again. It was a breath of fresh air, hearing him talk about wanting to be different, even just a little, than their father.

Eyebrows arched momentarily (he didn't think that Olivier thought of these things) and then he laughed once.* Ah, no wonder! I see the culprit now. *He smirks and then shakes his head.* I'm trying to picture you with a kid actually. Wearing a little toddler suit with geled and spiked up hair, hopefully he won't be so broody though.

 **Olivier:** *The image makes him chuckle. Instantly, laughing it away as fast as he can lest there be any moment that’s spare enough to admit to want -- and lingering in laughter long enough the desire’s certain. He’d had toddler suits. He doesn’t remember owning a pair of sneakers until he’d gone to Nonna’s the first time, actually, why was it a crime to dress well? Tony had the same inclination as him -- okay, less suit jackets, but really. That shirt his brother had on was Gucchi.*

Course not, that’s what he has his uncle for. *He smirks, looking back at him. This had to keep being a joke, because the thought of it’s liklihood -- the facts and figures of it, the fact he wasn’t even sure he could have one even when all was safe. Would they have the bloodlust he and Tony both struggled with? If they did...how could he give that to an innocent child? And that wasn’t including the business, their lifestyle, the liklihood of death -- that, he knew he wouldn’t do to a kid. Ever.*

You’re right though, it’s easier to picture you with a kid. *He nods, teasing. He keeps it as a joke, even though he wonders if Tony wanted them eventually seriously. He had the strangest feeling Tony’d make a good father. Maybe it was because of everything, if there was anything their Dad had “made” Tony, it was the firm desire, the core rebellion of the teenage years that remained true: to be the exact opposite of Remington D’Grey. *

As, you probably already have a half dozen, actually. You keeping that from me too? *His lips quirk.* That why you brought up Graciela? Slip of the tongue to tell me she made me an uncle a few years ago?

 **Tony:** Yeah, the fun uncle, you know it. He'd beg to come over all the time to watch mindless t.v. and stuff his face in with artificial sugar and high fructose corn syrup. *He wiggled his eyebrows, laughing again just imagining it. Olivier with a son, ha. Yeah, and Tony himself with a son? He laughed again. Oh please, with not one single appropriate role model in his life, Tony was sure he'd fuck it up, actually.*

*He scoffed at that notion, half a dozen, please.* Ga-bri-ela, bri, bri, how dare you get that goddess in human form's name wrong? *He wiggles his eyebrows and then shook his head.* Nope, nothing to worry about there! *Him as a father was still making him laugh but it was most probably because laughing was way easier than doing anything else. Kids, girlfriends, friends, a normal life? He'd tried that already, just wasn't in the cards, at least not for a while.*

Maybe we can't have kids, man. *He contemplated briefly after taking another sip of his water.* You know how like some animal cross-breeds are infertile, like male ligers. Technically, we're half vampire, half human so maybe our swimmers only qualify in the Special Olympics.

 **Olivier:** Hey, if it gives me a Time Lord for a son who can see the future like that, sounds good to me. *He was happier, to hear Tony laughing like that, to be laughing himself and he thinks -- just for once, he was going to focus on the rest in the morning. When they both were all “depressingly-sober” and could actually think through this development, the fact that Marcus Ellwood was involved, was in London. That was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight he just wanted to focus on the fact they were both there, alive and well, and evidently -- they had a leg up on these bastards, which meant, he was one step closer to never having to see Gina’s smug face again. Harper one step closer home, and Roswell one step closer dead.

He blinks.*

Charming thought, really, lovely that cheered me right up, brother. *Contrary to his sarcasm, he laughs again and then stands, picking the pillow up off his chair and tossing it at Tony to nudge him up.* Come on. Sleep it off. Sounds like we’ll need it if we have to train that much harder for the Olympics.


	42. Mixing Business and Valrhona Chocolates

**Alcott:** You did what?

 **Lyndsea:** *Quiet, but in that calm authority kind of way that she knew Alcott wasn't really used to seeing her use with him, but that always had been a second skin for her.* I arranged for Rachelle DeLamarliere to serve house arrest here awaiting trial in the absence of her having a permanent England residence --

 **Alcott:** Oh no, I heard you, *his hand goes up incredulously, even as he contradicts his words and flicks at his ears,* I just -- you did, *and his voice drops with hoarse shock,* what?

 **Lyndsea:** This isn't up for discussion, Alcott. *Primly, she turns to walk to the door, her skirt whipping around her heels.*

 **Alcott:** *Al stands behind her gaping, and then calls out,* She tried to kidnap Dev's sister, you know? It wasn't just that she's part of the bastard's pack --

 **Lyndsea:** *Her gaze clouds over, but she keeps walking.* I'm aware.

 **Alcott:** She was working with the people who killed Eliza. *Flat, but his jaw trembles until he straightens it.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She stops walking, refraining from opening the door on the simple fact that she knew the sound wards Harper had taught her to cast would mean Rachelle couldn't hear him yet. There's emotion caught in her throat. What Shane's daughter had lived through wasn't in dispute, and it was horrible. Only those scars, the ones that warped and mapped Rachelle's back...they weren't in dispute either. Spinning back, she folds her arms on her chest and looks at her son, who seems to be struggling for breath. Keeping her words low, her fingers form a little ring and whip to her side,* Look. Al, I know what she tried to do. But there's...there's a difference between the attempt, and what Hans did. *Her chin comes up.* And she wasn't getting a fair trial where she --

 **Alcott:** A fair trial? *He comes closer, hand coming up with his palm flat. His eyes were wide with fury at the statement he didn't quite understand.* What Nadia described, what she went through --

 **Lyndsea:** I know.

 **Alcott:** That's what they were going to do to Lynn, *with every other word he's taking a step towards his mother, creeping forward and holding his hand out,* to Irene, to --

 **Lyndsea:** That's what they did to Jacqueline.

 **Alcott:** Who the fuck is --

 **Lyndsea:** Rachelle. *Her son stops, eyes going wider. She hadn't thought that was possible a moment ago, and guilt buries in her stomach.* Her name -- it was Jacqueline. She went missing from her home in France, and then... *Finishing his walk back, she has a hand raised towards him too, reaching, her fingers wiggling in bare air before she says softly,* I'm sorry --

 **Alcott:** When you say. *His hand comes up abruptly, gripping his mother's wrist just as she cups his cheek. He holds firm, hardly aware how easily he might break it and struggles for breath and words a moment.* When you said she wouldn't get a fair trial, you meant it was because she's a wolf. *His teeth clench.*

 **Lyndsea:** *After a tiny 'ah' of pain she swallows it, realizing how desperately she needed her son to hold on to her. She didn't have to nod at his words. He knew he was right. Quietly again,* And Alcott. In being part of the bastard's pack --

 **Alcott:** The potion. *Breath seems to leave him all at once as he realizes why his mother wanted to talk to her. Why she'd wanted to help her. It wasn't about Rachelle at all; it shocks him to realize. Rachelle was their only lead to Hans - the only lead, thus, to him controlling the transformation again. She was providing a bridge, a way as much as she could, making a wish and holding tight ... for him.

Searching his mother's wide-eyed startling gaze, he realized something else: she was fighting. There was something blazing in her as much as in him, and she didn't have a wolf for an excuse. It wouldn't matter what he said, even if he did really want to stop her. And he couldn't say he did. Al had never seen his mother look so alive...at least not, since certain photos that still rested on their mantle. He chokes on a raw throat and looks down, loosening his grip to run his thumb back and forth.

He smiles.* I've never heard you say 'fucking bastard' before, you know.

 **Lyndsea:** *An honest smile breaks over her lips, and she giggles in shock at herself, taking advantage of her freed wrist to pop both hands to cover her mouth. Then her brows furrow as she realizes,* I did not say fucking bastard --

 **Alcott:** Well, now you have. *He cocks an eyebrow at her, calmed even though his heart was racing with the knowledge of what was going on here.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Oh, Alcott. She giggles again, as much as she could, her hands coming down and she leans in to kiss his cheek. That was a much worse punishment than whacking his shoulder (and she could never do that, not to her son), she knew -- beaming as she's rewarded with his mutter of "Ma" and push at her shoulder. Lightly,* You haven't seen or heard anything yet, Alcott.

 **Alcott:** *His mother turned to walk back to the door and he stood gaping after her. That was true, he thought, impressed. If bringing one of the fucking bastard's pack into the house was her opening act...he got a sheepish little smirk for a moment, and then spun towards the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time to find Uncle Max, figuring his mother wouldn't have told him either.*

 **Lyndsea:** *As she hears Alcott dart off, she turns back to watch him for a moment. There's a shaky, shuddery breath in her throat but a small smile on her lips. At least she could do this. At least she could do something for him. Whatever it took, she would. Spinning back, she opens the door in a flourish, and waits as she watches Magnus and Rachelle walk up her steps, finishing their conversation as they arrive.

{*}

**Tony:** *His phone was the top of the class, the best money could buy, more robot than phone it seemed sometimes, but the ringtone that rang throughout his bedroom was not the company neutral styled simply as 'Hot Riff', instead it was the intro of the Beastie Boys' Sabotage. With a towel around his waist and another one he was using to dry his hair, he answered the phone mid-shout after seeing he didn't know the number and brought it up to his ear.* City morgue. *He smirked to himself; he should really stop being so amused by himself.*

 **Stefanie:** *So, in what had to be one of the more awkward encounters of her life, she'd gone to the penthouse searching for Tony - and only found herself walking in on Daniella in a black nightie, walking between petals on the floor. She hadn't ever thought of Olivier as such a romantic. When she'd said so, Dani had laughed, said he didn't know he was one yet either -- and then, seemed to guess what she wanted. Now she was walking outside -- or, it was about to have been outside, only it was snowing, so she'd wound up between stairwells, tapping a stiletto heel on the ground and incapable of waiting. Pressing the phone to her ear, she blinks in surprise and then gets a smirk at his answer.* Well, that's depressing. *Amusement lacing her voice she takes a breath and puts on a high, particularly girly voice exhaling,* I- just- oh my god don't-- I--I think I'm about to burst into tears, please, please tell me this-- no, no I won't believe it. You didn't, *her voice slowly grows back normal,* find this phone on the body of a sexy, sassy, *she smirks,* way too impressed with himself Italian, did you?

 **Tony:** *It took him maybe a little longer than normal to identify the voice that speaking in his ear especially given than that accent and tone combination was so exceptionally unique but he blamed it on some residual effects of all the alcohol from the night before. By the time he figured it out he was smirking and wiggling his eyebrows, the towel he was drying his hair with discarded to a hamper* Ah, but I didn't in fact. I found it on his dresser given that he's quite devoid of pockets at the moment. *He wondered if she could hear his smirk from all the way over here? He shook his head and then headed over to his closet.* Buon giorno, Stefanie. To what do I owe the pleasure?

 **Stefanie:** *Devoid of pock--okay, when she'd told Ansel that his accent made it hard to refrain from self...indulgence, on the phone, she hadn't actually meant it. But dear God, the image that just popped into mind.* Oh, good. I was almost worried. *Was that a towel she just heard flying? Her smirk widens, and she was relieved a bit, to hear "pleasure" at the end, that he didn't sound hurt.*  Well. The who, would be Daniella, she gave me your number, as to the what -- I was calling to uhm, well. Two things. First, ask if you wanted to get a drink tomorrow night, but...also because I kind of have to...warn, you.

 **Tony:** Daniella whoring me out already? I didn't think I could approve of her anymore than I already do. *He takes out a pair of jeans and a button down shirt before sliding the closet closed, his eyebrows rising again. Two invitations to drink in two days? This must be some kind of record, given that he was usually the one doing the inviting.* I could never turn a beautiful woman down, cara. But let me guess, *he takes out a pair of clean boxer briefs from his dresser, closing the drawer after* your brother found out?

 **Stefanie:** Well, I think she just wanted me out of the apartment but I do have to hand it to her --, *she's toying with the edge of a banister, and her head cocks,* I'm definitely shopping Victoria's with her next time. Damn. Gorg. *Speaking of closets, it sounded like. Oh, this was just a beautiful mental image. Not doing the job of calming her heart back down, but she couldn't complain about that. Then she pauses at his question, about to figure out how to...possibly start, and freezes. Her cheeks pink, and she gets a sheepish smile.* ...Ah, okay, two reasons. Potentially, my brother may be shortly informed yes. By...Ansel.

 **Tony:** I for one would definitely not be adverse to the two of you having a little girl on girl....bonding time, I mean. *He nods, taking off the towel with maybe a little more noise than was required but he lived to entertain. He tossed that one to the hamper as well before holding the phone between his ear, neck, and shoulder to better dress himself. He's slipped on the underwear and was tugging on his jeans when he hears the name and stops.

Ah. Oh. Well. Fuck.* Cara, I do hope you rubbed it in his face because if I'm about to get mutilated by Wolfie 2.0 *he zipped up the zipper* I want it to be for a very good reason.

*See, Hans he could deal with. Hans couldn't lay a finger on Tony without risking reprimand from his husban- Olivier, that was. But Ansel, pah, Ansel didn't give a shit as to Tony he had always seemed a little more...hmm, gone.* That was a joke, by the way *he assured her; he didn't want her to feel guilty.*  
 **Stefanie:** I am sure you wouldn't be adverse to the two of us bonding. *Her lips flick, as she adds,* Platonically too, I mean. *That was definitely a second towel. Oh, happy memories. Happy images. Her fingers dig harder into her thigh. At least...until he stops. She pressed her lips together, and just waits.

Yeah, she wants to say, feeling a little bit guilty -- well, no, not really. She was irritated, that she might have to warn. She couldn't say she gave a fuck for having a good time. Her lips flick up still, in relief, when he continues...and was a bit grateful for the assurance.*

Oh, I was definitely rubbing it in his face -- *Wolfie 2.0, really? Oh heavens.* -- flaunting you, hope you don't mind. *She pauses.* Though at least on my end I would say it was a very...very, good reason before. *Stilling, she waits just long enough to be serious, but not awkward, resuming drumming fingers across the landing as she ventures,* Hey I'm...sorry for running out, by the way. I kind of...woke up and...freaked. *Biting her tongue she adds candid, but sincere,* I hate the morning, part. Entirely separate from the night and early-morning, part.

 **Tony:** *Well it was a good thing he had already put on his jeans otherwise hearing her talk about the little fantasy too would have made it quite difficult not to slow down and enjoy it. Moving on, which he had no quarrel with; who didn't enjoy hearing about their own prowess?* Definitely don't mind in the slightest. *He smirks and then takes the phone in his hand again as she pauses before starting again, not having expecting her to apologize.*

No hard feelings, dolcezza, I understand. I'm a guy, I'm not innocent of sneaking out either, but I did learn to see the morning as a...sober continuation. Personally, I think you rather missed out. Not to brag or anything but I do make the best pancakes you'll ever taste. And yes, I would have used that as an excuse to lick the syrup off your tantalizing skin. *He smirks again, licking his lips.*

 **Stefanie:** *Well, that was that then, good. She breathed out, a bit easier. Actually wait, no--* Glad to hear it. And for the record, I'm not endorsing visa vie warning -- any mutliation attempts and I'll be mutilating  him. Just, thought you deserve the heads up. *She finds a smaller smile on her lips as he continues...that only started growing both in sincerity and delight as he kept going.* Dolcezza? *Her hand falls back to her lips, as she tries out the word, liking the way it felt on her tongue. And...now it definitely did feel like she had missed out, but she was rather a fan of believing you never missed a shot forever.* Well. Personally, I'd say that sounds like a claim you're going to have to prove, or I just won't believe you. *Now her thumb was between her teeth to prevent a sound at his image. Or, okay, fine, another one.* Mm, oh I see. And whipped cream? Though personally, I'm more a fan of cinnamon morning buns. *She licks the tip of her thumb as if she could taste it, chuckling.* Which is just an excuse for cinnamon sugar.

 **Tony:** Oh come on, not even a little part of you is flattered? *It was a tease and probably not even a good one because personally, he wouldn't be. Mutilating or hurting anyone in his name well...ack, he really needed to be a little more willing for evil in this.

The thoughts cast away though, as he hears her little sigh that she stopped from becoming too vulgar, a grin rising to his face.* Well, you know how the song goes: I want it, with whipped cream on it. *He licked his lips again, as if he could almost taste it and then decided to behave before he needed to take another shower.*

Now that sounds delizioso. Using a little bit of syrup to draw a line right down your navel, then coating it in cinnamon sugar so it could stick and then just sucking the skin inside my mouth and following the trail lower and lower...*he hmms and then smacks his lips, smirk on his face.* You're making me quite hungry over here.

 **Stefanie:** Not even a little part. Call me crazy, but I don't think torture is an epic demonstration of affection. *She echoed his playful tone, but even still, she couldn't stand the idea of someone hurt on her behalf.* I know, it's like my brother and I aren't even related.

*Okay so that had started a joke and then..failed, as she thinks about it. It was all right though: he had given her quite the reason be distracted. So, she had thought this phone call might be a bad idea. Why, exactly, again? Delighted and unable to stop herself from hmming along the longer he spoke, she exhales, instantly fogging the window near her. She was now exceptionally wishing she was at her own flat, Jesus.

Well, Ansel had said he hated when she lied to him. Arching an eyebrow slowly, she echoes,* So it would seem. I must say, I'm not terribly adverse to the idea of ..mm, winding you all up before tomorrow. Repay the favor, really, flustering me so, as I'm pretty sure I'm blushing and, *she pretends to check the window reflection, and then hms in agreement,* Yes, definitely spreading down my chest. And I don't think I can blame the cold anymore for showing these hard nubs through my shirt, really, just a wicked, naughty boy. *She smirks too.*

 **Tony:** Join the club. *he told her, though a little less bitterly than he would have a week ago, or even 24 hours ago.* We have t-shirts, we meet on Mondays, the gloomiest of days around a campfire to hold hands and sing Kumbayah together.

*Oh neither was he, he wanted to say after her little exhale and hitched breath and just thinking of a pink tinge spreading down, her chest now part of the red cape to his charging bull.* Yes, yes I am. Know what would make them even harder though? Taking them in my mouth, rolling them around on my tongue and tugging on them with my teeth, just like I did that night, remember? I do. That's why it took me a second to realize it was your voice when you called, dulcezza, I didn't recognize it without the moans. *He wiggled his eyebrows*

{*}

**Magnus:** -you try and step foot past the front steps, you'll remain frozen there, the Aurors will be notified and we'll escort you back to a cell.

 **Rachelle:** *This was a very big home. Not even her own childhood home had been this extensive but then again the British were always looking to overcompensate for their lacks. She was only half paying attention to the man, and most of that was dedicated to simply watching his lips move as his physical qualities were the only things even remotely appealing about him.* Anything else, sir? *she cooed sarcastically*

 **Magnus:** Any attempts to make contact with anyone outside these walls will be noted and accounted for in which we would prosecute you for aiding and abetting a criminal-

 **Rachelle:** So there will be no ordering of pizzas.

 **Magnus:** *restrains a smirk as he continues* And should we wish to question you upon discovery of further evidence, we'll expect your full cooperation.

 **Rachelle:** I don't usually do that until I've been wined and dined. But seeing as how you've already put me in cuffs, Magnus, I expect our relationship is far from normal.

 **Magnus:** Far indeed. *he nods and then turns to Lyndsea* Mrs. Brackner, if at any time you wish to end this arrangement due to hostility or violence, we'll have her escorted out of here immediately.

 **Rachelle:** What if she asks that I spank her? Does that count?  
 **Magnus:** *He takes out his wand and waves it to take off her cuffs, knowing the magic of the wards was in full effect* Any other questions?  
 **Lyndsea:** *As she hears Alcott dart off, she turns back to watch him for a moment. There's a shaky, shuddery breath in her throat but a small smile on her lips. At least she could do this. At least she could do something for him. Whatever it took, she would. Spinning back, she opens the door in a flourish, and waits as she watches Magnus and Rachelle walk up her steps, finishing their conversation as they arrive.

Her lips flick at the comments Rachelle made, but she decided not to deign to answer that (she was sure a blush had appeared in her cheeks at the suggestion) and then nodded at Magnus. Holding her hand out to him, she shakes her head. Her smile is honest.* No, I think you and your partner covered everything. Thank you, Magnus.

*Only then did she turn to Rachelle, taking a steadying breath as she looked at the girl. She was only twenty-one, Lyndsi thought briefly. At twenty-one, she was a newly-wed and newly-pregnant with Al. His wasn't the only childhood these fucking-bastard's had ruined, she thinks.

Folding her hands over her stomach (and trying not to think about that either), she cocks an eyebrow at her and dresses herself with a brave smile and sly words.* Good enough then, to start the share circle?

*Her nail flicks against the pad of her opposing thumb, her smug triumph as much a cover for her anxiety as it was for her son or brother-in-law. She'd been a Brackner all her life, it seemed to her sometimes. Snapping her fingers, so that Jimmy could get her bag - well, personal effects, Lyndsi's heels clack against the marble as she pushes her door open and stands against it gesturing with her hand to let her in.* And sorry to disappoint, but if I desired spanking, I shouldn't deign to ask. I rather expect full cooperation myself.

 **Rachelle:** *Watching Magnus shake Lyndsea's hand, she bottled down the urge to offer her hand if only so she could break his but then again, she was supposed to be on her best behavior. So after rubbing her wrists, she raised a hand a wiggled her fingers in goodbye with a drawling 'au revoir'.

She had the same bag she'd brought with her to England. No doubt, the pup had told them of the hotel they were staying at immediately but they'd found it empty except her things. The Aurors ravaged through her Chanel's and De La Renta's like the beasts that they were, expecting to find some sort of message but there was none.

At first she had panicked, thinking this meant she'd been kicked out of the pack but then quickly set aside the thought, telling herself no they wouldn't do that. Now the bag was being handled by the butler but surely by now he was used to handling exquisite things so she didn't worry too much.*

You kept your word, I'll keep mind. Sharing is caring.

*Honestly, right at that moment after being locked away behind those bars, she was feeling quite agreeable towards Lyndsea even after their little...chat. Following her inside, a smirk of her own on her face, she takes in the foyer with curious eyes.* Of course not, women like yourself oft -beg- for it in the end. Young and attractive widow, taking in a younger and beautiful woman into her home. They make erotica out of our situation, cherie.

*Her gaze finally fell back to Lyndsea's, brief amusement glinting in her green eyes before she speaks more seriously, a little quieter.* I am thankful.

 **Lyndsea:** I make a point never to beg. *She chuckles as she shuts the door, surprised by the sincerity in her own sound. Not anymore, she thought, not for nine years -- even then, she'd never have admitted it to Harper though he knew already, so she puts it from her mind. Her hand was still on the golden knob as she thanks Jimmy, and turns back, arching an eyebrow. Widow. You'd think she would be used to the word. After glancing at the diamond on her finger, she shrugs a shoulder, rubbing both rings with a flick of her thumb.* It does seem to write itself. Instead of Quidditch, my career should have been actress then -- or dancer? But, *she waves the ringless hand over her shoulder and pauses at the quieter admission. Her smile softens with equal sincerity, eyes full of the emotion her simple words weren't,* I know. *Gesturing with her hand towards the nearest parlor, she continues lighter,* Sharing is better with a drink in hand, I think?

 **Rachelle:** *Of course not. Her gaze follows Lyndsea's to the woman's rings, thinking oddly how the gesture reminded her of Angel's. Was this a common thing then, when mourning a spouse? No, she answered herself immediately. Wasn't very common at all. Rachelle didn't know whether to be envious or relieved, so she settled for neither and thought of it no longer.* Actress, most certainly.

*Rachelle was still perplexed that Lyndsea was doing this, allowing an all-but-proven murderer into her home simply to try and help her child. Surely there were other ways but none that she would say out loud. Because, as the handsome yet annoying Magnus reminded her, one word from Lyndsea and they'd march right back and take her to their station.*

Drink certainly makes the tongue looser. *Not hers, no longer, but she appreciated the taste nevertheless and when she was happy, she was more willing to talk.* So tell me about my level of freedom around your home. I expect you have some ground rules to lay down?

 **Lyndsea:** Tutoring the new starlet, then? *She kept her words light, full of the echoing clacks of her heels, at least until she hit the carpet. The simple truth was: Rachelle was an actress. A brilliant one, but in some ways a broken girl too -- and so her simple remark had been...a bit coy, as ever. The ice queen she was derided as might be farther from the truth...but there was a reason the label had stuck. Amused at the remark, she shrugs a shoulder. Truthfully, she just had wanted a drink herself. She'd need it, to get through this day. While tinkering with ice and tongs at the bar, she looks over her shoulder again and chuckles.* Ah, only a few actually. You can go anywhere you like, eat whatever you like -- though we do tend to have dinner together. As for places you -can't- go...just, our bedroom..s (she meant her's and harper's, she realized, and added it plural a moment later), mine, that is, and Alcott's or his uncle's. And my husband's study. Though, *as she drops ice into the cocktail glass, she chuckles under her breath with some amusement,* I can't understand most of what he'd had regardless, so...

 **Rachelle:** *She chuckled* Are we writing the story ourselves then? *Rachelle was not really a fan of literature or writing, but she could picture the narrative easily. Though something told her as she looked about, she would have to attempt to indulge in a few books or risk losing her mind to boredom. That or carry on conversation- now, was that part of the plan to begin with? She wouldn't put it past a fellow woman. Ears perking in curiosity as the woman began to refer to a bedroom as having more than one owner (ooh did the young widow have a lover already?), she listened intently to her 'rules'.* Easy enough to remember. *Too easy, she was already bored thinking about it, but it did top being in jail.* Do you have a home gym? An indoor pool perhaps?

 **Lyndsea:** I'm not sure, you just seemed to be enjoying the possibility too much to not want to join in. *She says it sweetly, almost more a tease than casual, and both more than snide (to her own shock). Shaking the cocktail by tapping the side of the silver (colored, most of the real silver she had hidden away) shaker with her fingernail and letting Harper's spell do the rest, she poured the two and turned back.* The latter. Afraid we were never much of a working-out family... *At least, Alcott just worked out outside, as had she before as Harper wasn't. She clears her throat, not really liking how easily her thoughts turned to him in relation to the house -- but then, it was his.* The house was a Bishop's palace before it was named to an ancestor of Alcott's, *she explains as she hands her the cocktail glass, and takes a sip of her own.*

 **Max:** We...may have a bit of a problem. *He speaks in a whisper, dazed, from the side hallway still, blinking.*

 **Alcott:** That's what I've been saying. *Irritated, as if his breath was peppered by Thai food with his Uncle's lack of ability to focus. Then he looked at Uncle Max's face, and he stills.*

 **Max:** *He hadn't moved (actually he didn't think he'd taken a breath in thirty, forty seconds; who needed to breathe, right? how long could a human go without it? Oh, he had no fucking idea; that had always been his -older- brother's domain and neither was something he wanted to think about right now). Now he flits his gaze sideways to Alcott, saying under his breath,* Well...

 **Alcott:** *He looks at his uncle. Then he looks at Rachelle. Then he looks back at his uncle. And he understands in an exasperated, amused moment.* Oh bloody hell Uncle Max, is there anyone you haven't fucked?

 **Max:** Oi. *He'd stood straighter, affronted and guilty, so guilty, as he hasn't quite figured out how to navigate the waters of Alcott knowing what he did.* ...No, I don't think so, not really-- I'm very good, see. *...But then, as he caught a glance at his nephew's snide smirk, he realized he was being teased as much as he was being deservedly-guilted, and he snorts in amusement and a guilty grin.* Look, this was like, years ago, a'ight?

 **Alcott:** And you still remember her face? *He claps his hands together once.* What's her name?

 **Max:** Well, now I'm thinking she gave a false one, really --   
**Alcott:** Fair point. *He shakes his head, still smirking in disbelief and amusement at his uncle's luck. And his. And oh but didn't it just bloody figure?*

 **Max:** *He hadn't seen Al smile like that in a week. And he hadn't seen his nephew be so at ease around him in....months, if not years. It heartened him even as it saddened him. Clapping his hand on his nephew's shoulder and squeezing once, he smiled as he did so. Alcott responded by glancing at the hand, going still, and then smiling himself, nodding to show he understood, he appreciated it, and he felt the same. After exchanging another weighted, silent glance, Max squeezed again and let him go, patting his upper back as he added,* Now if you're done laughing at me...

 **Alcott:** Not on your life, mate. *He's only barely surprised how easily the words come to him now as he follows his uncle into the parlor. In particular, he was looking forward to his mother's reaction: he should have found someone to bet with first on whether the words "bloody", "fucking", or "bastard" would come out of her mouth again. It was most amusing, and most wonderful to see both of them as human.*

 **Rachelle:** *Now was that just her, or was Lyndsea teasing her? If she was, then this situation might not be so unbearable as she had begun to believe it might be. Taking the drink in her hand (which only reminded her of the horrid state of her nails for she had ripped them off trying to claw her way out ofthe cell and they had grown back in all uneven -and she without a single file!-), she raised it slightly towards the woman before taking a single sip.* Passed down through the generations, I'm sure; I ran in the same circles. *The past tense seemed all too poignant now than it had ever before. But at least they had a pool. She was about to ask how territorial the cool was about their kitchen when she heard the soft footsteps of two men entering the parlor and turned her face only to be met with surprise. Well, well, well; she smirked.* Now, I remember you, chéri. *And judging by the look on his face, so did he. But of that, Rachelle had no doubt because if there was one thing she was, it was memorable.* What a surprise.

{*}

**Marlon:** : *There was an upside to the recent set-backs (never think "failure"). Besides, that was, the beautiful blonde. Shame they weren't allowed near her (yet). It meant that Gustav was weakening, meant there were more opportunities for advancement. **Marlon:** could do with a little more cash flow sure - but there were some nights he was struck, vision faded inward, intent focus blurring out the edges of sight, sizzling with a need for entertainment -- the kind that might draw blood. That dance, round and round, of predator and prey was what attracted him to the life; hungry for power as ever, purpose of ridding the world of it's ingrates matched with the excuse to use violence. It was one of those nights. And plus, the gala's excitement had been shamefully lacking targets worth killing; in and out with a loud, echoing bang had been the point. **Marlon:** enjoyed a longer game. Which was why it was so delightful to discover as he went into the kitchens, he was not alone. A smirk on his lips, his words drip sarcasm.* I wasn't aware angels required food.

 **Harper:** *Harper had free roam of the dark manor. That said, he rarely wandered out of the "comfort" of his own bedroom. It avoided interaction but most important, especially now, it avoided trouble and incidents as well as having to save himself lying through his teeth. Nevertheless, certain human necessities could not be avoided. Choosing a time which was less likely to have death eaters roaming about turned out to be, in this case, ineffective because there he was. Looking up with a blunt knife in his hand as he applied jam to a piece of toast.* That's quite clever, never heard that before.

 **Marlon:** : *Missing the man's sarcasm by simple virtue that **Marlon:** didn't think Angel that clever, he barely notices he'd responded.* Well, aren't you dead?  *Three years, was what the rumor was, three years before he'd broken. But was before he was there. **Marlon:** didn't think it was fair he'd never gotten to try. If the man was so good, wasn't he the best to practice on? He takes a step forward, laying his hands flat on the table, as he asks in a lower, amused hiss,* Nine years ago, wasn't it? Ghosts can't eat - why should you?

 **Harper:** My heart beats at a steady rate of 71 bpm, so no I'm very much alive. *He adds more jam to his toast without looking up, well, until the boy was leaning in towards him. Harper's patience recently was very slim what with Gustav and Gina managing to kidnap Eliza after all, and Hans and the pack in an uproar over Rachelle, Harper was just simply out of patience.* Because I'm hungry.

 **Marlon:** : For a poor definition of living. *Though it occurred to him instantly, he had waited to offer it -- the man was too dull and dry for his taste. Atmosphere required tension. And see? Because he was hungry, what an infantile response.* But then, the fact your heart does still beat is a gift, isn't it? A gift you seem to take for granted.* Running his hand back and forth along the edge of the counter, he reached for a knife himself,* You have been useful for...something, I forget presently. *He casts it off his shoulder; it was as if anything Angel had done for them meant nothing.*

 **Harper:** *His lips twitch momentarily as he sees the guy take a knife, much sharper than the butter one he held and he exhales. Did this little death eater think he was threatening with that? Well, of course he did. And Harper was supposed to feel threatened, but he didn't fancy pretending. Licking jam off his thumb, he reached for the butter now, getting a generous amount and spreading it over another piece of toast.* Something, sure. It's alright, memory loss is a normal symptom of chronic intellectual developmental disorders. *Not really, but.* What's your name, boy?

 **Marlon:** : *Chronic intellectual developmen--he gave up, he didn't care. He didn't move, amused with the continuous flurry as Angel pretended he wasn't affected; jittery, wasn't he? He snaps his fingers.* Genius, right, that's what it was. *Picking under his fingernails with the knife, toying, the question makes his eyebrow arch.* **Marlon:**. *No harm in telling him that: he took pride in being known. Though he instantly wants to slam the knife down on Angel's, he bides his time.* You know what I can't figure out, *shavings of his nails flick beneath him, and he waves his hand to insure they drip onto Angel's jam, saying calmly,* If your brains all we need, why we don't make our own little sorting hat. Ever wonder that?

 **Harper:** *Not a very smart bloke, this **Marlon:** character. Then again, they didn't tend to be. Gustav at least knew that much about staying on top. Thinking about the man left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he was about to put more jam on his toast when the idiot flicked whatever was under his fingernails in it. Shaking his head, he waved his hand over it to clean it and then put the toasts together to take a bite, tilting his head as he looked at **Marlon:**. * A hat can't make spells, a hat can't make potions, and a hat can't make wands. *he takes another bite and then gestures to him with his pieces of toast Ah, **Marlon:** , I remember yours. Blackthorn and yew, dragon heartstring, not too stiff, 6 and an eighth inches. The shortest wand I ever made for a man, actually.

 **Marlon:** : *Not appreciating the fact that the only response he got was a headshake, he thinks: oh, this guy was good. No wonder he held out so long; it would be a true challenge. The tip of the knife stops turning on his finger, and he lifts his head, narrow eyed as he points out with false cheer and bravado,* But see, *and he gestures with the knife,* sorry I should have guessed it wouldn't be clear -- another puts the hat on, and voila, they'll know how to make the potions and wands. *He stiffens abruptly at the last, taking steps forward, still waving the knife like a baton,* In fact if that person gave us trouble, then we simply kill him and find another. I'm liking this more and more. *He halts, hissing as he thinks of his wand,* What exactly are you getting at?

 **Harper:** *Well, that was even more stupid an idea. Nevertheless he nodded along. Wiping butter and jam from the edge of the crust and licks it off his finger before saying quite simply.* Wouldn't work that way, mate. The brain's a muscle *no it wasn't* you have to exercise it. Putting on a boxing glove doesn't make you that much better at throwing a punch. *there were many other logical reasons for why that was such a stupid idea that he didn't even bother arguing it further. Taking another bite, he was hyper-aware of the knife though his gaze never left the boy's face.* The wand length has been said to a measure of character, with normal sizes ranging from 9 to 14 inches, as you can see yours is on the short end, ergo, something is lacking. *In intelligence, decency, morals. But those wouldn't be the ones that bothered him the most.* Allow me to guess where. *he raises a pinky and then wiggles it.*

 **Marlon:** : *As the pinky wiggled and the insinuation dawns on him -- he scowls, saying,* Always so clever, aren't you? It's been all you're good for,* and then he grabs Angel's pinky. A simple yank would have it out of it' socket, but he didn't let go yet. Instead, even as he holds his own knife higher - near the man's throat - his thumb came down to slip over the gold band there, rubbing back and forth as he said fervently,* Ah. I forgot you had a wife. *He pressed down hard, metal into the white skin,* You know in my experience, wives enjoy proving their husband's hypotheses wrong. Why don't we ask her then? I mean, a demonstration would be in order, but don't worry -- *his grin is ice, eyes black, speaking with a lover's purr on a hoarse throat,* I won't be gentle. She'll be stuck proper--feel every goddamn thick inch, and probably enjoy proving you wrong -- *but he was cut off from further remarks.*

 **Harper:** *The unamused smirk that had crossed his face as the boy made for his finger and raised his knife faded from his face as **Marlon:** 's finger glided over his ring. Now his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. The only thing that ran through his ears was a reminder to himself: don't kill him, don't kill him. As the boy kept blabbing off, the reminder was difficult to continue until finally he reached an internal compromise. Fine. He wouldn't kill him.

A nonverbal spell stuck **Marlon:** 's tongue to the roof of his mouth, and in that moment of surprise, he twisted his wrist to free him of the knife.* That was the exact wrong fucking thing to say. *He brought his knee up hard to a specific point in the man's stomach and watched him fall to the ground in immense pain.*

That was your solar plexus. Damaged cells are releasing arachidonic acid. Your body's converting it to prostaglandin which is triggering a party of enzymes necessary for pain. *He flicks the boy's wand away with a wave of his hand before he added.*

Throwing up won't help. It's gonna take about a minute for the acid to dissipate and your natural morphine to kick in. *After a few seconds, he crouches down to grab ahold of his hair and yank his head back to look at him* You threaten my wife again, mate, I will kill you.

*Then with a whispered spell, Harper knocked him out, shaking his head afterward. Shame, he wanted the man to remember everything, not just the warning but he'll take what he could. Wiping the memory, he would just make it seem like **Marlon:** got into a drunken brawl at a local pub, managed to make it to the kitchens before passing out.

The warning though, that he left planted in the back of his mind, along with the memory of the pain. Standing up, he patted his hands as if to clean them and rubbed his ring for comfort before returning the food and knives to their proper places and leaving with the rest of his toast.*

{*}

 **Rory:** *He wasn't quite certain, how it was he had wound up shopping. It had started, because with so very few of their friends at school the giant castle had - for the first time in his life, since he'd opened a letter and realized what the things he could do even were- the castle felt restrictive. Empty. Of her (but he won't think about that). It felt the most natural thing in the world to be walking down the streets of London (sure, they'd been starting off in Hogsmeade for the weekend but truthfully, he was missing the home atmosphere himself a bit. (Dillon was regretfully absent, due to a brutally unfair detention but -- he was pretty certain the teachers were flatly trying to keep the students in).

Which was how they wound up in Wilton Way, enroute to Violet, and a bit ..midramble--* It's the Valrhona chocolate, I think, that tops it all off to be such--a delicacy, really, top notch.

 **Stefanie:** *Who said, that snooping around (and it wasn't snooping, was it, when they were both entirely willing? it was plain to her that Tony trusted his brother more than she trusted hers but -- well, those thoughts could turn toxic, so she stopped) could not also involve a bit of sexual banter? And cupcakes? So leaning against the wall of the bakery and licking purposefully the flower cordial off before sweeping it into her mouth in one go, eyes intent on Tony's, all she said was light and contradictory as ever.* Yes. I definitely think the break in conspiratorial scheming worth it. *Without waiting for an answer she continues, tongue-tip delving into the moist little cake beneath the icing, whipping a single, long lick into her mouth and sucking.* Don't you? Plenty of time to save the world after luncheon.  
 **Irene:** *Retail therapy. It was good for the soul, good for the being, and it was necessary, absolutely necessary and Rory was an absolute dear for coming alone though she knew that like her, he probably couldn't last too long in that bloody school without going insane. Probably how Dillon was feeling a bit right now actually, but no matter, she was making sure to pick up desert for him.

Oh, yes, and a cupcake too.

Frankly, Irene never knew cupcakes could be so incredibly complex but as Rory continued explaining, she found herself getting really anxious to see these paragon cupcakes with Valrhona chocolate. Honestly, she wondered why she had never heard of this store and then chalked it up to just another experience her father had indirectly kept her from and her friends were working on mending.* Delicacy and top notch are the right words here sir *she nodded while carrying bags in each hand (Rory had offered to carry some but she insisted she could herself because this was how she worked on her upper body strength on lazy days; and one, and two, and one, and two)* because I'm very selective about the things I put in my mouth. Though right at this moment, I feel like I could eat a one mile churro all by myself

 **Tony:** *Who thought buying cupcakes could be so entertaining? Had someone told him that he would be doing that today he would have asked him if they knew if Tony would stop off at the land of rainbows, butterflies, and kittens before hand. Sometimes it was good being proved wrong after all. Then again, he wasn't paying much attention to the cupcakes as he was to the woman one, more specifically her finger and her mouth. He wiggled his eyebrows over the top of his own cupcake, licking a trace of frosting off his thumb as well before leaning in with an appreciative hum.* I quite agree. Besides, the world will still be there when we get back to it. Though how it manages to survive without us is a wonder.

 **Rory:** *One of the fantastic things about Irene was how easily her company made it to forget that there was anything else going on, just from the simple nature of trying to deduce her...sentences. Actually she made it most difficult to remember there was an outside world at all. Especially with statements like that. You could never get used to them, however many fantastical statements she said, for they were never alike, never predictable. Yet he knew her too well by now to think she didn't know every word coming out of her mouth, however high-speed they were given. It was no surprise to him that she had attracted Dillon -- he was still in permanent disbelief that a nine year old could have to-be-or-not-to-be's entire monologue memorized. Never mind the evidence. Chuckling at the statement (and oh, yes, she made it so easy to smile again), his words were light.* Well, that was quite the provocative image.

*Drily, as he moves to open the door for her (she had bags and if she wasn't going to let him carry those, he still could be a gentleman), * Rather not picture my best mate though - well. Of blokes, anyway. *He put his hand deeper into his pocket, smiling at her as a little bell lets him open the door.*

 **Stefanie:** *It was never quite clear to her, why she enjoyed being so particularly ... hm, evocative; but the look Tony was giving her (and damn that little hum) was well worth the extra effort. Not that she called an hour putting make-up and an outfit on excessive; she was a model. That was a third of her usual time before a shoot. Popping her thumb out of her mouth, she chuckles at the thought, expelling an odd bitterness with it: see, dear brother? Someone wonders how the world still turns without me in it.

She tilts her head, considering that: Tony included himself, and despite their oh-too-intimate brothers, had only met a few times in years. So why should he care? Did he think the same as her, smirking and laughing and appreciating and forgetting the fact that the world that seemed to be doing a damn fine job turning without the two of them? Frosting sucked into her throat, she swallows, and then smiles at him.* Presumptuous of you. You trying to get me to call out to God again?

*It was a tease (and okay a bit truthful, sue her for enjoyment), but she spins around hearing the little bell and realizing she recognized the girl. Short-crop of blonde was new, but her eyes were unforgettable. All of her was, actually, and judging by the labels on those store bags -- she smirks thinking, Only the best. Stefanie wonders briefly if she had any interest in a magazine cover, for she'd looked into Irene and in particular to the directive from high-and-mighty-Lord-Burns that kept her out of the press (mostly) -- and well. What would he say to her on a magazine spread? Tasteful, of course, she kept everything tasteful, dignified...but still, Stefanie had to admit she understood the urge.* Irene...hi.

*Well that was pathetic. What was tiny little remarkable statement, "hi," she deserved a wordsmith trophy. She breathed out, blinking. What a coincidence, she thinks, recognizing the guy too and her eyes darted to his hand with the slightest wince. It wasn't in a sling, at least, though he used the other hand to open the door and she stiffens. She knew how long -- oh, too well -- after an encounter with Ansel it took to cease being sore.

Actually, did one?* And Rory -- is your hand okay?   
**Irene:** I try to save the world, one fantasy at a time. *If only she could though, but no, no bad thoughts right now, no unhappy ones, this was what the retail therapy was for! If she wanted to wallow, she would have invited Rory out to drink instead and frankly, they'd all done a little too much of that already. She wanted to prove to herself, and to anybody else that was judging (a few at Hogwarts did) that she could just as easily spend the day sober if she so wished.

And one, and two, walking with the bags as they neared the shop, grinning as Rory felt it necessary to assure her that he rather not think of men in such tantalizing visions (why did boys always felt the need to reassert their heterosexuality? Oh men), she instead teased.* Oh, but a girl, of course that you don't mind.

*She entered the shop, already loving the smell of chocolate and cinnamon sugar caramel and wow, orgasm almost coming on-* Stefanie? *She blinked, opening and closing her mouth, only afterwards noticing the guy she was with.* And...hot random man?

 **Tony:** Oh no, God has a very dedicated following, millions of people saying his name on their means, on their backs, et cetera. Trying to get you to call out my name though, yes, I might just be doing exactly that. *The word trying involved there was a possibility of failing and most of the times he didn't really accept the concept of it in his personal life. This was one of those times.

 **Stefanie:** This does sound enjoyable, I admit. *Even if truthfully, she wished God had a bit of a ... larger following, particularly within her own family but, she digressed.*

 **Tony:** *About to say something else after licking more frosting off his finger, he instead watches Stefanie as she turns her head and sees a flicker of recognition. Turning his head with her, he doesn't share the same recognition at seeing two teenagers there except maybe a fleeting feeling of having seen them somewhere before in passing. And where else when he'd only been in England recently once before. The Gala. This had a big uh oh written all over it.* Hi, less-random-hot-chick.

 **Irene:** *She waited for Rory to answer, because she wouldn't cut her friend off but her patience only spread so thin* His hand is rather the least of his worries now, your wolf boy lover however-

 **Tony:** Whoa whoa whoa, easy Buffy. *His eyebrows arched.* Take it down a notch, this is a public establishment. Unicorns and butterflies have been known to walk through here.

 **Irene:** *she pursed her lips, not taking her gaze away from Stefanie before she walked forward until she was right in front of where they were seated and dropped her voice so as to 'not cause a scene.' Her eyes wanted to be hard and accusing but the waver in her voice gave her away too quickly.* You could have warned me. Like, actually, pulled me aside, warned. Me.

 **Rory:** *He'd almost forgotten, truthfully, the lingering lack of motion and muscle strength. It only personified his lack in everything else. Still, it was Stefanie who had explained things to him, wrapped his arm up with part of the drapes (he remembers this night only dimly, honestly, and he wasn't fancying remembering more). So he just nods, jaw clicking, wary but...grateful, a tad.* Just great, thanks. *That sounded bitter. Everything sounds so bitter from him now. He hates it, and he clings to it, the reminder that he was suffering -- as it meant something -- someone -- had mattered to him. He figured Irene had the "further words" part of this conversation down, so he was silent, flicking his gaze to the man too. And oh, Rene never disappoints.*

 **Stefanie:** Wolf boy lover? *She echoes incredulous, scoffing -- ... defensive. Actually, that was a perfect description of Ansel. A wolf -- literally and figuratively, a predator, blood-thirsty, raging and lonely. A boy heavy with loss, grief and guilt who still craves fitting the world into neat little boxes. Stefanie wagers around fifteen, sixteen years old (though she'd tell him two), for he'd never left the teenage years of rebellions and contradictions (and sometimes it was clear she hadn't either). And lover, yes he was that too, born of passion -- fire that had nothing to do with his wolf's blood and everything to do with his heart.

This thought track was unproductive. Stefanie narrows her eyes, not flicking back - a bit surprised Tony stepped in, and determined not to let her see that. ...Or him.*

 **Rory:** *Arching his eyebrow straight back at Tony, he says -- pleasantly, but firm.* Clever, but I don't think we need your patronizing sarcasm.

 **Stefanie:** *Snorting at the remark, she finishes the cupcake and crumples the paper together. She never takes her eyes from Irene, only lifts her chin as the girl approached and softens at the single, tremor.* I --

*She was about to say: I tried, but the truth was she'd been distracted because Ansel was always good at doing that to her, riling her up, bothering her, and trying was bullshit next to the fact she'd failed to do anything. Failed to save Rory's hand, failed to stop Hans from hurting anyone, failed to keep Irene out of Ansel's hands -- the only thing she'd done successfully was aid in Nick's recovery and keep Eliza bound in case Alcott hurt her. The girl still died.*

I'm sorry. Look -- Irene, I didn't know. *Her own voice trembled for a split second on '-know-' and so she takes a second to steady her breath before adding, just as quietly, and just as sincerely,* What they were all planning. *With a tight-lipped smirk and head tilt,* My brother's not exactly the most explanatory of people.

*And she'd had no idea how far he had gone. ...Cupcakes wouldn't cut that conversation: that required liquor, and fast. Her voice was arching, clipping and dry, but still she smirked.* But then I hadn't seen him in a year because he was off being an amoral psychopath, didn't even come to the family holiday can you imagine?, so I was a bit taken aback. The only thing I was aware of, was that he'd smirked at me the way he was smirking at you.

*There was a pit in her stomach at that, that only buries itself deeper as she adds quieter,* So naturally, I assumed he'd lied to you. I had no idea how much.

*And then she flicks her blond hair over her shoulder, finally looking back to Tony asking in a resuming-pleasant and playful tone,* Did you just call me a vampire, Tony?

 **Irene:** *Yes, that was the correct answer to give, she thought about Rory. Angry, bitter, sarcastic because all happiness had been left at the door, taken by a face that only reminded her of that night and frankly they didn't deserve her best right now, nope and while they didn't deserve her worst either (she wasn't sure of the man clad in black and navy), she was not going to smile at them and pretend that everything was 'unicorns and butterflies', this was a compromise. Oh, that had almost been a Maroon 5 reference. Right, focused.*

 **Tony:** *Acquainted with Ansel and any of the rest of that pack was really not the best place to be. He was curious for more information and yet at the same time was reluctant for it. Olivier had already told him that Gustav had asked the wolves to grab some people from the Gala and they'd all failed (he wasn't strong enough to refrain from a 'go fetch' joke), so he assumed that's what Irene had dealt with. He turned back to the guy, Tony tilted his head.* Would you rather have feigned pleasantries instead?

 **Irene:** Your brother isn't a person, he's a monster, and so are each of his little pets. And that is not wolf-ism, that's just a hatred of psychotic assholes.

 **Tony:** Wolf-ism?

 **Irene:** Like racism, for werewolves. Because it's not.

 **Tony:** Point made. *His eyebrows arched after swallowing on a raw throat, looking at Stef for a moment. Tony could relate, and he knew that with everything his own brother was, if anybody tried to call Olivier out on it in front of him, he'd break their toes. Tony was especially talented in hypocrisy and double standards when he so chose. But then Stef called him a psychopath, so, outwardly at least, it didn't seem like it was going to be a problem but Tony recognized that smirk too well, he also wore it frequently and with great style.*

 **Irene:** *He had smirked at Stefanie the same way he smirked at her. Great. That didn't make her feel more disgusted or used in any way, of course not. She exhaled and then grabbed a chair, pulling it to sit at their table after throwing Rory a brief apologetic look.*

 **Tony:** Oh, yeah sure, please join us. *He said a bit dryly after Irene had already taken her seat and the scooched a little more to give them space before he looked up at Stefanie again with a smirk.* No, I just implied it would take the likes of a vampire slayer to even put a dent in you. And Irene is a blond who looked ready to kick ass and it was the first thing that popped to mind.

 **Irene:** *She set her bags on the ground next to her, ignoring the repartee between these two for the moment, though she wondered who he was given that Stefanie didn't seem to mind talking about her brother, Ansel, or that night in front of him.* If you wanted to help then, then help now. Tell me what you know, *turns to Tony* you too.

 **Tony:** Yeah sure, doll face, do you have a pen and notebook ready for all of this? *he cleared his throat* Nothing.

 **Irene:** *pretends to sneeze into her gloves and then clears her throat, sniffing* Oh, sorry, I'm allergic to bullshit. Please try that again.

 **Tony:** *Huh, how about that? In that moment, he had decided he liked Irene.* Listen, I'd love to help, but I know nothing.

 **Rory:** Honestly?*His face breaks into an almost-smile, the closest he got any more and shrugs a shoulder,* I think we all could do with a little pleasantry, feigned or not. *Wasn't that all the sarcasm was anyway? Clever little statements to traipse around what you actually wanted to say? If you were going to lie, at least be pleasant about it.*

 **Stefanie:** *Her jawline and throat tighten instantly, as if they knew they'd have to strain to contain an "oi", for that wouldn't be polite, and suddenly her wrists are in an iron grip. Stefanie seems not to think because they both already know -- or Irene pretended to -- eyes wide-open and fixated tightly on Irene's face, jaw muscles moving over bones. She looks doubtful, a little insecure, furious (so furious, to be put in the position where she felt obligated to defend him as much as she was furious at Irene's insult), and for a moment she had swallow a lot more than "oi." There was hatred of that coiling inside her, deadly and still. Stefanie was her father's daughter, her brother's sister after all.

She speaks crisply through a smirk and her voice has dropped about ten degrees,* Call my brother a monster again, and this fork, *she brandishes the silver,* is going through your hand. I won't swallow that urge again.

 **Rory:** *He takes a step forward instantly, because no - no this he couldn't do, more fighting, more bloodshed -- and least of fucking all was he letting anything (else) happen to Irene (too). Instead of speaking, his hands snaps it up, down, and back now holding Stefanie's fork.*

 **Stefanie:** *She sighs, licking the tip of her finger off and saying lighter,* I wasn't being literal, darling.

 **Rory:** *..Ah. Right, okay so he supposed it was a bit of a stretch to --,* I'm not sure either of us are supposed to know that.

 **Stefanie:** No, you're right, because see. How could you know? You have no idea what you're talking about. No idea what Hans has been through, what he's done for people, what he's done for me -- nothing. No bloody clue. I understand why you hate him, so I will let that remark slide, because they're the same reasons I hate him. *She slowly arches an eyebrow, adding,* He's my brother, Irene. And you're insane if you think I'm just going to sit here and let you insult him. You have one, so, try to understand. The harder I hate him, the more I love him. *Her gaze had flicked to Tony for a second, and she sees -- she thinks, he understood -- and then looks back to Irene.*

  
 **Rory:** Well, I, *he kept the fork nearby just in case and looked back at Irene's apologetic look,* being an only child, might be at a bit of a disadvantage here. *His eyes narrow.* But that pack, all they've done, is come in and mess with -- and kill -- our family.

 **Stefanie:** *Narrowing her gaze,* I did want to help--do. *But I have my brother's temper she thinks and shuts her eyes, trying to restrain saying something so childish or idiotic. Her gaze flickered as she hears Tony and she turns to him once more, brow arching and smirk softening a bit.* Ah, I see. So it wasn't some fantasy fetish, then. *Her head tilts as she reaches to take her fork back, reaching for another cupcake and wishing it was liquor. With an exhale, she chuckles as amused at Tony's response -- and Irene's, God she did like this girl sometimes -- she unwraps the cupcake and adds nonchalant,* He's telling the truth. *Her smile flicks back to him, saying pleasantly,* He's one of the good ones. *And then she tilts her head as if to say "welll", adding,* Mostly. As for my knowledge, *she took another bite of the cupcake, rubbing at her lips and still looking at Tony as she did so,* that would have required me to have a conversation with Hans in the last two weeks, since I was poisoned at that Gala and -Tony- here, helped saved my life. *With Ansel, but she wasn't going to say that (wasn't going to think about it), and so she focused on Tony, smirk softening -- but only for a heartbeat, a hair of a second.*

I haven't. *She flicks her gaze backs to Irene and says flatly,* So I don't know anything either. What I do know is only that I'm truly sorry for your losses.

 **Tony:** Pleasantry, then duly noted Point Break. *he nodded, then turning to Stefanie, trying to withhold an amused grin and then tutted his tongue in feigned disappointment and reproach.* Now Stefanie, the man *he held his hand out to gesture* said pleasantries, not threats.

 **Irene:** *she smiles, tilting her head* What's to stop my other hand from taking your head and smashing it against the table? *Her smile flickered a bit, finding the threat way too similar for comfort so instead she found it in the way Rory stepped up to grab the fork away from her.*

 **Tony:** Me. Play nice. Resolve this anger in different but equally passionate ways, and please let me watch.

 **Irene:** *...Men. She exhaled rubbing at her face again, wanting to just shout and yell and kick and say that she didn't- okay she wouldn't scream, she would speak.* Nothing justifies what he's done, or what Ansel has done, or what the rest of them have done. Nothing they've gone through, no matter how terrible, because they chose to do this and anything else and they will pay for it. *She placed her chin on her hand, sighing. But she understood the conflicting interest, even if she didn't like it. Even if she disliked the idea of anyone being kind to them (she was losing her Hufflepuff ness but fuck it all) especially right now.* Well, my brother and I are only recently on the mend, so any memories of happy times or 'things he's done for me' will have to begin forming now.

 **Tony:** *He nodded, a movement that was so small it might not have been able to be detected, he nevertheless nodded and understood how that felt. After all, blood was thicker than water and all that jazz. He only exhaled at Irene's words, knowing that she made sense and it was perfectly logical but...well, there was always a but.* Not a big fan of fetishizing vampires, sweetie, baaaad experiences with them.

 **Irene:** *Who cared? She exhaled and tapped her forehead, not really willing to believe they didn't know anything but maybe a little more willing to believe he was 'one of the good ones'.* Really? *He looks at Tony.* You've got more of the bad boy look, sorry sweetie.

 **Tony:** Been told that before.

 **Irene:** *Biting on her lip, not having known that Stefanie was poisoned, she felt a little more guilty than she had just minutes before. Whoops. So her looks is softer now as she nods at Stefanie's condolences, even though they did very little and exhaled.* Well, if you know nothing, you might as well buy us cupcakes. Rory, you were talking about the one with the...fancy chocolate name on top?

 **Tony:** I can get that *he smirked for a moment before sitting back before standing up.* Though I'm gonna need more of a description than the 'one with the fancy chocolate name on top'.

 **Stefanie:** *Smashing her head against the table -- well, look, at least the remarks weren't that stereotypical "girl-fight", right? She was almost proud of Irene, and then sad for thinking that, so sad. God, she was ... what, sixteen? Seventeen at most? Around the same age she'd started learning to be so hard (and why did that feel like it was centuries ago for a moment when it was only five years?). So even though her eyes narrow with a glint, she decides not to say anything, instead turning in surprise, appreciation (of both an "aww" and "yum" kind of nature) and ... then exasperation. She snorts, saying in a low murmur under her breath,* Chivalry and perversion in the same sentence. Talent.

*Then she turns back to Irene. Now her face was hard with purpose. It was funny to her: the eleven murders, watching him throw Nick out the window, this accusation he was the one who put the Minister's son in the hospital -- she could think of "reasons" behind them. To rescue Rachelle, because he'd just been shot twice, and ... she would wager that Devin Stuart was one these goddamn Death Eaters wanted. And while Hans had never told her specifics, never told her how, she hadn't been blind to the change in him: had watched him turn another wolf without the full moon, watched everything. It was better, whatever they'd given him, and wasn't that just manipulation?

But maybe it was because she thought sometimes she'd forgiven him for what he did to their family...nothing could ever come close to that again. Though Hans seemed fucking determined to try.

Rubbing at her face, she just nods, deciding that Irene should have the last word -- this was a serious concession for her! -- and says instead,* I'm sorry to hear that it took so long...but I'm glad to hear you're on the mend then. *She didn't even know her brother's name. Had never met him. But in that instant, Stefanie seriously envied them having a fresh start -- and craved it so much she'd meant every word, with a softer smile on her lips for just a split second.*

 **Rory:** *His back teeth were clenched because frankly, anything he had to say on this particular subject was destined to be breaking his own rule of pleasantries. Hans had been fucking stalking Eliza (that was the first time he'd thought her actual name all day, as usually he was so enthralled with the simple recollections of her being, it was too intimate for names). Like one psychotic, abusive ex wasn't enough. Actually for that matter, like one wolf wasn't enough. Rory had always liked Alcott (and found himself at his house or Devin's frequently right now), but honestly, Alcott was probably the only wolf alive that Rory could be convinced would never have hurt her...And then just for an instant he thinks -- stalking might be the wrong word, as he thinks of how he'd seen them dance; then he thinks, none of this mattered.

Not anymore. Because these monsters had taken her, killed her, and were crowing about it. No, nothing justified it. Yet it seems clear to him that neither this "Tony" nor Stefanie seemed (it was seemed, because he was too damn suspicious right now of anyone who knew anything) were anything but sympathetic towards their plight. So instead he nods along, rubs over his lip -- ceases staring at Tony for that comment that he'd stop him (he gripped the fork white knuckled) and then finds himself chuckling at the quick descriptions.* Yeah, mate it's...Valrhona chocolate. It-- here, I'll help.

 **Stefanie:** *The remark makes her head tilt until she remembered abruptly: of course. His father had been a vampire. At least if Olivier's had been it...stood to reckon that yeah, they both shared that (she might have hit herself in the head if it wouldn't have been so embarrassing), and her look flutters apologetic. What might he have had to deal with growing up? And what had happened to his father anyway? Olivier just said he'd died - taken over as his replacement - Hans had told her not to press (and she loathed doing what Hans said but, she knew why he was a bit frightened). Honestly, she hadn't meant to bring that up, but her smile stays soft even as she shrugs and adds, lighter,* Sweetie? My, how familiar already.

*Despite the tease, her eyes said something quite different. She chuckles once as she turns back to Irene. The bad boy look...well, she could definitely appreciate that anyway -- the leather and oh, those black silk shirts...actually she even loved the gold chain that was presently hidden from view. She digresses and clears her throat.* Oh, like the bad-boy look is something to apologize for.

 **Tony:** It's innate. *He smirks, holding his cupcake as he would a drink and then winks before biting down on it all in her name, of course. A small toast, though if there was anyway to spike the cupcake batter and order those instead, he probably would. Like rum cake, rum cake was so good.*

 **Irene:** *She nodded, accepting that, honestly a bit grateful the older girl didn't persist in arguing for her brother's sake even though Irene knew she had every right to. And it wasn't because of Irene's own sake that she thought it (because oh she could go at it all day) but more for Rory's. Sitting there, listening to her, talking about it himself, this was supposed to be retail therapy after all and Irene felt protective over him even if he could take care of himself and so on and so forth. Sparing at glance at him again, she felt the urge to hug him but suppressed the need for now, but boy would she hug him later.*

 **Tony:** Thanks, Thor. *he grinned for a moment before turning back to Stef at her tease, well more comment than tease, and smiled.* Oh but I call you that in Italian and no complains there, hmm? *He arches his eyebrow with a smile before turning and walking with Rory to the counter. The two people working there were probably more relieved that a fight hadn't erupted than anything else. He turned to Rory.* So in the interest of me stopping from calling you nicknames *well, Tony wasn't sure he would ever be able to stop in general* haven't properly introduced myself, *he held out his hand* Antonio, but I mostly go by Tony, or Tonio.

 **Irene:** Just not a big fan of it anymore I suppose. The bad boy will flirt with you and tease you till the cows come home, but only the good guy holds you close and keeps you safe. *She didn't know what she'd have done without Dillon during these past days. Irene licked her lips and then exhaled* I'm sorry for before, it's not you I'm angry with. *She shakes her head.* He just...got inside my head. After putting a -dent- in my  head. *Now she frowns again, too expressive for her own good.* Can I ask you a question?....Ssss?

 **Stefanie:** *Eyes darting, tongue flicking, she followed Tony eating the cupcake (appreciatively cocked an eyebrow), and looked away. This was ridiculous. She wasn't nymphomaniac (maybe a little), but this was...serious. On the other hand, Tony was distracting her easily, and she couldn't complain about the visual. So instead she just smirked,* Yes, well I'm difficult to please. *It wasn't that. In Italian it sounded seductive. In English, it sounded....domestic. Honestly, no wonder Italy was so frequently lost in wars: just speaking their language was passionate. Then she turns back to Irene as they go to get cupcakes and she swallows tightly: wondering about that, and then wondering if any D'Grey could be the solely good considering they couldn't be innocent--but, could any Ricard either? While puzzling, she chuckles.* ...how do I know him? *Him, Ansel, wolf boy lover. She exhales, thinking of a lighter question,* Or who's Tony? But yes. I'll try to answer what I...can.

 **Rory:** Rory Palmer. *He took a look at Tony's proffered hand, thinking the last time he took a stranger's grasp who he only knew by virtue of 'standing by Irene and Stefanie' --his hand hadn't come out too well. Then he thought about the rest -- of that night, and after, and fuck, what would be a little more pain? So he took it, shook firm--grip hard, harder than his arm liked, and kept eye contact without blinking. Only then he chuckles, once,*  In introducing yourself "properly," you just gave me three names, and still managed to omit the surname...so I'm a bit suspicious. *His eyebrow arches, and he adds pleasantly,* No offense meant, mate.

 **Irene:** *Italian? Italian men were unfair (and she missed her own italian man right now). She snapped out of it, passing a hand through her hair as she st ill hadn't gotten used to it ending so short.* Yeah, those are good ones, definitely. *She nodded, throwing a glance over to where Tony and Rory were inline. She wouldn't feel comfortable discussing Ansel with Rory there (the idiot had broken his hand and pinched the whatever fucking nerve) or actually with anyone, at all, not even Stefanie no matter how intimidate the two had been, but Irene needed some answers.* I mean like...how did he get involved with -Death Eaters-? They were all but wiped out. *Not enough, she thought bitterly.*

 **Tony:** *He shook Rory's hand, appreciating the firm grip even more when recalling Stefanie commenting on his injured hand (truthfully it might have been a little bit of a test). The observation was only a tad surprising after Rory included his last name, and he only shrugged.* None taken. I usually omit my last name whenever I can. *While his brother identifier himself -by-the last name, especially to these Hogwarts kids.* Gives people the wrong impression, I much rather be liked than feared. *More differences, he thought a bit bitterly, and no doubt one of the many reasons for Remington's disappointment. Would he ever be able to get that man out of his head?* Still want it?

 **Stefanie:**   *Ha. Well, those were the first questions she'd have asked. The first time that she'd seen Irene she'd thought she reminded her of her. How right and wrong was she? She recognized the attitude (and the look to Rory) so Stefanie only smiles, thin but honest.*...oh Irene, now you're asking something I have been asking for years. *And Ansel had started half an answer for the first time three days ago--she wrinkles a brow.* And repeatedly was told I was too young, too precious, to tell-- so I won't do that to you.

*Curling a fist beneath her chin she adds,* The pack...aren't Death Eaters. But that, starts with my brother, I would wager. Ansel follows him like a lost puppy. Pun intended. Until two weeks ago, I had...no idea....What I can, tell you is that when my brother was sixteen, I convinced him to run away, from our father. *She clenched her teeth: talking about them, and that, hurt.* Because he was destroying him. *Her voice tightens, she looks down and can't help a bitter,* Ironic. When he returned three years later, *Her head jerks up, still smirking through a hiss,* Hans killed him. *She let that fall for a second, presses her hand over her throat, squeezing tightly, and shakes her head with a jerk.*

That was the night I learned he'd become a wolf. He's never told me how. Only that the reason he'd never contacted me, because I was furious, was that he'd been recruited. That he was keeping Marcel, our other brother, and me...safe. *She rubs over her neck: saying calmly,* See, now you understand why my family should be on that channel. *She shrugs, not wanting to say further family history.* As for Ansel, I met him in a bar. Had no idea who he was--he had no idea who I was--never have been a fan of surnames. *She clenches her teeth.* When Hans learned, he was....furious. Blindly so, he told me Ansel was his, his second, his enforcer, that he'd turned him--*she hissed, because she hated that, hated that Ansel forgot it or forgave it,* --saved his life, apparently. And I screamed, because apparently I'm ten years old, that he couldn't tell me who to see. *That wasn't what she'd said.Their words echo in her head: "You won't see him!"-"Why, are you going to kill me too?...

She cleared her throat.* And so he told me to ask about Colette. Instead of asking, I looked it up myself. I wish I wasn't that...stubborn. I wish I'd never seen those crime scene photos. *She rubs over her eyes, hard, pinching them.* The death eaters were a new addition to me. Though it explains one thing to me: the fact they can turn at will. I bet that's where they got it. It's the only thing that makes sense to me, because I know very well that Hans never gave a fuck about blood purity, that Colette was muggleborn herself. *Then she flicks her gaze to Tony's back, and smiles a tinier bit, more honest.* But as for Tony. -His- older brother is...well honestly, sometimes I rather think he's Hans husband. *She shakes her head, lips twitching.* Our families were friends.  Difference being that Tony, well, until now I've never really...spent time with him, because he ran, and he succeeded in getting away. And oddly enough right now, I'm fairly sure the only reason he's sticking around is for his brother.  I wouldn't advise insulting in front of him Olivie--ah. *She pauses, finger-tip.* Right. You'd know him by D'Grey.

 **Rory:** *Brows furrow, and then he arches one at "feared." For heaven's sakes. Tilting his head, as he fishes his wallet out, because he frankly was not letting Tony pay for this, he nods.* Yeah, I could see that. May be counterintuitive, but I've never been gladder of my common name. *He wanted to stay focused on this conversation, and then to the heavenly scent of cupcakes, because Stefanie and Irene weren't that far away and frankly--he thought Irene deserved answers, but had no interest in hearing anything himself.  Taking the pounds out, he snorts once and nods at Tony.* Yeah. *He did want it.* Mate, I'm not too big on judging someone I don't know. Last time I did that, I nearly missed out on..... *...his throat closes. Eliza wasn't his girlfriend now, but that was what he'd been about to call her. He had judged her on her Slytherin appearance...what time might they have had, if he hadn't? Clenching his teeth, he found himself smirking in a way that makes him think all four of them were used to.* Well. *He clears his throat,*As for the wrong impression, Stefanie did just say you saved her life and what not. And she tried to warn Irene, and made me a sling, so. That's about as much of a vote of confidence as I think anyone's capable of.

 **Irene:** Well, I like to jump in right to the complex questions, little old me. *Tomorrow she was taking on the even more difficult one- what is our purpose on this Earth. No, not really. Irene, distracted by her own thoughts as usual, forced herself to focus on Stefanie's words instead. She didn't argue with the pack not being death eaters, but did have to bite back a comment about how it was cause they preyed on purebloods too, instead focusing on the shocking news that Hans had killed his own father. Irene had never been fond of her own father but to kill him, she didn't even think of it. Hans had been recruited and then in turn he had recruited Ansel (that's how she saw it anyways) and had turned him! At that her eyes couldn't help but widen (oh who was she kidding, her face spoke what her lips didn't through this entire explanation) and this made her just want to really -kick- both Hans and Ansel with silver toes boots. How could he be with the person who ruined his life?!* We accept the love we think we deserve.

*Only on a much more sick and twisted level. Gross. She frowned at the mention of Colette again, didn't want to imagine those photos at all, or the actual thing, or Ansel telling her it had been an accident, or how she believed him. She just wanted to shut her brain off.* Yeah, knowing it wasn't about my bloodline doesn't make me feel any better. *Just worse, worse! Not even one reason, one single reason no matter how messed up it was! Someone told him to go fetch and he went fetch after her! Headache. She wanted cupcakes. Irene hopped Rory brought her more than one. Her attention was drawn again, her mouth open, staring between Stefanie and Tony* He's a D'Grey?

*No judgments, no judgments, no judging, he had done nothing wrong. And D'Grey's name was Olivie...however that ended? Olivieri? Oliverio?Olivieronio? Well, at least now it made more sense why he went by D'Grey; that wasn't a very attractive first name.* So the pack is kinda like hired guns. Perfect little soldiers following your brother's orders? *She tried not to shiver under her coat but she felt goosebumps rising anyways.* For a potion that lets them turn at will. *She bit down on her bottom lip and then asked quietly.* Do you think there's any good left in them? *Him, mostly him, but sure why not them? She just...she'd never been so -wrong- about a person before! It irked her, bothered her, and whenever she stopped being angry (or more likely if she ever stopped being angry) the emotion to follow it would be sadness.*

 **Tony:** *He was a tough one, this Rory Palmer. Maybe not in the way men like his father, or Gustav, or even Hans valued but tough nonetheless. It was something that he could respect.* But with a name like Palmer? Come on, that's just begging to be the butt of every joke. *He smirked, looking towards the selection of cupcakes, thinking of getting him and Stefanie another before turning back to Rory.* Sorry, not very used to not being judged. It's D'Grey. Tony D'Grey. You might know my brother. Tall fellow, most of it in h air, with a look of permanent brooding on his face? *He smirked and then stepped up to the counter and ordered a couple more cupcakes.* Can you put them in a little to go box for later? Thanks, darling.

 **Stefanie:** *It wasn't about her bloodline for Ansel, she nearly said -- that it might have been that for her the recruiters, the ones who told the dog to fetch. She'd never thought her brother would be the one to take those commands -- he only barked them himself...apparently with little bite, a thought that surprised her too. If Hans and Ansel had truly wanted Irene for them ... there was no doubt to her, they'd have her. Ansel had abandoned Irene at the gala though, as far as Stefanie knew...

Curious honestly, but she knew that wasn't the point. We accept the love we think we deserve...oh, what a wonderful reference, she has to think. How true was it here? Her eyes cast to Tony, and only when Irene asks about him does she speak. This time with a gentle chuckle.* I know, barely any familial resemblance, hm? *Actually, Olivier and Tony did both share a few traits that she could see -- pride, chiefly, though she thought them proud of different things -- and their eyes. She thinks they must be from their mother. The one time she'd seen Remington D'Grey, she couldn't get those wild black eyes from her mind.* But yes, he is.

*Genetically, anyways. How much he was a "D'Grey" in other ways, she wasn't sure. Olivier hadn't talked about Tony often, the few times she'd spent time with him -- and if he did, it was factual or protectively-blunt. Men. Honestly, would a little detail kill them? (Since when did she want to know more?)

Well, there was a stereotype in France's underworld clubs about D'Greys being fantastic in bed. (She suspected for a long time it was because vamp-sex, but that was off point).That one was true. The smirk on her lips proved it. Turning back, her eyebrow arches slowly, surprised at the question and almost - oddly, grateful for it. Pressing her lips together she tilts her head very slowly and then nods, saying,* That...sounds right, yes, though... *It also sounded wrong. She didn't know why, but ... Well, "he was recruited", she thought, that was why it sounded wrong. No details, no explanations, just a brother-wolf appearing out of the blue after disappearing, killing their father (but Daddy attacked him first, she thinks and winces), and then "Stay out of it, Steffie." Irritating, patronizing little -- *

Yes. *She says flatly, and then chuckles under her breath hearing herself. Looking down, she presses her hand over her lip and hisses with a little chuckle,* God, how pathetic is that for me to believe? *But she did, because she'd...she'd seen it, and she just rubs her forehead, looking back at Irene and saying quietly,* I think. I don't know, but I think. That the reason he left you at the Gala, was because I was poisoned. He gave me the antidote, Irene. Didn't tell me what it was, or what it was for, just -- let me yell at him, *and then she let him fuck her, she thinks with every muscle tense,* and then gave me it, *had forced it down her throat,* and when I was collapsing, he found Tony. Tony took care of me. I don't know where you went after that, or where he did: I wasn't honestly that conscious. But that's what I think, so yes I .. do think it's in there somewhere. For all of them.

*For Hans, she hears her own mental scream, there had to be. What she wanted to believe, honestly, that he was just fine with Irene escaping because saving her life was more important. It probably was deeply thought about, but didn't that just make more innately true? She was getting a headache -- and the boys were coming back, she realizes (her body seemed uncommonly aware of Tony's motions). Brightening up immediately, she looks at the box in Tony's hand, bemused.* ...for later? That sounds fun. *Oh, the prospect of eating those in bed with him--er, she shouldn't go there yet.*

 **Rory:** I'm not one for begging, actually. *He chuckles, shrugging a shoulder as if to say "heard before", even as he says,* Though that was a new twist on it, congratulations! *D'Grey? As in Dev's gay guardian angel? Well, that ... did explain why he would be so used to omitting it. Holy. Hearing the description though made him laugh a bit more honestly, and shaking his head, mind blown and frankly --wishing this all would cease surprising him so much. As he went to pay too, picking up his own preferred cupcakes (and okay, a bit of a sampler for Irene's sake -- there were too many to try), he says,* I haven't met him, actually. Heard about him, as apparently he helped save my friend's life, but I'll have to take your word for it on the brooding and hair. *He turns, lifting the sampler to head back to the table, setting it in front of Irene and realizing whatever conversation these girls had -- there seemed to be less fork-stabbing potential now. Interesting. He sits, saying with a small smile (honest, for once, and it hadn't taken all his effort! (Just most of it),* That's the chocolate one. *He points,* This, is the espresso cocoa.

 **Irene:** Well, I haven't actually seen D'Grey, just told about him. *From Nadia mostly. It was weird, listening to her talk about a person she thought she knew better than Irene herself. But the memories would come back, they just had to and if not well there was a reason they were friends in the first place: they clicked, like a key and lock, and they would click again. Ah, yet another tangent, she was focusing on Tony being a D'Grey then. Which meant, good guy or not, he had to know something! Maybe. Oh who knows, maybe she should stop playing Nancy Drew. Stefanie believed there was still good left, and as Irene listened, there were many things she wished to protest. He'd left her, that was true, but first he had knocked her out and told his wolf buddies to keep watch. He'd had no idea Dillon was there, no idea he would have brought her force with pressurized silver...thingy (sorry Al, sorry Dev, she didn't remember the name), no idea she would get away. He still would have delivered her to the Death Eaters and she still would have been submitted to the torture that Nadia had been under. He hadn't left her, she fucking escaped.

The good came with the bad it seemed. He cared enough to save Stefanie from a cruel fate, but not for her. Irene was under no longer under false disillusionment over whatever friendship she thought they had made, but even she would spare enough kindness not to want a stranger to get tortured. She said none of these things out loud; Stefanie believed what she said, or wanted to anyways, or had to. After all, Irene hadn't asked if there was more good than bad, only if good existed, and it did if he saved Stefanie without a word of explanation. Some small part still was, but did it matter? She cleared her throat as the boys approached again and then beamed as Rory brought two cupcakes instead of just one.* You're a gift from heaven, Rory Palmer. *She kissed his cheek with a loud smooch and then licked off a bit of the frosting on the chocolate before picking it up and taking a bite.*

 **Tony:** *He's doing a lot more than that, Tony thought to himself as he nodded. A lot more than he would ever take credit for really. Funny how that worked. Every time Olivier did something good and decent, he took great lengths in insuring that it wasn't discovered and yet every rumor of every single negative thing he may or may not have down spread across France and Europe undeterred. It was funny if you thought about it and spoke volumes of his insanely messed up and complicated character.* Well, you aren't missing out on much *he said in a statement that entirely contradicted his thoughts* I'm the better company. *They headed to the table again, a rising smirk on his face as Stefanie inspected the box with interest, knowing her thoughts must have drifted where his had; licking chocolate frosting from her mouth.* Oh, divine really. *Actually, he had thought she'd be a bit more distraught. While he did not know the story between her and Ansel, well, he might have overhead a thing or too. He was still expecting an appearance from the man any day now, and if he was going to get a tough time for...enjoying Stefanie's company, he would do it completely right.*

 **Stefanie:** Sounds like D'Grey. *Pleasantly, though she was a bit curious what things Irene was hearing. Usually most of what circulated...was far from endearing, honestly (and mostly far from accurate) (like that rumor that Olivier killed his father - not a chance in hell; the only D'Grey brother who had cause to do that was sitting here). With a tinier smile though, she added,* Everything for the reputation. *That she understood, actually. Her own reputation was well-managed to look complete. She didn't say another word - only let Irene focus on what she'd said, for the simple fact of the matter was there was another reason she hadn't been keen on sharing that story, beyond the fact she was trying to figure out what it meant to her: it felt like a story of "he saved me but you weren't good enough" -- which she honestly didn't think was the case, but ... who knew what was in that wolf's mind anyway? Ansel's mind was...far from stable, far from certain. For a moment her heart aches with it.

Then Tony smirked over the word 'divine' and she couldn't help but smile. Light, she says first,* Comparing yourself to God again, sweetie. *It was pointed and she folds her arms down over the table tilting her head with amusement at the look on Rory's face.* Well. That rules out boyfriend then.

 **Rory:** *Arching an eyebrow with amusement, he says first,* My friend says the same thing about his brothers. So I'm not entirely convinced, just so you know. *But then, Dillon had four brothers, so perhaps it was the number of them. Amused and then - amazed - as lips met his cheek he chuckles drily, rubbing at it to scrub the lip-gloss and sitting down, trying not to wonder what they'd been talking about.* Well thanks -- what? *He looks around surprised to Stefanie's remark, even though he realizes, he shouldn't have been that surprised that was what she'd thought. With a tinier smile, he shakes his head, trying not to hate her for the innocent remark, innocent mistake (it wasn't her responsibility, she thinks).* ...No, though speak of the devil. *His head flicks to Tony as he unwraps his own cupcake,* That would be the friend I just mentioned.

{*}

**Lyndsea:** *Honestly, she hadn't expected either son nor brother-in-law to stay away. She had expected a little decorum. They weren't commoners; was dignity truly too much to ask for? Why did she even bother?* ...You two know each other?

 **Alcott:** *With a tiny smirk,* Intimately, it appears.

 **Lyndsea:** *Then again, considering the extenuating   
circumstances...well, maybe there wasn't much of a protocol for how to act when bailing a werewolf who she only really knew two things about: her alpha, who had killed twelve people in cold blood, wanted to recruit her son with a potion that let him control his own transformation--and she had once been hurt excruciatingly, and chosen the bite herself.

It was an atypical situation. Wasn't that all the more reason to be polite? And not stare? And...oh heavens, she knew that look on Max's face. Hand raising to her parted lips, she stares at him and then says flatly,* Max, you didn't.

 **Alcott:** Yes, he did. *Still smirking, his arms folded on his chest as his eyes dart to the bar over his mother's shoulder. Damn. He wanted a glass.*

 **Max:** *Hissing under his breath sharply hearing Al's glee,* Boy. *But he looked between Lyndsea and then back to Rachelle, hand sliding into his back pocket, chuckling guiltily and a bit shyer than usual.* Yeah-- hello. Nice to see you again.

 **Lyndsea:** Oh, Max. *She rubs her forehead, exhales, then lifts her hand back to her hip, waits to take a sip before she says,* When -did- you meet?

 **Rachelle:** I would have gone with biblically but yes, that works too. *Honestly, the look on all of their faces was so priceless, she would have to remember them to have a good laugh about it afterwards. After all, what were the odds? Now if she could only remember his name- oh, there it was, Max. She had almost said Marc. In her defense, it was not his name that had left the impression. She took a sip of her cocktail to keep from laughing and then after a lick of her lips, answered.* A couple of years ago...'24 or '25. *She shrugged after a grin and took another sip*

 **Lyndsea:** *So, when she was eighteen or nineteen. Max. Bloody hell. Of course, she couldn't say anything without him pointing out she had no room to judge anyone--and worse, Alcott might think she was jealous. So she said nothing, even with a pit in her stomach. Rachelle's answer reminds her of something else too; she knew Max and Zoe had gone to Paris, but Rachelle was already bitten then. It strikes her. How many people might she have run into, who knew more than they let on about the Death Eaters? How many of her pureblood friends would be approached right now, would be frightened enough from the gala to make horrible decisions to keep their families safe? Would she be?

They came for Harper imagining they were friends--it was the Aurors who drove them to attack. And again, Hans had approached Alcott not to hurt him--but to help him, as Rachelle said repeatedly. They killed Eliza. They nearly killed Nadia, and they ravaged Devin--but even she, who had been poisoned and would have died, was only collateral; they had nothing against her. How was it they imagined she would be dumb enough to think she was lucky to be spared, how was it they thought they owned her and her son? It was infuriating. And despite the fact her face didn't shift, expression mastered from years of practice, she knew from Alcott looking around with wide eyes--her heart skipped beats and her breath spiked, hot. Which meant Rachelle knew.

Oh, she hated this. What use was it to master propriety if wolves could tell the lie by hearing the difference in her heart? Spinning around so that at least her eyes wouldn't give her away, she says after another sip,* What a happy coincidence then.

 **Max:** *Anything but happy, he knew Lyndsea well enough to know she meant that. Curiously looking at her, he shrugs a shoulder and then chuckles at Rachelle's remark.* Biblically works too. Sounds less enjoyable though--

 **Lyndsea:** Let's not discuss the etymology of this.  
 **Max:** Why, Lynds, someone would think you're shy. *His lips flick.*  
 **Alcott:** *Seeing his mother look to him, he raises a hand.* Hey, don't stop on my account. You don't learn the proper terms at Hogwarts after all. *Smirking, though his eyes were narrower in curiosity of his mother's expression.*

 **Lyndsea:** Oh, Alcott. *She meant it to sound scolding. But the truth was it sounded like such a Brackner comment for him to make she...couldn't help but smile. Instead, she says sweetly,* And you're not going to know here either.

 **Alcott:** I suppose I'll content myself with the more vulgar th--  
 **Lyndsea:** Alcott.

 **Alcott:** Yes, Mum.

 **Max:** Ignore them. *Amused as he was by the easy banter, his eyes were on Rachelle. With an eyebrow arched,* It seems you left out a few details on our last meeting though. I do hope you weren't following my family even then?

 **Rachelle:** *A happy coincidence- what a vicious lie. Smirking (and briefly wondering what sort of complex relationship between mother and uncle there could be here) she swirled her drink with a wide smile. It wasn't that she took -pleasure- in hearing the elevated heart rate-- no, she really did. It was the predator in her, she thrived off it. She watched in brief silence as Lyndsea and Alcott spoke with an easiness and familiarity that made her miss her own family, her pack, before looking towards Max. He was only getting more attractive with age.* So did you, cherie, so did you. *But nothing out of the ordinary; she didn't reveal her last name, didn't reveal her age (wolves always looked several years older as evidenced by the 15 year old boy standing right there), and she didn't reveal the fact that she was a werewolf. Pretty normal things. She put her hand over her heart at the question.* You wound me, Max. Of course not. I don't mix business with pleasure.

 **Max:** A sound philosophy. *He says offhand, only to realize the precise implication of the comment afterwards. Lyndsea had gotten it right away; judging by her narrowed eyes and tense stance. Lifting his chin, he asks in the same casual tone,* Is stalking usually considered business?

 **Alcott:** *He snorts, though it's not funny, because that's how he chose to look at this entire thing. The alternative--that his heart should flare again with the enraging thought that murdering Eliza was only "business"--was ultimately too painful. God he wanted a drink. A compunction he realized his mother shares.* You assumed your encounter was pleasure, Uncle.

 **Lyndsea:** *She took yet another sip.*

 **Max:** Know, it was. *Carelessly shrugging his shoulder and moving to sit down. Did she have to be so goddamn gorgeous? She looked older than she must be, he realized, but wasn't too keen on furthering the train of thought.*

 **Lyndsea:** *She wrinkles her nose and then rolls her eyes to the ceiling, as if praying for strength. Then she looked back to Rachelle. She was keen on the question's answer as well. ...however poorly Max had phrased it.*

 **Rachelle:** In Russia it definitely is. *Another sip. Oh dear. Here she was in a room full of judgmental eyes, with the young wolf a step away from baring her teeth at her both out of protection for his home and family (wolves were so territorial) and because he no doubt blamed all the bad things that had happened to him on her for she was the only visual representation available for him to hate. And Lyndsea, well, the woman didnt particularly like her as much as she was using her, or rather trying to use her. At least she had some eye candy to pass the time, and it wasn't boring anymore.* That was a joke, by the way, don't expect to find anything in Russia.

 **Lyndsea:** *She looked sideways at the answer and smiles slightly as she realizes Max and Alcott hadn't actually grasped that she was joking. Brackner men, she thinks fondly, glad to have at least a -slightly- more sophisticated level of humor in her house. It was rare.* Apart from winter. *She says agreeably, and moves to sit down herself. Alcott wouldn't sit, she knew; he was struggling against understanding why she wanted Rachelle there and his latent, justified anger. Folding her fist beneath her chin, she continues so he doesn't have to find words yet and light as anything asks,* How long until Hans is breaking down our door?

 **Max:** *That makes him startle. But as he looks at Lyndsea he realizes, he shouldn't be surprised. When Alcott had told him now what she was doing, he'd be a liar if the thought she was actively aiding and abetting a criminal -hadn't- crossed his mind.*

 **Alcott:** *He had frozen at the question, but he swallows saying anything initially. His mother had said another thing before letting her in--that Rachelle wasn't getting a fair trial. Naturally, Al had thought with wry bitterness. Now he realizes it was dually true: the pack no doubt were working to organize her breaking out. No wonder his mother had cautioned him against telling anyone apart from his uncle--how many in the Ministry even knew? He guessed not many. None that could tip Hans off. Rubbing at his neck, he levies a weighted look at Rachelle, and says nothing.*

 **Rachelle:** *Eyebrows arching at the question, her surprise was replaced with genuine enjoyment of the woman. Finally, someone to keep up with her. Years of living with Allison had left her with a bad taste in her mouth about her fellow females but she was open to be changed.* Your door is handcrafted mahogany with inlaid gold fiber from the 12th century. He wouldn't break it down, admire it for a minute or two, maybe. This is all supposing he'd know where I'd be, and he does not. But between you all and I, he's partial to me so given that he won't be able to do much directly given that the entire country has a price on his head but adding in his fierce determination to get me back, expect a knock on the door in about two weeks. *she shrugs and then takes another drink* Speaking of, indirectly *she turns to the pup* how's the potion treating you, Alcott? Never better?

 **Lyndsea:** *Two weeks. Honestly, she had been hoping for a little more time but that sounded--at least doable, in figuring out what exactly they could gain from each other. More than that though...Lyndsea was trying to figure out exactly how she felt about this pack. She didn't see the justice in locking Rachelle away just as she had been before--and she couldn't trust the Aurors. She simply...she couldn't.

Only then, she did not see the justice in letting her go either, for all the lives lost at the Gala to the goals of those whom presently owned Rachelle's salvation in that potion. And this Angel who made it....perhaps if she could trust Rachelle enough...if Rachelle could trust -her- enough...perhaps they could set him free. Then would Rachelle even be a danger to the country? Anymore than her son was? But all of this in two weeks...* It is a nice door.

*Her drink swirls in her glass as she taps a fingernail against it.* I appreciate your frankness. *She takes a sip, worried eyes on Alcott, her blood running cold at the simple thought of what he lived through--what that potion helped him do.*

 **Alcott:** *His mother wasn't seriously suggesting they just hand Rachelle over to Hans, was she? The bleeding hell had gotten into her, anyway? He knew she wanted the find that potion for him (the thought sounded strange)--but surely there were other ways... Stiff, he takes a step towards Rachelle without blinking saying slowly,* I didn't know what was done to acquire this potion, Rachelle. If I had--if I had known they took an innocent man and hurt him until he made it, I wouldn't have swallowed a drop.

And I resent the fact I did, resent the fact that I know now--as you must already know--what it is to have this control because frankly, you're right. *His chin comes up, shoulders shrugging as he says casually,* Never better. *He swallows on a painfully tight throat.* And of course I want it again. Of course you do. Of course anyone would--I can only imagine briefly how much better it might get taken routinely and not shoved down my throat before my neck's snapped--

 **Max:** *He tenses, about to rise from the chair, but thinks better of it. Rachelle might be bound to the house, but he was well aware...there were two in the room who were stronger than him, and he couldn't let anything happen to Lyndsea either. This was why he was in the manor again; his family. His eyes were on his nephew though, jawline stern with fury and hurt.*

 **Alcott:** \--but even that glimpse, and of course I crave more. It's a fact of biology, isn't it? And I resent that--I resent being played like this, resent feeling like their opinion of me is so low that I can be manipulated into thinking what they did to get the potion, what they did to my friends and to my family, what they did at that Gala--even what they did to you, into thinking that any of that is just a'okay now. *His jawline trembles, and then tightens,* What I don't understand is why you think it is. *He exhales heated, determined neither to blink nor look away and says simply,* But I answered your question. So mine is simple: what does "Accueillir avec plaisir" mean, and what does it mean to you?

 **Rachelle:** That's quite noble, darling, but nobody is expecting you to think it's a-okay, that's what Death Eaters get off on, pain. Whoever's in charge is probably gaining quite the bit of pleasure from watching you all suffer as they are in advancing their goal. Me, I just want to return to my family. *she shrugs, saying it matter of factly, taking a sip of her drink again, standing in front of Al and not letting her gaze fall from his. Honestly, he was speaking as if the neck snap was a -bad- thing, it helped him and it kept him from hurting his little friends so what of it? Children could be so sensitive.

The question of his is odd, and her eyebrows rise, before she corrects him (his accent was not horrible but she couldn't stand the French language being used so idly.* Accueillir avec plaisir. Welcome, with pleasure. It's like "please come in" and it means nothing to me except a nice roll of the tongue. *grins* Why do you think it means something?

 **Alcott:** That isn't all you want. *He shakes his head, brow arching but he couldn't help his reply.* Your family, you want this potion. *His hand leaves his back pocket, laying over his heart.* That I understand now, because so do I. What troubles me, is what you're all willing to do to get it. You were going to take Lynn. And trust me on this, *he inclines his head to the side, a tiny smirk on his lips,* I understand the unbelievable irony in myself defending bloody Lynn Rivers--but I will, because it's not okay. *Flatly, and then both eyebrows arch, slowly,* And I know they get off on that--are you saying you do to?

 **Lyndsea:** *Quietly, at that she lifts her hand up towards her sons wrist. She squeezes in comfort as she murmurs,* Al.  
 **Alcott:** *Steadied by her hand he still shakes his mother off and exhales, still looking at her.* It does mean something, so thank you. It means we're going to find them.

 **Max:** *That makes him turn back to Alcott and finally stand up, his breath hot with sudden worry and clarity.* Find them?

 **Alcott:** Yes. *Flatly still, not looking away from Rachelle.* Find them and get justice. I couldn't give a damn about being noble right now--but I do know there's a basic difference between right and wrong. And what they did to get this potion? It's just bleeding wrong.

 **Rachelle:** *Yes, she wanted the potion too. That she couldn't deny.* A little pain is always good for the pleasure. *She shrugs, taking his snippy comments in stride, stirring her drink idly and then smirking in amusement as Alcott professed to find them. Them, now did he mean Death Eaters or her pack? But then she realized, he still thought them the same thing.* Listen, darling, it was wrong but it's done and hey, I'm better off because of it, and that's what matters to me. Myself. And if you free him, he'll return back to his little wife and never make that potion again and then you and me both are fucked. Two beats one, and there are much more than just the two of us.

 **Alcott:** There has to be another bloody way--

 **Lyndsea:** His little wife?

 **Max:** *He had opened his mouth to snap not to talk down to them, to his nephew that way, but Lyndsea's outburst beat all three of them. Silenced as he closes it, he swallows, dry, and then looks to Alcott again instead. His nephew had gone silent too.*  
 **Lyndsea:** He has a wife? *For some reason, it hadn't occurred to her that this Angel might have a family. Her voice was sharp and indignant, as she buried her hand in her skirt pocket, thumb pressing against her cold wedding band for warmth. Without tearing her gaze from Rachelle, she asks quieter,* Do they have her too?

 **Rachelle:** *In a rather backwards way to what she was used to, this situation was turning into her being the lone wolf, being circled by the pack that was the Brackner family. They were on the verge of intimidating, or trying to, like a big balloon that was inflating and about to pop but just at the very end it started deflating as Lyndsea spoke and everything returned to silence, even the heartbeats and the breathing quieted.* No, they haven't touched her. *And her voice as well, that was smaller too.* That's why he agreed to it in the end, to keep her safe.

 **Lyndsea:** *For some reason she felt as if all the breath had gone out of her at the simple premise presented before her. It wasn't something she wanted to understand--the finer mechanics of how to break someone, a living human being whomever you were, into a personal potion-making puppet. Her heart went out for this man. And...for his wife; did she know? Did she have any idea what her husband had done for her? Her eyes threaten to fill, but she stalls tears, stalls emotion, stalls from breaking as her thumb brushes again over her diamond ring.*

In the end. *She says quieter still, voice chilled and heart pounding in her ears for all her ice. She didn't look away from Rachelle.* That's a very pleasant way of putting that they tortured him. *Does he have as many scars as you?, she almost asked before she thinks simply: more, most likely. He'd lasted years, Rachelle had said.

Lyndsea looks to the ground a moment, breathless and aching. She's startled when she realizes that Alcott has his hand on her shoulder, and she looks at it, then covers his hand with hers.* That poor man. *She exhales breathless, hurt. Quietly, mid-squeeze, a small smile flutters across her lips as she murmurs to her son that she was fine.*

 **Max:** *Tense as anything, he feels as if he's about to snap-like a rubber band. If the rubber band had fireworks and grenades on the end. The only problem, as Lyndsea had pointed out was--it wasn't Rachelle they were furious with. He swivels, growling to himself, remembering how much fun their night had been--how wicked and amusing she was.

And now he realizes what had been done, what they wanted to do to his family...he couldn't be sure he was breathing right when he looks back to Rachelle, exhaling and somehow mid-heated inhale as he asks,* And that's it? That's all anyone in the pack ever thought? That it's just 'a shame'? Are we that outnumbered? It's hard to fight an enemy we cannot see--this is why they hide.

*His hand comes down and he doesn't give a damn that his nephew was stronger than him in that moment, as he snaps* But these...these are atrocities. And it's not something you just...stand by and let happen! *He brings his hand up rubbing lips and wide-eyes, furious and pacing back and forth.*

 **Alcott:** *He catches the glass in his mother's hand, a bit frightened for how fluttery her breath--at least until he realizes how strong her heartbeat. ...Damn. He'd never realized his mother was that strong.* Uncle Max. *He finally says, looking up from his mother to cut him off, and saying quietly.* It isn't Rachelle you're angry with.

 **Rachelle:** There's no pleasant way to say that. *She said very seriously and refrained from saying anything more. Whatever their judgments of her, and they were not entirely without reason, the woman had still gotten her out of that cell and she would not pay her back by letting her know more than that. She had seen the scars, that was enough; the imagination could do the rest but her words, the truth, would do a lot worse and she was not that cruel. She turns now to Max, fueled with the righteous fire his nephew was made from as well. She finished her drink as she watched him as he talked to her, or rather at her and then shook her head* Take it that means our fun is in the past? *She chuckles with really no known amusement and then sets the glass down before taking a step forward to him.* Listen, it's a matter of survival for me. I can stand by and watch it happen because it keeps me alive, and going against all of these people by myself is fucking suicide. So yeah, I stood by and I let it happen and guess what? I sleep like a baby.

 **Lyndsea:** I suppose there isn't. I'm just not sure something so horrific should be made nice for polite conversation. *If that was what they were even having; they were and had been half interrogating the girl, plus more or less amusing each other and themselves. Was any of this polite? And had she really been the one to say that? After all her scolding for cursing (as if that wasn't born of a desire to teach herself). Rubbing at the corner of her eyes with her ring-adorned hand, she stills feeling Alcott tense next to her, and realizing Max had to have just done the same. She whips her neck to glance between them, pointed as scissors and then says simply, rising back to her feet. There was emotion in her gaze, and a small smile as she looks at her, allowing,* Sleep well then. Max can show you the room I set up -- that feels appropriate.

 **Max:** *Was it utterly ridiculous that he was a bit turned on as she approached him, all firey and fierce? If only he could simply focus on the visual. Her words were cutting, and as much as he wanted to respond, he fell silent, realizing there wasn't anything he could truly say. If she wanted help, they could--but she had to be willing in the first place to even ask. Rachelle wasn't. His tight-lipped face falls to steady himself, and he only absently nods at Lyndsea's remark. He didn't know if there was something she wanted by that, though it sounded like she did because it was that sort of Lyndsea voice--he just kept nodding, forcing his anger and sorrow back down his throat. When he looks back up, he realizes Lyndsea had tugged on Alcott's arm until he was walking her out, irritation on his face but understanding in his eyes. He smiles at them briefly and then says under his breath to Rachelle,* I understand doing anything for family. But I must admit that this eye for an eye kind of world has left a lot of my family buried in the ground before their time, and for no crime.

 **Alcott:** *He stills as he hears his uncle near the door, his eyes squeezing shut to mirror the fist clenching around his heart. Then he turned back, but realized his mother already had. He didn't know why, since she couldn't have heard his uncle, and so his eyes stay on her curiously and intent.*

 **Lyndsea:** *Calmly, she brushes her hand against the edge of her skirt and says with words pointed and kind,* I am sorry for what you went through Rachelle. And I am glad, that I was--that we were--able to bring you here instead. Thank you for being honest. I really only have the one question--if it's suicide to go against them alone, and it very well may be. Is that the only thing that stopped you? *She arches an eyebrow, waits a moment, adds softly,* Because I hope it is. That we can change. *She nods and then simply walks out, head as high as she had the first time. Alcott joins her after a stunned moment on his own, and after repeated crys of "Ma" in her ear, after she's turned and found that she walked all the way to Harper's study, she stalls, then falls into his old chair. And spins in it, so that she can hug her son.*

 **Max:** *He clears his throat after a stunned moment, having dropped his gaze to the floor.* She always did know how to make an exit. *Offhand and fondly, he shrugs his shoulder and looks sideways to Rachelle with an eyebrow arch.*

 **Rachelle:** *And now she was being dismissed. She exhaled, taking a step back and then smiling again, nodding. Wonderful, honestly, talking to Lyndsea at the cell was hard enough, taking on her entire family was exhausting, not that she would admit to it at all. Turning her head slightly as Max spoke again, she merely took it in stride. What was his family to her? What was Max to her? A fun night several years ago, in which they both tried to sneak out on the other and ended up going at it again instead. And now he was the brother in law of Lyndsea, the woman who got her out of the cell and the uncle of the pup that Hans wanted to join him. Fat chance of that anymore, given his desire to bring them all down.

Now Lyndsea spoke, and she stiffened. She loved putting Rachelle on defense, didn't she? Not wanting to answer, not being able to answer, she nevertheless kept her gaze on Lyndsea and Alcott until they left and she heard them retreat. To Max's comment she only mmhed with a chuckle.* I do like her style. *She turns towards Max again, and then arches her eyebrow back at him* Yes, chéri?

 **Max:** *His gaze trailed over her for a second, small smile splitting his lips and he shrugs an innocent shoulder.* Just marveling, babe. *And then his gaze darts back to her eyes and holds steady, and his voice drops with seriousness. For a moment, the mirth is gone from his expression. It's an odd look for Max, to be serious and hurt and accusing and sympathetic all at once--but he wears it so well that he wonders if he doesn't spend all his time fighting the glum-serious side just to keep from being the oldest brother (because he wasn't, not really, that was Harper, would always be Harper) and to keep himself from depression. His shrug is small.* And I'm wondering if there's anyone who has actually hurt your family more than the Death Eaters have.

*Calmly, as his hand goes in his back pocket.* Though I'm betting no one's put it to you that way before. Seems to be their specialty, actually. So perhaps you aren't entirely alone, pack or no pack. I think they like making people think they are. I think they like making people feel helpless, and small, and alone. And it's as much a fallacy as their damned dogma is--because you're none of those things. Neither is Alcott. I think I won't let, them continue to get away with this. *His chin comes up and he says flatly,* And I think cheri, that what you just said? Proves that the reason it took them so long to get to Angel, is because they are so filled with hate, so filled with blind-prejudice and psychotic delusions--they couldn't fathom that a man could hold on to love that long. I think it's inspiring. *He falls silent a few moments, gaze distant, and smile small. Then he coughs, and shrugs a shoulder at her again, clapping his hands together.* But, just a few idle thoughts really--I never was the deep thinker in this family. *His smile wobbles under briefly sad eyes, turning earnest and bemused.*

 **Rachelle:** *Well, that was certainly flattering but clearly not the full intent, so her eyebrow remained perfectly raised, although now it was accompanied by a smile which disappeared once again. It didn't give away to anger but rather to a look on both confusion and bewilderment, though her carved features were so sharp she had long learned to keep them to a point where they didn't venture into comical. There was nothing comical about this. Licking her lier face.* Max there is absolutely nothing about idle about you. *Oh the memories. It made sense then that he would be passionate in every aspect of his life.* You gonna give me the tour, or shall we keep stripping each other with our eyes?


	43. On My Own Terms

**Hols:** *In workout trousers and sports bra, she knocks before she enters Nadia’s room, pulling her hair into a pony tail and whistling to wake her up.* C’mon Nadia, get up, get dressed, we’re training.

 **Nadia:** *grumbles, pulling the covers over her eyes* Go away.

 **Hols:** *grabs the blankets and pulls them off* C’mon! Up, up!

 **Nadia:** *Puts her pillow over her eyes* Go away!

 **Hols:** *takes another pillow and starts smacking her with it* Up! Up! Up!

 **Nadia:** Jesus fudging Christ, Hols! *sits up* If you don’t get out of my room I’m going to stab you!

 **Hols:** That’s more like it! *claps her hands together* Now come on, chop chop. Long day ahead. We’re starting with cardio.

 **Nadia:** I’d rather shoot myself. *yawning and stretching out her arms, rubbing her eyes* Go awayyy.

 **Hols:** Devin’s here.

 **Nadia:** Nice try, not gonna work. *lays back down on the bed with a huff and curls up into a ball, hugging her pillow*

 **Hols:** Nadia!

 **Nadia:** Go away, evil spawn of Satan! It’s flipping 6 in the morning! *holds her head up and looks at her alarm clock to check* 6:10, whatever!

 **Hols:** Nadia, you slept your healthy 8 hours, now get your fat ass up!

 **Nadia:** It is not fat!

 **Hols:** If you don’t exercise it, it’s going to get fat.

 **Nadia:** Then let me get fat, I just want to sleep. *she curls up to her pillow again*

 **Hols:** Oh for fuck’s sake- *walks over and picks up the mattress before flipping it to knock Nadia to the ground*

 **Nadia:** Oww! *she glares at Hols before standing up and chasing her out of her room* You bi- *slams the door on her*

 **Hols:** *smirks* 25 minutes Nadia!

 **Nadia:** *through the door* Screw you!

 **Hols:** 24 and 45 seconds.

 

{*}

**Devin:** *In the woods again, with the crossbow,* So…what you said before. In the hospital. About …

 **Alcott:** *He sits up straighter, remembering and nodding.* Yeah. Devin? What did you say about how Nadia acted in the hospital? Is still acting now?

 **Devin:** *Confused,* What do you mean?

 **Alcott:** *With amusement and impatience as he wonders why people don’t listen to even themselves, Alcott straightens. He sticks a hand in his back pocket, his speech plain.* You said it’s like she’s still Nadia, but she doesn’t remember how she became Nadia.

 **Devin:** *Had started just nodding, though his heart was skipping beats again,* …Yes. She remembers how to do magic. Remembers how to…walk, and speak both English and Spanish, remembers what the difference is between a boy and a girl, a friend versus a foe, and not only that — but that she still blushes when I took her hand, still sought my hand in fact — she still tried to make peace between siblings arguing.That’s why the Healers are hopeful that her memories will come back…

 **Alcott:** And that’s why the Healers are idiots. *Flatly, his arms folded on his chest and then both shoulders shrugging.* Oh, they might, but it’ll take years to sort through —

 **Devin:** *Breathy in an abrupt panic,* What are you talking about?

 **Alcott:** Still Nadia, only she doesn’t remember how she became

Nadia? *Eyebrow skyrocketing near his hair line, he contemplates,* That’s exactly, what my father was studying. I don’t mean it’s close to, I don’t mean it’s in the same field of medicine — I mean that’s the exact phenomenon. And she got this way because of the same bastards who murdered him, the same people who were using Hans to try and recruit me —

 **Devin:** …you don’t think it’s a coincidence.

 **Alcott:** *Flat,* No, I know that’s not a coincidence. They did this -to- her - that’s what that, D’Grey said, right?

 **D’Grey:** *Behind him, he chuckles as he’s leaning comfortably against a tree and says lightly,* Well. Least I know I’m being listened to.

 **Alcott:** *He spins, startled, and in a flash again is against the little clearing.

In a chokehold.*

 **D’Grey:** Well that, *with a tiny laugh and eyeroll, his elbow under a flustered Alcott, his other hand locked around his wrist,* was just unfriendly.

 **Devin:** *Has the crossbow raised, warily staying back and trying not to betray the fact that it made almost no sense to him at all that D’Grey would be able to overpower Alcott.* Let him go.

 **D’Grey:** Should I not have defended myself? *Conversationally, still with his wrist in a vice grip, keeping Alcott pinned - but unhurt.* Relax, Devin. *He unclenches, patting Alcott’s shoulders — well two seconds, before Alcott’s scrambled and backed up, smacking his wrist away and then rubbing at it. That makes D’Grey snort. Even as he holds both of his palms up, face front, utterly unbothered by the crossbow,* Mate. Really? Hitting me with a wrist you broke not ten minutes ago?

 **Alcott:** How did —

 **D’Grey:** Obviously, I was watching.

 **Alcott:** —you get so fucking strong?

 **D’Grey:** Oh, that. *He pauses, hands coming down as he glances at Devin with the crossbow, and is caught for a genuine moment. Then he shrugs, just one shoulder up, with a bitter laugh and twisted smirk,* Won the genetic lottery.

 **Alcott:** What are you talkin—

 **Devin:** *Overtop of his friend, with a headshake at the sarcasm. Was he lying? No human could be born stronger than a wolf…but Al would have told him if D’Grey was a wolf.* What are you doing here?

 **D’Grey:** *Pleasantly,* Being threatened by a crossbow.

 **Alcott:** *Snorts, and then looks at Devin apologetically with a head tilt answering Devin’s glare.*

 **Devin:** Being shot by a crossbow if you don’t tell us the truth.

 **D’Grey:** Mm. See, we have a problem there. *Still light, still pleasant,* In that I don’t respond well to threats. *Taking a step forward, then again, unbothered as ever, he keeps his demeanor and tone friendly,* Come on, Devin. *He looks at him, flat, eyes darkening with intent.* You won’t shoot. I’m not a threat to you. If I was, why would I have bothered waking you up?

*They lock glares. A bird shrieks against the sky. It’s the only sound in the forest, save heavy breath. Then slowly, very slowly, Devin lowers the crossbow (though he didn’t let go and, nor should he, Olivier thought with a tiny smile.* Thank you. See how much more of a civil conversation it makes for?

 **Alcott:** *Eyes narrow,* Is spying particularly civil?

 **D’Grey:** It’s a particularly exact term. That’s particularly inaccurate here. *His lips flick, looking between the two of them. When they don’t even crack a smile, he sighs.* I wasn’t spying. I was observing, while walking. You two know the amount of noise you made? I think there’s people in Majorca whose ears ringing from that wristbone-crack.

 **Alcott:** *Drily,* Is that an exact description?

 **D’Grey:** *Oh, heavens. He chuckles, and thinks, how very much like Harper he could be. He wouldn’t tell him that, couldn’t tell him that. If he did, Alcott wouldn’t believe him. Or worse, he would, and would demand to see him now — and he didn’t exactly judge “keeping your family safe” to include “sending your son through Gustav’s front door,” at least not yet, so he only shrugs a shoulder.* You’re going to need more than one crossbow and one semi-competent wolf if you take on the headquarters.

 **Alcott:** Semi-compete—

 **Devin:** What are you doing here then? *Twang, went the steel string beneath his fingers.*

 **D’Grey:** *Pleasantly, with a tiny shrug,* I told you, Devin. I’m a friend.

 **Alcott:** Yeah? *He tried not to think about the fact his mother wouldn’t be here without him — it wasn’t hard. Ma had said herself not to trust him.* Well, “friend,” you know what I can’t figure out?

 **D’Grey** : I’m sure you’ll tell me.

 **Alcott:** *Ignoring this, and ignoring Devin’s smirk,* How it is you’re still alive.

 **D’Grey** : *He checks. Then nods.* Yes, see, my heart’s beating so that’s pumping blood—

 **Alcott:** Dick.

 **Devin:** *Having understood the question (even as he chuckles),* Why haven’t they killed you?

 **D’Grey** : *He’d understood. But Lord, stuck with the Death Eaters without the pack - as they remained here to rescue Rachelle - well, it left very little entertainment most of the past few days. Still, now his smirk lifts, shrewd.* Ah, I see. What reasons did I give them to trust me? Clever.

 **Devin:** It’s a simple question.

D’Grey: Mm. *He takes another few steps forward, shrugging a shoulder at them both.* I quite agree. It’s not one I’m answering, but it is a simple question.

 **Alcott:** Then you can tur—

 **D’Grey** : *Over him,* You both have a low regard for my ability, don’t you?

 **Devin:** Not at all. *He knew too well how capable he was.* Just a high regard for your ability to betray.

 **Alcott:** *Trilling in a mockery of D’Grey’s tone,* And a high expectation of your cruelty.

 **D’Grey** : *His lips flick. Of course they did, he thinks pleasantly. He’d given them his last name: it was days later. Surely they’d have looked it up by now — if Devin’s father hadn’t known it on the spot, and he suspects (knew) he would. Unable to keep a pleased smirk from his lips, he allows pleasantly,* You wouldn’t be wrong.

 **Devin:** *Ignoring a shiver going up his spine (and the fact he twisted the bow harder, so it bit into his finger pad and nearly bled), he says slowly,* And yet we should trust you?

 **D’Grey** : Not at all. *Still pleasant.* You should use me.

 **Alcott:** *Silence. Then, he grins, shaking his head,* You think if you tell us not to trust you, we will?

 **D’Grey** : *Snorts,* No, that would mean I expect you to be easily persuaded morons, and it’s quite the opposite. No. What I think is you know I have information you want. That you want the opportunity to try and get it out of me. So here, *he holds both hands up near his head,* I am.

 **Alcott:** *His brows furrow. They have danced enough around whatever this is, these games and tricks, for goddamn long enough frankly, but he gets it.* You’re trying to get us to do something you won’t.

 **D’Grey** : Not won’t. *Lightly, with a shoulder shrug,* Can’t. I’m not the entire Commonwealth on top of France, you know.

 **Alcott:** *Snorts, saying pleasantly himself,* How modest of you.

 **Devin:** *Flatly,* What is it you want?

 **D’Grey** : *Just as flatly, but without any of the anger and judgment,*

For you to remember, when you’ve killed the bastards who took your families, who helped you do it. That’s it.

 **Alcott:** *He nods. His face is neutral, muscles lax, but Eliza would have known that means he is only trying too hard. Then D’Grey holds his hand out and after they exchange another stare, he extends his hand and holds it there, shaking hard (very hard, trying to test the man’s strength and still blinking in surprise at the extent of it),* Yeah, all right. I swear to have a memory.

 **D’Grey:** Ah, *he chuckles the tiniest bit, shaking his hand back just as hard (impressed by the challenge), and then adds,* You know, that isn’t as much a foregone conclusion as you’d think.

 **Devin:** *Hisses, and his fist clenches at his side.*

 **Alcott:** Oh no. I know it to be a fact.

 **D’Grey** : Because it was your father’s area of research? *Curious: for a moment, he honestly was wondering how much of Harper’s genius his son -was- in possession of. He tilts his head as his hand returned to his pocket.*

 **Alcott:** Damn straight.

 **D’Grey** : So you understand it?

 **Alcott:** Every fucking word. And I will, break the goddamn lock on her mind you know. Already started, in fact.

 **D’Grey:** *Something to tell Harper, he thinks before realizing: the man would already know. It was in him he’d put his faith in the first place — his son and — ah. He nods, asking immediately of Devin,* How is Nadia?

 **Devin:** *His back snaps straight, and his eyes narrow.* She’s — *He really didn’t want to say a thing. But he rubs his forehead, relenting after a few moments and nods,* Mending well. Mentioned you. She said you helped her. So…thank you.

 **D’Grey:** *For a moment, an honest smile crosses his lips. Oh, Nadia. Then it darkens as he remarks, brisk,* Thank her for me.

 **Devin:** *Arching an eyebrow, it asks a silent question for him.*

 **D’Grey** : *Lips flick,* For speaking so kindly of me, when she knows well as I, I should have done more.

 **Alcott:** *Seeing Devin speechless,* Where is the headquarters?

 **D’Grey** : Mm, that I can’t tell you. *With genuine apology,* I’d like to. But see, unless you’re brought there by a Death Eater — gag order applies.

 **Alcott:** Splendid then, you bring us. *His eyes narrow.*

 **D’Grey** : *He tuts. And then rolls up both sleeves, showing his bare forearms and rolling his eyes,* Look like I have the mark to you?

 **Alcott:** I don’t fucking care if you have the mark. You know where it is. You—

 **D’Grey** : *arches eyebrow, in a look that so plainly reads: are you really that idiotic? even as he waits patiently, that Alcott falls silent.

 **Devin:** *Slowly,* You’re not a Death Eater.

 **D’Grey** : And finally! Someone gets it. *He lowers his hands again, sliding them easily into his front pocket, toying with a coin.* I would have thought Eliza might have mentioned…

*It was remarkable, how fast the light atmosphere turned brutally cold. Winter had fallen a month ago, night was starting — but it was only now that he felt the cold. It takes D’Grey aback and he looks between them, slowly, breathless. Thirty seconds beforehand, they had looked like partners to him: these teenagers, like men with agenda and purpose; skill sets unique to them and connections that were all the better. Now they just look like boys. Lost, little heartbroken boys filled with bitterness he knew too well and hurt that couldn’t fully hide behind their anger. His face folds. His question is tiny, on a raw throat beneath wide-eyes,* They killed Eliza?

 **Alcott:** *Hissing,* Don’t tell us you didn’t -know-. If you’re so in the know —

 **D’Grey:** *It doesn’t register with him, anything else Alcott said. Eliza had been find, he’d seen her: in the Gala, in the hospital, double-checked on her. He knew they’d wanted to recruit her, knew the failure to take her then would have left her vulnerable. Saliva pooled on his tongue in time with the thumpthump of the heartbeat he could hear and feel. Asking for clarification, he was sure wasn’t needed. Didn’t want.

He exhales, suddenly feeling heavy. His eyes never waver from their gaze as a chin pulls back with understanding he hated. Not even a tiny flicker down. The slight smile is gone from his face though, replaced by stillness. Always so still, like marble and hardened iron over even harder bones; his grip, tight on his own elbow, would break through steel.

Eliza…he knew, she’d been taken. Her death would be faked from the hospital — that pink-haired bitch, he thinks, too angry to dirty his beloved Italian language — she would be in the cells right now. Eliza wouldn’t be the first to suffer that fate. But the second, and how cruel was it to the boy in front of him brimming in anger? His father and his best friend.

He hadn’t known. Then again, wasn’t that the point? He knew what he needed to, studied Gustav and Gina, studied their business, their flaws, found weaknesses to exploit and people to turn. He did not look further — further to the pasts and histories of captives, could not afford to be caught caring for the one when it might expend the few.

Nadia’s words return to him, and he bites hard on his bottom lip, shaking his head as he thinks ruefully: good God, this had to stop. This was what he wanted to stop, this is who he was trying to save, goddammit, goddammit. His eyes shut. Something twists inside of him, and it takes him a moment to realize it was regret. She was sixteen, he thinks with fury burying in his guy. Sixteen. And innocent, and lovely, and he wasn’t going to let this happen to one goddamn more person.

Past precedence dictates his reaction, though, so as he opens his eyes again thirty seconds later, he only says,* I’m sorry for your loss.

Then he starts backing up, only looking back as he realizes,* …Eliza wasn’t the only target.

 **Devin:** *He understands immediately, back straightening as breath leaves him.* Lynn.

 **Alcott:** Irene. *Angrier in that instant, he was surprised he didn’t spit blood with his friend’s name, furious to think she could go through yet more, that Dev’s sister might, that anyone might.*

 **D’Grey:** *He nods, rubbing over his lip harder and harder, saying firmly,* I’d get to them…and prepare. Here. *He reaches inside his own jacket pocket (his suit immaculate, ridiculously so compared to their conjoined messes,) and tosses them a box.*

 **Devin:** *He catches it, opens it up, and blinks - then smiles slightly.* Silver bullets.

 **Alcott:** *D’grey was tossing something else, which Alcott catches, realizing it’s a hand-gun.* Ah.

 **D’Grey:** *He nods, shrugging a shoulder.* You’re welcome. There’s bolts in there too, mate. For a crossbow.

 **Devin:** *Looking up, he realizes startled how far D’Grey was now and calls out in surprise — he was hardly done asking questions just because Eliza’s name was mentioned. It was all the more fucking point to get this done, wasn’t it?* Wait. Where are you going?

 **D’Grey:** *To Eliza, he thinks quietly, because this wasn’t fucking happening again, not again, not on his watch, in his city, with his. But all he does is spin around, look between Devin and Alcott’s scared-angry little glances, and offer then a tiny smile.*

There’s something I have to do.

 

{*}

**Nadia:** *Falls down on the grass after running as a ‘warm up’* I surrender.

 **Hols:** You’re doing good Nadia! *jogging in place, stretching her arms and neck*

 **Nadia:** Does it even matter to you that the Healers said ‘take it easy’?

 **Hols:** Nadia, you used to be able to run the whole length of the Quidditch pitch 5 times without getting winded with me. *extends her hand to help her stand up* I’m getting you back in shape.

 **Nadia:** *whines and takes her hand, standing* I remember.

 **Hols:** *she smiles encouragingly, and then nods* Good. *gives Nadia her water bottle* Now come on, combat training.

 **Nadia:** Combat training?

 **Hols:** No one’s going to take advantage of you ever again.

 **Nadia:** Hols-

 **Hols:** Never. again.

 **Nadia:** Combat training is pretty useless with werewolves. They’re infinitely faster, stronger.

 **Hols:** The Death Eaters, aren’t. Proven by Devin when he took down Casanova.

 **Nadia:** *quietly* Julio.

 **Hols:** Yeah, him.

 **Nadia:** Chace helped too.

 **Hols:** Chace was getting his ass kicked, sweetie.

 **Nadia:** Julio attacked him with his back turned *frowning, gritting her teeth* if he hadn’t-

 **Hols:** These kind of people will always play dirty, Nadia. You have to be prepared. And you have to be angry.

 **Nadia:** I -am- angry.

 **Hols:** You don’t look angry, you don’t act angry.

 **Nadia:** *incredulous* Of course I’m not, why would I?

 **Hols:** Why would you hide it to begin with?

 **Nadia:** I’m not hiding, Hols. It’s right here, every single second, the anger just doesn’t go away! But I don’t want it to rule my life either. I don’t -like- feeling angry, why would I want anyone to see me angry? It’s such an ugly emotion.

 **Hols:** *dryly* Anger is ugly?

 **Nadia:** Don’t patronize me-

 **Hols:** I’m not!

 **Nadia:** And it is. Anger -is- ugly. And I hate that that’s all everybody has to hold on to now. *she grits her teeth, stubborn will keeping the tears at bay as she had ever since she’d told herself she was tired of crying.* And it’s all my fault.

 **Hols:** *aghast* Nadia!

 **Nadia:** *she shakes her head, and scoffs* Now are you going to tell me how to feel?

 **Hols:** *she exhales, speaking a little softer* I’m only trying to help.

 **Nadia:** By turning me into a killing machine? Too late.

 **Hols:** *swallows on a dry throat* Nadia, you know that I hate that’s what you had to resort to-

 **Nadia:** I know how to protect myself. The problem, Hols, is that when they’ve got you cornered and trapped without a wand, after they’ve had you locked in a cell without much food or water, and nothing but the screams of every poor soul dying there for company, anything learned just goes away. It’s you, and it’s them, or rather it’s you or it’s them and I wasn’t ready to die, so I killed him. *her jaw trembled* I killed him. And the only thing I’m sorry about is that I wasn’t able to kill Rhys.

 **Hols:** *With eyes watered in despair and anger, she swallows again and then takes a step towards her baby sister* Nadia-

 **Nadia:** I don’t want to do combat training.

 **Hols:** Okay. *she sniffs and then wipes at her face with her towel quickly and clears her throat* Okay, fine. But, I seriously think you should consider it.

 **Nadia:** There’s enough blood spilled over this, Hols. I won’t prep to shed any more of it.

 **Hols:** I just want to help, Nadia. Weak points, how to get out of chokeholds, things like that. And Al gave me some things that would be useful against wolves.

 **Nadia:** I know how to get out of a chokehold, Hols. I’ve known all along, I’ve taken self defense classes. Sure, I don’t have a black belt in jiu-jitsu but-

 **Hols:** I don’t have a black belt.

 **Nadia:** Point is, that like always *she chuckles and then shakes her head* you’re not listening to me.

 **Hols:** Hey. That’s not fair, Nadia. *she steps up and places a hand on her shoulder* You were gone for two weeks, and every day I died a little more. You know that after 72 hours, police starts looking for a body instead. Or they would have, except dad didn’t let them even think about it. And all the while, I’m here blaming myself and hating myself because you came to me that same day and told me something horrible was going to happen and I didn’t listen to you. It -killed- me.

 **Nadia:** *she released her bottom lip after having bitten down on it throughout her entire explanation and then exhales* So listen to me now.

 **Hols:** I am!

 **Nadia:** Why don’t I want to combat train?

 **Hols:** Because you don’t want to spill any more blood.

 **Nadia:** *smiles a bit sad* Because I’m more prepared to spill it than you are.

 **Hols:** *snorts*

 **Nadia:** It’s true, Hols. You protected yourself against Allison, self-defense. I stabbed Al because I thought he was in league with Hans.

 **Hols:** But you didn’t know-

 **Nadia:** But I was going to kill him anyways. Because in my mind, it was better in the long run, one less wolf coming after my family to worry about. Could you do that? Justify killing another person?

 **Hols:** *she licks her lips and then remains silent.*

 **Nadia:** If I just train…if I practice shooting a gun, throwing knives, hand to hand combat, it’s only going to make it easier to blur the lines between self-defense and cold blooded murder. I don’t want that line to blur.

 **Hols:** You’re not a murderer, Nadia. You’re not.

 **Nadia:** But I am. And I wish you would all stop preparing yourselves to be just that.

 **Hols:** We’re preparing ourselves so we don’t get caught off guard- *she dodges the water bottle that was aimed at her head, the distraction (because that’s what it was) left her vulnerable for a moment and in that moment she felt a knee colliding with her stomach. Instinct kicked in, and she grabbed Nadia’s leg, twisting it before pushing her away. Nadia rolled on the ground, got her wand out and pointed it at Hols, making her stop mid her scurry towards the younger girl.*

 **Nadia:** *She breathed out a deep exhale, looking up at her sister from the ground before pretending it was a gun and squeezed the imaginary trigger.* Bang.

 **Hols:** *breathing in and out heavily, the kick had knocked the wind out of her, and she just stares at Nadia, not knowing what to say.*

 **Nadia:** Silver bullet to the brain. Doesn’t kill them, but it knocks them out for a long while. While they regrow whatever part of the brain was just blown up. *She stands up and pockets her wand again* Plenty of enough time to hand them over to authorities. Think about making that your target instead of the heart, and save yourself the pain.

 **Hols:** *she seems fixed in place, unable to say something until Nadia’s turning around to walk away from her.* Nadia, wait. *She walks up to her sister and then holds her tightly, hugging her with all her strength, tears pearled in her eyes.* Sweetie, listen to me, you are not a murderer. You aren’t.

 **Nadia:** *She hugs her back, breathing in through her nose and nodding slowly, not knowing if she needed the hug more than her sister but accepting it nonetheless.* I still don’t want to practice at getting better at it.

 **Hols:** *she nods and steps back before her lips twitch* You’re pretty good at it already.

 **Nadia:** *she smiles sadly and then takes Hols’ hand and squeezes it.* Train. Prepare yourself if you want, just don’t train yourself to forget the value of a human life.

 **Hols:** You’re a saint, you know that right?

 **Nadia:** I think that title doesn’t apply to those of us with blood on our hands.

 **Hols:** *she sighs again* Nadia-

 **Nadia:** *smiles* Listen, I have you and Chace looking after me. I have Devin and Al and Lynn and Nick and Irene all looking out for me. Tons of you. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to me while you’re all around.

 **Hols:** One day, maybe you’ll find yourself with none of us around.

 **Nadia:** That already happened, I turned out pretty well, right? *grins and shrugs* Normal people don’t know all of this Hols. They don’t know weak points, how to take down an assailant with their back turned, they don’t train to be soldiers.

 **Hols:** Well, we’re not normal people. And we didn’t choose this, but this is the hand we’ve been dealt, and it’s irresponsible not to arm ourselves.

 **Nadia:** And when it’s all said and done, is it gonna be easy to hang on to normal life after so much training and strategizing? That’s why I’m going to go inside, and I’m going to wake up Chace given that’s it’s finally the decent hour of 10 a.m., and we’re going to watch Batman.

 **Hols:** *she smiles despite herself.*

 **Nadia:** Choosing not to train doesn’t make me weak. I’m not. I got myself out in the end *with help, she thought to herself* I didn’t need to know where the solar plexus is located.

 **Hols:** *points to it and then winces as she realizes it’s where Nadia kicked her* Beginner’s luck.

 **Nadia:** *wiggles her eyebrows* If you say so.

 **Hols:** So you’re just going to let us…take care of you? And leave yourself vulnerable?

 **Nadia:** Hols, I could have shattered you worse than Humpty Dumpty once I had that wand in hand.

 **Hols:** Fair point.

 **Nadia:** And there’s no way to make yourself immune to distractions or to being sneaked up on.

 **Hols:** Practice.

 **Nadia:** You prep to fight that way, but you don’t stop and think that this is their way. Physical strength, tricks, violence, that’s their way, that’s their game. And in their turf, there’s no other way to play it, so I understand preparing yourself and understanding the rules but I’m not going to play their game. I’m doing it my way, my rules.

 **Hols:** And how exactly are you going to do that?

 **Nadia:** …*raises her chin* I need you to take me to the Ministry.

 

{*}

**Tony:** You standing over a dead body. I don’t think this picture gets any more typical.

 **Gina:** *her lips widen into a smirk as she uses a shear to cut into the chest cavity, pulling apart the chest plate to leave the lungs and heart exposed.* Come here, Tone, I want you to see this.

 **Tony:** *walks in further and then sits at a stool, looking at the body of a dead man* What am I looking for?

 **Gina:** Nothing, just wanted you to see the process. *she shrugs, looking up from the body with a grin* You’ve got a strong stomach, big boy, don’t you?

 **Tony:** Only the strongest. *he taps it, smirking widely, trying not to show how much disgust she felt for the woman.* So what did this poor sucker die of?

 **Gina:** Parasite. Look. *she uses a scalpel to scrape the surface of the heart and holds it up.*

 **Tony:** What am I looking at now?

 **Gina:** *hands him in a magnifying glass which he takes after a moment’s hesitance, only making her smile* You see it now?

 **Tony:** That’s tiny. This thing killed the man?

 **Gina:** It was much bigger before. It encased the whole heart, started bleeding it dry. The man simply felt tired and went to bed earlier than usual and never woke up. Peaceful death, not many get that.

 **Tony:** Especially not when you’re around. *he smirks, handing her the magnifying glass back*

 **Gina:** *she chuckles and then continues with her examination, putting her attention back to the corpse* Why are you here, Tone?

 **Tony:** Don’t call me that.

 **Gina:** Why? *wiggles her eyebrows* Remind you of our time together.

 **Tony:** Exactly. And that’s why you did it. Called me by a nickname no one ever has before just to burrow yourself into my mind.

 **Gina:** I like leaving an impression, you know.

 **Tony:** I do know. *dryly and then snorts*

 **Gina:** You still haven’t answered my question.

 **Tony:** How about you answer one of my mine- why are you doing this?

 **Gina:** It’s my job, -Tone-. I’m a pathologist, specialize in autopsies.

 **Tony:** That’s creepy. And psychotic.

 **Gina:** Someone’s got to the job.

 **Tony:** Yeah, but you enjoy it. And not in that, ‘how fascinating is this’ CSI and Law  & Order way, but you really love it. Cutting into flesh, spilling blood.

 **Gina:** No blood in this body, love. Otherwise, I’m sure you would have a hard time restraining yourself. *She looks up finally, a wide grin on her face.* What is it like, Tone? Such a bloodlust, such a craving, and it’s not even something you need for sustenance. *she leans in* You know, I thought I felt you…stirring *smirks* at the sight of the blood last time. Want to ty again?

 **Tony:** *Fuck you, he wanted to spit out, instead he forced himself to smirk and shake his head before admitting* I’ll pass on that, Gina. You are way too hardcore for me.

 **Gina:** Forcing you is only more fun for me.

 **Tony:** You’re not supposed to lay a finger on me, you naughty girl.

 **Gina:** *she raises her eyebrow and then leans over to put just one finger on his arm and then grin.* I don’t always do what Gustav tells me to, you know.

 **Tony:** What a shocking development *sarcastic* I had no idea.

 **Gina:** *she giggles and then steps back, taking her latex gloves off and tossing them in the wastebin* Have you come here to accuse me of something, Tone?

 **Tony:** Not at all! *He said pleasantly, as pleasantly as he could manage, when all he wanted was to take hold of that obnoxious color hair of hers and submerge it in a vat of water. He bit on his bottom lip as he realized his thought process, so he shook his head.* Of course not, -Gin-. Merely wondering why if you’d like to get some drinks.

 **Gina:** *eyebrows arching, she puts her hands in the pockets of her white labcoat and tilts her head* Why?

 **Tony:** Maybe I like you.

 **Gina:** Maybe you’re trying to kill me.

 **Tony:** I would have tried that already, darling.

 **Gina:** *smirks* Tried being the operative word.

 **Tony:** Okay, you’ve got me, I don’t want to drink with you.

 **Gina:** I know.

 **Tony:** Don’t really like being in your presence at all.

 **Gina:** That was the point of it, baby.

 **Tony:** And the thought of handcuffs, that used to be so pleasant, now sends my stomach to a point of disgust so unbearable that I might just vomit all over you right now.

 **Gina:** *she giggles, biting her lip* Oh but Tone, you can’t tell me you didn’t like it, even just a little bit. I mean *she steps up to him and then grins to see him stiffen and trails a finger down his chest, the same way she had with a knife a year ago* in a way, it was the most attention anyone’s ever paid to you in your whole life.

 **Tony:** *he grips her wrist suddenly, squeezing it tightly, his eyes narrowed at her and all she did was grin and giggle.*

 **Gina:** Hit a bit too close to home, didn’t I? *she grinned* but I did, I paid close attention to you. Every single, delectable muscle, ligament, vein…*she licked her lips* For those few days, you were entirely mine and you want to belong to someone, Tony. Anyone. Even someone as…*she chuckles* as unbearably disgusting to you as I am.

 **Tony:** *she throws the wrist away from him, taking a step back and then exhales.* Gina, you are seriously, all kinds of messed up.

 **Gina:** *smirks, rubbing her wrist* I know, baby.

 **Tony:** As long as you know.

 **Gina:** *eyebrow raises* Why are you really here, Tone? I’m getting tired of asking.

 **Tony:** I guess I just needed to know.

 **Gina:** Know what?

 **Tony:** If a person could really be that horrible on their own, without their master pulling at the leash.

 **Gina:** *Wrong person wearing the leash she thinks before giggling again.* Did you ever tell your brother what else I did, Tone? *he remains silent and that’s answer enough, so she smirks.* Oh, you didn’t.

 **Tony:** It doesn’t matter.

 **Gina:** Oh but it does! *she steps up to him again, with a grin.* Physical torture, oh that’s always delectable baby, but I messed with your mind too. The physical messes with your mind eventually, but I went right there. *she taps the side of her head* Took on the appearance of the person you hate most.

 **Tony:** *he breathes out, exhaling as Gina steps away from him again and in a few seconds, she grew a little taller, the labcoat turned into a suit, pink hair grew even shorter and then completely blank. Brown eyes, brown like shit Tony thought, grew darker and beadier, skin turned pale and the image of Remington D’Grey now stood in front of him*

 **Gina:** *she tilts her head* I’m curious, did your father ever beat you, Tony? *more silence* Well, even if he did, never like I did, with this face on. And then again, as the person you love most.

 **Tony:** You don’t need to change into my brother for dramatic effect, just stop.

 **Gina:** *she giggles and turns back to herself instead, tilting her head.* It messed with your head. That’s the reason you left, wasn’t it? Apart from being scared shitless, you really couldn’t look your brother in the face, knowing that you had stared into it as every single curse hit you, twisted you inside, burned you, killed you little…by…little.

 **Tony:** *He grits his teeth and then shakes his head, walking away from her with a smirk* So much for drinks then.

 **Gina:** You’re way out of your league here, Tone. *she keeps calling out after him while he walks away* Crawl back into that hiding place you went to, and stay there. *The door slammed.*

 

{*}

They’d killed everyone.

It wasn’t true. She knew that. Some part of her, deep down, some part of the girl shaking in a dark corner knew it was lies; dreams (nightmares) planted in her head to take root with doubt and twist her soul to grow to their purpose, in this pitch-black darkness. It doesn’t work that way, she wanted to spit at them (but her mouth was cotton and she had no aim). Plants need light to grow. Photosynthesis, to be precise, and wouldn’t Alcott be so proud she remembers —

Don’t think about Alcott.

Don’t think about the way he looked laying in front of her like a present, eyes wide open with a bloody grimace on his face, a snarl in his lips, fingernails jagged and fingers broken (he’d have fought back, they got that little detail right). No, no, no. It was a lie.

Denial was the first stage of acceptance, the man said. The others called him Ringer.

(But she just called him Red, the color of his shirt, so dark a color that her blood hardly shows on it).

Denial was the first stage of acceptance, but she laughs when he repeated it. Triumphant. (If it had been true, he wouldn’t feel insecure enough to repeat it.) He grabs her hand and chin, fingers like steel and strength in his bones that make her jaw click. Her toes scrape against the dirt as she’s pulled up to his height. She blinks eyes too bright for this black at him, regards with almost amazement the scarlet on a wrist, just under the place where the sleeve on her sweater doesn’t quite meet her hand.

Red’s forcing her to look at the body, the faked corpse of her best friend.

(Maybe she should talk about how much she loved Victoria. Sharing a cell with her corpse wouldn’t be so bad.)

She swipes the blood off her wrist as she looks, rubs it against his forearm, trying to leave a stain of her deep in his skin. When he backhands her mouth for her trouble,saliva splatters from his lips, coats his cheek,and she closes her eyes and just laughs, and laughs. There. Now she’d marked him too.

They were using her name in the outside world (was there one? everything here was dark - dank, depressive, painful - she couldn’t remember exactly) — using it like a knife, cutting it into whatever flesh they could find to make themselves little soldiers. She’s been reduced to a lesson, a casualty, a candle lit in memorial - and she fucking hates it. Now at least her blood was on him. He could wear it in pride, he could hit her again, but he couldn’t ignore it.

The door opens again. For a moment, the candles from the hallway blind her and so she doesn’t see, rubbing the sleeve she’d been using as a bandage for the cuts on arm over her eyes, over her cheeks and ignoring the blood dripping in her mouth, copper on her tongue. Ignores every scarlet-and-black swipe, the pain shuddering up her spine as she shakes against the wall, ignores everything but what she hears.

What she hears is this: Get out.

You don’t command me —

(What a funny statement from Red, Eliza thinks with another swallowed laugh. What a pitifully insecure man they had torturing her. Why should she listen to one who couldn’t even convince himself?)

Are you really that stupid? / You want to try that again? —

(Men, Eliza mutters to herself. Always so eager to fight, so eager to prove. She couldn’t help her incredulous mutter, but really it was fine with her if they wanted to go have some macho showdown and leave her be, just, just leave her be for some time…)

Are you challenging me?

(Yes, Eliza wanted to snap at the new arrival. Yes, she was. She was challenging all of them. She wasn’t going to be this broken, pitiful shell. Pay no attention to the tears on her cheeks, the blood staining her lips, the shaking limbs that refused to listen to her commands).

Maybe I am.

(Hardly definitive, Eliza thinks, bleeding. She stumbles—)

—and then in the next instant, she screams.

The new arrival had murder on his mind when he walked in, she realizes, huddling against the wall. It was all ready working it’s way in his bones, soaking the marrow with a dark color like the roots of bitter plants. And he’d won, for Red was dying — blood soaking his throat in a uniform way from the single swipe of a knife — dripping to the floor — dying, dying, dead.

Eliza chokes, relieved and terrified. Was that all it took for someone to die? The body of her friend was gone: in it’s place, the real corpse of one who’d nearly killed her. Bittersweet triumph, she thinks, but she can’t help a tiny sob of relief.

“It’s all right now, Eliza.”

She stifles another word, war in her heart, blaring disbelief and want. How could that be true? How could anything be okay right now? But he called her by her name, and she liked that.

Still, she should find a way to stop crying. Tears encouraged them. The new arrival was dressed immaculately, leaning over the corpse like he wanted to check there was no pulse. As she adjusts her eyes, choking on the stench of torn flesh, she watches his hand and realizes — it was shaking. His fingers were dancing over the blood, soaking in the macabre paint and she whimpers — shutting her eyes, because she thinks his hand was headed to his mouth and it disgusts her (yes, she had blood on her lips, but it was her own, and she’d been trying to stop the flow).

Silence.

Daring to let her eyes flutter open, she looks up at him instead, rising to full height, spine unfurling slowly like he was letting each vertebrae click perfectly into place (could she hear it?). There was a serenity in the rise that makes her breath steady, as he stands over the corpse like a man without remorse, a man playing that always played a long game, and always won. The scarlet on his fingers was wiped against a handkerchief he held, not his mouth, and he’s got his eyes closed, like maybe he was dying too. The anger dies in her chest. And then she realizes she knew him.

“D’Grey?”

That seems to snap him into action.

Eliza startles, whimpering in pain as she realizes he’s scooping her up, his breath hot as it coos in her ear “quiet now, sweetheart,” and cradles her to him. She should be strong, she thinks, she’d just watched him kill someone - walk in, like he owned the place, like he was king of this Hell and striking down an uncooperative baby demon of his for punishment. How could she be grateful for it? But she was, oh God she was, she was so glad because it hurt — it hurt, everything in her — and for all her bravery, she hadn’t even seen Sam’s uncle (Sam, the thought flickers hatred in her heart and wipes out her remaining her breath.) He makes her crumple. Like she’s a baby, like she’s a fucking baby and she hates it, she tries to hit him, tries to knock him away as hard as she could but there’s no strength in her limbs. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks, descending upon him like a warm summer rain. Eventually she just goes limp.

 

{.}

When she wakes, she’s in his arms again, sitting on the counter of a bathroom. His arms are cradling her, cleaning the blood off her lips — the hot tears (and black mascara, she realizes, because she’d put it on, because she’d looked pretty for them just to bother them by playing the game). His other hand was entwined carefully with her side, bracing her to a mirror. She won’t spin around, she won’t look at herself.

When he realizes her eyes have fluttered open, the rough cloth stops scraping at her sensitive, pink skin and he lifts his chin to lock her gaze with his. He was murmuring something, her name, an endearment that means nothing to her. His eyes were blue now, she thinks, remembering as if it was a dream how black they’d looked in that — that —

“Oh, God…” She bursts, and cries again.

“Shh,” he exhales, raking fingers through her matted blond hair and the clean cheeks. “Shh, look at me, Eliza. I’ve got you, okay?”

Why did that make her feel safe? She pulls back, the fluorescents of this damn little washroom too bright (was that tub gold?) to take in. Flashing between the white basin filled at her side brimming in foam and pink water, she looks to the door (sees it’s locked), and whimpers again.

“You killed him,” and she thinks she’d wanted it to be an accusation, but it came out soft, like she was grateful (because she was, she knew she was).

All the sharp lines of his face seem to cut to the corners of his mouth, pushing them down. Like he was sorry (but not quite) — rather, like he was sorry she’d had to see him. It had been so quick, so quick, a silver flash, a marionette cut, was that really all it was? And then so much blood. There was a mark of it on him now, a blood-stain on his button-down, wet in the center, a tan slice of skin peeking at her.

“Yes.” He murmured, and she thinks a person could be frightened by the subtlety, a curve in his lips that forms the acknowledgement he’d killed without a thought - without a breath. Yet she couldn’t. She thinks: she’d used up everything in her fear department.

“To save me?”

“Yes.”

Eliza tilts her head, lips compressing tightly, refusing to pour more tears for that. Maybe there was something in the back of the fear store, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of looking. Her tongue feels too thick for her mouth. There’s an open shock on her face and then relief; the corners of her eyes crease, her mouth slackens, and there’s a pulse in her widening blue eyes.

“Can you take me home?”

His face breaks; his eyes go hard and flinty, and suddenly he looks as terrifying and hurt as she thinks he might ever have been, and still she wonders why she’s not afraid. He lowers the cloth,pulling her hair back and settling it for her, and she thinks her eyes are finally clear. Before his lips open, as he gapes at her, she shakes her head. Wild, damp ringlets twist away from her.

“Don’t say it. If it’s no, d—don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He meant it. It clicks in her: he was being sincere. He was sorry in a very different way than Angel had been, but she’d had enough of lies. Boys had lied to her all her life. She knew when they were telling her the truth. She wraps one hand around his neck, the other flat to his chest and pushes backwards, steadying herself to make her breath obey.

Both hands come up to cup her breaking face, his thumb brushing over her lips, and he murmurs repeatedly, “But I promise Eliza, I promise, I will not let anything happen to you.”

“They’re going to kill me.” It’s choked out, and cut off by him.

“No.” It’s the hardest promise she thinks she’d ever heard made, but she believes him in an instant. Of course she does. He swears it staring in her eyes, without blinking, without breath, as much basic fact to him as it was that he’d killed Red. The person who’d been killing her. The latest in that long line of succession of liars: her father, her mother, her aunts, Sam.

These had been the cruelest lies though, she thinks, poor Sam, he couldn’t even be the worst of her tormentors, couldn’t be number one for her in anything). The lies that her best friends had been dying in front of her, for her. Eliza didn’t know dreams could be so real, nightmares so vividly presented and haunt so badly she’d cry over them in the nights they left her. Only a beast would do this. And evidently, only a beast could stop it. She starts nodding, falling in to his chest and lets him gather her up, too exhausted, too pained to even conjure up the words for gratitude. He just holds her. Hugs her to him. Her chest gasps dry heaves, tense and eyes cracking red red red. He was murmuring that he knew, he knew and he had her still. That he wouldn’t leave her. She loves D’Grey for that.

She wants to know: how he knew to come, why he was involved, why he’d saved her, saved Lyndsea, saved Devin — but right that moment she lets him hold her, tight, like she was as much a lifeline to him as he was for her. It could be worse, she reminds herself. This was the aftermath of a victory.

That thought makes her pull back, curling her fingers around her sweater and she mutters, “Aren’t they going to … “

This takes him longer to decode, and she thinks that’s not as surprising as it is simply sad. He didn’t think she’d think about him in that moment. Running her hands through her wet hair and beginning to forget how much her wrists had hurt as she braids the edges, she thinks of dust settling and waits for his understanding. It happens in the eyes first.

And then he seems to try not to believe it (and that makes her sadder), and he shakes his head.

“Oh, Eliza. I can take care of myself.”

“But you killed him.”

He runs a hand over his face, tapping the edges of his mouth distracted and harried. Would that I could kill them all so easily, his eyes seem to say and she ducks her gaze to her fidgeting, rapid fingers. Hair strands twine around the pink, stained skin.

“Steven wasn’t following orders.” There’s no bite to his words; he sounds tired, and she must look stung with her distaste of the sentiment because his expression softens.

“He wasn’t?” She asks, darting her eyes back to D’Grey’s and realizes she knows it’s a lie by the time she looks.

“That’s what I’ll tell them,” he confirms.

Steven, she thinks. Such a normal, steady name, with none of the grandness of “Ringer” or poetry of “Red.” Just a normal boy once. A normal boy who lost everything, who went through the hell he was putting her through — and dead now. Eyes dark, skin shining (church bells ringing, throat red).

Breathing shakily, she pulls back and looks down her front. The black dress had been repaired, the stains were gone. Bruises papered her skin underneath it, but now she couldn’t see them, she was glad.

“I wanted to do it myself.” She admits, quiet, prying his hands off her and sitting straighter on the counter.

“Of course you did.” D’Grey nods, exhaling with unreadable eyes and lips taut.

Of course she had, she thinks and it hurts. If she’d done that, they’d have won after all. He’d hurt her, bound her to a wall, broken bones, smacked her, cursed her — and laid the bodies of friends in front of her. Was it over now? How could it be, when she couldn’t leave? Neither D’Grey nor Angel could change the simple fact that Sam wasn’t going to let her go. All D’Grey’d bought her was a reprieve.

No, that wasn’t all he’d done. He’d killed for her. He’d done what she wanted to do, she didn’t have to rip her soul apart or question who she was because she hadn’t done it — just wanted too. Desperately.

He lets her pull away, handing her a silver hair brush. Using it makes her spin to the mirror, and she stares deep into her eyes. He casts a spell. In an instant, she’s warm. Her hair’s dry. A thinning line on her cheek bridges her nose, mapping an expression she’d never seen before. Be brave, my daughter, be brave, my sweet. That’s what her mother said to her on the first day of her Hogwarts career; that cold morning with mists cloying around her new school uniform skirt. It’s an unfamiliar face again looking back at her, looking a little lost, a little a Aurora Rose: pale skin, all gold curls gathering soft on her neck, all faded sunlight and pink, the sleeping beauty was.

It has the virtue of being new, and pretty, so she compliments herself on it (watches a ghostly smile trace around her lips) and spins back to D’Grey.

“We’re safe to talk in here?”

He nods.

“What’s your first name?” She asks, because that’s her, that’s who she is: she says first names, she wants the whole story, she wants to understand, and she hates being lied to. The request takes him aback, but he smiles a little bit and answers anyway.

“Olivier.”

“Pretty.” She says with a quiet smile, feeling something pull and pin in her ribs.

He chuckles, but nods at her to acknowledge it. She waits a moment, a vassal that felt like she was about to brave the winds and rain and storms desperate to reach home. She’ll hint at it in smiles and words that don’t quite fall from her lips in further days, but now she just…just wanted to know. She needed to know.

“Why did you save me?” Her fingers dig red crescents into the palm of her hands, her breath hitches.

His eyes are not as innocent as his smile, and that might be why she believes him when he says, “You deserve to be safe.”

Oh, god. How much she wanted to hear that. The world wasn’t much for “deserve” though, she was quickly learning, so still there had to be another reason. She tilts her head, smooth and sinuous, so that he might see the curving long neck as she thinks: allies, someone she could trust.

“And?”

He smiles honestly now, and nods at her (he hadn’t expected it, but was pleased anyway). The gaze pins her in place.

“My brother.” He’s like the eye in the center of a storm, she realizes: calm, collected, and hungry, hungry to rage and tear ancient structures down to stone and mortar. And she knows what he meant: they’d hurt his brother, they’d taken his brother and he was doing his best with cards close to his vest. But it occurs to her there was something else, a moment before a familiar, bitter broken smirk breaks on his lips.

“He’s trying to save my soul, see.”

That makes her laugh, even as it’s caught between her teeth as much as he catches her gaze. He had a nice smile, she thinks, when it’s not broken or drawn from a grimace and he’s seeing her: her, Eliza, not a dead girl with an unknown name.

“Oh, I do see.” He looks at her like he expects something from her, that she knows. She cannot do that though, anymore than she could for Sam. Eliza Simmons was not a trophy, wasn’t to be put on a pedestal, refused to sit and pose, refused to be the damsel rescued. She wouldn’t let them paw at her feet as if she’s a saint. And she couldn’t be passive: she had to be involved.

“Well. Seeing how you saved me. No more killing on a whim, okay?””

He laughs, in surprise at her, but then seems to nod when she spins back, pleased and — a bit grateful for the remark. So she looks back up from her reflection - Aurora was a name that meant dawn she thinks - and smiles at him, brushing an errant curl off her face.

“I’m just going to have to help him do that, aren’t I?”

She phrases it as a question, but it’s a promise, deep-set in her mending bones, and true. Entirely true.

 

{*}

  
Olivier wouldn’t leave until he was certain, by which she meant appropriately emphatically lied to enough, that she was all right. There was nothing else he could do, not now. And she knew for all his protestations, his decision to step in - to save her - was not as “a-okay” as he wanted her to believe. These were dangerous people — murderers, kidnappers, torturers, beasts; all of them. She didn’t have a word strong enough. But Lord, was it fun to try to find one. He was going to have to appease them, and she thought she should be worried about that but she was just too busy being so goddamn grateful that she quickly asked him other things: his favorite holiday (the summer holiday when he was growing up, and she guessed it was because he got to see his brother without asking another word), the spot he liked to go to drink (a jazz bar), his favorite liquor (same as Alcott’s). Then she’d shooed him when he starts asking after hers, realizing all these memories she was desperate to cling on to…she no longer could say aloud, then they weren’t hers anymore and beside, he had to go, she had braided her hair, her wounds were treated, she’d taken up enough of his busy, busy time and —

— now she was alone.

In pajama’s, a skinny top, her sweater, and weighted down most by exhaustion. Heavy, full and loaded. That bed had never looked so goddamn heavenly. The giant one, built like it was meant to fit her whole dormitory, with the silk sheets and perfumed pillows and…and oh the pillows. They were perfect, for all of this hell. Deep, soft…

The clock glares at her (could antique wind-ups actually glare? oh, wait yes, her grandmother did all the time) that it’s been three hours when she stirs abruptly. Head pounding, the scrape on her nose was itchy (don’t pick at it, don’t pick, that would leave a scar) and so she clenches the bedspread, crumples the sheet beneath her to stall her sharp nail. She used to that as a child, when she was scared of the things lurking under her bed. It’s useless and pitiful but the problem was the monsters were not so imaginary now. No amount of special talisman’s from Sienna’s grandmother would hide these away.

Oh, that seems to remind her of her dream. That was what she’d been dreaming about, wasn’t it? Sienna, and her with her grandmother’s old Ouija board while Devin and Alcott rolled their eyes at them (and Alcott teases him about how Nadia would glare for his disbelief). The small smile on her lips as she thinks of them doesn’t move, even as the false rays from her false window catch in her blonde curls, as if to burn a hole in her chest. Her hand fidgets in her lap, knuckles white and reddened tips. There was just a niggling feeling, a shiver down her spine, and now she realizes. She didn’t know why she had woken, but now she sees.

Her door, it was open.

Her breath catches. The door, the one that she’d been shepherded through by those two bastards (Red was dead now, she reminds herself, as she shivers); the one that Olivier D’Grey had personally seen her back to, that Angel had slipped out of…the one door in and out of this prison, the bedroom that tried to hard to be hers. Open.

Her feet make no sound as they land, as she flings herself off the too-large bed. Thirty seconds make it certain to her; there was no one in the room with her. No monster under the bed. No perverted boy with a camera curled in the wardrobe. Nothing. It’s dim, quiet and peaceful (it’s lying), and for some reason she doesn’t find it hard to breathe.

It makes no sense, but maybe — maybe Olivier had left the door unlocked, or Angel — it was an opportunity, one she’d regret forever if she didn’t take it. Zipping up her sweater, she doesn’t bother grabbing anything else lest the door closes in the second it took her to look back, rescue her teddy bear or earrings.

The hallway was barely lit. It must be midnight, or later; the full moon in her false window was reflected in all of those she passes. Darkened passages feel like something out of a dream as she moves as quickly as she dared and quietly as she might, hand tracing against the wood and tapestries for support. The manor looks like something ancient, beautiful and haunted. She rounds the corner.

It felt like someone - or many someones - was watching, and she steps faster, socks shuffling against the carpet (she thought it might be red in proper light, but it looks maroon now, like dried blood…) Oh, look up. Don’t do that, Eliza. Just find a door. A real door out. And just thank God, they had a thick carpet, because her heart alone would alert anyone in the vicinity. (Was someone there?) Especially a werewolf someone, she thinks abruptly, and nearly slips—

Her hand grabs around - was that a fucking wood stake? Oh, no. No, just breathe Eliza. Her hand was near Baby Jesus’ foot. There were crosses, she realized, on a few of the doors. How quaint was their irony? She turns. This wasn’t some haunted house. Just some mansion of werewolves and torturers and people eating death, that was all. Nothing to be scared of. Breathe.

Even that. Even those sounds. That was nothing. It wasn’t anyone — of course people were going to be looking for her, and they…they sounded oddly excited, but she was just getting out of here…don’t think about it, just go, go, go…

She rounds another corner. The carpet felt strange beneath her feet now, like she wasn’t quite touching the ground. Maybe she was still dreaming, she thinks but — no, she didn’t want to think that. Her hand comes up to another false window and she blinks, looking out at the seemingly endless dark green space: beautiful, unexpected, and there’s a majestic silhouette of the Eiffel Tower through it. Her breath hitches and she bites back a childlike, overexcited grin, ignoring the fact it was only an invention. She tastes blood in her mouth as her teeth sink in her clenched, pink flesh.

Ridiculous; Eliza knew they were underground. Something massive, actually, if the underground manor was this elaborate and yet well-hidden: she could feel it sometimes, the overpowering, hefty weight of an oppressive atmosphere nearly as stifling as the blood in her mouth. Her breath seems to stick, like it’s struggling to climb out through a tight knot in her throat. She’d go visit the Eiffel as soon as she found a door, she thinks, as soon as she can disapparate. Did she dare try yet?

What was that?

Her head swipes sideways and tears her gaze from the painted window. Hair, gold in the faked moonbeams, floats in the darkness and falls back to her shoulder. Left, right. Nothing. Why was it suddenly hard to breathe? Bumps prick against her bruised skin, appearing so fast they almost hurt. Something was there; a scent, pervading her thoughts, running freely through her mind. Flat edge of her tongue licks the roof of her mouth. Then —

Gasp.

Her tongue flicks through her open lips, coating a palm that hadn’t been there a second ago, as it swallows her scream. No, no, she thinks, eyes shutting and trying to struggle against arms stronger than steel and warmth, a heat so thick she thought to melt. Her heart clenches in her chest, trapping further words (because frankly whomever she was struggling against, she didn’t want them to miss her beautifully scripted and well-crafted diatribe, that would just be such a disappointment for them, she was sure). She recognized his scent, she realizes; something of whiskey and cinnamon and heat. And then she hears. The whispers, an overwhelming wave of tiny endearments and pleas, mixed with his unbearable strength, a hurt and anger and hunger behind them — Shh, shh, it’s me, I’ve got you, it’s okay, you’re safe.

Hans.

Eliza stills. As she does, he relaxes her in his embrace, the hand not on her mouth moving to caress her hair like he just couldn’t — couldn’t help himself. Heart skipping beats, she tries to forestall whimpers. His arm is draped over her chest, still; her back against his, her whole body nested to his firm, desperate embrace. You’re safe, his words were echoing in her mind, and for the second time that day she thinks: it makes no sense that she believe it, but she does.

This strange embrace was warm (fucking wolves always were warm, but she was so happy for it, because it had been so cold, so cold in that dungeon), and it’s comforting and that must be the reason that for a second neither move. Entangled, her head is against the crook of his neck, swaying and sucking in his air as he reassures her still.

“Don’t say a word, do you understand me?”

All she sees from the way his cheek is pressed to the sides of her skull, cushioned by her hair, is his lips. They barely move to tell her these instructions: these orders and demands that she knew he meant to save her life with. Eliza nods, the hand she’d leaped to his wrist dropping. Then he finally lowers his hand, seeming reluctant to release her lips. A ton of air rushes to her open mouth instantly, but she tries, she tries not to let them all go at once.

This wolf who had put her friend in the hospital, the wolf who had snapped Alcott’s neck, and yet it’s the look he had when he held her and swore he didn’t want to hurt her, and she knew then she’d believed that too. His fingers toying in her curls seemed automatic, but he was looking with those carmine eyes each ways over his shoulder as she steadies for a moment. Then his hands squeeze her shoulders. She swivels, a tiny exclamation escaping her no matter how she tries to stifle it. And his hands come up to cup her cheeks.

“Do you hear them?” He asks her, and she wonders how one could even speak that quietly. She could though. Oh, she could hear the cat-calls, the little excited whispers, the sound of clinking hand-cuffs…

She goes to speak, but he lays his index finger against her lips. Her gaze darts to look at it, the tip resting near her nose, a touch that seems to warm her from her toes up, like no amount of giant bedspreads could do. When she lifts her gaze to his, she realizes the wolf is gone from his gaze.

It’s an enthralling sight — the way his face looks now, hooded in the moonlight, eyes lit blue as they lay on her, lifting from ashen and deadly to awestruck with wonder, intent with purpose.

Eliza nods instead, cheeks puffing like a chipmunk as she steadies her breath. A tiny smile graces Hans lips, then fades with his words.

“Your door was open?”

She nods again, and is startled to realize she recognizes the flash of anger. Understands it. He barely moves a muscle, standing rigid and alert like a caged animal (oh), but she could tell at once how furious he was. What a contradiction. Yet his fingers pass skin soft over her cheeks, delicate and she thinks: Hans didn’t think her easily broken (capturing her as he had), but he thought her too amazing to behold all the same. It makes her smile. A sound between a whimper and a bark of laughter escapes her lips and he silences that too.

“Shh, luv. They’re not going to find you.”

Oh. Of course. It clicks.

“Do you understand why?”

The world tilts along an axis of her sight, the world is dancing around her and she thinks if it wasn’t for Hans she might collapse. She doesn’t understand; he could cut her to ribbons if he wanted, but still she found it stranger that his eyes were dark at all.

“The bed.” She murmurs, and Hans flicks a smirk: insensitive and quick, a reminder that everyone was an abomination as he responds, “Mm, sweetheart, it’s not a kindness how big it is. To them that bed’s like Disneyland. All the character costumes for Fantasyland in the wardrobe. And if they find you not in the bed, the one who gets to you first, gets to ride you first.”

“Is that why you’re here?” She couldn’t help but snap that time, and tries not to think she shivered at the sharp whisper. Hans eyes flash again.

She’d upset him, she realizes, and he won’t answer right away. It doesn’t make sense to her. All the men in her life had let her down, shouldn’t she just take this in stride? She wants to slap him for the insensitivity. For the reminder that they were beasts, all of them, for the reminder … of a remark that Alcott would have made.

“No, luv.” He whispers, and for a moment he just holds her, curiously lacking shame for wanting her to know that he couldn’t let her go. There seems an open chasm in his voice, like he couldn’t hide one in his chest, and Eliza shivers a bit nearer to him hearing a particularly loud footstep.As she does, his lips meet the top of her forehead. They stick there.

Was she sweating that badly?

“Go straight back. Lock the door. Do you understand me?”

There’s a breathless pause, and then he pulls back, and she thinks he looks relieved he won’t have to lie to her anymore; it was that kind of honesty in his gaze. It doesn’t ease her fear or pain, but spreads warmth through her anyway. There’s got to be some irony here, somewhere. He was going to take care of it. He would insure no one came through; whatever he had to do. A bit of sadness slips through her gaze at that thought. Risking for her sake…why? Why was he doing that? Their blue-eyed stares stay locked, riveted to him like a drill had done the job itself.

She hears herself murmur, “Thank you, Hans.”

It breaks across his face, like he doesn’t know what to do with that, like he’s as relieved as she is which Eliza doesn’t think makes any sense when he’s the one saving her from being raped, but it’s what it looks like — like he’d been waiting to hear that for a very long time, like his whole life. A breathless smile starts to spread across her lips in response. And then he’s gone. She could try to escape, but there was no way to know which way to go— and if they caught her… Eliza whimpers. But did she trust Hans? Could she?

She sprints back to her room.

 

{*}

**Olivier:** *At least it was glass. That's what he thought. There were webs of brutal purple and black twisting and twining up his arm, stuck pieces in his thumb, but at least it was only glass and liquor -- only amber liquid and 18th century antique tumblers, and at least when he broke this - while it's pitifully satisfying against the hunger that his anger gave him, the one ripping his veins apart - at least it was not bone and blood on his carpet.

Their carpet. Still seething, chest still heaving, he sees his brother and grits his teeth, shaking his head. Just Tony's appearance makes him still. For that, he's grateful, and he hopes his brother knows that, because words...words were not his forte at the moment.*

 **Tony:** *He had been on his way to do the exact same thing his brother had been in the middle of doing as he walked in. He saw the look there, in his eyes, that anger and hunger just seeping through to every bone and fiber of being. No amount of jokes about rough days would help here. Actually, there was very little that could help right now and possibly the only thing that could have helped was now broken and splattered all over antique carpet and rugs and more family heirlooms.

He met his brother's gaze, exhaling and then walked further into the room, his feet stepping over and crunching glass and wood without a care.* Well you've gotten rid of the alcohol, what now? *He swallows on a dry throat and then places his hands on his brothers' shoulders, gripping them tight.* Wanna tell me what happened?

 **Olivier:** * He hadn't even thought about it that way, but it makes him smirk. Attempt to. His lips twist up at the edges, curl like a violent demarcation on his mouth, but when he lifts his gaze again he realizes his brother is already in front of him. Gripping his shoulders, like he was four and throwing a temper tantrum and yet all Olivier thinks is: thank God.*

There's more in the cellar. *He answers first, looking at the splattered droplets on his hands, picking a piece of glass out and then looking back up. There's something in Tony's gaze too, a look of anger as familiar to him as his breath now and he grits his teeth, eyes narrowing. * Yeah. * He didn't truly want to -- didn't want to admit that just barely days after Tony asked him if he'd even wanted to stop killing he'd found it easier than ever to achieve, but he did have to.

Gritting his teeth again, he shakes his head, but doesn't take his eyes from Tony, as he remembers,* You met Eliza Simmons? Tried to rescue her from a drink with Hans at the Gala? *Eliza had filled him in with the story while they were still together, as she remembered his brother too, and Olivier lifts a hand to rub over his lips, cleaning them too. * They took her. They took her and they faked her death, and they were in the middle of breaking her and I -- snapped.

*He exhales, and his mouth twists with a little smirk again, eyes narrow. * How about that, I snapped being too moral? Didn't think that was possible. But it's true, *his breath is hot and hard again, * I killed the bastard hurting her.

 **Tony:** *Thank heavens for that then, or rather, thank the heavily prepared D'Grey household, which never seemed to lack much of anything. Except, he thought a second later, with a bitterness he had never quite learned how to get rid of, a sense of hospitality. Maybe that could change now, but it would take some work. Rome wasn't built in a day.

Leaving the thought of alcohol aside, he nodded at the question, remembered the not-so-bubbly blonde from the Gala who danced with Wolfie, admittedly not with much enthusiasm, who looked ready to kill Tony just by the mention of him being a D'Grey. He cursed under his breath, his fury just boiling beneath the surface, wanting to be unleashed.

The word snapped was enough. He knew exactly what Olivier meant and yet he was glad he had said out loud as well, the exact words. He didn't want it diminished, even if, at that exact moment, Tony. didn't. fucking. care.

He inhaled through his nose and then squeezed his shoulders again. No, the focus shouldn't be on the dead, the blood, or the murder.* And Eliza, how is she now?

 **Olivier:** *The hands on his shoulder squeezing, steady limbs alight with fire but now he seems to realize - he was being used for support, less than soothed, that Tony was as angry as him - had walked in that way. He tries to form words, tries to get something out from behind his clenched teeth but he can't, so he lifts his arms to holds his brother's shoulders too, stilling him too. * I cleaned her up, helped heal her...

*She wasn't fine though, would never be fine until they had her out of there. A strangled groan burrows in his chest and he exhales, breathes in, out. Something was wrong, so wrong he could taste it on his tongue, feel it in every breath and honestly, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure yet what to do. So he looks back up at his brother and asks instead, * You went to see her, didn't you?

 **Tony:** *His grip tightened momentarily as he felt his own shoulders being grabbed and squeezed, a reminder that he should actually loosen himself up. If he were holding on to a normal person, Tony would have crushed them under the weight of his fingers alone. He released them one at a time, or so it seemed like it to him.

Was it that transparent? Where his anger was stemming from? Or maybe it was because there existed nothing in his life at that moment that could anger him as much as that repulsive woman did?

He tilted his head and forced a smirk, they came easier to him than to his brother.* Oh, come how, we're dealing with your crisis at the moment, not mine.

 **Olivier:** *The library they stood in was so silent for a few moments, Olivier swears he can hear each individual ice cube in the basin clinking together as the float, useless, lacking any drinks or glasses to go into. Sometimes they get like this, serious and dramatic and it always makes him vaguely curious and vaguely frightened where they'd end up -- his brother and him, unnatural and restless and bloodthirsty, but alive, and human (dammit, because they were).

Then he snorts at the remark, and shakes his head.* I don't think they're unrelated, brother.

*Because Eliza, and God bless her, was right: there was going to be a problem here. It wouldn't fly the second time: Sarah had been the perfect fall-person, Steven, not so much. Steven's death made it look like a pattern...and the truth was even if Roswell did buy it, the last thing he'd wanted was it looking like there was someone planning his downfall from the inside. That was...only too fucking true. * Eliza is fine at the moment, but she won't stay that way, and more importantly. *He exhales out.* There's a reason I didn't do this all along, even though it's all I've ever fucking wanted to do.

*Since he'd met the very woman who'd made his brother so angry right now, he thinks and he wonders for a moment: well, if they were fucked anyway, couldn't he go kill her now too? Right this fucking moment? Oh, he did need that alcohol after all, didn't he. His brows arch as he adds, * Tony, I need to know what happened tonight. It's the only way to protect us both. Brothers in arms and all that? Nonna's post card?

 **Tony:** *No, nothing was unrelated anymore, he realized with a smirk, before having to release his brother's shoulders for the sake of the both of them. They hadn't yet tested their strength against each other, and personally, he'd prefer it remain that way.

He gritted his teeth, thinking now more strategically, more logically, less emotionally. Olivier had already killed one of the Death Eaters, here in this very room his mind seemed to whisper to him, and while he had been able to cover that one up, how was this one going to work? Too much of a coincidence, too much of a pattern, and too much attention drawn on his brother's actions.* You suck as an undercover cop, brother.

*He cleared his throat again, shaking his head and then snorts at the mention of their nonna, the woman that was actually their grandniece if they took it technically, though she would beat them with a wooden spoon if they ever said so.* Yeah. *He managed out and cleared his throat.* Yeah, I went to see her. At work, nothing happened save some taunting. *He lifts his gaze again.* And the parting of a chest cavity, sadly not hers.

 **Olivier:** Yeah. *The chuckle in his throat was dry, but savored, almost like he was sucking on some good feeling, however bitter.* Don't think I did much for my soul's sake either, really. *The words were out of of his mouth before he really thought about it and then, he genuinely couldn't care. Honestly, this was the catch 22 they'd lived with their whole lives. Whatever it took, he had told Tony -- his brother had agreed -- but if he was being honest...he already knew what he wanted to ask.

It just went against every fiber of his being. So he stalled.

And furrows his brows, shaking his head from side to side, slipping his freed hand back into his pocket, the other rubbing at his own shoulder. He thought he could still smell the blood on his fingertips, he realized, though it could only be a scent-memory. Or a heightened sense...* Ah, right. Gina's job is such a coincidence, isn't it?

*He pauses, surveying his brother's expression. As his eyes trace up and down, he realizes the rage in his own gut was repurposing itself, the hunger in his throat dulled by his want to help Tony. Olivier pauses, taking another hot breath and says with a head tilting, almost nonchalantly, * I think...ah, yes. *He searches, nods and fetches, holding up the last unbroken tumbler and holding it out to his brother. Their eyebrows performed their daily calisthenics of communication and understanding as he smirks.*

 **Tony:** Well you know me, I enjoy a challenge. *He exhales only to smirk and chuckle, even if every breath just kept sending more and more knives into his chest, or maybe out of his chest. Did he have them inside himself already? Oh, no one gave a shit.*

Yeah...I tried to think which came first, the insanity or the job? Then I realized, don't give a fuck, I should really stop looking for fucks to give. *His brother didn't even leave him a vase to smash against the wall. He was always doing that, even without realizing; his brother was always bearing the brunt of the weight or trying to at least. God, he just wanted to hit. something. He continued to inhale and exhale, more of a job than anything else, and then he looked up, eyebrows raised in confusion while Olivier searched.

A split second later he laughed. It was a simple, distorted noise borne out of surprise than actual amusement. He smirked again, stepping up to grab it and given that his brother had broken all of the glasses in the room, conjured two of them before pouring what was left of the liqueur into the glasses equally (made an ounce more in one but no one was perfect). Now he held one glass up to his brother to take.* Cheers.

 **Olivier:** *The chuckles in his throat half left, half were swallowed. Fingers flicking and fidgeting in his pockets to the imaginary, bitter little dry rhythm, Olivier pauses only to mutter honestly under his breath,* I hope you don't.

*And he didn't. The fact that his brother, who had more reason alive than anyone to want that bitchy pyscho-sadist of a woman dead, had still gone to see her because he was looking so desperately for something human -- it was one of the only things he could think of that might actually give him hope for this goddamn planet. What was it Nadia said? That it wasn't that hard to find their humanity in them after all? No, he supposed it wasn't after all, just not hard to find their inhumanity either.

Maybe that was why he said it, as he watched his brother with tiny amazement mending glasses and sharing equally (nearly so) the liquor. He'd given him the last one thinking he'd throw it, Olivier thinks at the back of his mind. His brother as ever, had chosen to mend something before destroying it. There's a hiss at the back of his throat as he accepts the glass.* Cheers.

Why did they pour them equally, he wondered? He did that too, never even wanted the appearance that he was taking more than his brother or vice versa -- why? He was D'Grey, he couldn't care if it looked like he was selfish (in fact, he was supposed to appear that way)...but it was bullshit. At least, here, because he'd always cared what his brother thought. More so than him. Disappointing himself, well now, that was one thing -- but disappointing Tony...

His brother had saved his life, and in his mind it didn't really matter the blame that went with both sides or the fact he'd done the same thing too because right now: right now, this very minute, he would be a vampire were it not for Tony. If he took that gift of a second chance only to turn around and let him down again, he honestly wouldn't know what the point of any of it was anymore. So it pains him to know what he's about to ask, but he does it anyways, because this goddamn had to end.*

Tony. *He looks sideways at him after a gasp of a swallow, speaking on a raw throat.* Roswell will "ask" me for a replacement. I think, anyway, *he takes another sip,* because he'll want a demonstration of my "loyalty." If I don't prove it...

*Silence. His brother knew. Pointless to say. He clears his throat and is damn near throwing the glass again, but he turns to Tony, face front, clear-eyed and won't even blink from asking.* I could bring an innocent person in. Break them, in front of Roswell. Could even do it in a way that ... it'd be me they trust at the end of the day.

*He knew his brother's problem with that would be the idea of hurting someone innocent, but he had a more logical reason than that. Shaking his head from side to side, he says quieter without looking away,* But I'd never trust them. The only person I do, is you.

 **Tony:** *He drank what was in the glass with one swallow, shaking his head with an appreciative sigh at the burn at the back of his throat. They would have to take a trip to the cellar really soon because that was not going to suffice, not nearly enough.

He looked up from the glass he had debated throwing against the wall, just once, just to have something shatter because he had decided to destroy it, and instead simply tapped his fingers against it while he listened to Olivier, realizing where he was getting at too quickly for comfort. That way of thinking was there, just buried underneath layers of snarky sarcasm and witty retorts, the potential he had refused to acknowledge at first in spite just lay there unharnessed.

Olivier had it finely tuned, how could he not after their father's strict tutelage (and he said that way because thinking of it as it really was, which was teaching a boy how to kill, maim, and torture would just cause his rage to take over) and discipline? He knew how to think like Gustav, how to anticipate him and that was the advantage. Olivier knew that now he would have to bring someone in, innocent, young, someone like Eliza, and do the same thing to them that he had saved the girl from. Gustav had a sick form of genius.*

Not even touching on the simple fact that doing that to a person was wrong, Tony breached the point that seemed more poignant in the situation.* Roswell would never trust me. Won't he see it as you blatantly trying to get more of -your- guys inside? *He pointed to Olivier with a finger he lifted from the glass.* I don't want this to backfire in your face.

 **Olivier:** *Finishing the glass with another, hastening swallow he pulls away to set the glass down, hand still scratching at the back of his neck as he thinks. It wasn't so bad yet that he had to find a punching bag (and honestly, those tended to just implode under their fists), but...he might call Hans: if Tony hadn't been there, he definitely would have.

At the question, he ceases staring at the flickering flames in their fireplace and spins back around, eyes meeting his brother's and nodding quietly. He was grateful, at that moment, that Tony didn't say aloud some quick remark about how inherently wrong such an action would be. Grateful, and sad. Then he just nods.* Yes. He'll see that, and he won't trust you. But he also knows... *because of a year ago, because he'd called him on it once before dammit,* If I do put another toe out of line so to speak -- there's only one person he'd punish before me.

*He decides to phrase it that way instead, because he hated this. He hated the idea of his brother being that much of a pawn in this game. He flicks his thumb against the knife in his pocket and barely startles when he realized he'd drawn blood. Hisses, and finishes quietly,* He won't need to trust you, because just by naming you...It keeps you close. *Just by naming you, Olivier thinks, I'm giving him power over what would cost me most to lose -- and that would be enough to keep them (and Eliza, and Harper) safe. But he couldn't say it aloud. He couldn't, because he didn't want to think of Tony that way, he didn't want his brother to be a "thing" to be traded like a fucking baseball card or liquor bottle.*

And he knows I won't do anything that might make him send her again.

 **Tony:** *The glass was in serious danger of breaking in his hand. Glass cutting into his palm, the smell of blood on his body even if it was his own- he would have a hard time controlling himself then. So he followed his brother's example and set the glass down. To ensure he didn't pick up another object and start playing with it in his hands, he crossed his arms over his chest and listened.

He was starting to catch on, because there was no need to have Gustav trust him, that wasn't the point. Any innocent bystander that would be broken and turned wouldn't have gained Roswell's trust either, but this had both the advantage (he had to think of it that way) of getting him closer to the Death Eaters and the headquarters and the disadvantage of leaving him more exposed to Gustav and to Gina. Tony didn't care about the latter. Much to Gina's surprise, he was not frightened or scared. There was no fear in his heart over this decision, that's not the emotion that plagued him.

Gustav would allow it, Tony realized, because Olivier was all but handing the man an insurance policy. If he displeased Gustav, Gustav would take it out on Tony. He was caught in a wave of anger, but oddly enough, what made him more angry were the words 'punish before me'. Because Gustav dared, actually thought, he had any right to punish his brother as if he were some misbehaving schoolboy! He was Olivier fucking D'Grey, and Gustav was some second rate fill-in for the lead role who got lucky.

Whatever it takes, he reminded himself, whatever it entailed and whatever it required; he was helping his brother.* Does this mean I have to get the Mark? Because I don't know anything about tattoos, I mean look at my skin: it's flawless.

 **Olivier:** *The silence is acceptance. For the longest time, it's cut with words unspoken, voiceless litanies and he imagines the moment is one of prayer. Not unlike a moment of silence in their Church - he wonders if that was why, if his brother was imagining a private Mass. That was silly, he thinks but would never say -- if they wanted a private Mass, they had only to call their priest.

And then the verbal acceptance and Olivier thinks only that if he spoke a word against what was his own idea (and salvation, salvation from his unexpected bout of mercy) - then he'd never let his brother do it. That wasn't fair of him. Antonio was not fourteen any longer, he wasn't dying in his arms, and little brother or not - they protected each other.*

No. *That cracks a smile across his lips as he thinks: he has another tattoo himself, but it had little to do with skulls and snakes, that ghastly Death symbol like the fairytale about the girl who only spoke lies. In fact, made of a rose petals and vines, truthfully it was quite the opposite. A different fairytale. Oh, how quaint and poetic he was today. * No, they wouldn't ... let you, get that, I think.

*The mark was something you earned, ironically. His hand lifts from his pocket, the tiny pin pricks on his thumb pressing to his lip as his eyes shut. He lets the knot in his throat grow until it becomes a dull, throbbing pain in his flesh and he thinks only that mantra - that I am strong, I am strong - that he'd told himself earlier that day to swallow back the lust, the anger, the want to reach down, rip Steven apart, feast - and then he turns breathing out. It's his brother there, his brother he needs to talk to, he has to focus. I am strong, I am strong...

He can't comfort him, cannot sooth him with false words or lies. Breathing slowly through his nose, he plays his fingers across his closed eyes and thinks of the fact that in one way he knew very well his brother would enjoy it. At least in the moment, just for that moment, just as he did. It was a sick, twisted, bitter comfort, but -- it was comfort at least.

He takes a step forward as he says, in a voice certain,* Tony. They won't have you broken, not in the cell. *Not again, it said underneath, all too clear. * You'd have to prove yourself another way. *Prove his use, he thinks bitterly, as more than insurance even if that's the only reason Gustav would take the deal: just as he had a year ago, just as he had when he'd shared routes and opened cash flow and soothed over quarrels with agreeable judges, and...worse. What they'd have Tony do now. He stops walking, and his hand is in a fist at his side. He won't break his brother's gaze, but his voice is softer.* Understand?

 **Tony:** *That made him want to lash out. Not that he didn't think about it in the back of his mind but it was something vastly different than facing the truth head on and out loud. Tony knew how Gustav operated his hierarchy; what the new recruits were entitled to do and what they were encouraged to do for practice and sport.

His first thought was that he wouldn't be as good at it as his brother was. How fucked up was that for a first thought or any thought? Not the first time he had thought to himself that being a somewhat decent person could bring shame, disappointment, and ridicule to the family name. But that wasn't the case anymore, Olivier didn't think that.

The second thought was realizing he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Just imagining how it would go, in a dark and cold cell, some teenager kept in chains like he had been, completely at his mercy. Tony wouldn't be able to keep control. He would kill them, it was very likely that he would kill again. And not a murderous bloodthirsty vampire who happened to give him half of his demon chromosomes, but an innocent person. He might kill them, and what was worse, because he knew how it felt, Tony knew that he would like it, and crave it.

Whatever it takes, he repeated to himself. Whatever it took, and please may God forgive him. He nodded again and spoke only when he was sure his voice wouldn't catch or break.* Crystal. *he held up the glass, as if in example, forced a smirk on his lips.* I'll show you how a real undercover cop does it. *He then turned and threw the glass into the fireplace where it exploded with a satisfying smash.* There. *He breathed out again, rolling shoulder and neck to get the tension to diminish.* Better.

 **Olivier:** *He doesn't want his brother to do it, he realizes as his gaze flicks following the thrown glass: it was the last thing he wanted, the first thing he needed. Yet his lips quirk up as the glass shatters and he chuckles under his breath, just once.* I'm sure you will, yeah.

*And he could keep his promise to Eliza, and to Nadia (the one she didn't know he'd made her), and his promises to Harper -- most importantly, the ones to Daniella and Tony. It was the right logical call for all intents and purposes, but he couldn't help but think: he couldn't teach his brother the way their father had taught him. How could he teach him that?

The skills he had, those underworld talents he kept under such lock and key and never spoke on - were some of his greatest assets and biggest regrets. Maybe if he'd never known, how exactly long a person could go without breath, or which organs could be pierced without instant death -- how long each took, where pain was worst inflicted -- if he'd never known, never been taught how good it felt to literally hold a person's life in his hands...maybe he'd never crave that power, even as he loathed it. But teaching his brother?

It didn't escape him either: these were the parts of the business that he'd always excelled at, then listened to Tony argue with their father over; the skills he always thought Tony hated him for, especially when he was sixteen and terrified of what he'd done and realized how badly he'd terrified his little brother. His brows furrow and he turns back, breathing in and out through his nose as he pinches it, then slaps his hand to his thigh.* There might be a -- that potion, Harper makes, that makes it so you don't feel pain... *If they slipped it to them, even in a lower dose...*

He breathes out, biting down on his bottom lip hard and saying flatly,* I'd rather not teach you how to do it, Tony.

 **Tony:** I wouldn't let you.

*The response was so immediate, as if the words were formed in the image of a hand that slapped him in the face. No, in his mind, that would be even worse. Tony might be able to recover from many things, he was durable, he had a strong stomach, he had seen plenty of things in this world but he never wanted to see his brother in that position. Even just watching deliver the final blow to Sarah, the woman whose life's blood had drained all over the carpet, was a torture he couldn't recover from.

Gina's words, or rather her reminder, were also plaguing his mind. And he had worked too hard, too fucking hard, to get that picture out of his mind and he was not having that again. He breathed in slowly but heavily, already practicing for the role that awaited, the role of a lifetime: Tony had to pretend to be his father. Or rather, he had to pretend to want to emulate his father, knowing he would always 'come up short'. He needed that man out of his head too; just another fucking reason to hate Gina, for putting that man in front of him again.

He continued to shake his head stubbornly and looked up into his brother's eyes, exhaling.* You're not going to teach me that. I'll manage. *And be ridiculed for it later. Ridiculed! Because he didn't know how to properly torture a man. This was a sick life. No potion that diminished pain could better it.*

If Gustav finds out when that person isn't screaming loud enough, it'll be worse on all of us. *He passed through his hair and almost taught to pull on it with his frustration but instead he let his arms drop to hit his thighs.* We need to go get drunk, clean the blood off yourself, we're going out. Actually, yeah, change out of the suit, put on some normal clothes. *He claps his brother's shoulder one more time* I'll meet you outside, need some air.

 **Olivier:** *He sucked in breath so fast it felt like smoke, tastes exhaust fumes in his mouth, bitter poison on his tongue. He steadies. Then he nods, a quick jerk, trying not to feel rejected when it was the answer he wanted desperately.

Tony had said, when he found him standing with Sarah, that he was the one holding him back and he felt -- in some way that might still be true. By doing this himself, he was protecting Olivier yet from stepping back into that role, from breaking another innocent person; Tony was trusting himself to keep control rather than letting him be in another position to break it. Heat sinks in his throat. Drunk, yes, that sounded like a plan to him. He took a step back, another, another, and then pauses, still looking at the wild-eyed panic, the anger and understanding in his brother's gaze and stills. The poison melts away in his mouth as he adds,* Thank you, Tonio. Sincerely.

*At least he was going to say it now. He knew what his brother was doing for him, with him. He knew his brother might be willing to hold him back, but here he was throwing him off the cliff with him anyways, dragging him down -- he swallows bare. Then he clenches his teeth and adds,* Don't hate yourself for enjoying it. Just -- don't. Hate the act. Hate who drives you to it. Hate genetics, but honestly...it makes it worse, and you can't help your biology. Refusing it makes about as much sense as thinking a teenager's gonna refuse sex.

*He shrugs his shoulder, but he'd said it honestly because his brother didn't have to do this -- he was doing it for him, and Olivier knew...knew what that cost, better than most (perhaps better than any). Then at the quick shoulder clap, he just nods, undoing his tie and chuckling to add with a look down,* What's wrong with my clothes?

*It was a twenty-two hundred euro suit, mind you, and yeah he'd get the blood stains off it but...all right. Maybe wearing the wardrobe of someone else for a night wouldn't be the worst idea.*  
 **Tony:** *He nodded, thinking that his brother really had to count how much gratitude he offered Tony now as it was reaching it's highest point and he was sure there had to be some sort of restrictive quota placed on it. He wanted to do that, continue to make joke inside his head that way. That's what was supposed to come easy and naturally, this instead of spilling blood.* No problem.

*Olivier continued, adding a few more words, this time of advice and guidance on how to handle these most supreme and innate of urges. Too late, he wanted to say but couldn't and wouldn't when all his brother was trying to do was help. You can't help your biology. He pursed his lips together and nodded at that as well.* I'll keep it in mind. *It would be a long journey, hard and treacherous but he wouldn't walk into it with his head bowed down.*

Nothing for after work cocktails with the employees at a fancy bar with soft jazz music playing over the speakers *he smirks* and that's not where we're going. So change. *he walks to the door, opening it and then turning around again* You have something that doesn't give off the vibe of 'drug lord' right? *He smirks before closing the door behind him. Tony wasn't joking when he'd say he needed air. But upon finding himself outside, he realized he had his mobile in his hands, staring hard at one contact highlighted in blue. Exhaling, he clicked the hold button to darken the screen before putting it in his back pocket again.  
  
Out of the many things he had shared with Stefanie, this couldn't be one of them.*

{.}

They were relentless.

“Please, don’t do this,” she’d whisper, but never long enough to finish the thought. At first her words turned to screams. It wasn’t long she kept enough breath for that. Her wrists bled from the manacles trapped around them, biting in her soft flesh — skin that had been pink and yellow that they’d painted black, blue and red instead. There was no way to keep her weight off of them.

The knives weren’t the worst, but they were bad, drawing in blood and black fire on her bare flesh. Cruciatus was a word she couldn’t even think without whimpering, without twisting away from wand tips. Laughs peppered her ears. Her teeth hurt from gritting them so hard. Struggles were rewarded only with another twist, another yank where the man grips her hair, the hair he’s matted with blood. The tip of his wand raised fluid-filled welts across her chest, down her stomach. He’d bear down until they popped and she felt nothing but wet warmth.

There were hallucinations sometimes, though she never let herself think of them that way: they were the reprieve her mind gave her and she fell into them willingly.

When he tired of such props he’d use his hands. If she cried, it was an excuse to take his glove off, shove his dirty fingers around her bony chin and make her beg for forgiveness for doing anything without his leave. The first time she’d spit. Now she begs and whimpers before he’s reached for her. Sometimes he would stand in front of her when she did that, asking her to call him things — appelations like “master” and “father” and she did it all just to get him to stop. He didn’t. Words she could give. When she didn’t give him the kiss he wanted he’d tug on the chains, make her crumple back to her knees in front of him. 

(“No,” Rory says, pulling her up. Rory was made of sunshine, she thinks: that golden hair, bright smile, blue eyes. He was made of summer, full of heart and she loved him for it once but — now she thinks it cruel. Cruel to remember what she’d had, what she’d lost. 

He won’t listen to that (he never did), and she thinks she loves him all the more for not letting her push even his spectre away, though there was no Godly reason he should stay — the real him thought she was dead. 

Rory goes to his knees in front of her.) 

Eliza had no idea how long this torture lasted. Much of the time she didn’t know anything but the pain, like it was living and breathing and always with her. 

(“It’s barmy, I know, but,” Alcott had laughed, throwing the flask up in the air. Eliza catches it. It slips through her fingers, ephemeral and her hands were painted — not scarlet now, but amber, “I think I’m suppose to lose my mind, because when I’m not human…,”

She licks her finger-tip, sticks it in the corner of her cheek and smiles at him, because she gets it now.

“I can enjoy it, revel in it.”)

They were making her a wolf too, then. A beast. Rage twisting in her broken gut, she thinks, she’s all right with it. Anything to make it stop, just make it stop…That was the only thing she could say aloud that seemed to make him happier than hurting her. When she begged him. She’d have begged more to keep him happy, but breath alone was mostly something that escaped her. 

If she was a beast, she wouldn’t need D’Grey (and had she dreamed him?),  she wouldn’t be cold (wolves were always warm), she wouldn’t need Hans either (she’d have torn those boys apart with her teeth). When she’d first arrived, ten decades ago, she’d asked Sam how he possibly thought she could hurt someone, anyone. Now she knew. Each and every one of them, she would just -love- to twist that knife around on the one she called Blackfire to amuse herself — would love to bring the one she christened Professor to -his- knees. She wants to do it all back to them and more, wants to make them hurt, make them pay — she wants to kill them.

That was the worst.

The day (or night, or morning or afternoon) that they’d brought another prisoner in and told her: if she hurt them, they wouldn’t hurt her. Eliza couldn’t hold her head up, let alone lift her arm. That was the point, part of her knew, for them to give her some prayer of reprieve — put it in her own hands and prove herself helpless again. But if she could have. If she could have raised her arm, if she could have gripped a knife…

(“Ouch, Eliza.” Sienna laughed and held her hand up for a high-five. Her eyes were blackened with mascara, her cheeks covered silver and hair tossing in ebony curls below the emerald hairband. 

“I don’t think he’ll recover from that burn.”

“Oh, of course he will,” Eliza shrugs, “you’re giving him too much credit.”

Sienna arches a pencilled brow at her. There’d been a pink blush on her cheeks then, but now Eliza smiles at her earnest. She was dressed the same. Silver and emerald. Feral smile, ears perked for distant secrets and sparkles. Slytherin mean-girls on the prowl.

“You assumed he understood what I said.”) 

Sam had come twice. Twice to beg and plead — he’d brought clothes and bandages, even shampoo — she only shoved him away. He was the reason she was there (they’d done this to him too?), and she wasn’t making herself pretty for him. He couldn’t stand to look at her dirty and bloody and bruised: good. Good, that was better. She wouldn’t beg for him either. 

(“You hit an ass you don’t like, and you’re in?” 

“Sounds about right,” Sam smirked that disgusting, twisted thing at her and she’d had it - she’d snapped - just god -

Smack.

“Guess I’m in then.” Eliza stalks away). 

Of all the torturers, though, the night (or day) that his uncle stepped through the door —

Maybe she was broken already. Maybe he had left, maybe he wasn’t coming back, because he’d gotten a concession from her but she couldn’t — she couldn’t remember. All she knew now wasn’t pain (no, because pain would be something she could use to make her strong): it was tears. Eliza was in sobs. Relentless as their knives had been, heaving and shaking and spluttering sobs. It exhausts her; she couldn’t sit up, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, but still she could sob…

She must have stopped; must have fallen asleep, because  in her dreams she is dirty, broken, beautiful, free. She dreams of him too, but she won’t let herself remember that later.

There’s a growl. 

A hiss escapes her lips. It seems to come to her dimly that she wasn’t in the cell anymore, tears dry and cracking on her cheeks. Oh, of course. She sees the room hazy, swim into focus in front of her: the room trying too hard to be hers, her bedroom, and she wonders why she wasn’t abruptly sick for being in this bed again. The door was opening; she whimpers and tries to curl into a ball, curl away. She prays it’s D’Grey (he wasn’t a dream, she remembered now, twice he’d snuck her potions and warm blankets and once even lemon tarts — though her stomach couldn’t take it). She prays it’s him even though the last time he came she’d told him not to come back, to let her go, let it just end. The better he made her feel the worse she had to fall the next time. But he didn’t growl, he didn’t make a sound…

“Hans…” God, she hates how weak her voice was. 

The alphamale had never looked less so. She thinks how she’d seen him last (when she was still a young girl and still had thought an open door meant escape); how he’d been full of hope and she doesn’t want to ruin that in him. Ruin the little last part of him that for some reason had something good. 

Eliza tries to startle up, but her spine won’t cooperate and he notices — coming over to her and raising a hand.

“Shh, no, lay back.”

Gladly, Eliza thinks, melting back into the warm pillows and shaking her head back and forth. Sweat sticks her to the silk. It was as much an answer as she could give him. 

His hands are shaking, she sees. There is blood in the creases of his skin, sinking in like thin red cobwebs, spiralling across his skin, dirt and mud and flesh beneath his fingers and his hands are shaking and his breath is coming in gasps. It terrifies her.

“Are you here to kill me?” 

There’s genuine shock and hurt in his voice, in his paralyzed gaze as he looks down at her.

“Do you really think that low of me?” 

Why not, she thinks. Attacking Devin was for sport. Snapping Alcott’s neck - well, she didn’t understand that anymore, when Alcott had said he -wanted- Hans to make her leave but — didn’t he understand watching him die was not exactly on her Christmas list? Hans killed so many people at the Gala for doing their job, ripped through them like bread and butter, no remorse, nothing. And of course he’d grabbed her in the hallway, saved her but — how many boys had done that just to hurt her worse later now?

“Yes,” she bites out, teeth gritted again. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t raise her chin or arm; if she wore blue pajamas and sweat in place of emerald skirts and silver sparkles: she could be mean. 

She was Eliza Simmons, dammit. 

Hans eyes cloud over and he shakes his head at her, but he won’t blink. It occurs to her she’d -meant- to hurt him more than she meant what she said. Hes inches closer to her, waving his hand to shut the door behind him and she flicks a gaze to it before realizing he was sitting on the very edge of the bed.

“Do you want to die?” Hans says softer, folding his hands over his knees and she thinks it’s the kind of parental tone that she’d hated from Alcott - a challenging “make them do it for themselves” thing instead of just giving her the answer and her dry, puffy eyes threaten to fill again.

Her throat is too raw to speak. Besides, Hans had always been good at that. Talking. Spinning words for her benefit.

“I could do that,” he says in a broken kind of way.  There’s a vial in his hand that makes her breath catch. Poison, she knew. 

“If you want, Eliza, I could. It would all be over then.” 

Staring too, he had that goddamn down, looking at you so intently it was like he meant to see your soul. He has that look now. Like he was trying to tell her something he couldn’t bring himself to voice either.

So when he clears his throat she’s surprised to realize he was going to try, “I thought about it myself too.”

That surprises her. Him? Hans Lawrence Ricard? Alphamale douchebag who hunts people down like they’re candy with an army at his command? What possible reason could he have to try and kill himself? She shakes her head into the pillow: lies, he had to be lying it, more lies from more pretty-eyed boys. 

Except his voice was the same one she’d had when she told Alcott she’d lost her virginity. 

“You?” She manages to ask, eyes wide.

And of course, of course that makes him smirk. That makes him get that bitter little unserious “me” look that Alcott would always get whenever she tried to make something poignant and meaningful (and why the hell was she doing that anyway?). 

“Yeah,” he chuckles under his breath, shrugs a shoulder. “Just once, of course.” 

Eliza realizes that little dry sound was her own laugh.

“When?” 

His eyes are keen; his gaze traces the shaking lines of her arms, the way she is hardening her jaw to stop her lip from trembling.  Then he looks away and shakes his head once to himself, and she wants to be angry for his withholding before she thinks: she’d never exactly been very nice when he had shared before.

“Hans,” she says quietly, a twisted smirk on her own lips, “Who would I tell?” 

That makes him laugh. It was as dry as hers and then he shakes his head, looking back down at her. 

His mouth curves, “Me.” 

Her brows must have furrowed, for he answers the unasked question.

“You’d tell me, exactly how you feel.” 

She laughs, low and soft, and so does he. For a moment she thinks she’s just sixteen again as she cocks her head on the pillow and responds playfully, “I thought honesty was your thing.” 

That makes him laugh too. It’s brighter now, more believable, and she thanks him for not paying attention to her shivering or the stench of death around her; for he must feel it. Smell it. Wolves on sensory overload and what not.

“Yes.” He says soft, “And the boy —,” she doesn’t have to ask which one, “—he’s lying to you, you know.” 

“Of course he is,” Eliza snaps. Had Sam ever done anything but? 

“About what he went through.” Hans says softer, and shakes his head slowly, “Oh, they pointed their wand at him a few times, but he volunteered for it. For all of it.”

She realizes: oh for fuck’s sakes, she hadn’t even realized she believed Sam when he’d said that. 

“How do you know?” 

“I was there.” Hans says softer, like he was admitting something shameful. 

Her tongue sits still, leaden, in her dumb mouth. This is not a silence that she is used to when it comes to Hans—this silence is not filled with twisting mechanics, with words humming about him unsaid, every syllable processed and weighed. This is a silence of terrifying stillness and terrifying shapeless sounds—like he wants to scream, he wants to hurl, he wants to yell, but his mouth is dead.

She sighs, wanting to lift her head off the pillow. Hans seems to notice that in her eyes, or at least, he leans closer to her too, braced on his knee. 

“But Eliza, I’ll let you in on a secret. I understand — believe me, I do, but there’s a whole world out there. Beyond all of this darkness. There’s hundreds of things to live for. Towering skyscrapers, fantastic music — you want to see the Isle of White? Hear the orchestra play Mozart in Vienna? There’s art far more impressive than dour Mona — the Sistine Chapel, recently rejuvenated so you could see what they saw when Michaelangelo put down the brush.”

Eliza smiles. And wants. Desperately. 

“There’s real, genuine…beauty…in the world.” 

A halting silence. He hears, as if from a great distance, the whistling of thin breath up and down her windpipe, swirling in her feeble lungs. Her smile flutters. There’s such a look on his face when he looks at her, when he says “beauty” — that soft smile she’d seen once before, she thinks she might be addicted to it.

“All you have to do is ask for it.” He says softly, in a tone as desperate as hers and she realizes abruptly: he didn’t want her to die either.

And that’s what she chokes out, a quiet little prayer in a voice filled with tears she’s too tired to spill, 

“I don’t want to die.” 

He smiles at her, relief coloring his expression and she nods, and realizes she’s rising, sitting — her spine was listening to her again, and she watches him put the poison away. She wasn’t taking that, she thinks resolutely. And she wasn’t giving up. 

She brings Hans in for a hug before he can protest — well, more, falls against him and he catches her and she decides not to look up because she wasn’t sure how to take his expression right now and so she just lets him hold her. For how long, she doesn’t know. It was just…nice. To be held.

And then she pushes him off, swiveling in the bedspread and plants her feet on the ground. He looks at her sideways too, and she can tell he’s impressed by the little side smirk.

“If I’m doing this,” she says softly, wondering how she could possible -fake- being a Death Eater without becoming one but — she wasn’t telling Hans that part, because deciding to live was enough for her. 

“I need to know where Angel is.” 

That makes his brows furrow, but he nods at her after a moment (his gaze darted over her fast - fast as if he dared not let himself look too long and a small smile curls on her lips too). 

“For healing,” she answers, meek. Was she blushing? Oh God, she hoped she wasn’t. “I need to know —,” 

“I’ll take you.” 

“No.” Her voice is stronger this time and she lifts her chin. “No, I want to go on my own.” 

That only makes his smile widen, so he nods after telling her where to walk, and gets off the bedspread, moving to the door. Her eyes trace his back and she doesn’t bring herself to ask until his hand is curled on the doorknob — until the last possible moment.

“Hans?” 

And he stills, going rigid in a way she thinks he already knows what she’s going to ask. 

“Did they do it to you?” 

Silence. 

His hand was fumbling over the knob. The torture, she means, the hours of relentless, never-ending torture with no hope, no ability to keep time, nothing but pain, days of it, weeks of it, years of it. The hallucinations, the apparitions, the thoughts of suicide, the endless tears — the big bed and faked escape, the black-fire knives and the wrist-biting manacles, the whip (no, don’t think about the whip), the spiked mace — the words Sam’s uncle had hissed in her ear that made her sob so desperately — the breaking, and the rebreaking, and the third breaking — all of it, never-ending while she clings to dreams and fairytales and feels four years old and small, so small —

“How do you think I was bitten?” 

The blue eyes he lays on her steal her breath, he thoughts, her heartbeat. 

Her voice breaks over his name, “Hans…”

“Bonne nacht, Eliza.” He spins away from her, leaving the door open in his wake.

She waits until she feels strong enough to stand, swallows the small potion he’d left for her - and then moves to the wardrobe. There was too much — too much there to think about, and she couldn’t do that yet, so she tries to put Hans from her mind (pretends she doesn’t fail). After changing into a jumper, tights and as warm a sweater as D’Grey had dared buy her — she sits in front of the mirror for what must have been two hours to cover the bruises and gashes, painting herself with make-up until she looked almost…almost like new again. She’d tell the bastard “yes” — the boss, she thinks, she must master her mind or he’d know her for a liar — but only when she was healed properly. 

Eliza refused to stand broken in front of him again. 


	44. {The Wolf You Made Of Me}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hans?” 
> 
> And he stills, going rigid in a way she thinks he already knows what she’s going to ask. 
> 
> “Did they do it to you?” 
> 
> Silence. 
> 
> His hand was fumbling over the knob. The torture, she means, the hours of relentless, never-ending torture with no hope, no ability to keep time, nothing but pain, days of it, weeks of it, years of it. The hallucinations, the apparitions, the thoughts of suicide, the endless tears — the big bed and faked escape, the black-fire knives and the wrist-biting manacles, the whip (no, don’t think about the whip), the spiked mace — the words Sam’s uncle had hissed in her ear that made her sob so desperately — the breaking, and the rebreaking, and the third breaking — all of it, never-ending while she clings to dreams and fairytales and feels four years old and small, so small —
> 
> “How do you think I was bitten?”

 

_{A Flashback Inserted} ...a cell, in 2017}_

**Laura:** *He lasted far longer than anyone else had, maybe longer than her when she had been in his position. Time stretched to an indeterminable amount when you were under the sting of a handler's wand. He was just a teenager, a kid. She had been a child too; she had started earlier really. This never-ending cycle of pain and bitterness would only be passed on from her to him. She had already caused her share of pain today, and was watching with calculated concern for when to intervene.

It was a game, she realized. It had always been a game, a trick. They had smashed her down, pulled her apart, destroyed her entirely and then they put the pieces back together as they wanted to; to make a person they wanted, not the one she had been. They had crafted her into a weapon, just as she was doing to the kid. Perhaps her concern wasn't entirely calculated, but she couldn't afford to think like that.* That's enough. Get the fuck out. *They growled at her, one of them even had the audacity to cast another spell, a direct disobedience. Recruits who joined by their own free will from the start were always the stupidest. Her hand snatched out quick as lightning, grabbing the man's wrist before she snapped it back, breaking with a crack. The cry had been louder than the boy's.*

Next time you disobey me, I break your neck. Go.

*She had watched them leave, this time with genuine apathy before she turned to the boy. His arms and legs were chained to the wall, by the looks of it the only thing holding him upright. She took steps closer to him, stopping to stand right in front of him. She outstretched a hand and saw him tense, prepare himself for a blow. Instead, she cupped his cheek gently, her thumb a feather across his skin. She recalled the woman that had done the same to her, wiping blood from her lip; that had been the first time she cried.* Извините, пожалуйста. *Her words were foreign to him, but the tone of an apology was universal. She pressed her lips against his forehead, her mouth tasting blood and pulled back to undo his shackles.*

 **Lawrence:** *Screams, shouts, yells, tears -- he'd given up on all of them. They didn't help. They wasted precious breaths and resources his body needed to survive; squeezed life from him more than their steel or spells. Blood they replenished, food--well, they forced some potion down his throat anyway. But screams he couldn't find at the back of a rasping throat and tears he'd long run out of fucking patience for. 

Skin they replaced with cobwebs of scar tissue, black and blue. Rattling chains echoed in his ear, a cacophony louder now, mixed with their laughs, their taunts, their bloody cooing whispers that rang hard as if they riddled his ears with bullets, not words. Fascinating, wasn't it, how sensitive a broken nose could be? It wouldn't matter. They could hurt him more frequently now; hit harder, spell faster, cut deeper.  The bite to his shoulder months ago had given him that. 

Eyes rolling back in his head as one cut them off only for another spell to hit, another gasp to leave gritted, broken teeth, he thought it was comical he now had a way to keep time. He couldn't remember a life before this now; memories of his family, of his brother...they had been the first targets. It wasn't long before one bastard was glamouring to appear his brother torturing him--trying to convince him he'd sold him there. As if Marcel would do anything against him - he spat at the apparition, not realizing he was raving, before trying to swallow the words back. He didn't want them to have his name, their memories: they'd use them. They'd hurt him. His brother was three years younger than him (how old was he anyway?) and precious; speaking aloud would give them things he wasn't willing to part with, memories he cherished too deeply. They'd raced horses, he reminded himself when he was alone, murmuring his brother's name, his sister's, his mother's -- each of the horse's names, which races he'd championed, which his brother had. Marcel had always been quicker than him, slowed not by stature but by his mind. Hans resorted to tricks, little games and manipulative words. Now he wished he'd told him how brilliant he was every day, wished he could take back hurting -no, he wished he could punch Stéphanie's boy again. His sister still deserved better.

Marcel had quickly been replaced by his father - and that one..that one he could buy, that one hurt. Admitting it did was a weakness he guarded for -- he was guessing years. Now he knew, now he could keep track of the bloody timeline. For every month they locked him in a different cell with chains heavier than those holding him like a scarecrow now, let him watch the apex of a rising silver moon and left him to a fate worse than anything that little boy with his stick could offer him now.

The crack was satisfying, but...he wished she could have given him the option of breaking his wrist himself. Relishing the image as a hundred more replaced it - a hundred crueler tortures he could invent, he could picture himself drawling, _come boy, let me show you how it's done_...but could not find the breath. That was the animal talking, the beast raging just beneath the surface. Hans could only hiss, licking scarlet off his lip. 

Pain was his only constant, the only thing he thought he had left anymore that he could own - that was his. He wouldn't let them see it. His pain was not for their amusement; it was all that he had to let him know he was still alive, still human...well, mostly. He was more an animal now, he thought bitterly, painting a cracked tooth with his swirling tongue, than when they left him to that bitch Artemis. 

That was the moon goddess wasn't it? Fuck, he couldn't remember - the room was spinning, his head lolling as his neck gave up. A different goddess was approaching him now - or well, so he'd begun imagining when she deigned to raise her wand. Fear snaked up his withered, twisted spine as she reached for him and he tenses, certain she's going to hit him. Manacles cutting deep into his wrists, he doesn't relax as she cups his cheek instead -- he can't relax, _it hurts more when you relax_ \-- he lifts fluttering eyes to hers, narrowing his gaze. 

The words were odd; a comfort, soothing in her tone, and he realized if he focused, bullet-riddled ears could pick up her heart. It beat softly, a repeated comfort. His eyes fluttered shut as her lips met his forehead and he felt relief flood his veins, quicken his heart. The kiss was small. Yet he cherished it, as if cool water coats and calms his fevered skin everywhere, not merely paint the impression of her lips in his forehead's sweat. Amazed, he clung to it, the kindness something he knew he should be wary of but craved -- craved with every aching muscle and every bruised inch of him. In his feverish haze, her lips imprint might well have been written now on his bones. 

Letting his eyes flutter open once more if only to capture her gorgeous visage better as she released him, confusion spread through his gaze. He didn't understand. His bottom lip quivered. Breath quick, he didn't bother standing as she released is feet, letting himself crumple to the ground. When he moves to pick himself up, sit against the black wall, he realizes she's helping there too and lets her. 

Cradling broken wrists, his dim eyes flicker from hers to stare at the blisters, watching the poisonous silver alloy mar his skin. The smallest of burns and bruises were disappearing already--a few days and the rest would be gone, he knew. Cuts would mend, his bones would be reset, even his skin might regrow. It was as if the harder he was hurt, the harder the beast inside fought to live, the faster and better the ability to heal developed. That was something to cling to, he thought bitterly, small. If there came a day he could heal instantly...he could deem the torture worth it, for nothing could ever hurt again.

Except this fucking silver, of course. Those blisters were still glistening red, blood dripping on the scant shorts he wore (more for his torturer's comfort than warmth, Hans knew, for most of them were male). Pulling both wrists to his chest, he curls broken against the wall when her simple step echoes in his ears, a crack against stone. His eyes snap back to her. Breathing quickly as fear rose, thinking the small kindnesses of brushing blood away and letting him rest only meant worse could follow. T _hough she had broken that boy's wrist too_ , he reminds himself, a foolish want. He tries to kill the hope, curb it with a bitter laugh and speaks instead on a throat so dry he could hardly whisper,* 

If it's helping me you want to do... *As if it was, as if any of them blasted did,* ...I'd kill for water.

*Something flashed across his eyes, a dark scarlet glint. He meant it.*  

 **Laura:** *She hadn't expected him to be able to hold his own weight, she could see it in his eyes. They had been relentless with him, hardly given him a moment's peace since he had turned. Gustav's ingenious idea, she thought with a bitter taste in her mouth. He was working to rise himself further in the ranks, and the idea of having their own wolf pack had worked to elevate him a few levels. He had caught the werewolf himself, kept him in a dungeon and then released a prisoner in the same small room during the full moon. They had lost two that way already, Lawrence was the first to survive.

After she had helped him sit as comfortably as he possibly could against the wall, she walked to a pantry in the wall and tapped it twice with her wand. Tapping it only once would reveal weapons, but twice gave her potions, poultices, herbs, water. Grabbing a few things, he turns back to him, walking towards again and crouching in front of him. She sets the supplies next to her and then picks up the small container of water, uncapping it.* Here, let me...*His wrists were broken, clutching a flask even a leather one would only serve to cause him more pain and that wasn't what she was here for. She raised the pouch to his mouth, tipping the water into his mouth slowly, careful not to make him choke. Her hands were steady, and the routine familiar.

She tossed the leather flask aside when it was empty and then reached for the bowl, an orange paste ground onto it. She met his gaze again, judging his gaze. He would have killed someone for the opportunity for water. Her superiors would be pleased, to see him like this.* This is for the silver burns. May I? 

 **Lawrence:** *His eyes trailed up and down her as she'd walked away, trying to use those extra-sensitive senses of his his for at least something amusing. It had long occurred to him, when he sat in a dank cell wondering, those brief moments alone, what else was heightened? If his broken-nose could still pick up that acrid stench of his burned skin, like chicken left over the fire too long -- as easily as it could the lingering scent of the man who'd pissed himself when she broke his wrist -- if he could still discern that, what other, more pleasant things could he pick up? He thought of all those bloody perfumes that had lined Stephanie's shelves, and those yellow flowers his mother papered the hallway in for her betrothal. The holly wreathes with their four red candles -- he could only imagine how delicious that would be, almost as delicious as the Christbaumgeback would taste. Cinnamon - oh, cinnamon, he had loved that...he thought. It felt odd to remember these tiny reminders of a life he'd once had: like a fond dream with details slipping away, leaving only that feeling of desperate want.

And well, if scent was heightened, if he could see so goddamn bloody well in the dark, and if his pain could be so horrific, then a kind stirring touch would be fucking bliss, he thought. Why shouldn't he imagine so? If she could treat him this way - if they could do this to him - he thought it only right he get to treat her whatever way he wanted and right that moment, his frenzied-eyed imagination wasn't focused on violence. Passion, on the other hand...

She was back. His eyes adjusted, terrified again: terrified she'd noticed his dazed focus, could hear what he'd thought, would punish him for it. All she did was lift water to his lips. It confused him; to have something he'd asked for given without even a harsh word. As the cool refreshment trickled down a burned throat, he tried not to move, tried not to do anything but swallow. She knew to hold it steady, he realized as his limbs shuddered from effort, knew not to pour the ambrosia too fast lest he choke with the excess of pleasure. It tasted like life. 

Licking his lips as she pulled it back, he kept his gaze locked on hers, not caring a whit for the flask that clattered away. Uncomfortable with the lack of rise from her - the fact her heart was so steady - he didn't look to what she held. There was something hidden in her gaze, something he wanted to know, imagined was dark and hoped foolishly was compassion. At her words, his heavy tongue slid back between clenched, broken teeth showing her a side-grin.* Go ahead, honey. *He was relieved to hear his stronger voice.*

 **Laura:** *It was good of him to still feel fear at this point. If he didn't, if he had been prepared to try anything, it would mean she had miscalculated and that he'd have to spend a longer time enduring this torture. Oddly enough, she thought more of what he might have suffer than her own punishment for failing. It could be because she had long been accumulating evidence of others' displeasures on her skin. When something grew to become a habit, it ceased to have the same effect. That's why they were encouraged to find different ways to cause pain, and to break them as fast as they could. It was also why his lingering gaze gauged no reaction from her; that was nearly constant in her life.

She nodded at his smile, at his words and dipped her fingers into the thick paste, coating her fingers with it before she moved to apply it to his ankles first, noting he still held his wrists against his chest. The orange paste was cool to the touch, and her fingers applied it gently and thoroughly. She could still feel his gaze on her even as she watched her own hands work. After a few minutes in silence, she looked up at him again, and outstretched her hand, asking for his in return. She held relief and comfort very literally in her hands, in the form of this topical potion.* I'm Laura.

 **Lawrence:** *Eyes never straying from her, he arched an eyebrow as she reached for his ankles before realizing how twisted that probably looked when there was a cut through it and dropped it again. He had been bleeding into his eye before - but it had stopped, and he imagined was already bearing the appearance of a cut from two days past, not fresh from the hour. Or had it been more than an hour? Oh, he didn't fucking know. Too deadened to hiss even as she fixed his wrists, and soothed the burns, he stayed quiet and still.

She still didn't react--not to his lingering gaze or the term of endearment, which he'd flung from his lips as sarcastically as possible. It surprised him, terrified him, relieved him. Her heart stayed steady, and he realized with a flicker of fear what was so disarming about it. It was like she couldn't feel. Or at least not for him; he wasn't human to her. But then, he supposed bitterly, he wasn't human to anyone anymore - least of all to him. Only something to study curiously, manipulate and poke at in a cage. Even as she healed him, even as he breathed easier and chased the water still clinging to his lips, he still was just the thing in the cage to look at. Study.

Only then she extended her hand. 

Hans blinked. His gaze left her to stare at her outstretched palm, fingers still dripping with the paste that had fixed his wrists. Blinking again, he spoke slowly,* Laura. Not with that accent. *But then, didn't they call him Lawrence? That was the name his father had given him, and he had never hated it so much as he did now. Lifting his chin a fraction, he tried not to let his neck shake from the effort as he grasped her hand, elbow draped over his knee, hand more flicking sideways than moving. He breathed out, then couldn't help himself from asking,* What do you want with me?

 **Laura:** *She licked her lips, his observation was keen, not something expected from someone in his state. He was strong, stronger than they realized, than even she realized. He would have to be, to have survived this far and to keep surviving. It was a long suffering road, one that never ended. It had amused her though, that he had so rejected her chosen name. If she were playing a different game, one in which she wanted to subdue him to his will eternally, she would have struck him. Laura was glad she didn't have to. She did not want to shatter him beyond repair, just mold him for them, like they had done to her. And what a beautiful creation they had made out of her.*

You're right. I misspoke. What I meant to say was my name is Laura. *How similar but wholly different those two statements were from each other. 'I am' and 'My name is'. Most people would find those to be synonyms, not her. She respected his determination to shake her hand as steady as he could though the gesture between them lasted no more than a second.

Finally, there came a question. She had been there, told them to stop, caressed him, freed him from his shackles, gave him water, and healed the only injuries that would not be able to heal by themselves. He was bound to be curious, and if he weren't, then he would be too broken to save.* Let's just say...I know what's it like to be where you are now. *She wiped her hands off on a towel before she stood up and took the bowl and flask back to the pantry, closing it with another tap of her wand. She still had a potion in hand however, for later.* Minus one difference, well, two. *She walked back to him, sat down in front of him, minding not of the blood that stained her suit. The differences were obvious in their very anatomy, but she knew one would be more obvious to him than the other.* You're healing already...it's uncanny. *Now it was her turn to look at him, her eyes could be as equally inspecting and thorough, tracing every mark, every scratch, every wound, and every burn. But his eyes, his eyes held the truth.* You're strong.

 **Lawrence:** *He blinks, accepting the difference with nothing more than a fraction of a nod, digging the back of his head into the wall. He was breathing easier now; the flask he drained and healed wrists was speeding up his bodies' basic, regulatory processes. Or perhaps he just couldn't keep the pace of furious heartbeats and wariness. Exhaustion settled in his bones, even as curiosity sparked in his eyes. No, he thought briefly. There was a third nuance: I became, is what he thought she meant, Laura is who I am _now_. 

He knew he was right when she slipped away from him. This time he kept his gaze on her hair. He liked the shade, he realized. Though Lord knew what color her hair was naturally (and he thought he could smell dye lingering, like she'd newly washed it). What a blessing that would have been. If she had been where he was, he reasoned astonished, then surely he could get there too; he could get to 'become', not remain broken, get to bloody shower. 

She knelt back in front of him, and a thin smile had reappeared on his face. Well, obviously; she was female. But more than that...she didn't smell as he did, and though he'd only met one other wolf...he could tell the difference. It seemed seared in his brain. Blinking as she looked over him he stiffened; embarrassed of his appearance, and muttering,* Darling, I don't look my best. But... *He lifted his gaze back from the floor, holding his knees tighter and swearing with honest amusement,* I clean up damn good. *He meant that too. A brief flare of pride warmed him, even as he thought bitterly she'd hurt him too, she'd been one of the worst - for she didn't mess around, she didn't toy with the minor wounds first. She was cleverer than that. But that meant she knew, he reasons, a spark in his eye again -- that dark red glint. She'd tried - they all tried. He was glad she realized his strength, easily believing she was impressed by it -- by him -- who wouldn't be?* 

That's not an answer. *His words were as simple as hers were vague.* You know why I'm healing. Is that what you want - what they want? *He hardly noticed his own distinction.* The wolf in me?

 **Laura:** *Amusement, jokes, and abash, all good signs for both him and her, especially him. He could get past this, survive, and live again. That's what she was good at, and why she insisted to be the one to be here and turn them. Soon her superiors, her master, would realize the folly in allowing Laura to continue to be the caring touch that sparked the ember back to life. That despite her being the most effective at this, having her turn the majority of the members had the potential to be extremely detrimental. Her enemies in this place where scarce and in an organization like the one she worked for that was a rarity. And it was all due to her deepest secret: she cared. Not in an overwhelming amount, not even in a normal amount compared to normal people, but just enough. Cared about these people who went through what she did and wanted them to survive; she was devoted to ensuring they survived.

Not all did. For some the pain was too much, their will left them, the anger she was meant to instill in them turned to despair and they died. She killed them. And she mourned them. Always in silence, she mourned them not her failure. Them, the person, for one night. The next day, she had to continue.*

I was getting to it. *She waited for him to finish his question before she moved forward to stand on her knees and she cupped his face again. She shook her head, her eyes holding his.* No, not just, they want a weapon. They...we...the group. We are a weapon, the deadliest in this world. We fear no pain because we've endured this hell. Ours is the calling of the strong, the strongest. *She moved from sitting to standing on her knees, cupping his face again* I want a strength, a force...but also a comrade, someone worthy of being called brother. *She took one hand and rested on his chest, above his heart.* It still beats. But for what purpose? Is it love, happiness, joy, compassion? Those emotions cripple you...*Her eyes sought out that glint in his gaze she'd seen earlier, that's the one she meant to pull to surface. That which would help him survive.* No one can hurt me anymore. I'm stronger than that, they've taught me that. How to withstand pain, use it against my enemies. Now tell me...did you lie to me before? Would you kill someone for a simple glass of water?

 **Lawrence:** *His eyebrow flicked up a second; ' I was getting to it', an impatient phrase. Had he reached some kind of emotion? Or had he done that already? After all here she was healing him, that wasn't the action of a dispassionate soldier. No she...she was something else, he realized, interested in discovering more. It wasn't compassion in her eyes...but it wasn't blatant manipulation, which insinuated total lack of respect to the object beheld, used. She had an innate curiosity about her -- she did see something in him, something she regarded favorably. It wasn't respect though, he thought curiously, it was empathy lacking sorrow -- it was pride in familiarity. And actually, that was something he hungered for greatly more than sympathy. An acknowledgement that he too was special, was something else.

A weapon. He licked at his lips again, slowly lifting and lowering his wrist as he watched the burns covered in thick paste stretch, taut to the breaking point.  Then she reached for him and he stiffened again, his bare and bruised chest still sticky with sweat and drying blood. His eyebrow cocked slowly; something sparking in his slow-beating heart beneath her hand as he thought of that, of being a 'brother.' He didn't remember how to do that, not to a living person. He wasn't much of one to the trumped up fantasy -- memory?--of Marcel either. He lifted his gaze back to her. The question was easy to answer.* Depends who it is. Which I suppose might not be the answer you want -- *he says it simply, wry* -- but then, would you want a man who's willing to kill his sister for a glass of water as a brother?  *He exhales, letting that rest and keeping his gaze locked on hers. Lord, he thought his heart could move no slower.* A weapon must have a soldier wielding it, as much as a blacksmith to fashion it. Who's the commander? *Another flash of anger in his eyes, thinking of it.*

 **Laura:** *She smiled then, as honest a smile as she was capable of anymore.* That was exactly the answer I wanted. There are lives...and then there are lives. In the midst of those, there are circumstances. *She drops her voice to a whisper, a whisper so faint she knew if he were only human, he could not have picked it up.* I don't seek a mindless killer...I seek an intelligent one. *On that, most disagreed. They wanted wands that could fire deadly spells one after the other but did not know how to aim; they left behind carnage and suffering, true, but they seldom got the job done without a screw up. Not only that, but she did not want them to lose their humanity entirely. That's why she was dangerous, and her superiors didn't even know it. But as long as she was with them, making them soldiers, doing their bidding, they had nothing to fear. And she would, for there was no other way for her to live in this world, but it was much better than being dead.*

I didn't kill my first man over a glass of water. *She spoke again, licking her lips, ignoring his question for a moment, knowing that she would answer it soon enough.* I was 15, and I killed the man who fucked me within an inch of my life against this wall. *She looked up, surveying it as if it still held the memories of those days when it was she who was owner of them. She looked back to the boy.* I cut off his cock, and stuffed it down his mouth and watched him bleed to death in his bed. *Her pulse quickened just thinking about it, the image still so vivid in her mind.* Then I found the other three and did the same. Because no one was going to fuck with me anymore, and no one has. *She leaned away from him finally, breathing out more normally again.* I proved myself, proved I was better than these *she grabbed the chains* just as worthy to live, I wasn't going to die in some miserable half forgotten dungeon. I wasn't going to become another bloody corpse, that was discarded without recognition. *So she gave in, she joined their ranks, let them make her powerful because being powerless wasn't an alternative.*

The Dark Lord, is our commander. *She answered bluntly, finally.* Defeated thrice, each time he comes back. But he is weak and one day...he won't. And then another will take his place, and another...there are many of us who dream of it, dream of the power. There are some already who are working their way toward it, building their own empire...*she regarded him curiously, knowing what it was Gustav had planned for him did he turn.* Like the man who bit you, was promised an empire of his own making. A group of werewolves, to do his bidding. An untested man, weak...not like us. We are better, we are survivors. You don't have to feel pain...

 **Lawrence:** *It felt as if every nerve in his body suddenly tensed, realizing that was what he'd admitted he was suddenly: never the enforcer, never relying on blunt force -- so inelegant a tool -- but crafty and willing to kill for himself. When had that happened? The words leaving his lips were truthful, he thinks, but it astonished him to hear aloud. He was...fuck, how old was he anymore? Nine months, nine transformations...he would wager he hadn't hit he hadn't his twenties yet, but couldn't be more specific than that. He'd been only sixteen when grabbed. And now...a killer-to-be, how interesting. Better than a victim, he thought bitterly; better than a worthless nameless casualty dying in this pit. He survived. That was all there was. 

Jaw clenching, he swiped his tongue over his teeth again, seeking the cracks and realizing there remained only thin scratches where minutes ago there had been deep grooves, cut to the enamel. Now there seemed only chipped paint. 

He followed her gaze, curious for the story, and realizing briefly that would have been his fate were he female. It angered him, kick-started his heart again, skipping beats -- even as awe colored his expression, impressed with her. The man -- men -- who had done that to her deserved nothing less. And he meant men, though he thought humorlessly other's would say animal. Animals had greater honor than that, he thought with breath harsh, spitting the flecks of his teeth to the ground. He winced again at the rattling chains as she grabbed them, but kept his muscles coiled - as if he prepared to spring. She was saying everything he'd just thought, he realized, realizing with a mindless smile another familiarity. Another empathic connection that lacked sorrow - instead offered the understanding he craved. And more than that, he realized as she continued...she offered much more than that.

Another scarlet flash crossed dark eyes as he spat out,* The day that man tries to make me do one fucking thing will be the ides of march and Caesar can meet his Brutus.

 **Laura:** *She saw the understanding in his eyes, the craving to reach the place she was now: out of chains, powerful, her own person once again. And maybe he would turn to enjoy inflicting pain on others to feel alive, but she understood that. She did not enjoy the torture, but there was a part of herself that should she choose to relinquish to it, would allow for her to be just so. The important part was, and would always be, them being able to live once more.

And he had the will, there was no denying it. She saw it there in his eyes, that glance that spoke volumes upon volumes just with a single look. He would not allow himself to be subdued by anyone else, but he also craved the power. A good combination, one that would guarantee his survival. A good sense of ambition within their ranks was healthy, to an extent. One drop more of what was appropriate and death was certain.* 

Maybe he won't at first, maybe he will even be accepting but have no doubt about it, he turned you. He is the alpha. He could do with you what he pleased...I didn't wait until those men -tried- again. I did what I needed to do, to make sure I would never feel helpless again. *She paused before asking, her face hard though curious, expectant, even a little hopeful though she tried to squash down immediately.* Can you?

 **Lawrence:** *Anger deepening, churning in his stomach, he only neglected to speak again - to spit again- as she continued. He realized very suddenly what she was offering. If the question of siring someone determined their free-will, then it was very simple: he had to be alpha. Then there couldn't be a man who could control him, there would be no one who could make him do one damn thing he didn't want too -- and that meant survival. That meant his own life again. Lifting his chin, without wavering, without blinking he spoke with low fervor and dead certainty,* Let me near him, and I won't hesitate to do what _I_  need to do.

 **Laura:** *That's what she wanted to hear, what she was hoping to hear. Normally, she would have not been this adamant early on. She would have more time, but Gustav had a personal interest in him. She had apologized in her native tongue earlier, and this was why.* The full moon's tonight. You'll get your chance then. The kill must be made as a wolf. *Debatable, but that was what she had been instructed to say. After all, he was to be a werewolf, leader of the pack, to be weaponized as much as a wolf as he would be as a human, maybe more. She reached backwards for the potion she had kept from the pantry and held it up for him.* 

There must be no doubt that it is your own will, your desire to free yourself from him, and not mindless ravaging. *A man who chose to kill as a wolf, choose to give into the rage, instead of a beast who had no choice. Gustav had laughed, and she had wanted to cut his throat.* Kill him, and live again, learn from us, join us. And have no one hurt you again.

 **Lawrence:** *Odd. Hearing that it was a full-moon usually filled him with dread, set terror deep in his rattling bones. No wonder he was healing so quickly then - the wolf was raging near the surface, ripping to get out and already changing, shifting what made him .. him, alive, man or beast or rather: both. Eying the potion she held up, his eyes widened suddenly. He knew what that was. Wolfsbane. He could think of another few words: poison, the savior...but bane worked well, as it was both. Just the option of having his mind when he transformed, of not having to go through that hell...that was a gift he suddenly cherished.

Breathing heavily, he nodded, suddenly viciously quickly -- eager to down the potion, to have his revenge -- his justice. End that bastard's life. Be reborn himself. He didn't know what he would be come the morning -- but he knew he would be alive, and that bastard who had made him, who had turned him and stole his life -- he would be dead. That was enough.

Desperate, he shut his eyes to control the want - that deep need - knowing appearing eager would not do. He must be in control of it, however visceral his hatred, his pain. Breath was hot on a raw throat as he swallows it all until it burns in his chest and sticks. When he opened his eyes again, he was master of it, owner of his pain and newfound purpose - and he held his hand out for the potion, waiting until she had given it to him before he downed it.

He barely tasted it, though it smelled foul and burned his ravaged throat. Gasping and steadying himself against the wall with the same hand, he nodded again, not aware of the tears pearling in his eyes. He held her gaze.* Thank you. *He meant it - he meant it with every part of him, eyes fluttering rapidly to prevent the tears from spilling.*

Laura. *His voice struggled to waver and he held it steady through sheer force of will.* Call me -- Hans, not Lawrence. *His lips quirked, shamed,* That's my father's name. *And he wouldn't have a friend - a comrade, a sister - call him anything else.*

 **Laura:** *She gave over the potion as he asked for it, seeing nothing but determination in his eyes. She had no doubt he would get through the night, come out strong, stronger than Gustav and the rest expected him to. She almost smirked in gratification that she wasn't giving that man a mindless puppet like he wanted.* We'll bring him here just at sundown. 

*And they would watch, because she had to and needed to, and would not flinch. She nodded at his gratitude, a small smile on her lips flickered on for a moment before she spoke out, understanding his choice.* I'll come for you in the morning, Hans. And we'll greet each other as equals, as comrades. 

*She leaned forward to place another kiss on his brow* And your life can begin again. *She pulled away and conjured another leather flask full of water and pressed it into his hand. He would be able to drink more tomorrow, eat, bathe, sleep peacefully and she'd make sure of it, like she did with those she managed to save. She stood then and walked away from him, out of the room and closed it behind her with the lock. She wasn't surprised to find Gustav there.*

 **Gustav:** Sun down's barely an hour away. *He moved away from wall, his arms crossed over his chest.* Cut it close there, Laura. Are you sure he's ready?

 **Laura:** Bring the wolf at sundown like I said, and he'll prove it. *she kept walking forward eager to leave his side. She wanted to clean up first.*

 **Gustav** : You have a lot of faith in our dream friend, Lawrence.

 **Laura:** Hans, *she corrected him, and turned around eyebrows rising.* His name is Hans. Though by all means, feel free to go through that door at sundown and call him just that. He'll prove himself just fine then. *She turned on her heel stalking away from him, and away from the dungeon where so many people have died, and so many people have been reborn.*

 **Hans:** *Taking the flask as she pressed it into his hand, he steadied his breath, letting his eyes flutter shut again. The kiss to his brow made him feel suddenly ashamed for his earlier thoughts -- sickened suddenly to desire one who would be sister, her kiss as much from a mother as from a lover, though he felt stirrings of both. He didn't care, he decided a second later, lifting his hand to her wrist as well. He was hesitant that he might not be allowed to touch her, and deciding to fuck not being allowed to do anything ever again. The hand weighed a ton to lift, and he'd barely brushed his fingers across the bare back of her hand before she pulled back. He smiled honestly hearing her say that - say 'Hans' in such an amorous, glad tone. It was who he was now, he thought with a tiny nod. Or would be, in the morning. The whispered promise that his justice - his vengeance - would be matched with his acceptance made his heart pound faster. An equal, he thought dimly as she pulled back and her heels clacked away. 

There hadn't been anyone who called him such but Marcel and Stephanié and he had no idea where either were. He wondered if they'd cared that he'd vanished, but it was hard to believe they did. They weren't there. They didn't know what he'd been going through, they didn't know what had changed. He put them from his mind stubbornly and felt instantly more capable, letting anger take him in place of that grief. The wolf who sought to control him - who had taken his life, for no blasted reason other than to build an army of mindless slaves...he would pay for that in spades, Hans was sure of it. The man might be alpha, stronger, have been a wolf longer -- but Hans was furious, and he knew now: crueler. He wouldn't be shameless enough to hire torturers, weaken prey he was too cowardly to face on his own; what sort of alpha male asked others to do their bidding? He was grateful, glad that Laura had given him this opportunity -- knowing only a few of the other torturers names, and not caring. Oh, he knew they wanted him as a weapon as much as they were: but it was different. The bastard of a wolf had sought to destroy him, his self, his being. Laura respected him, trusted him with this opportunity; the torturers poked to make him stronger. How deeply powerful, how wondrous a thought it was that they wanted him.

One task, and he could leave this godforsaken black cell -- could see the sun, not just the moon. The thought of such brilliant light scared and dared him at once. He knew he was a creature of darkness now, but sunlight would be intoxicating - as intoxicating as the water he gently slid down his throat. The measured sips were exactly the same as before. He'd learned from Laura.

 


	45. Ready for the Siege, Armed Up to the Teeth

**Nadia:** Okay, I've got the incantation down. *She sets the book down on her bed, neatly made up, sporting all the pillows, cushions, and teddy bears she had at first thought silly when she had gotten home. Now, remembering more with the help of Alcott, she welcomed their presence and the comfort it brought. She'd had some of these stuffed animals since she was 3, Mr. Fluffy being the oldest. For all her reminders of her room, her childhood, remembering Devin wasn't yet in the works which made no sense because (as she had been frequently informed) he had been there with her since the day she was born though no spells could bring about memories that early.

Devin was, like everyone else, getting himself ready for an eventual shakedown, at the very least, learning to defend himself properly given that he and Lynn had been attacked in their own home. The thought still made her shiver with fear and anger, so much anger, but all she did was walk to her window and close it, despite her longing for outside. Like Nadia had told her sister, werewolves were infinitely faster and stronger, so Devin wanted to make himself stronger vis a vis magic. Though, really, from what she could tell, he was already quite strong.

She walks to him again with a nervous smile, not at being alone with him, that had never made her anxious, but because she didn't want to mess this up; she wanted to help.* But how is it actually supposed to work?

****Devin:**** *It was strange to be in her room. A room that he'd thought of as half his since he was little (when he and Lynn stayed the night he was always here, and Lynn was with Hols, at least until he became classified as a "big boy" by Mr. Cox -- then he was in with Chace), and yet she didn't know who he was - not from before two weeks ago. Frankly, he was so damn certain he'd changed in the last two weeks (and the month before it), on the one hand it felt completely and utterly normal. And on the other...

He missed her. She was standing in front of him: real, breathing, could be touched and yet when that time he mentioned his fuchsia shirt he'd received only blank eyes back and -- he just couldn't pretend it didn't hurt, even as much as he knew it wasn't her fault.

Then there were better moments: when she said something without realizing it, or the simple fact he'd make her laugh and right now, the fact she was helping him with this. He smiled a little, sitting on the edge of her bed and nodding at her.* Well. Vampires draw from the blood they take, and wolves from the moon -- and I think, because they're body shifts to accommodate what it has to be able to handle with the transformation without dying. I mean, it's not a surprise that Alcott can have his neck snapped without permanent penalty as -- doesn't it snap itself every full moon?

*He pauses: maybe he was a little more nervous than he thought. And he'd always been able to speak in front of Nadia...always. He clears his throat, adding quieter,* In any case...they're passive abilities. They're innate to them. Our magic, on the other hand, it's active, we purport to control it. By drawing the rune, I should be able to draw on strength from nature -- predominantly, the sun, seeing as how it's the antithesis for wolves, and at least... *His lips flick,* Be not knocked down so much. If we could even just see at the same speed, then we could know how and when to cast defensively.

And, *He pauses adding a little quieter, thinking aloud,* there's got to be _some_ way because D'Grey is very much human and alive and very much stronger than Alcott already.

**Nadia:** *If she hadn't already been assured by Devin himself that when he went on these scientific explanations Nadia could barely follow along, she would be worried about her brain cells suffering as well. It had already been clear to her however that she was not the most talented of students, as shown by the report cards she had found stashed deep in her sock drawer but she was glad, happy that Devin seemed to trust her with this, and what was more wanted her to be a part of it.

Nadia couldn't help but feel like she was letting him down, among the rest of her friends, those people she couldn't remember yet. They kept looking at her like they expected someone else to turn up again and Nadia worried constantly. Maybe the spell had gone wrong, maybe this was the price, to wipe out memories of people like Devin, Irene, Alisha, Lynn, Nick, and Alcott. It wasn't that difficult for her to work herself up to a state of panic, when everything seemed to sink in all at once and she had to hold on to Mr. Fluffy especially tightly until all the fear left her chest.

That wasn't right now though, thinking about it wouldn't help, and being distracted would definitely not help Devin right now. She nodded at Devin, looking down at the book again to check the rune. It was unknown to her, but the subject wasn't: she took ancient runes at Hogwarts, and she was pretty darn good at it from what could she remember. Still...*

I don't think D'Grey uses runes though, but hell if that international man of mystery would say how. *She grins and then nods.* So do I say the incantation once before I draw it or repeat it as I do? *she pauses before she double checks* And are you absolutely sure you want me to do it? Al could probably do a better job.

**Devin:** Yeah, the day I ask Alcott to draw on my bare chest I'm fairly sure Irene and -- Lynn, *he'd been about to say Eliza, before his mind forced him to remember (and he hated it for a second, then looked skywards as if in memory) as he finishes with a smirk,* would declare us married and there'd be no going back. *He shrugs a shoulder, lips flicking up as he adds,* Don't&nbsp _really_ feel like dealing with your sister for stealing her man, you know. Least not without this spell complete.  
  
*He was teasing, playful, because it ... was utterly ridiculous to him; absurd, frankly, the idea that he'd ever be with anyone else but the girl right in front of him. Woman, actually. He wasn't sure when it had happened ("while you were sleeping", he could hear Irene now), but she...phew. He almost whistled. Then Devin clears his throat because-- she doesn't remember him, he doesn't want her to be even more uncomfortable.* So..it's before and after it's complete. Ready?  
  
*He sits up a bit straighter, a tiny self-satisfied smile on his lips as he goes to cross his arms over his chest and lift the shirt. Okay, fine, "uncomfortable" no -- but "attracted", yes, yes he did want her to be, and he'd been working out every day for two weeks (not to mention before that); he was proud of these abs, all right? His lips flick as he looks back up at her, tilting his head and adding,* International man of mystery? You think he's like Bond?

**Nadia:** *She giggled and then nodded, understanding (his sadness as well) before she asked playfully* Oh, but you aren't worried about what I would do to him? I mean, I've already stabbed him. *She was taking a leaf out of Alcott's book on this: making jokes on it to hide how unbelievably unfunny the situation actually was.

She smiled and nodded as he asked if she was ready, and was about to grab the body ink that she would use to draw the rune when she was...distracted. Her gaze followed his arms and his shirt before it stuck to his well defined chest and abs. Oh wow, oh...wow. She could feel her cheeks pinken, blood rushing to her face but she tried not to focus on it, otherwise she would just get redder.* Hmm? *She raised her gaze as he spoke again, only noticing a couple of seconds after that he had actually asked a question.*

Oh, no, I just he's...secretive, is what I meant. I didn't even remember Bond, till you brought him up, he's not Bond. Nope. *She shakes her head and then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she chuckles but her gaze is stuck again on his features, magnetic or hypnotic. She placed a hand on him, pulled by that same attraction and then chuckled, surprised with herself.* Sorry, I just...well, I shouldn't be apologizing, really? I'm probably...used to it. This. You're really *she clears her throat* ...you look good.

****Devin:**** Oh no. *He shakes his head, a light smirk playing on his lips.* No, no, not worried. Now--*his brows both pop up in guilty, sheepish amusement as he adds,* Eager to watch? Yeah, absolutely, but, *he chuckles,* not worried.

*That was a joke too. One that faded away, his smile falling soft as he watched Nadia get distracted in a manner that raises a blush to her cheeks and he can't help his prideful little smirk. He hadn't forgotten that it was the first time she'd be seeing him like this and as much as he had complete faith in both her and his friend (and himself) when it came to her getting her memories back he couldn't deny...there might be some benefits to this. Like, her forgetting he used to be scrawny, for example. (He'd pondered about the last year but really - as much as he didn't want her to remember, he didn't want her to forget either because it was one of the most amazing things about Nadia: that she'd known everything, every part of him, the worst with the best and loved him anyways.

Right now though, oh, right now he was pleased with her superficial distraction as he took his shirt off. Devin shrugs, as if it's nothing as the smile plays on his lips,* No, don't apologize. I don't mind. *It was soft, an eyebrow cocking in a teasing kind of way as he locks his gaze with hers. For the first time in months he thinks of the word "smoldering." His hand lifts to hers on his pec, laying flat over and rubbing the back of her palm as he adds,* You do too. Gorgeous.

*Why shouldn't they enjoy the moment? Because of amnesia and werewolves on their doorstep? Pft. He was sixteen, the girl he loved was blushing because his shirt was off, the world really could wait a few fucking minutes.*

**Nadia:** *No, he was going to have to stop smirking if she was going to have any hope of doing this rune and not messing it up and accidentally giving him like an extra leg, or a tentacle and that would only be detrimental, she was sure. Okay, now she was going on a loop and babbling in her own mind because she was nervous.

She really shouldn't be so nervous though, or flustered. But he was so very...very...good looking. Nadia clears her throat again, and laughs once but now she feels like it sounded more like a giggle than anything else. An embarrassing, girly, giggle. Someone please shoot her down, at least it was a good, brilliant, last image.

She bites her bottom lip for a moment at his compliment as her gaze flickered to his hand now on top of hers, though she was only human of course so of course her gaze wandered before she looked up into his eyes, smiling as she placed the other hand now on his chest too.* Have we ever- I mean, wow, um *she closed her eyes and shook her head* That's not, really, okay, focus. Rune. Strength. Though really you seem to be doing really well on your own, really well, wow, mouth shut up please. *she laughs at herself because she was so embarrassed* It's your fault!

****Devin:**** *His eyebrows skyrocket into his hairline at that question. All along he had just simply kept looking at her, amused by how flustered she was getting and with rising delight in his throat -- so honest, so light, that for a moment he forgot everything. Okay, several moments (he might be young but lord he wasn't that fast yet -- he prays, honestly, because what could prayer hurt?). Amused at the question now, he just shakes his head - and then abruptly as he realizes she's closed her eyes he chuckles and repeats aloud.* Nadia. *Steadily.* See, now you're making me self-conscious here, thinking you could forget if we'd done that.

*Yup, might be too soon but he couldn't help it - he was amazed and enthralled by the rising blush in her tan cheeks, the honest little flutters of her heart as if she couldn't feel his own. Raising his other hand to her cheek as she starts babbling in again a way so Nadia that he was relieved and had to stall himself from doing anything more than kissing her forehead. That stalls her long enough for him to answer.* Yup. My fault. *His lips flick in a tiny smirk.* Always my fault, I'm devious. *He exhales, but his face and eyes soften as he answers,* No, we haven't. Came close once or twice, but we'd decided to wait. Least until after our O.W.Ls. *He pauses and then says idly,* Though okay I'll admit I wasn't definitely set on the date really, I think we were you know come to think of it I think we were both a little fuzzy on why we were waiting...

**Nadia:** *She opens her eyes as she hears his voice say her name, biting her bottom lip again, laughing again.* And you're making me self conscious with all of...this, going on. *She clears her throat, yet again for goodness' sake this was so embarrassing.* So, we're even. I mean what am I supposed to do check- no, don't answer that. Forget I said that.

*The kiss on the forehead made her smile, like it always did a ghost voice spoke in her head, and she nodded, glad to know or rather glad to be certain of more information. Her gaze kept flicking, heavens, she should be in charged of her own body! She was in charge, she was...in charge, no, she wasn't, it was him, his fault. Nadia laughed again.* Something we'll have to revisit once I'm...fully back. *It felt odd, to say it that way, as if she wasn't really here, and more as a...replacement.

Well, she wasn't. She was still her, and this was her boyfriend, so she leaned in and kissed him because she wanted to and because he wanted to too, from the moment he saw her again at the Gala but realized he couldn't without scaring her away. It was safe to say, after everything she experienced, even after Rhys, that the affection of her loving boyfriend was the least that would scare her off.

Nadia pulled back, surprised her mouth had fit so well with his, relieved at how different it felt from the only memory of a kiss (if she could call it that) she had up until now and only just for now. Actually, it was a relief that almost made her cry, but she didn't want him to worry about that, not at all, not even she wanted to dwell.* So what's the verdict? *She asked after clearing her throat and wiggling her eyebrows, bringing a smile to her face* Has memory loss impaired my snogging as well?

****Devin:**** Oh no, *his eyes only widen with a look of wholly boyish excitement and teasing, male appreciation while he nods at her, looking down, trapped for a second and then clearing his throat and looking back up,* trust me you have quite a bit "going on" (his gaze drifts before he snaps it back to her eyes a second time) yourself.

*Once she was fully...back, that sentiment makes him frown for a few moments -- at least before her lips abruptly meet his. It cuts his air off, his thoughts off, and his head tilts, hand gripping her cheek suddenly and melds her mouth to his. It was her. If ever he'd been uncertain, if ever he had doubts -- they were gone, the moment she pressed against him, snogged him and thought he doesn't want to rush her, or pressure her (or god forbid remind her of something worse), he can't help but open his own mouth a bit and curve it with hers, kissing her gently and with more deliberate, crafted purpose. When she pulls back, his eyes are hazy, expression dazed and mouth still half open. He sits there: in awe, in happiness, in relief -- and then, oh, she'd said something.

He breaks into half a chuckle, shakes his head with a tiny 'no', and leans forward to kiss her again - just one more time, the same soft, sweet, deliberate kind of way because god he'd been scared and it had been so long and her little kiss had just made it perfectly clear to him he wasn't the only one feeling this way. Even if Nadia didn't remember how.

That reminds him, and he pulls back with more seriousness now, clearing his throat (fixing her hair and freeing his other hand. Then he swears,* Nadia, you are fully back. You're just still healing. That's all. *He winks at her and then sits up straighter, releasing her cheek and hair strands and gesturing at the ink.* So, now you've got me all doubly motivated here...

**Nadia:** *She hadn't ever considered herself attractive before now. Maybe it was because of the bruises, or maybe it was because it didn't really matter in the middle of it. Pretty, that was a bit more reachable because who wouldn't look pretty in that dress and those diamonds they had styled her in? But now, just one appreciative glance from him and she felt it, the...womanly wiles-- thank God, she hadn't said that out loud.

She didn't know how good of a kisser she was or was supposed to be, but she knew that Devin was really good. She almost didn't pull away and it was really difficult to do so anyway, because it felt so nice, but she forced herself to pull away. Some logic still left in her mind after being ransacked by hormones spoke to her: 'slow and steady wins the race'. No, that wasn't the right saying, what the hell was her mind doing?

His lips seem to follow hers, meet hers again, and she understands the comment her older sister had made days before. 'Well at least you're getting a break from the constant lip locking' Belle had said, and the triplets all scoffed/nodded/rolled their eyes in agreement and now Nadia understood that if it was this good, better, then no wonder she didn't want to stop.

With a final clearing of her throat (it was the last one she swore, she was in charge of her body), she nodded, smiling, brighter and easier than before picking up the ink again in her left hand and wetting the index finger of her right hand with the ink.* Here we go. *She breathed out and said the incantation, loud and clear before pressing her finger to his chest, drawing the rune over his heart in four deliberate and careful strokes. Upon finishing, she said the incantation again and held her breath.*

****Devin:**** *He seizes abruptly: tense, flustered and though his eyes are snapped open, he can't see a thing. Breath heady and eyes darting rapidly, he started to breathe as if he was running a marathon right now -- lifting a hundred ton weights -- and then just as abruptly, it stopped. There was a slight...tinging, he felt, like there was something burning in his skin and he looks to the tattoo-ed rune she'd drawn. Sure enough, it was black now.

Well. Okay. So the words that popped to mind to describe the sensation as she draws, as the spell seems to work ... he probably (really shouldn't) say them aloud. Especially because they hadn't exactly not been occurring prior to her saying the spell: tingling, rushing, stirring, rising, affirming (stiffening) -- yeah, these weren't words to say aloud.

His breath catches and his eyes shut as he focuses on steadying it -- even though it seemed like a genuine honest-to-God crime (impossibility) to take his eyes from Nadia. Right now, after everything they'd been through, everything they had lost...it seemed in his mind only to make it all the more important that she stay...right exactly there. With him. As his eyes flutter open, he pauses and nods: the spell was temporary (24 hours at most), and he wasn't at all sure how entirely it had been cast but -- he did know there was a part of the spell he hadn't exactly shared. That being, that it was made stronger when completed by an "object of affection", which he'd took to mean "when the ritual was completed by people in love." (Explained all the verbiage anyways). Because otherwise, if it was this easy...

...well actually he had no idea where Alcott and Nadia had found the spell in that library; for all he knew right then it was a spell Alcott had invented -- actually. It probably was. All the more reason to try it out.

So his hand drifts back up from the bedspread and takes her hand. A smile was spreading across his face.* Come on, let's go try it out. Rory's got kegs in his truck?

**Nadia:** *It burned into his skin, the tattoo, even though it wasn't hot to the touch. Maybe burn was not the right word, maybe it was...etching, but no, that word wasn't right either because it made it seem like his body was being mutilated and it wasn't. If anything it was enhancing it though really how much more could it really enhance?

She was only able to breathe out as he opens his eyes again and nods to her. Air exited out of her lungs only to be replaced again by more air, sweeter air. Picking up a towel, she wiped her finger clean, and by the time it's clean again, he's taken her hand in his. Nadia was admittedly just as excited to see if it had worked, especially if he kept his shirt off but, oh damn, right.* Why does he- never mind, sure. Though, Devin, it's freezing outside. It pains me to say, you'll need a shirt.

Do you feel any different?

&.

**Eliza:** * Following Hans' instructions to Angel's room was more difficult than she'd wanted; whatever potion he'd given her to make the world stop spinning had not done nearly enough for her recovery. That was the first reason she wanted to see Angel though: the man was a genius, he'd saved her life once before. It wasn't the only reason though. Eliza wanted to see him, because she wanted his help. It did not escape her, that the Death Eaters there (the ones she was inches from swearing to become and the ones she was trying to figure out how to emulate and pretend without becoming) had him there because they'd "wanted" Angel's help too. This was different. This was asking him to help her find a way to beat them, and she wants to help him too.*

Angel? * She pauses in front of the door, flicking her black skirt around her knees. It was locked. Hans had said the man was frequently interrupted, and she feels guilty for wanting to barge right past the lock. She knocks again.* Angel, I am so, sorry to bother you it's -- Eliza. Eliza S--Culpeper. * Right. Pretending to be a psycho-sadistic Death Eater starts now. Brushing under her mascaraed eyes, she tastes the scarlet lipstick with a smack, twists the diamonds on her wrist. And, go.* It's Eliza Culpeper and I -- require your help. * Was that demanding enough? Oh, bother: she had to act like her mother. Wonderful. When the door opens, there's a weak smile of apology on her lips, though the rest of her stood tall on those damn heels. She mouths, "I am so sorry to bother you," again and then even as she does, "Can I come in?"*

**Harper:** * A knock. That was unexpected. Even those that had a "friendly" disposition towards him still didn't bother with knocking anymore and if the spell was too complicated they just kicked the door in. He swung around on his bed, his feet touching the carpeted floor. He didn't sleep too deeply anymore,and his name, the fake one, was enough to stir before the knock, and now he was fully awake, slipping on a sweater and trousers. Recognizing the voice hurried his actions even as it attempted to seem demanding rather than requesting but that was good, that was brilliant, it meant that she was choosing to play them.

Or at least, he hoped that's what it meant, and not that she had broken...they had been especially harsh with her. He opened the door and wasn't surprised to find her face painted with make up. Harper felt a sharp pain in his gut, and in his chest even as he offered a smile and stepped aside to let her pass. Once she was inside and he had closed the door behind him, he exhaled, a breath he hasn't realized he'd been holding in for...it seemed centuries, but couldn't be more than a few days.* You can speak freely here.

**Eliza:** You know, * she says spinning back around to him, her hands going to her hips to steady herself on the stilettos making little squeaking noises on the wood,* I thought I might? * Her head tilts as she looks at him: nothing short of awe on her face. There'd been a new Prophet on her counter. Three and a half weeks. That was it. Three fucking years -- how had he done that? How? A small smile on her lips, she turns to look at his room - that bed barely fit one person, she thinks, and wishes it was hers. She's still speaking, breathless as she looks,* I thought, and I realized that if there was any place in here that I could speak freely, it would be with the Genius, the one they all *think* they broke, but clearly did not if after all this time you're still telling me there's a third way-- * Her head jerks back to his, her eyes hopeful, for a moment young as she ascertains,* That's what you were telling me, right? Pretend? It took me too long to figure that out, I know, but...right. Yes, okay. * Her lips quirk, and she shrugs a shoulder.* So then I thought, you must have a safe place too.

**Harper:** * He smiles, nodding, glad and relieved she had uncovered it (guilty and sickened it had taken so long) so that he could stop pretending to be the coward he was beyond these four walls.* Exactly, Eliza, exactly. * He nodded before exhaling, not taking a step towards her instead to his work station; he knew what it felt like, human interaction after those cells.* But first things first, bottom of the pyramid. * His lips twitch briefly before his tone becomes more serious* How badly are you hurt? I have potions for the pain, salves for burns, creams that help alleviate the bruising and scarring, spells...I want to help, if you'll let me.

**Eliza:** * Stiffening on her toes, it takes her a moment to realize; he wasn't coming near her. And another moment to remember, it was okay if he did that. Just him. Maybe Hans and D'Grey. So even as he steps away she watches him, trying not to shake; more happy that he smiles and most that she was right.* Right, because, that's what you've been doing. Pretending. That's why D'Grey said guardian Angel to Devin. I mean yes he was being clever, or thought he was, but he also meant that you were helping. * She starts walking closer to him, though contrarily she had her eyes on the bookshelf that had just...appeared.*

Of course, no, that's why I'm here - I want your help, and I want to help you. And that's reason two I'm here, I-- do need potions, and salves and creams yea--oh hold on. * She pauses at the edge of the shelf. Her face flickers with confusion, her hand hovering over a photo frame. That was Alcott.* I have this picture. Well one similar, I took a whole roll that day...why do you have...* Blink. She trails off. There was a lot more than the one photo; there were dozens, all of Al and his mother.* Oh, my god.

* Then, with shock, and dawning comprehension, her hand curls over the edge of the desk to stop herself from falling over. She stubbornly looks up anyways.* They--you said they faked my deat--and it's almost been a decade an--oh that's why I knew that stor--it's on the wall! In the library, the Prophet took that photo of your proposal! It--* She couldn't breathe. Oh, the room was spinning. No, goddammit, no, she -- this wasn't about her, this was about -- oh God -- She swivels back around to look back up at him. Certain. And steady.* You're him, aren't you? You're...Alcott's father. You're...Harper.

**Harper:** He does think himself clever, yes, but fairly, in fact he is. *He didn't know whether it was funny or sad that that was one of the highest compliments he had paid another person in nearly ten years. So fixated he was on arranging the potions and balms for Eliza that he forgot about the photographs laid out on his bookshelf and on his desk.

He looks up and watches Eliza's face turn into one of comprehension, surprise, partial disbelief before vanishing into shock. He would have told her, on his own, he would have, after knowing where exactly to start, how to best say it. He guessed there was really no best way. Harper took a step as she became a tad unsteady on her feet, stopping as she caught herself and stared at her in silence for a few seconds before he caught his breath and his voice.* I am...yes.

&.

"Is it still considered a booty call if I call at a respectable hour to make plans for the witching hour?”

“Well, that sounds like it’s a date, but your making sure there’ll be sex at the end of it. So I think we just need our own term.”

Terminology wouldn’t be the worst idea, come to think of it, but Stefanie had always been hesitant to actually assign anything. And that seems funny and imaginable because actually right now everything was ridiculously simple: almost like both of them had just forgotten to stop and here they were now. Tony was so close to her it feels unreal, his mouth exploring hers, hands crawling up her back.

When he’d called his voice sounded a bit strained. And when he arrived, for a second she thought perhaps something was bothering him -- because she knew the look on his face, recognized it from the mirror. She’d even asked (okay, half-asked), but of course when someone asked how you were, most times they didn’t really want to know. Stefanie knew. It depended on context and the way you phrased the question and maybe that was why the colloquial “what’s up?” always made more sense to her. “What’s up?” asked for the recent happenings -- it didn’t pretend to care about them one way or the other. No one answered with “my life’s falling apart,” even if it was, unless they were being bitter. Stefanie had been counting on that fact. And Tony hadn’t disappointed. He’d made an absolutely hilarious remark in his gorgeous Italian accent, flashed that winning smirk and she feels a smirk on her own lips, hears her witty retort before her brain caught up to her mouth. Both had been outrun by her heart anyway.

And then it just...became simple. Of course it’s dependable, like it always was for a girl like her, who loved too hard, too fast -- too easily. It’s a few drinks, a few warbled lines of some bad pop song that he somehow makes sound good and relevant, and then just simple. Inevitable. Her back hit the mattress with a soundless, but graceful thud. Tony smiles against the soft, flushed skin at her neck. His body settles above her, like he was memorizing curves and contours and the feel of her beneath him as his fingers dance along warm flesh. Stefanie knows she becomes lost too easily. All it takes, really, is a warm mouth on hers, her tongue flicking against Tony’s own with intention, with want, and she's throwing all caution to the wind; all reasonable thinking goes right out the window as he tangles his fingers in her hair and crushes his mouth against hers so hard she feels it in her teeth.

The urgency of it all consumes her, causes her mind to go completely blank as she focuses only on the feel of him pressing against her. She allows his fingers to tear the skirt off, slip underneath and run along the length of her, a soft cry of want swallowed by his. Her hands fist in his hair, draw marks on his shoulders and then she draws her legs open wider for him as she’s freed. His mouth runs over her cheek, down her neck and throat as she moans something guttural, like something she thinks will tear right through him, as he slips a finger in her and draws her closer to the edge with smooth solid movements curling inside her just so, just -- right.

“Want you,” she mumbles and feels his smirk against a curve in her chest, his lips pressing just under the right breast, hot and needy in this spot he just can’t seem to stop kissing. A rushing gasp of need, maybe an expletive or two from lovely lips bursts open as he works her over and then “need” and “more”, “more”, and she realizes almost dimly when he hisses first to give him what he wanted that for all her talking she hadn’t said his name. Of course she hadn’t. He’d asked her to do that. Stefanie wasn’t ever one for doing what she was told.

Stefanie, she hears in her ear, a low teasing groan of a whisper and she folds almost instantly. Oh, damn him. Tony, she narrows her eyes, shrewd and needy at him. Spread and wanton, on his bed, saying his name. At least she knew it was the kind of image he wouldn’t forget. And at least --

Oh, bliss.

Her lips seek his in desperation, and she loses her tongue inside his mouth. When he presses between her legs there is a moment of absolute stillness and she knows he’s still watching her. Watching her eyes widen then close, listens to the sharp intake of breath as she stretches to accommodate him, as he fills her wholly. When he moves, finally, it's slow; and she knows, that’s what men tend to think women want, caution for her sake, and it’s not a lie exactly -- but Stefanie won't have any of it. She sets a pace that is needy and desperate, frantic almost in the way she wraps her legs around his waist, the way she angles her hips to allow him to sink deeper within her. Arriving first, shaking and quivering, she hums his name against the crook of his throat as he chases his own orgasm roughly; a sound beautiful, desolate, and enough to take him over.

For a moment they’re breathless, gazes locked, as she thinks in a minute she’ll tease him about how she usually wasn’t so talkative; usually she chased and chased that ephemeral pleasure and wanted nothing else. But as they look at each other and she breathes out, chest brushing against his, Stefanie thinks of all those wicked little gasps and realizes she couldn’t say them now; he’d never believe that she meant them. So instead, she says his name again softly: Tony, an answer to his Stefanie, and loses herself in another kiss.

Terminology could wait a little fucking longer, frankly.

&.

**Eliza:** All these years and... *It leaves her in a single breath. He starts towards her; she just seizes the desk further, white knuckled, fingers red-tipped. Trying to force air back into her lungs, it happens slowly, like she starts to cry -- it becomes a laugh and -- nope, her legs weren't going to hold her. She sits on the edge of the desk, unable to tear her eyes from him. Alcott's father. Her bottom lip crunches against her teeth. Tears and giggles were clouding in her eyes and throat and she looks down to the ground, to her silly impractical heels, crumpling her blouse in her hand.* And you just let me ramble on about them and...

*Missy had told her once, the best and worst feeling was a surprise. Of course, her cousin had been talking about the surprise birthday party they were throwing her but -- this was better. And so much worse. And so much, much better.

She bursts,* He loves you. *Her head jerks back up and she holds his gaze steady now. Oh god, how was that not the first thing she'd said?* Alcott does. Ask me anything, just...you should know that first. I mean he doesn't, talk about you a lot but the thing with him is it's almost like the less he talks about something the more it means to him -- Honestly, that's why I was so certain that he and Hols were destined to get together. *There's a tiny pause, as she tilts her head, adding brighter,* Or kill each other? It was going to definitely be one or the other. *Her lips flick,* because it took Dev and I, and Sienna even though that was kind of awkward, like five whole months to get them to admit aloud that they liked each other. Not liked each other like they wanted to date, mind you! Just like each other. They'd already snogged, but oh no, it was at least two weeks after that that we finally hear "No, you are not my mortal enemy, in fact you're an all right person." *Eliza rolls her eyes, but there's a happier smile on her lips now.* Honestly. I was ready to smack their heads together. And I'm planning them a June wedding. *Nodding sharp, she pauses, realizes she was rambling, and lets it fall away, chokes out a laugh, rubs her throat and just looks at him. Silent for a moment.* So...so, yes. Unless he's drunk, which is from your flask -- it's your birthday -- which he remembers better than mine frankly, or he's just finished some brilliant breakthrough... he doesn't like to talk about you. And that's part of the reason why I know...Alcott's never been prouder of anything, anything at all, than the fact that he's your son.

*There's tears in the corner of her eyes but a small smile on her lips. She fidgets with the edge of her jacket and adds quietly, after a pause.* The other part is because when he is drunk, on your birthday, and the moon being in Venus means he has to go trim his wand tree while he tells me in a sing-song that wands of elder never prosper-- then he can't shut up about you.

**Harper:** *The feeling between laughter and tears was one he knew very well and very intimately and yet it was heartbreaking to see it on Eliza's face. It left Harper unsure of what to do, how to help because yes it was a lot of information to take in. He takes another cautious step towards her as she sits on the edge of his desk, finally her legs must have decided they couldn't support the full weight of her.* I couldn't tell you who I was then...

*With Gustav's darkening mood, he only got stricter about keeping Angel the only identity alive. Anything else he might have provided as explanation, for that's what he believed Eliza required, some more information about this, all of it, was chucked away from his thoughts with Eliza's sudden exclamation. Now it's his turn to take a seat on the desk due to untrustworthy limbs. She seems to catch on to his desire to hear more (was it that obvious? Was his scarred face unable to hide such deep-rooted longing?) and Harper doesn't make a move or noise to stop her.

Even after she started naming people, kids, unfamiliar yet not unknown to him if only in name alone. He listened with a smile, the best smile he could manage and could not control how shaky his hands seemed to be even in their own hold on top of his lap. Laughter also bubbles in his throat, comes out of his mouth the same way gas does when you snapped open a can of pop: slowly and instantly.

A smirk also crossed his lips, proud, so damn proud. Of the underage drinking (Brackner imperative), of the stubbornness (Brackner curse), of him growing his own wand tree (he had to look down for a split second, sure his eyes had watered, and looked up again after blinking it away), of everything, of every single fucking thing no matter how little it might be because damnit, that's all he had to hold on to. He laughed again with a small and oddly wet sound given that his throat had never been this congested because if he didn't laugh he would cry.

He held Eliza's gaze with warmth and gratitude before nodding.* I'm doing this for him. And Lyndsi, I'm doing this for them. It's been...a long time, a very long time. I almost lost track of myself...but I've thought of them every single day. *He cleared his throat and nodded.* I get these pictures, a taunt, physical evidence, because of the deal i made but it's...

**Eliza:** Not enough. *The warmth on Angel -- on Harper, she thinks and somehow that just sort of makes sense to her, like the name was just -right- -- the warmth on Harper's face seemed to warm her from her toes up. Oh, she gets that. Her head nods, her lips smile, and though she thinks her heart is crying she can't help but beam. Her words were soft, pointed because she thought he wanted to hear it -- but truthful.*

They've thought about you like that too, Harper. *She pauses.* ...Mr. Brackner. *She reaches tentatively for his shoulder because he seems to be shaking, and she felt she wanted to give him more comfort than just her words though -- well, really, she wished she could call Alcott, tell him to get his ass over here (because he'd never believe her on the phone). Instead, she squeezes his shoulder and echoes as she understands,* ...Lyndsi...oh. Well. Now I get it. You called -- *she pauses, then says resolutely,* no, call (she nods), you call her that.

*She rubs under her lips.* One of Al's birthdays, she told everyone to call her Lyndsea, so Al did too, *she rolls her eyes to the ceiling,* because that's Al. *and back to Harper because -- God, after so long, she didn't want to look away from him, didn't want to chance the fact that she might be dreaming.* And she told him he was at perfect liberty to call her Lyndsi, it was everyone else that couldn't. He went back to Ma the moment he heard that name. *Quieter,* And at the Gala....

...Harper, how much do you know? I was there, when she was...well, she was out of it, and when I said Mrs. Brackner she snapped at me, snapped to call her Lyndsi and said she really...really missed being called that. Actually not being called that, she said she missed being Lyndsi...

**Harper:** *He nodded to show her assertion was correct, that's what he was getting at. He smiled at her uncertainty on what to call him and didn't know whether to be sad or glad that an issue as trifling as that still affected her.* Harper's fine, in here. *In here, his sanctuary of sorts even as he was barged in on regularly and frequently. He smiled again, or rather was smiling still even as Eliza confuses the tense on a verb (he still had problems with that more than occasionally), amused to hear of his son's antics and equally heartbroken to hear his wife no longer went by the nickname he had given her. He exhaled now, nodding about the Gala, attempting to quiet the burning rage that ran through his veins like a fuel.

Harper understood that sentiment, hated that Lyndsi shared it, hated that it wasn't bad enough he had to live like this, but that his family suffered like him every day and more now. He missed being Harper too.* I know what happened at the Gala, to Lyndsi, to Al *he bit down on his bottom lip and forced himself still* ...while I was here trapped. *He stood again because the pent up energy needed somewhere to go.* I know most of what goes on here, they're vicious gloaters. But *he waved his hand away as if discarding the thought process* no, it was D'Grey who told me of it, and his involvement.

**Eliza:** Harper it is. *A tiny smile was on her lips, her voice was quiet but demanding, like only a little girl's could be sometimes. She wanted to give him that: the name. Actually, she wanted to give him everything and right this second she was trying to think of everything in the world she could tell him about his family. When she thought about Max, she was glad she hadn't said anything yet because her throat stuck together: oh, god, oh god -- but that, that wasn't her information to share, if -only- because especially as he stood she realized, Lord knew he had enough to be angry about.

So instead she sits straighter as his hand waves, nods and merely asks, tentative but with a tiny smile,* What happened in the Roman jail cell? Al's been trying to get that story for ages, and Lyndsi just turns pink.

**Harper:** *He looked back at her in surprise that she even knew the story existed but of course if she was his son's oldest and closest friend, stories were bound to have been talked about to her, just a few like the engagement story (though that one had been national). He chuckled, the memory making his mouth lift in a sincere smile before shaking his head.* Would it be a cop out to simply say we did as the Romans did? *He smiles again before clarifying.* We never actually made it to a -cell-, we were held in a questioning room of sorts, the ones with one way mirrors...won't say more. Parents are supposed to be responsible role models, and Roman jail is the exact opposite.

* With the smile still on his face, he walks over to his work station again to finish gathering the potions, balms and creams Eliza would need. He almost asked her if they were happy but refrained, for he feared the answer, whichever it was. Instead, he went a different route.* What of my parents, my brothers? I don't get as much information on them. Father has heart problems which he has been in perpetual denial about. Sandor and Rosalia were expecting another girl when I...well, when I disappeared. Are they all...alright?

**Eliza:** * Her lips flick up; she squeezes his shoulder with a look of sympathy as if about to shake her head -- then nods, smirking as she says pointedly,* A complete cop out, yes. * Eyes gleaming with interest, she lets out a (mostly) for-show groan, sigh and lets go. Hands up,* And now you're being as awful a tease as Al. See, no wonder I recognized you. * Her smile softens as she speaks off the cuff, then hears herself. Following his gathering, she folds her hands back on her lap, and nods slowly. Brightly,* All alive and healthy. Oh, I am so glad Sienna,* because she wasn't, cough* is so nosy: I know more than I should.

* Er. Way more than she wanted to with Max--this wasn't fair! Still bright and breathless,* Lets see. Benjamin tells Al not to call him Gramps -- even though he can be a bit stereotypical grouch on his grandchildren supposedly neglecting him. Elena and Lyndsi pretend not to notice he's pouring Al alcohol too. Sandor and Rosalia have, * she counts on her fingers,* Ric, Graciela, Alisa, and Rosa. All sinfully gorgeous, damn Spanish genes. They're in Barcelona but Ric's staying with Bianca so he could take the Hogwarts exams. Max...* takes breath,* he moved in to help Al, he's...been there whenever he needed him really. * Tiniest bit quieter,* Which Al is in a bit of denial about because he always snapped he wasn't his father. * Her brows furrow, still speaking soft.*

But he's a good guy. He's on the rescue squad of magical law actually--says he's 'still putting out others fires'....that mean anything to you? Cause he wears this necklace... * Adding brighter, determined to find happy things,* Elena is trying to get him to marry Zoe. Rather. Trying to get Zoe to *take* Max, I think. * With a wink.* I should say I totally and utterly ship them, * nodding,* they'd make even more sinfully gorgeous babies for me to be forever jealous of. Is that a Brackner thing? Because seriously, you are all drop-dead bloody gorgeous. *Huffs.* It's unfair.

**Harper:** *He wondered if Eliza did that on purpose: establish a connection and similarities between him and his son. Maybe, maybe not, but whatever the case, she did so out of the goodness of her heart and he was glad to know it was still there. This helped her too, Harper thought so he wouldn't feel so selfish, talking about life back home, even just the Brackners, it helped her keep the connection alive when it had been attacked repeatedly over the course of a few weeks.

Raising his gaze from the potions to listen to Eliza speak more of his family, the smile only widened with each precious piece of information.* They only got to four? * He smirked and chuckled. Sandor and Rosalia had always wanted a big family. Hell, Enrique and Alcott were the same age even though Harper is four years older than Sandor. He smiled too at the mention of Bianca, and the smile didn't fade as Eliza continued about Max and Al, though it did turn sad for a moment.* I know about Max moving in, yes...

* Like he had said before, he was taunted with information, but he ignored them trying to rise again due to the look on Eliza's face* I'm sorry to hear Al's been tough on him. You're right he is, a good guy. Well, he's a prick but * he shrugs, chuckling again only to look up in surprise to hear Max still wore the necklace he had gotten him, but then again maybe it wasn't the same necklace ("manly enough to wear jewelry"?) and then explained.* When we were kids, I was working on this potion and I accidentally set fire to the kitchen. I thought the vials were clean but they weren't because the potion from before had been invisible so there was some residue and I panicked and he didn't and he put it out.

* He chuckles again, rubbing the back of his neck after clearing his throat and finished putting the vials for Eliza in a little case for her. He stepped towards her again and held it out to her; the vials were all labeled, she shouldn't have any problem with them.* She hated Zoe at first, and she hated Lyndsi too. * Grins* Spanish women are extremely protective over their sons, and she had, has, 3 of them. No woman is ever good enough. Until one is. But pardon me you "ship them"?

** **Eliza:** ** * Truthfully, she wasn't all that surprised to hear that they'd mentioned Max's moving in. Actually if they were vicious gloaters (and they were, she knew and wish she didn't), they probably had hinted about the truth. Instinctively she felt guilty for keeping it, then guilty for having maneuvered Harper into saying he was sorry on Max's behalf when really all things considered she figures it was probably even (or okay one remark versus sleeping with his wife but then like she said to Al recently it wasn't really sleeping with his wife but rather with his widow like five years later except it kind of turned out it actually was sleeping with his wife only they didn't *know* that and didn't it make the difference and the--she had a headache. She hated Gustav. Hated. With every. fiber of her being.

And this wasn't helping, so she decides she'd listen. Just listen. She had a feeling Harper didn't get listened to often.* Thank you. * She accepts the potions, a small smile on her face and then chuckles.* Accidentally set fire to the kitchen. I do not envy your parents. * Fiddling with the vials, she looks down even as she adds,* Why can't men just admit they love each other? Seems a lot simpler than secretly dedicating your life's work to each other and stepping in after the fact and wearing bromanc-ey necklaces and constantly calling each other pricks. Really. Some people must get the wrong impression.

* Her lips twitch as she thinks: kind of like Devin and Alcott, and for a moment her heart aches with their absence. Rory was different, she thinks, at least when not around Dillon... * Oh! * She smirks, hand on one potion.* Shipping is like...when you want two people to get together. Like, relationship? The metaphor continues, * sheepishly pink,* like, when they do get together then your ship has sailed and if they're in a rough patch then they're in rough waters and lo' iceberg ahead and if they break up then the ship has sunk, except there's still people jumping to lifeboats and carrying flags to rescue them because we don't all let Leo drown, okay? Even when there's totally room on that door. Like for example, you and Lyndsi.

Nodding, "Lifeboats. And I'm driving the Carpathia over. Well I would be if I wasn't sure you were doing that yourself. * She clears her throat, eyes back on the vial and she asks abruptly, trying to keep the same voice,* ...Harper, there's...a mark on my chest I don't know how to treat. Can I...trust you to...look at it?

**Harper:** He nodded, amusement in his tone as he admitted, "They remodeled the kitchen three times before finally just giving me a separate room and going "there, destroy this one". *He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand before speaking up again, smiling. "Never thought about it. Just something we do, I suppose."

The explanation of what 'shipping' was made him smile a little wider, finding it both silly and endearing. He laughed, the smile softening as she then compared him and Lyndsi to lifeboats. Yes, that seemed like the right metaphor. Shaking his head, he spoke.* In that case, I ship them too even if...* he tries to think up a metaphor* they stubbornly keep the ship tied to the dock.* He laughed again, shrugging his shoulders, knowing he was far from an expert with this new term only to look at her with more concern as she mentioned an injury and then he nodded.* You decide if you can trust me, but I promise I am nothing but strictly professional. How bad is it?

**Eliza:** *With a chuckle,* Oh so that's why you have two labs. They're both still there you know. And I'm pretty sure Alcott's used your research on wands, which he spent months rescuing and he and Lyndsi bound together, as his favorite bed time story slash pillow for...nine years, I guess. * Her smile turns sadder too, but she was determined for God's sakes, to keep smiling. His attempt makes her brighten honestly.* They have! I think we should detach the rope. And take the anchors off the boat. And push. * She leans further back on the desk after a long moment considering him and fiddles with her top button, using her hands to peek and then keep it closed still when her stomach flutters. She grits her teeth.* I don't know how bad, honestly.

* Quietly, she looks up, still clutching the folds, but there's a soft smile on her lips.* I do remember you, you know. I was in that hugging stage when I was six, you picked me up and carried me around with one arm...* Her smile flutters.* Felt like I was flying. * With a deep breath, she undoes a few more buttons and then just lets it hang open. She leaves the bra strapped, but pulls down one side, just a partial ways and winces; looking at the welt again, saying quietly,* I don't know what the spell was, he just -- he pressed the wand tip there and it ... raised. And the others all burst but this one seems to be festering and now I don't..know.

&.

**Stefanie:** *blinks*…Daniella.

**Daniella:** You know, *gesturing with the bottle she holds,* usually when phones make that sound, normally people you know, *and the wine bottle becomes a fake cellphone as she demonstrates, wiggling it next to her ear.*

**Stefanie:** *A pleasant smile snaps to her lips and she tilts her head,* Are you living here?

**Daniella:** What? *…a bit caught.*

**Stefanie:** Well, *gestures* that’s the flat’s phone.

**Daniella:** Oh. *With a little laugh,* Well then it’s probably one of our D’grey boys.

**Stefanie:** *After sparing a moment to think she enjoys how that sounds, she shakes her head when it rings again. The head jerk clears her mind.* Daniella, that’s Ansel’s number.

**Daniella:** *Eyes popping, she sets the wine bottle down, leans over Stefanie - who makes a small “wait” noise of protest - and immediately picks up.* Sorry, you’ve reached the residence of 0% tolerance for hunting humans for sport. Don’t call again.

**Stefanie:** *Her lips twitch, and she flattens her hand over it to stop herself from making a giggle.*

**Ansel:** *Chuckling, he’s walking and his hand comes up to trail the side of a fence as he muses,* A woman answering Olivier’s personal line, how wonderful. Maybe that will unfurrow his brow.

**Daniella:** *Pleasantly smirking,* This is Ansel?

**Ansel:** Caller ID? *Looping his thumb around the fence post and then bouncing it along, amusing himself as he toys with the silver bars.*

**Daniella:** *Spins, toying with the cord (bless Oli, he would still have corded phones here) and smirking at Stefanie.* Of a sort.

**Stefanie:** *Pulling her hand down, she mouths that she’s not there.*

**Ansel:** …mm, allow me to guess who recognized my personal number. *Delighted, his voice lifts with his face, as if they can hear the smirk.* Stefanie darling, are you glaring at a plastic telephone? Telling her not to tell me you’re there?

**Stefanie:** …you’re a real ass, you know that? *sharply, sitting up and shoving the chair she was in back.*

**Ansel:** And psychic, apparently.

**Daniella:** *After mouthing ‘sorry’, even though she hadn’t done anything and looks a bit wide eyed between the two of them she interrupts,* Yeaah, you aren’t too impressed with yourself at all.

**Ansel:** Now, Daniella. *Hazarding a guess and popping his thumb against his bottom lip to suck away the blood he’d just drawn - he pulls back a clean, unhurt fingerpad. And smirks.* Are you saying I should be more confidant?

**Daniella:** *Disconcerted that he guessed that, as it could only mean Hans had mentioned her, she keeps her words sweet though her smile is anything but.* Caller ID?

**Ansel:** *With another laugh,* I’m psychic, remember? Ah…the famous Daniella, I’m honored.

**Daniella:** Now see, if you were psychic —

**Ansel:** — I’d know that Olivier and Tony aren’t at home? Or rather, the house Now, obviously, but see then I realized it was a girls night in and well. *Matter of fact, through a smirk.* I need entertainment.

**Daniella:** Aww, sweet as that invitation was, we’re doing perfectly well satisfying ourselves without you. *She winks at Stefanie, who looks torn between fury and amusement.*

**Ansel:** *He stops walking, a gleam appearing in his eye and head tilting. After a low murmur of appreciation, he hms,* My, what a lovely visual.

**Daniella:** *Mocking the low murmur with uncanny accuracy,* My, how predictably easy it is to distract you.

**Ansel:** Luv, *he chuckles, only more delighted by the mockery,* you don’t get anywhere in this world denying your baser instincts.

**Daniella:** *snorts* Yes, I have been informed of your base instincts.

**Ansel:** Stef, are you bragging again?

**Stefanie:** *eye rolls, after a huff, and she gets out a nail file*

**Ansel:** Sharpen those claws away, you know you’re only enticing me.

**Daniella:** She wasn’t bragging. *Again coming in as if to rescue, eyes glinting herself now,* You, cheri, are sickeningly predictable.

**Ansel:** Now, *licking his finger tip as if he hadn’t heard and holding it up as if he’s testing which way the wind is blowing,* you have black hair, right? Baby blue eyes?

**Daniella:** *Hmms,* You know Marion Cotaillard?

**Stefanie:** *A particularly sharp jab makes her stop, before she breaks her nail.*

**Ansel:** *lips smack, he lets his eyes shut,*Oh, you do know how to please.

**Daniella:** Well, you don’t get anywhere in this world denying your base instincts.

**Ansel:** *Chuckling, and resuming walking down he shrugs as he asks,* Is Olivier so inadequate darling you’re settling for cheap thrills over the phone?

**Daniella:** *Again in the same nonchalant tone, her heel tapping, not certain why she has the odd feeling she’s enjoying herself,* Isn’t Hans going to get territorial if you ask me to get descriptive on Olivier?

**Ansel:** Are you saying you’re his mistress? *This conversation was brightening his whole day, he thinks amused as he rounds the corner, sticking his hand back in his pocket.*

**Daniella:** You mean the one they truly love who gets all the diamonds and getaway vacations?

**Ansel:** And you say I’m sickeningly predictable. Yet. It is nice to hear you appreciate their little daliance — I had heard you’d met. Has Olivier truly told you everything?

**Daniella:** More than you know, baby.

**Ansel:** Aha. *Eyes harden and for an instant his good humor is gone; he can’t help it.* I doubt that.

**Daniella:** *After letting a disconcerting, awkward silence where Stefanie waves at her to cut his throat and returns a smirk to her lips, she resumes their earlier mockery with,* My, what a charmingly condescending way to try and make me insecure.

**Ansel:** My, what a charming, transparant deflection.

**Daniella:** *Eyes roll up to the ceiling and after counting to three she says only,* We could do this all day, Ansel, and see I have better girls night only activities to get to, so —

**Ansel:** Quite right. Don’t let me interrupt. Now, can I trust you to get Olivier a message?

**Daniella:** Trust me? *She pauses. Her fingers are toying with the edges of her black hair as she tries to remember not to suck on it and her eyes flicker.* What a curious phrase. Do you often trust those you’ve never met?

**Ansel:** Parsing words, darling. *With a sigh that’s momentarily exasperated, and he unlocks the door he was near.*

**Daniella:** I believe Oli can trust me to tell him what you say, yes.

**Ansel:** Excellent. Tell him we require a conversation with one Jessie Piqué.

**Daniella:** Piqué?

**Ansel:** Shall I spell it?

**Daniella:** Conversation on…?

**Ansel:** Ah. I thought he told you everything. *The door opens and he moves through, tipping his head to the woman he walks by him with a wink and enjoying immensely the way her heartrate picks up, particularly as she’s brushed against his chest. After making the appropriate apology, he reaches into his pocket and closes his hand over the little chain.* He’s a supplier, cheri.

**Daniella:** A supplier? *Oh, fantastic.* See, how transparant you continue to be. *And damn him because that was making her uneasy and he knew it would and — damn him. So she tilts her head, adding lighter,* All right, I’ll play delivery girl.

**Ansel:** Now there’s an image.

**Daniella:** You be a good pup and remind Hans he owes me.

**Ansel:** *(As surprised as Stefanie appears to be in the room), his brows arch and after a slow moment he asks,* Owes you?

**Daniella:** Why, here I thought Hans tells you everything. *Shaking her head at Stefanie not to worry about it.*

**Ansel:** *His eyes glint and teeth grit and — ah, focus on her. The woman across had just returned into the lobby and my, what a lovely skirt that was. He toys with her keychain in his pocket.* Quite right. *He says lightly on the phone,* Tell Stefanie I’ll be dropping by their manor soon, have to offer my regards to Tony, fter all. Ah, wait. You put me on speaker phone ages ago. Stefanie, darling, do try not to gnash those lovely teeth of yours quite so often.

**Stefanie:** *Deciding not to be irritated that they’d been caught on speaker, even though Daniella appears so, she only bursts out with a heated exhale,* If you hurt him —

**Ansel:** *With fair surprise, face spreading bewildered as he leans at leisure against the bar now,* Hurt him? Do you think so low of me? Why, I just want to check on him. *Signaling the tender, he pushes a napkin he unfolds from his breast pocket, recieving an envelope, and two drinks.* Bring him round a tub of that chunky monkey.

**Stefanie:** *Leaning forward,* For your information -

**Ansel:** Ah, so sorry lovelies. *Overtop of her, after sliding the envelope away, he turns and lets the chain drop from his fingers. It dangles there, and he plays with it, as he plays with a smile.* Must dash off, urgent business awaits. Resume those lovely activities — Stefanie, Miss Cotillard.*The phone clicks just as they hear the easy beginnings of a pick-up.*

**Stefanie:** …did you drop this? *Pink-cheeked and irritated, her breath still quick.* Oh, that ass, so that’s how he got my keys —

**Daniella:** Ass sums it up. *She sets the phone down again, reconnects it, looking a bit mindblown — amused and startled and irritated at once. And - ah. She picks up the wine bottle again.*

**Stefanie:** …what does Hans owe you?

**Daniella:** *As the cork pops out, she smirks suddenly.* A proper game of darts, that’s all. But he didn’t need to know that did he?

**Stefanie:** *She laughs out, and reaches behind her, picking up the glass and holding it to her with a much more genuine smile.* Of course he didn’t. You play darts?

**Daniella:** And pool, oh, avidly. *She chuckles.* I suppose it’s what happens when your raised half your life in the game room taking care of triplets with just a father.

**Stefanie:** *Wondering, but deciding not to press that yet she says instead,* Well, was I exaggerating after all?

**Daniella:** No! *Quick sip, gulp and rubs her throat, coming to sit on the leather chair beside her.* If anything, you downplayed him, Merlin.

**Stefanie:** *She just takes a hearty, lengthy sip and nods.*

**Daniella:** …okay. *exhale* How on Earth —

**Stefanie:** *Frustrated groan, and then with a bitter smirk,* How does it ever happen? He was smooth, green-eyed, dangerous and I was heartbroken.

**Daniella:** …mm, you were screwed. *Tiniest pause,* …heartbroken?

**Stefanie:** *After another sip, she starts passing her fingernail across the rim of the wine glass and just decides: well, why not? Depending how drunk they got the whole sordid affair was likely to come out anyway.* My fiance. I was only seventeen, we were sweethearts throughout upper levels…or so I thought. He, thought the “go wild bachelors party” meant fucking the stripper.

**Daniella:** *snorts and then with a sympathetic noise,* Oh, classy. Here, honey. *She steals Stefanie’s glass again and fills it right back up to the rim.*

**Stefanie:** *After a laugh and dismissive wave,* Oh, screw him. Wait, don’t screw him. Ever. He was the most selfish lover. Besides, I don’t think Hans left him…fully equipped.

**Daniella:** *She snorts, and then nods absently.* My brothers wouldn’t have, no.

**Stefanie:** *Taking the glass back, she shrugs and resettles in the chair. That wasn’t even an understatement, she thinks. Hans had attacked him - he’d been the one to take care of everything, telling everyone…everyone except for me. The memory of that bloody hospital call was ringing in her ear, and she thinks; two days later, she met Ansel. How had she not put them together?*

**Daniella:** *After a suitable, comfortable silence she asks quietly with a sly little smile,* …and Tony?

**Stefanie:** *Stirring from her memories, her eyes wiggle and flutter at the remark and then she lifts her chin. Her mouth opens. And…then shuts.*

**Daniella:** Oh, come on. *She chuckles.* You certainly enjoyed the bed, *nodding towards the door,* that I’d been planning on sleeping in, by the way.

**Stefanie:** *She laughs, lifting the wine glass in an imaginary toast to the memories; the flashes of warm curves, of kisses sweet turned playful nips, of searching hands and plunging fingers, breath hitches to low moans from heaving chests, to frantic motions seeking pleasure, seeking something more unnamable and untouchable and close, so close, more and then just — relief. Bliss, and for a moment ephemereal — even, perhaps, belonging.

Stefanie winks. And swallows, hoping the wine will chase away her sudden flushed cheeks even though it’s red wine and thus guaranteed to only make her blush harder.*

**Daniella:** *Mmming as she sees the rising red and then laughs, shaking her head and adding,* And then you were just about to defend his honor you know.

**Stefanie:** *With a sigh, because she was trying to put the remark about getting Tony ice cream from her mind she lays back and fluffs her hair out over the leather (when had it gotten so hot in here anyways?)* That’s different. *Calmly,* I also snuck out.

**Daniella:** *Shrugging, as she sets the bottle down on the table and starts fidgeting with the cork, spinning it back and forth.* Oh, please. I don’t even want to know how many times Tony’s done the same I bet.

**Stefanie:** That’s what he said. *A small smile playing on her lips, and she looks down swirling the glass back and forth.* I don’t know Daniella, I guess I hadn’t even realized how much time I’d spent with him the last few weeks. *A lie. She knew exactly. Pathetically, she knew down to the minutes. But hey, least she hadn’t gone seconds, and no that wasn’t because her phone couldn’t do that for her, no.* I’m trying not to over think. *That was true. She just wasn’t ever good at that.*

**Daniella:** *Laughs and decides: she didn’t want to press, so she says instead only, comfortably,* Well, that I understand.

**Stefanie:** He just…makes it simple. Like he gets that. Needing something simple.

**Daniella:** *Her smile flutters and she thinks his brother did too, and nods.*

**Stefanie:** *As if she could read Daniella’s mind or rather — because if she was sharing, then so was Daniella,* How did it happen with you?

**Daniella:** *Tiny laugh,* Oh, the usual really. *Her brow arches, she cocks her head after another sip and reports just as Stefanie did, mirroring her smirk,* He rode in all smooth on a motorcycle in a leather jacket, dangerous and blue-eyed. And I was intent on taking down his father’s empire.

**Stefanie:** Oh, you were absolutely fucked.

**Daniella:** That was three weeks later. *They share a chuckle at that, as Daniella counts on her fingers, holding it up “three,” like Lila-Elise used to do when she was learning to count. Amused, she adds softer,* Then I got back in touch to…find Nadia.

**Stefanie:** *Quietly nodding, almost to herself as an afterthought,* …see, he gets that too.

**Daniella:** *Had been turning everything around in her mind, trying to think it through, the whirlwind of the last month and a half and the fact that frankly she was half living in this penthouse really because it was the safest way to get ahold of Olivier — and then she just stalls at that, brows furrow and she sits up, half afraid to ask.* Gets?

**Stefanie:** Tony. Loving a brother who can be a monster.

**Daniella:** *Immediately she looked away, huffing to herself and shading her eyes. There’s a breathless silence as she taps her nails repeatedly on the desk, drumming out a samba and beating out the pattern in her heart as it skips around. Olivier wasn’t a monster, she thinks irritated, he was…damaged. And weren’t they all?* He isn’t —

**Stefanie:** *Immediate,* I didn’t say he was, I said he can be.

**Daniella:** *With a for-show wink, she lifts the bottle. And starts drinking…*

**Stefanie:** *quieter, eying the amazing disappearing wine bottle.* And that I understand loving him anyways. *Wow, she wasn’t getting anymore. Of this bottle, at least.* I do, you know.

**Daniella:** *…and bottle empty. Throat burning and eyes warm and wet, she shuts them for a second, a smile on her stained lips before she sucks off her thumb and nods.* Yup. Stef? What do you know of my father?

**Stefanie:** Ryan Faye? *Her eyebrows lift.* Well, I assume. All the myth and none of the man.

**Daniella:** *That, finally puts an honest smile back on her lips and she lowers the bottle back, breathing steadier now.* …well-put.

**Stefanie:** *Small smile on her own lips, she sighs in exasperation,* A gift my brother and I share, apparently.

**Daniella:** *She chuckles and gives the nod of acknowledgment, not really wanting to think about Hans right now because — Olivier was one thing, Wolfie on the other hand…well. Her hand rubs over her warm nose and cheeks and then she smacks it down on the table, saying flatly,* Olivier guessed that day. *And then her eyes lift,* I didn’t get distracted, you know.

**Stefanie:** *Arching an eyebrow, she says slowly,* You…still intend on destroying the D’Grey organization.

**Daniella:** *She loved Stefanie in that moment. The fact that there was no judgment in that remark, nothing but the statement of fact. And then she nods, lifting her chin, pinching her thumb between her dimple. There’s only determination in her oddly focused (considering how much wine she’d just had) gaze, and she says softly,* My younger brother Dylan, one of the triplets? He was hooked on coke. I got him through rehab, me, and it was like half the time I had to spend babysitting Papa too — telling him that killing the dealer was just going to make things worse, over and over again. Dylan’s the only one who got through to him, eventually - when it stopped being about wanting another hit and started being about wanting it all to be over.

**Stefanie:** *Quiet, she nods and says breathless,* Hans used to drink his way through exams…I can’t even imagine adding drugs to the mix. I cleaned him up.

**Daniella:** *A bit surprised for that information she nods, and then starts rubbing her hand against the table, saying softly,* I hated Remington. I never met him, but I hated him.

**Stefanie:** *With a tiny shiver of remembrance,* I only met him once. I’m…not sorry he’s dead.

**Daniella:** *Her eyes narrow in curiosity but after nodding in agreement, she continues still soft.* Yeah, well, he tried to arrange for me to die when I was born, because of it I was raised by the sister of the traitor Auror until she dropped me off in England’s ministry of magic without a care in the world and — fairly, my mother killed her brother — and — oh you know what? It’s a long twisted story and I’m goint to write the book eventually so, you’ll get an advance copy.

**Stefanie:** Signed?

**Daniella:** Signed.

**Stefanie:** Deal.

**Daniella:** *She chuckles, and nods, continuing,* Papa was Remington’s right hand man for a while, though. He loved him as much as he hated him, I think — I don’t know what it was with that man. But it was my father who took away baby Olivier, and it was his father that took away baby Me.

**Stefanie:** *Blinking, and then she holds up her hand,* I claim movie rights.

**Daniella:** *Chuckles and nods,* As long as I have script approval.

**Stefanie:** *Picking at her nail as if she has to mull over that and then says stubbornly,* All right. You drive a hard bargain.

**Daniella:** I’ve been told. *With a tiny smile appearing again, and she lifts her hand off the table, sighing, dropping her hand to her lap.* In any case…I didn’t expect to meet Oli, I had arranged for his father — not…

**Stefanie:** …knowing he was dead.

**Daniella:** And then he rides in on that motorcycle…

**Stefanie:** And you’re fucked. *Nods, and then seeing Daniella about to protest she chuckles with her, holding up her fingers,* Three weeks later.

**Daniella:** *Also holding them up and then she laughs, breaking off and nodding. A comfortable silence falls and she says softer,* Olivier did guess that day. *Calmly,* The…reasons, have changed, that’s all. *Flatly again, tugging down on her skirt,* If you ask me, he needs to be saved from this organization as much as my brother did.

**Stefanie:** *She sucks on her bottom lip for a moment and nods, looking up,* What if he doesn’t want to be saved?

**Daniella:** *Those very simple words seem to jab a knife in her heart, and another in her throat before she says softly, looking back down.* Our choices? *Her hand comes up.* Seal our fate. I care about him, he knows that. I…believe he cares about me.

**Stefanie:** Oh, he does. You can see that on his face.

**Daniella:** *Her heart flutters, she joins her hands together and nods softly.* Tony’s good too. I don’t know what the story is there but - I’ve been around enough broken people in my life. I…know when they’re gone. Oli…he isn’t. He’s…a good person in his heart, Stef, he’s not a monster. And if he “can” be, well, he was raised that way. He didn’t know his mother, didn’t even get those years that Tony did.

**Stefanie:** *She nods, because the thing is she desperately wants to believe that but not - not so much about Olivier, or even about Tony (she swallows back the tremble in her throat), but about her brother — her brother who’d been hurt so much, lost so much.*

**Daniella:** What he’s doing, with the Death Eaters — it’s inspiring.

**Stefanie:** *She tilts her head and thinks; well…that was something to ask Tony about. Daniella seemed to be talking herself through something though, so, she wouldn’t interrupt.*

**Daniella:** And that — there are people right now, trapped in cells and desperately trying to get back to their wives and sons and families so — I admire him. *Tiniest bit of a blush, and she shrugs.* That’s more important. So, I wasn’t distracted, I just know what takes precedence.

**Stefanie:** *Breathless, she just nods.*

**Daniella:** But if he doesn’t want to be saved? If he takes down this corrupt, defunct organization reject from the middle ages — and turns around only to rebuild a drug empire? If he thinks that I’m just going to be a little say-nothing mafia wife? No. I’m a fucking empress myself, Stef, I am Daniella Faye. He doesn’t want to be saved? *Her eyes are hardening - a bit sad, but she’s resolute as she stands and offers her hand,*Then he’s the one fucked, Stef.

**Stefanie:** *Lets out a low whistle, thinking…damn. And then simply smiles, winks, takes the extended hand, and lets Daniella pull her up.*

&.

**Harper:** I'm glad they still are. *He knew very well that it would only be reminder of the day of his death for them, but he was glad, more than that happy, to hear it was still there, that his research had been collected (he knew how scattered it must have been), so he nodded, smiling and then said.* I counted on that, actually. *Alcott taking an interest in his work, that is. He was flattered, proud, touched...more of those emotions he had been so deprived of for so many years. It was frankly overwhelming. But it also reminded him, he had quite a bit of information to share with Eliza as well.

After another quick laugh at this metaphorical ship that he and Eliza were going to force into open water, his eyebrows raised in surprise to find Eliza did remember him. He smiled.* I remember too. You had pig tails. And a dress I told your mother was horrendous and she whacked the back of my head like a piñata.*The time for memories took a pause as she unbuttoned her shirt to show him the welt, and while he showed no visual reaction, he knew it was particularly nasty. He took out his wand, muttered a spell to inspect it and then headed back to his potions rack.* The pus and blood are trapped under the skin, getting infected. A bit like a wart, we can freeze it off. *He picks up a vial and a small spray bottle, pouring the liquid in.* After I freeze it, I'll place a bandage, in a few hours, remove it and the welt will stick to it. It will hurt a bit but I have it on good authority thats it no more painful than a wax. I wouldn't know, because I don't wax. *He shrugs with a smile, trying to lighten up the situation a bit.* Then out of that kit I provided you with there's some anti bacterial cream, that's for open wounds and sores, you'll apply a bit there and to the others to make sure they don't get infected. Wait an hour before putting on the salve for helping with the scarring.

**Eliza:** *As he looks, she lets her mind stay on what he meant by "counted on," as it reminds her she had originally come there to ask what his plans were - what he was doing, to get out, how they could help each other. That sounded promising.*

Makes sense, *she murmurs aloud after a quiet hiss of sensitivity as his spell examined, her eyes were on her shoes,* Alcott finds out one or both of us are here and... *A low whistle through dry, pursed lips hisses in the stiff air. Then she smiles.* Well, I wouldn't want to be the one in the way. *She wasn't kidding when she'd said he'd rip them apart what felt like years ago when she walked in, and in reality was only a couple of weeks and days.

As he pulls away and returns, she lets the bra rest to the side. Frankly, that welt was far from "alluring," and anyway he was talking about her in pigtails and piñatas like...like a father might, she realizes softly. No wonder she felt safe.

Curling her back to sit up she nods, ceasing picking at the bottom button and then chuckles once despite the mostly in humorous topic.* Never? It doesn't hurt, really. Now a Brazilian on the other hand...*She shivers, for show and remarks idly, pressing on her lip where the paint covers the torn flesh. A small smile appears.

Forcefully determined with her courage,* Really, and they thought a few welts would break me? *Eliza giggles. Then nods.* Freeze, bandage, rip off, cream, hour later salve. Got it, Captain. *She salutes, pretending she's not shivering again or her lip quivering in fear of it. As her hand comes down she adds softer,* ...will it scar badly?

**Harper:** *It was a conflicting thought process: wanting to see his son but also wanting to keep him far away from here. He knew the latter was surely not to pass, as he would be the one to decode the message after all but still, it didn't stop him from worrying, nothing did. Preparing the spray, he looks up again as she mentions thinking they could break her and now it is he who puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, knowing it was more than just a few welts.* They underestimate women, Gustav in particular, that's been his fatal flaw. That's how Nadia fooled him and got out, it's how you're gonna fool him and get out. *He offers a smile again before taking his hand back, adjusting the nozzle.* No, the fresher the wound is when you put on the salve, the less it'll scar, you should have minimum. Problem with mine is that I couldn't treat anything until three years so the most prominent ones are the oldest.

*He holds up the spray after summoning a bandage with a smile.* The spray will sting a bit, are you ready?

**Eliza:** *Her gaze darts from the hand on her shoulder to the his eyes, then locks in place. A light lift to her smile feels tugged there, like it was attached to her heart and every word Harper spoke lifts and twists both. She did not look away. Breathing in (and then out) very slowly, she lets the smile flicker and then says steadily,* Thank you.

*God, did she need to hear that. When he was done, she'd ask what his deal was and all that he might know about what as a "recruit" she would have to do but right for one second there, he believed in her, believed she could fool them and fake this -- and it's as if she can feel her soul cleave to it, cling to this breath of life that floods her and heals her long before he adjusts the nozzle. Soft she responds,* They underestimate you too, Harper. As for your scars...

*For a moment she lets herself look at them. Really look, like she'd been avoiding doing since the image of his throat being slit had grabbed her but -- well, she had worse images in mind now. A light seems to shine in her eyes as she looks over them; the upturn in his lips as if he was frozen half-smirking, the lines like wires on his wrists and across his neck. For the first time she remembers that red was not just a color of anger, but one of love; the lines were a map of his fight, a battle he'd faced with a perpetual smirk. Her own lips flick. She looks back to his eyes, tilts her head curiously and says instead, in a small little voice,* Sorry, I must have been mistaken. What scars? *And then she draws herself up, pulling the strap off her shoulder and moving her blouse, drawing in and exhaling out, before she adds, resolute,* Yes. I'm ready. And not just for the spray.

**Harper:** I prefer it that way, otherwise I wouldn't be able to help. *He nodded, accepting it with a smile as she had his words only to pause movement altogether at her next statement. What scars? As if they were invisible, or rather, insignificant, not worth paid attention to. He paused because for a second he wanted to believe it, that they weren't there, that they didn't matter, that they weren't the first thing people saw when they looked at him anymore. Then he smiled again, pulled to reality, and nodded as she gave her consent. He spared the welt down until it was frozen and dry, putting a self-adhesive bandage over it as delicately as he could, not wanting to irritate it further.* There. Now. *He looked up at her eyes.* Business. How's your occlumency?

**Eliza:** *One, two, th--hiss. Nope. Still stung. Her body didn't flinch though, didn't betray her, and she was pleased with that - pleased she might have some mastery over it after all. Focusing on breathing as he applies the bandage, it almost makes her laugh, how careful he was. Overtly professional, she nearly said before thinking she didn't want to remember why that would be true. So after adjusting the bra, strapped it and breathing out with the relief of his potion-freeze-thing, she looks back to him. And then her smile turns coy, her eyes slitting like a cat, and she hooks her heels around each other.* You tell me. *Eliza knew she wasn't a genius. She didn't get what Alcott talked about, hardly followed Harper's explanation now, could never remember what the inverse proportion property thingy was for transfiguration but if there was one thing she had always been gifted with -- it was memory spells. Her mind was hers, hers alone, and she'd been learning Occlumency since she was seven or well, maybe eight. The feral smile only widens as she keeps eye contact with him without blinking and says simply,* If I can keep you out, and you've kept them out all this time, then we're set. So. Try me.

**Harper:** *She spoke with a confidence and as if she were challenging him so he was intrigued and honestly, if she was indeed well learned in occlumency then this would just be one less step to take, and one less thing to worry about. He nodded.* Fair enough.

*He smiles before casting the legilimens spell nonverbally, keeping her gaze, almost as if he was walking in through them (eyes are the door, not the windows), only to be met with a flood of information. It was spectacular, really. He had been expecting emptiness, the most basic form of protecting the mind, but this was something entirely different. It was a rushing waterfall, crashing on rocks, no two thoughts the same and completely untraceable. If he didn't leave soon, his mind would certainly strain itself trying to decipher the rush. He blinked repeatedly, coming back and then he laughed.* I've never seen anything like that. That's brilliant, however, you might be a bit more susceptible from your mind being implanted with thoughts if in the flood of them you don't notice one slipping in. And one thought, one idea, can change an entire person. Thankfully, not many people, and certainly no one here, are skilled enough to implant ideas in the mind. *He grins and laughs again, putting his hands in his pockets and nodding.* But that's really good.

**Eliza:** *She'd been concentrating as he spoke the spell on the plot of Titanic, and then on how adorable Leo and Kate were and then trying to figure out what their children would look like and then trying to remember when it was he'd finally gotten an Oscar -- sometimes the man had the saddest resume, honestly, which wasn't quite fair considering how long she'd thought him brilliant although she did hate the movie Romeo and Juliet well, not the movie so much as the premise, because Shakespeare might have that whole course-of-true-love-ne'er-did-run smooth down pat but -- oh. She looks up, hearing his laugh and realizes she's honestly blushing, brighter than she thought she had in...well, she didn't know, and she decides time is not the best thing to think about anymore. Instead, she focuses on the moment, the fact that she'd managed to do it (honestly, it ... was harder than she had expected), and she reaches up, clapping her hands together and nodding,* Really? Never? Thanks. I...honestly it was just kind of natural to me, first time I ever tried, I gave Alcott a headache. *Her lips flick.* Then he asked if I ever had one myself and...well sometimes, but. *She shrugs.* I always find what I need anyways. *She tilts her head and says quieter,* You think I can fool them too then? I figured that on top of the fact that they want to believe what I'll be hearing...I mean that's how you sell a lie, wrap it up in palatable truths...*she pauses, asking tentatively,* ...what do you do?

**Harper:** *He nods, still smiling, speaking honestly instead of placatingly because the situation was too serious to lie to her, but he felt like she could do it, trick them, but she would need a little help here. He holds up a finger now, going to offer an alternative which would certainly be safer at the same time it would be riskier.* You could, I believe, do it on your own, pretend to break as they come to get you again, though it is usually in the dark where the person would break, they're not used to anything else, they might be hesitant. But, there's also another way. *He headed back to his shelf.* Years ago, Gustav came to me with an unusual request- a potion that would serve as a...brainwash, basically. He wanted to use it on his son, didn't want to hurt him, so I made that. What the potion does is takes every value you currently have and reverse it, almost like a binary switch- I don't know how well versed you are with computers, anyways *he holds up the potion* Sam, knows this potion exists. I could implant the thought in his mind to ask Gustav to give it to you. Due to the nature of his...*he exhaled and then spoke in disgusted distaste* interest, Gustav would not think it odd. I can make a fake potion for you to pretend. From there, it'd only depend on you acting like a...well, a Death Eater. Their love of inflicting pain, their smugness, and so on. The problem with this one is that there's less of a margin of error to be had. Broken and turning, that allows for moments of doubt, hesitance, over what they could tell you or ask you to do, but with the potion, any slight indication that you are actually against it, the warnings would go on red alert.

&.

****Devin:**** Get down.

**Lynn:** *With a fruit roll up in hand, she has to take a second to unstick it. So she doesn’t turn until-*

****Devin:**** Lynn!

**Lynn:** I said I had it-geesh, can’t I open my own porch door!? oh this is something to do with Nadia isn—*Roll-up, sweater and voice go up all at once.* Where the fuck did you get a crossbow?!

****Devin:**** Down!

**Lynn:** *Swearing again under her breath, she blinks in shock hearing first the thud of her chest hitting the hard wood (ow), then -twang!- a second before: -smash- (was that their porch door?) and…then a weird squelching sound. Twang-squelch, twang-squelch…she was going to be sick, yup, that fruit roll-up was popping right back up, lovely.*

****Devin:**** *Calling over his shoulder without lowering the crossbow, his eyes narrow and dark with a look Lynn’s only seen once. She wished it hadn’t been recent.* It worked-get in here-

(Rory’s Voice): Yeah?

****Devin:**** Maybe give it another second-

**Lynn:** A—-fucker! *Hand on her ankle, gross, like she wasn’t trying to keep the roll-up down!? Kicking, her stiletto sticks and falls.*

****Devin:**** -didn’t count on how long my sister would talk.

**Lynn:** *Huffing as she stands, she promptly loses the other stiletto with a rapid roundhouse kick. It hits a man’s face—and only after does she realize she knows them.* Someone want to tell me what the—

**Rory:** *A silver nozzle beats his entrance by a hair. He holds it level, but with his thumb away from the hair-trigger. Quizzically,* How’d you miscalculate that part, mate?

**Lynn:** But he’s —this is — one of th—

****Devin:**** *Chuckle-shrug and then snaps,* Down!

**Lynn:** *Exclaiming as she darts sideways and her back hits their stove, her hair falling out of the messy bun,* So help you if you get one bolt through my hair-! *Huffs. Her back hurt. Oh fuck, wait there were two of them now. Two werewolves. One man on the ground with teeth inhuman and four bolts in his chest (fucker got blood on her heels), and a woman. Made sense though, only a hand at her throat could have succeeding in cutting her off. Gasping for breath as her head slams back (Irene was right, that was a favorite trick wasn’t it—)

****Devin:**** Lynn! *His voice was calm, utterly so, if hard.*

**Lynn:** *Something in her — Chaser reflexes, sibling instinct, watched the Kung Fu kid too many times—something knew what the snap of her name was. Her left hand flies out, catches a wood hilt, turns and slices — smooth. Red. Gasping out as breath returns all at once, she grips the knife hard and cuts up, undeterred even as the woman falls. The world was still spinning.*

****Devin:**** Door-

**Rory:** Got it.

**Lynn:** *Hmm, she thinks she hears the door slam, maybe a distant click of a lock…she definitely could hear that video game Rory and Devin had been enjoying like not five minutes ago. Her hand is on her throat rubbing away at skin hard and abrasive. Abruptly, she gets why she was having a—oh that bitch had claws. She feels her brother’s arm around her waist, he tries to tug the knife from her but she hisses and shoves at his hand. Winces as she hears it hit the stove behind her.*

****Devin:**** *Exhasperated little hiss, he thinks it was the first time he’d actually breathed in the last minute,* Heavens Lynn, fine keep it—

**Lynn:** *Snaps, or tries to in her daze- bitch tried to rip her throat out, hadn’t she?* Can’t all have fancy crossbows. *Her eyes go unfocused. Oh, that was why she could hear so well!*

**Rory:** *Dry chuckles on a raw throat he shrugs without releasing the gun,* Actually there is another one —

****Devin:**** Mate?

**Lynn:** *How had her brother gotten this strong anyway? He was holding her with one arm, another gun pointed at the woman bleeding on the ground…and healing, she realized, ah fuck-*

**Rory:** Shit, sorry yea—*he comes closer, and then Lynn feels his hand on her throat instead. There’s a whisper, and she feels breath burst back into her lungs again, eyes clearing. Lowering her hand, she ignores the blood on it. Actually, that would just make it better! Her mind was back. And really, it shouldn’t havr taken so long to figure out.

Still not letting go of the knife, she leans down and grabs the woman’s chin, trying to ignore the gurgles she could hear.* Not fun having your throat ripped huh?

*Spit and blood strike her cheek. That makes her ignore Devin as he snaps her name and to get back. Instead she brings up her knife, adrenaline ripping through her veins making her ignore the fact that she was a moment from tears or worse—shaking. Instead, her breath is as steady as her brothers snap had been. Her voice drips, sweet.* Honey, didn’t your pack learn your lesson? What’s your name?

*Her eyes were silvery, and Lynn exhales thinking — unfair. Maybe she could get contacts. They made colored contacts, right?*

Oh right, you can’t talk. *Lynn murmurs in disgust, then points at her blouse,* You know how much this cost? *There’s a pause as she looks at what she wore and she exhales.* …you probably do, don’t yo—honestly, why do you all have such great clothes!?

****Devin:**** Sister, I swear if you don’t —

**Lynn:** *Hissing; she could see from the silver stove behind her that the first cut had healed— was pink.* Dev, give me your hand.

****Devin:**** *One hand tight on the gun, his brows furrow and he tilts his head. There’s jitters now in his breath, the narrow intent of fire replacing itself with her brother,* My hand? Wha-why do y-

**Lynn:** Now whose talking too much!?

****Devin:**** Lynn-

**Rory:** *Blue eyes round and fixed on the round wound in the woman’s throat, he snaps in a voice unlike his normal soft tone,* Just give her your hand!

****Devin:**** *Snaps higher,* All right, Jesus! *He bends, and lets Lynn grab his wrist. She tugs-and he lets her direct, surprise coloring his wide eyes and pulling his lips round as the throat gap Lynn has him close.* What-

**Lynn:** Squeeze, fantasy Mr. Hulk.

****Devin:**** *He does, more from surprise than anything. And then his face freezes as Lynn tries to move him forward—and he realizes he’s trying to deaden the gasps, only to recognize belatedly: they came from his own mouth.*

**Lynn:** Don’t suffocate her-! *She rolls her eyes as she looks into the unfocused ones of the woman. How old was she? Mid-twenties at most. Staring and breathing hard, she says in a low hiss,* I’ll close the wound. We aren’t murderers, hon. I still hope it hurt, but. And this is for Irene-

****Devin:**** *-Crack-! He doesn’t know how he knew what Lynn was doing that time when she tugged his wrist again, but he did. Sibling thing or well, he supposes the threat made it obvious — he releases the woman’s throat after smashing her head into the silver oven door.*

**Lynn:** *Brightening, she releases Devin’s wrist with a pop, and rubs the blood off her lip. Then she sits back, collapsing onto the blood-soaked marble, eyes swimming as she steadies her self against flat, hard palms. Fuck, she thinks, were they there to kill them or kidnap? Or kill Dev and take her? Bloody hell…because the one werewolf ravaging wasn’t enough?! Under her breath she mutters,* That’s two I owe fucking Hans Lawrence Ricard.

*The knife clatters from her hand. When she hears Rory exhale their names, she spins, eyes flying open. Her hand goes up, as if to brush away tears…but there weren’t any. Huh. Well, good. They wouldn’t help anyway.

Rory was near the man who came through first, the one whose face was transformed and now she realizes— there was fur up his arms too.* What the- …okay. Now. One of you want to tell me what the hell just happened?

****Devin:**** *There was blood splattering his hands, his lips, probably his hair because he’d forgotten and swiped it back—but steady again, there’s a tight smile on his lips. The startle in his eyes has softened - or rather, evened. Nothing about him in that moment was gentle, not even the strange chuckle that pops from his lips.* Yeah. *He cleans his lips.* First though—Hulk?

**Rory:** *Having reassured himself the other one was still breathing he pulls back and is tucking the gun in his jeans when he groans abruptly,* Seriously, man?

**Lynn:** *Looks to Rory, incredulous,* I thought you had this!

**Rory:** You know what there is a-lot- of ground to cover—

****Devin:**** *With another sheepish chuckle, he waves it off with his hand,* One of you can name the number of, and names of, every actor to play Robin to Batman, and I’ll shut up right now.

**Rory:** *Flicks his thumb under his lip,* See, that’s just proves you’re whipped though.

****Devin:**** *Picking up the towel he’d been wiping his hands off on, he thrusts it at Rory muttering,* Dick, come on—

**Lynn:** *On her toes to pick through blood as she walks taking her shoes back, she shakes her head,* Guys, honestly. I know D’Grey said—

****Devin:**** *Exhaling immediately at the name, he nods with his eyes hardening, finishing his sister’s sentence.* He said they weren’t done with you or Irene —

**Rory:** *Actually, that wasn’t verbatim. It was: “Eliza wasn’t their only target.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stands drawing his wand and respelling, to busy himself. With the extra second for Lynn’s mouth.*

****Devin:**** *After a nod to Rory of understanding , he looks back to Lynn and nods.* So we took precautions. On top of —

**Lynn:** *Quickly moving with them out and helping cast the spells that Alcott taught them as well, she shakes her head and then taps her ear.* If they wake, they’ll hear.

**Rory:** *Nods, and following the siblings up the steps to Dev’s room —half his sometimes at this moment.* Hulk? *Clapping Devin’s shoulder,* Green rage monster? Shifts to gain super strength when mad.

****Devin:**** Ah. Well. *Collapsing on his bed and ripping his shirt off to get rid of the blood—he tosses it towards the hamper, pointing to the tattoo,* Not green.

**Lynn:** *She had begun pacing, going back and forth between the bathroom they shared and the window when she hears that, and spins. Her eyes go wide.* You, got a tattoo? You? Of all—seriously?! And Mum won’t let me get my rose—

****Devin:**** It isn’t a tattoo. *Fishing a clean shirt out and settling for a white tank; that would let Lynn look at it if she wanted. Which he knew; his little miss voyeour sister absolutely would. Collapsing on the bed again, he sits rubbing at his throat for a minute,* It…well it isn’t permanent yet anyways. I’ll get to that. *He looks up, startling as he sees Lynn’s cell is out.* What are you doing?

**Lynn:** *Stalling half-way through dialing (star-one, speeddial, he was lucky she hadn’t pushed send yet).* Calling Dad?

****Devin:**** *Swallows on a tight throat,* Let me just explain first.

**Lynn:** *Her brows flutter together. Now she was looking properly, even as Rory fetches a first aid kit, she realizes Devin might have lost that hard edge in his gaze but he was far from looking…like him. Or rather, the him she had known until last January…but for all the dark ages her brother went through, he hadn’t looked like this. There was a vivid difference: before he’d frowned (now he smirked), before he got high and drunk (now he’s just tucked a gun in his waist band and set a crossbow on the dresser). Before he’d been hurt…and lost. So lost. Now her brother breathes quietly as if inhaling purpose in flames. He was himself, she thinks, Devin Stuart, Slytherin and proud of it (she sees him give a twitch to his ring), and frankly, a bad ass. The thing was…she knew he still hurt: that he’d lost a friend who’d gotten him in a way she’d once been jealous of (how petty that seems now), and that Nadia was remembering…almost everything but him. And he’d threatened to kill that Julio at the ball, sunk a knife in Rachelle’s neck—

—like she just did.

Lynn wonders how different she looked to him too. Then decides that isn’t the point now. Whatever else, Dev was her brother. Sitting next to him on the bed, she takes his forearm as she examines the muscles and the far reach of the tattoo (it looked real enough to her). Her heart steady, she looks up and tilts her eyes, asking brightly,* You want to put off calling Dad?

****Devin:**** *He laughs. That’s another strange sound from his throat. Raw, as he was quenching down rage and fear and — well. They weren’t dead; all they’d done was fight back successfully. Damn if he was going to apologize for that. These bastards were screwing with his family, with Nadia — and they’d underestimated him his entire life. Poor, sweet, bookly Devin with ungainly limbs, rubbish at Quidditch, frightened of spiders but— oh so -smart- you know…

He almost wants to thank them for giving him this opportunity to teach them what they were going to fucking know about him. Eliza would have sighed at him, he thinks with his eyes tracking from his ring to the tattoo.* Just until we explain—

**Lynn:** Hey. *Clicks her phone off, brightly.* I’m fine with this, long as you don’t mind taking credit for the wait.

****Devin:**** *Under his breath groan,* I’m talking like ten minutes, Lynn—*with an exasperated look to Rory.*

**Rory:** Oh no no, *hand raises,* I am not, letting you blame me—

****Devin:**** *snorts* Not what I—

**Lynn:** Devin Stuart have you ever known me to be patient in my life?

****Devin:**** I’ve never known you to be polite either, but it’s never too late to learn you know.

**Lynn:** Tat.too.

****Devin:**** It isn’t a tattoo. Okay. Look, when D’Grey—he moved as fast as Alcott did. Faster. Hell, he had Al in a chokehold.

**Lynn:** …Okay, I’d have paid money to see that.

****Devin:**** Now who’s off topic?

**Rory:** You two know it’s been another minute your father doesn’t know about the werewolves tha—

****Devin:**** No one should be faster than Alcott.

**Lynn:** Except Hols. *Whistles, hand resting on her heart.* My girl.

**Rory:** And vampires.

**Lynn:** *Sticks her tongue out,* Ew.

****Devin:**** *Eye rolls, staying on point.* No one human. But we aren’t human—

**Lynn:** *Eyes narrow at that and she exhales, but says a bit lighter,* We’re…magic.

****Devin:**** *There’s an excited glint in his eyes momentarily, but he just nods.*

So Al and I started looking …into it, last week, and there are—I mean there’s potions, but they were temporary. So then Al got the idea, that we use a combination of the potion as ink instead, only with my blood—

**Lynn:** *Yelps, her finger leaps off the tattoo, and she looks up with wide eyes,* You—blood magic?

**Rory:** *Idly, shrugging a shoulder,* Like I said. Vampires.

****Devin:**** *He snorts, rolls his eyes,* Do I look like I want to suck your blood mate?

**Rory:** *Claps his hands together shrugging, putting the first aid kid next to them, asking instead,* Lynn-*gestures to where he’s spelled her neck,* may I?

**Lynn:** Ye—ye—*Breathlessly staring at her brother,* Yeah. *Blink.* Yes, I mean, thank you—okay so you—Devin, you painted yourself in a stength potion with your blood? And…that explains the—I mean Jesus, Dev, that’s why I grabbed your hand so—I assumed you could knock her out. And you did. Wow. I—just wow. *She pauses, and says softer, after moving her hair for Rory.* …you’re going after them. Aren’t you. You and Al.

****Devin:**** *His gaze hardens and then he just gets off the bed, eyes darting instinctively to a photo from France that summer. Al, then Eliza, then him. Eliza was always the one between them. He clenches his teeth, turns back and swears, low,* Lynn— Rory too, for that matter — whatever we decide we’re — you’ll know. Right now we’re just talking about finding them—focused on Nadia, and on-protecting—-

**Rory:** *He’d licked his bottom lip quickly; forestalling the simple remark that he had no intention of hunting anyone down but—he appreciated it. And he would want to know. But protection—that, he has no issue with, right down to the gun he was still carrying. He looks at Lynn, wondering briefly if she would— hunt someone down, that was. God. They were kids, he thinks, wondering at the absence in his chest (as if he couldn’t guess, as if he didn’t always know).*

**Lynn:** *After locking gaze with her brother, she nods and stands, pressing the bandage from Rory down to her neck and smiling. Because she had to. Had. To.* So speaking of—

****Devin:**** *Guessing,* Why didn’t Dad’s wards work?

**Lynn:** …to start with, yeah. I get they want me - or us; revenge for Rachelle and, well, I was targetted to start with but— they should never have gotten thirty yards within the house. I watched Dad do it. And Mom. And I’m pretty sure they did it again when we weren’t watching. And there’s Aurors on the grounds too— who know damn well that they can transform at will now so—

****Devin:**** *Tiny smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, but calmly,* Lynn, can you think of no one we know who Aurors would let by if they did spot him? Someone who shares our blood who could break down the wards?

**Lynn:** *Hisses, and her breath comes up, closing around the necklace she wore, always, the sapphire from Nick.* I’m going to kill him.

**Rory:** *That, put a frown on his face, a look of unmatched hatred that twisted him ugly and he shuts his eyes—but it wasn’t Lynn’s declaration of murder that did it. Under his breath, in a low hiss that’s almost broken,* Sam.

**Lynn:** Dead. He is dead. That is all he is. *As Devin grabs her arms, she trembles and hisses, trying to steady her breath.*

I don’t— Dad knows the Roswells are—he-does-, I told him everything—for that matter so did Alcott—

****Devin:**** Yeah, and Uncle Kevan is still one of the most respected members of the Ministry. *Squeezing her shoulders, adds,* Breathe. It’s all right—the wards Dad put on the house worked; they couldn’t transform. As for what we did? *Nodding to Rory,* We tested with Alcott — had him run at the house from 30 yards until we could tell immediately when a wolf was coming that far back. Alarm goes off, we’ve got 56 seconds until they’re coming coming through the door.

**Lynn:** *Nodding, wide eyed and furious, but she just takes a moment to rub over her throat. Then clamps it over her mouth.*

****Devin:**** *Misinterpreting,* Yeah, I’ll call Dad right now.

**Lynn:** *Shakes her head, drops her hand from her lips and bursts,* No—I mean yes, do, bu—not what I said.

****Devin:**** *Arching eyebrow.*

**Lynn:** I want a fucking crossbow.


	46. Smooth Criminals

**Nadia:** *Hols was the best. Currently, as she knew the Auror offices like the back of her hand, Nadia’s big sister was doing an excellent job of distracting while Nadia sneaked in to the holding cells. As a Death Eater, and as one witnessed to have performed an unforgivable curse, it was astonishing Julio was being held at the Ministry instead of in prison. Nadia overheard Lynn telling Hols that Symon, her uncle and Shane’s older brother, was his legal counsel and that Shane was livid. Nadia was a little more conflicted, but on the one hand, if did make it much easier to talk to Julio.

He was in the first cell, laying down on the small bed, bouncing a rubber ball against the ceiling. She sighed and shook her head, and he turned his head to look, catching the ball without looking.* Comfortable?

 **Julio:** Raging headache now that you mention it. *He grins and then sits up, turning to look at her better* Nadia Tudor.

 **Nadia:** *Takes a few steps forward, answering casually but pointedly* The one and only.

 **Julio:** The one that got away. *he smirks* See, normally that has a much more tragically romantic meaning, but ah, *he points a finger at her before letting the ball fall on the bed* we never had our dance.

 **Nadia:** *She shook her head, and remarked dryly so as to remind* I make it a point not to dance with those that hold me hostage and that beat up my brother and boyfriend.

 **Julio:** Fairly, I did that afterward.

 **Nadia:** Fairly, I don’t give a shit.

 **Julio:** *He smirks again and then he stands up, heading over to the bars.* Missed me that much?

 **Nadia:** *eyebrows arch* Yes, Julio. I was missing the daily dose of insanity in my life.

 **Julio:** You joke, or rather, you think you’re joking. But I bet you’re going stir crazy now that everything’s back to normal. After helping to thwart evil and capture criminals, everything else must seem boring.

 **Nadia:** I’ll take being bored over having my teeth kicked in any day, thank you.

 **Julio:** *He shakes his head, admitting.* Not me. Give me a good fight any day, I am bored out of my mind. So fucking bored.

 **Nadia:** *narrows her eyes, taking another step closer to the bars* Bored?! People are dead! One of my friends!

 **Julio:** At least you don’t remember them, chiquita. Hurts less.

 **Nadia:** Hurts more, you insensitive moron.

 **Julio:** Is this why you came here, cariño? *he smirks, tilting his head* Came to insult me? Beat me with your verbal slurs?

 **Nadia:** *she exhales and then shakes her head* No.

 **Julio:** *grins, leaning his forehead between the bars, cheeky* So you did miss me.

 **Nadia:** Julio.

 **Julio:** Cut me a break here, Nadia. I might never know the company of a woman again! *He pouts* Go easy on me.

 **Nadia:** I’d be a little more inclined to show you more consideration if you hadn’t hurt the people I care about. *her eyes narrow* Or maybe if you showed even the slightest bit of remorse. Or apologize.

 **Julio:** I apologize for crucio’ing your boyfriend, but to be fair-

 **Nadia:** You were beating up my brother!

 **Julio:** He’s pretty skilled, your brother, I just have more extensive combat training. Also, he’s a dwarf. But to be fair-

 **Nadia:** You’re a Death Eater.

 **Julio:** *puts his arms through the bars to show his almost empty forearms* No dark mark. Just a normal tattoo of a date.

 **Nadia:** What’s the date for? *she frowns*

 **Julio:** So I remember.

 **Nadia:** …Remember what?

 **Julio:** *He gets a funny look on his face and then tilts his head, examining the tattoo again before he shivers and withdraws his arms* I forgot.

 **Nadia:** *The look on his face was familiar to her. As if he were trying to hang on to a sliver of thought but the rope kept slipping from your hands. Her curiosity remained but she realized, she wouldn’t have enough time and so exhaled and focused again, keeping a distance away from the metal bars (bad memories).* Julio?

 **Julio:** *He looks up at her again after rubbing his wrist compulsively, a bit out of it after having forgotten exactly where he was for a moment.* Yeah?

 **Nadia:** *Oh bugger it, damn him for making her ask, and damn her for asking.* Are you okay?

 **Julio:** *Shrugs* like I said, raging headache for a few days now. *He snaps out of it as he looks back at her, his mouth curling up in a smirk* Kiss it better?

 **Nadia:** *she rolls her eyes and then kicks his bars, getting a laugh from him and so she shushes him, taking a step closer to say more softly* Quiet.

 **Julio:** You’re asking a Spanish man to keep quiet?

 **Nadia:** I don’t want to get caught!

 **Julio:** I just want to make it clear that it’s entirely your fault the fantasies-

 **Nadia:** *snaps* You are not allowed to fantasize about me in any way, shape, or form Julio Cortez or I will chop your balls off.

 **Julio:** Hey. Be nice to the boys. Besides, it’s too late. *He smirks as she rolls her eyes* Do you want me to whip them out now for you to geld me?

 **Nadia:** *She exhales in frustration and then curls her hands around the bars* Julio, I want your help.

 **Julio:** *Now intrigued, he moves forward, curling his bigger hands around them as well, eyebrows arched* What do you want?

 **Nadia:** *challenging* You’re not gonna ask me what you get for it in return?

 **Julio:** -Do- I get anything?

 **Nadia:** *cooly* The knowledge and satisfaction of knowing that you’ve finally done something decent in your life.

 **Julio:** *He frowns at that, and he exhales, mumbling out* This wouldn’t be the first time.

 **Nadia:** *she frowns* Sorry? I didn’t, I didn’t catch that?

 **Julio:** *He snaps out of it again, his headache growing and he asks again* What do you want me to do?

 **Nadia:** *She swallows and then says in a whisper* Tell them who the leader is.

 **Julio:** *His eyes widen before narrowing.* Nadia-

 **Nadia:** I would if I could…*her bottom lip trembles* but someone’s already paid for what I did at the Gala, I can’t come forward, they’ll kill someone else, maybe my entire family.

 **Julio:** So you want me to take the fall for you, is that it, princesa? Because in that case, you are seriously overestimating how much I like you.

 **Nadia:** *Irritated, she grits her teeth. Men! Couldn’t they just get their head out if their asses long enough to listen?* They’ll cut you a deal, and you know it.

 **Julio:** Which I wouldn’t live to see the outcome of. Me, I quite living. I wanna keep it that way.

 **Nadia:** *snaps* That’s cowardice.

 **Julio:** To want to live another day? *Scoffs* That’s self-preservation. And besides *he swallows uncomfortably* that’s not the only reason I won’t talk.

 **Nadia:** *smacks her hand against the bar in growing impatience* What else could it be?!

 **Julio:** Nadia, you have no idea-

 **Nadia:** Then tell me!

 **Julio:** No. Nadia, I’m sorry-

 **Nadia:** *She scoffs and moves to turn away but finds his hands have now curled around to grab her wrists and she glares at him.* You’re a coward, Julio. That’s all Death Eaters are: cowards.

 **Julio:** Yeah? Those people who screamed in your ear, they cowards?

 **Nadia:** *Her jaw quivered.*

 **Julio:** *He holds her gaze for a few moments in silence, almost wishing he could communicate silently and then curses under his breath in Spanish* Nadia, I -want- to do the right thing.

 **Nadia:** *Oh, that was just rich! Rich! All talk, no action, as if it were that bloody difficult to actually do the right thing! It wasn’t!* Then why don’t you?!

 **Julio:** Because I can’t.

 **Nadia:** *glares* No-

 **Julio:** *insists* I can’t.

 **Nadia:** You won’t-

 **Julio:** *He pulls his whole body to lay against the bars and then exhales, teeth gritting, voice hitching in his throat as he holds her gaze intently.* I. -can’t-.

 **Nadia:** *She stares at him incredulously, at the simple force of those words, the tone of them, and she finds she’s speechless. Taking a step back as he lets her wrists go, she breathes out heavily.* What did they do to you?

 **Julio:** *He can’t help it, now his expressions turns bitter, a smirk on his face as he looks at her again* Now you’re asking the right questions.

 **Nadia:** *She inhales and exhales, opening her mouth to ask another question when the door opened and she turns in fear only to breathe again as she sees it’s Hols.* Hols-

Hols: *Steps forward, her boots clicking on the floor, gaze focused directly on her rattled little sister. Deciding to ignore it for the moment, she informs instead.* We need to get out of here.

 **Julio:** And who *he smirks still, wiggling his eyebrows before leaning against the bars again* would you be, gorgeous?

 **Nadia:** *Great. Asshole Julio was back.*

Hols: *eyebrows arch* Someone too good for you. Sorry, I don’t fraternize with Death Eaters and criminals.

 **Julio:** *chuckles, shaking his head* The sting. You hurt me deep, princesa.

 **Hols:** *His words were like a bee buzzing in her ear as she stepped forward again and tugged Nadia’s arm back* Nadia, come on. *She leaves for the door herself again, to hurry her.*

 **Nadia:** *she nods, about to head to the door when she hears Julio again and she turns.* …say that again.

 **Julio:** *He smirks and then speaks again, though it visibly pained him to do so.* El Diablo se pone sus cuernos en su rostro.  
*He arches his eyebrow*

 **Nadia:** *She recounts the sentence in her mind, brows furrowing as she nods, before leaving quickly, sparing a last glance to Julio to see him sitting back down on the bed and rubbing his forehead in pain. She catches up to Hols and once they’re out of the offices unseen (she hoped), Hols finally turned to her.*

 **Hols:** What did he say?

 **Nadia:** He said the Devil wears horns on his face.

 **Hols:** *she arched her eyebrows* Does he mean his head?

 **Nadia:** No, he meant face. The Devil wears horns on his face.

 **Hols:** That’s stupid.

 **Nadia:** No…*she says slowly with dawning realization* It’s a riddle.

 **Hols:** For you? *She didn’t like this, Nadia meeting with that guy was just bad news but Merlin help anyone who thought her sister wouldn’t find a way to get where she wanted so it was just easier for Hols to take her herself.*

 **Nadia:** *She beams and then shakes her head, excited.* No, for me. *It was a good thing she was out if that corridor with the cells already because if she would have figured it out over there, she would have kissed him right then.* I just gotta play this smart.

Hols: play what smart? Nadia-

 **Nadia:** Shh! *she puts her finger across Hols’ lips and then smiles.* A way to help. *Without having to sacrifice anybody, if she was discreet enough, and she would be.*

&.

**Ansel:** *The D'Grey manor hadn't changed in at least two centuries, he imagines with an eye roll. Drumming his fingers against the paneled wood against the top of the drawer, he doesn't turn even as his ears swivel and lips upturn in delight. There's a little sniff of an inhale as he recites aloud,* Bourbon - the good kind, rather, the expensive kind -- leather, desperation ... *He turns now, fingers slapping down and smirking at him,* Tony! I'd heard you were back home. You been avoiding me?

 **Tony:** Top marks, Balto! *he smirks as he takes a sip, figuring it was only a mattered of time before Hans' protégé came sniffing around. He just didn't think it would be quite so literal. He swirls the drink in the glass and then his eyebrows arch* Now, why would I do that? You're my favorite friendly neighborhood psycho killer. *Grins* Want a glass of desperate bourbon?

 **Ansel:** Aw, mate you shouldn’t flatter so much -- I’ll blush. *Patting the top of the desk as he draws himself up smoothly, the drawer slides itself shut. His eyes never blink or desert Tony’s, but his ears were listening pleased to the heart rate of the man (well almost) and says,* Your brother, *The folder he’d taken out of the drawer, he lifts off the top of it and casts eyes down to peruse it,* has the most amusing security system. This is fascinating, truly, details every thing one needs to know about their air conditioner. I particularly enjoy the illustrations, *he holds up what look like crayon drawings of a five year old,* you do those?

 **Tony:** *His gaze now focuses on the hand that was patting the desk, more annoyed than concerned (and yet both) on Olivier's behalf (it wasn't his desk after all). Smirking as pleasantly as he could still, he walked over to the liquor cabinet, surprised Ansel hadn't helped himself to that as well. He popped open a decanter and poured, listening to the Frenchman, and worse, Parisian, continue to talk before finally turning around to extend the drink. With a glance at the drawing, he wondered briefly why his brother would keep a drawing he made when he was toddler before concluding, oh it must have been secrect sentimentalist dear old dad. He tuts his tongue.* Wrong brother. This is clearly a Da Vinci masterpiece, I'm more of a Picasso man myself.

 **Ansel:** *With a tiny chuckle he half swallows, he accepts the drink. The bitter tang of the drink only sweetened the atmosphere to him. Still perusing the drawing, something in Tony’s tone makes him lift his gaze from the sheet. A smirk settles on his drink-coated lips.* Ah you’re right. Should have realized. My apologies mate. *He clutches the drawing at his chest as if to his heart, eyes agleam,* Your father’s desk, then? Tell me Tony, did he ever keep anything of yours? *With a head tilt, and apparantly waving this off,* Course not, what am I saying, *another quick sip, gasp, and in half-fake apology,* not that you should let that bother you, really. My own dear father didn’t keep anything of mine either.

 **Tony:** *He kept two bullets and a stake of mine in the end, he almost said but simply pursed his lips with a small smirk and shrugged, chuckling before he remarked.* Not that I'm aware of. *His eyebrows arch* Why? Still feeling some resentment for your daddy? In that case, I'm sorry to say that our Failures Anonymous meetings are held on Tuesday nights, not Wednesdays. Try again next week. *He takes a sip too.*

 **Ansel:** *If this was a game (and it was, game of what, game of life), then he had to give the man credit. He (finally) figured out not just how to play it, but how to change the rules. How delightful. He lowers the drawing back to the desk and tsks against the roof of his mouth,* Ah, you shouldn’t call yourself a failure,*pushing it to a place of prominance and then raising his eyes from it,* I mean. Surely that must be one of the twelve steps. *After another slow swig, he swirls the drink back and forth, adding offhand with wiggling fingers,* Along with the alcoholism...now, I forget exactly, the little details all just -- so many of them. -Do- you have increased tolerance from those vamp genes?

 **Tony:** Three steps, actually. Really quite simple. Step one: *he holds up the drink and swirls it again before holding it up in a fake toast before taking a swig and sighing, smacking his lips.* Don't know, I don't have anything to compare it to. Never been out of my mind drunk before. Oh, we could make it a little contest! *smirks* Vamp tolerance versus wolf tolerance. You obviously have nothing better to do if you're just going through our things.

 **Ansel:** Olivier’s things. *He corrects with a finger tap against the glass, hmming behind closed lips.* Unless... *Then he pauses, his eyes narrow and he tilts his head.* Is it true then? Brave new volunteer for their little army? *He sets the glass down and folds his hands behind his back, still looking at him curious.*

 **Tony:** Well, what's his is mine and what's mine is mine. *Oh come on, did this idiot really think he could rile him up with this lame ass shit he'd been hearing for most of his life already. Oh, Wolfie 2.0, Tony expected better.* Yes, the rumors are true. Please *he waves a hand in front of his face,* no flash photography, and I'll sign autographs on your way out. *He finishes the drink and then sets the glass on the desk before turning around to walk away.*

 **Ansel:** Oh dear, *brow popping up, tongue sticking to his corner of his mouth,* I must have missed the invitation - still, tell me where you’re registered, I’ll be sure to send round a sauce pot. Or two dozen, considering your habits. *With a tiny pause as Tony walks away, he lets him get a few steps from the door before he speaks again, eyes on his back.* You know Tony, I’d expected better. *He’s pacing now, arms still clasped to give the appearance of a man at leisure, but his eyes were hardening,* So moral, so in command of that unfortunate genetic lust. You didn’t approve, after all -- with all your big brother was doing. Truly! Mate, we’re not so dislike in that either. Imagine. *He shrugs a shoulder, still pacing,* And then what with storming out of France in such a big rebellious show -- twice, if I recall properly, though the second time seemed a bit less illustrious...but no. You’re falling right in line, aren’t you? Oh, I know. Olivier asked, likely as not, but, *shrugs, with both shoulders, voice hard,* I bet deep down you’re looking forward to it -- can’t wait to get in one of their infamous little cells. *He stops walking, exhales as he looks at his back still, head tilting.* Finally a chance to prove it. Olivier isn’t the only one who can torture, Daddy. *His exhale is heated and he’s grey-eyed, gripping his own wrist; rigid, he hasn’t moved.* I did expect better.

 **Tony:** *He stopped because continuing to walk would give the impression he was running away. Normally, he wouldn't really give a fuck what Ansel thought of him but he couldn't pretend not to be the tiniest bit interested. He smirked when the werewolf called him moral and in command, glad that it appeared that way even if that image was more quickly washing down the drain. Then he continued and continued, and finally he had to turn around, his eyebrows raised, his smirk widening.* Am I that transparent? Yes, Ansel, you are right, oh so right, and the rest of us are peasants trudging along through a field of wrong. *He smiles again.* You'll learn to live with the disappointment, Ansel. After all, Daddy did. Then again, he is dead so not entirely a good choice of words.

 **Ansel:** *Ah, finally, he turned around. Honestly, when he was behaving so well too -- well, physically anyways, and wasn’t that a banner day for his impulse control then. His own tight smirk widening, he first says simply -- lightly,* Your words mate, not mine. *Factually correct. In all honesty, he was surprised that Tony would have agreed and his (well if he was being honest then:) taunting aside he was actually curious as for the reason.* Not entirely. But then the man did manage to live a century after his death, well -- in a manner of speaking anyway, so why thank you, again. Flattering. *He pats his cheeks.* I do hope I’m not blushing. Still light, still pleasant, he took a few steps forward, shrugging a shoulder,* Well, it was my mistake, expecting that any D’Grey might care for an instant what happens when you shove hard drugs into kids hands like it’s candy but --as I said. *His hands go up, faking innocence even as he stops walking,* My mistake. And why should you listen to me, after all? Just your friendly neighborhood killer psycho. Or, hold on, *his eyes and head cock as he looks to the ceiling, sucking on his lip,* think I’ve got that backwards.

 **Tony:** Ah! Now see *he holds up a finger up and then wags it, pointing at Ansel with a smirk now to hide the fact that he was actually curious over the source of the man's irritation* that is too specific a complaint to be random. Let's talk it out, it's good for the soul. Reckon you still have one of those? *Stefanie thought he did, and Tony was of the mindset that anyone who wanted to be saved could be saved, so he'd go on a leap of faith here, like the fictional assassins of old.* Obviously, you have a problem with the established cartel and oh I bet your impulse issues stemmed from long beyond your wolf days. Did you used to shoot up, Fido? Snort a few rails? But look at you now! *his hands go out to gesture to him before dropping them to smack his legs* Where you've gotten! Serious role model for these kids. Say no to drugs, say yes to murder! *He smirks, though he can feel the distaste for himself growing.*

You know you're helping to keep those drugs in the street too. Following Papa Alpha's directions and orders and Hans doing what Gustav tells him to, and Gustav is currently the one calling the shots in this country so really, Ansel. You're pointing a finger at me, and you've got three fingers pointed at yourself.

 **Ansel:** Oh, it’s far from random. *There was a twitch in his jaw. And one around his eyes at the third new nickname -- honestly, did Tony have memory issues remembering names? He wouldn’t think about the technical truth of those statements, the marks were gone from his arm the moment Hans had given him the bite and he thought considering all he’d taken on since; God could give him that one and grant they were gone from his life entirely (look at that Stefanie! He was believing in God after all).* No offense mate, but if I was looking to have my soul saved, there’s pretty little blondes carrying Bibles everywhere that would have my attention first. Vivé la Paris, eh? *He winks, as if he didn’t have the particular blonde in mind. Then his jaw tightens as he thinks: wasn’t I just saying the same to Hans?* Now. Did we not just establish that it’s you whose just offered Gustav your uh--oh so humble services? *He arches an eyebrow as he ponders, wondering where he’s heard that last statement before and then just shrugs it off. Mimicing with distaste, yet ease, his words were slow and his head shaking,* From soul-saving to torture, look at you now.

 **Tony:** Hey. *he held his hands up in the air, as if it were that easy to shed off blame and cast on innocence* I never claimed not to be a hypocrite here. *He smirks before shrugging, putting his hands back inside the pockets of his leather jacket, ignoring entirely the comment of bible-carrying-blondes.* Yep, look at me now. Young, hot, rich, finally allowing myself to sate my bloodlust. *He arches his eyebrow again, the smirk never once leaving his expression. They were good friends see, he and this smirk. They'd been through a lot together, always there, his most faithful of facial expressions.* Living la vida loca! In your case it's living la vida lupo. *Grins.* Get it? Lupo? As in loup? As in wolf? Cause you are one? Huh. *he shrugs and then says innocently enough.* Stefanie would have laughed.

 **Ansel:** Why, *he starts to fold his arms on his chest and tilts his head as if this is brand new information and thinks it over carefully for a second,* hold on then, what seems to be the problem here? We could be the best of friends, you and I. *It took him a moment to realize where he’d gotten that phrase from, and though the smirk didn’t run off his face he did exhale through firm-clenched teeth. His eyes still dark, they only brighten at that name and his hand pops up,* Ah! See, was wondering when you’d name drop her. Go on then. *He drops his own arms to his thighs now (mocking the flamboyantly expressive Italians was as much fun as mimicing anyone’s gestures back to them; his eyes picked up much more than the normal human).* Say whatever it is you think will make me jealous, *he waves his hand,* go on. It has been a tad bit lacking in the entertainment department today, see, and I’d love to hear this particular tale of pathetic delusion of yours.

 **Tony:** No. *He says cheerily with a grin on his face.* We really couldn't. *And that could very well make him the same hypocrite he had never promised he could never be (double negatives, ouch), but he didn't really care at the moment. Tony knew why he was doing these things, he had a purpose, a goal, and it was pretty fucking noble (though apparently not very humble) and Ansel, well, he didn't. He smirks and then shakes his head as he is mocked before taking a few steps forward.* Please, I'm a gentleman, I don't kiss and tell. Nope. *He shook his head again and then stopped again when he was near enough, all serious.* Instead, I'm gonna give you some advice: stop being a dick. *His eyebrows arch* In case -you're- under a delusion here, Stefanie cares about you, and gives a shit about what happens to you. Obviously, so do you, you saved her. No, sorry, you fucked her, then you saved her, then you left her. She deserves a lot more respect than you give her, she deserves a lot more, exclamation mark. Because period just doesn't quite drive the point home well enough. So I'll say it again. Stop being a dick.

 **Ansel:** *At first he’d wanted to laugh, when Tony chose to take steps near him. Oh, he knew very well it wasn’t as foolish a move as it was with most -- that the man was as strong as him (well, nearly, he simply was being generous). All the more enticing. He’d never fought hand-to-hand with a hybrid like Tony was; he could use the challenge. Especially after it had been such dreadfully dull week (and a disappointing one, as searching all of London’s jail cells had yielded no Rachelle, which only made him angrier). So he was on edge. A dangerous edge; and Tony’s advances might have been humorous, but his words -- well. Now would be the time to find an excuse and leave. Take a step back from the edge he’s been dancing on for so long. It would be a long way to fall, and he’s not sure he’d ever hit the bottom. But it’s late, and he feels high on adrenaline and camaraderie, so he steps over the threshold.

Switch. And slam.

As it turned out, he wasn’t being generous: punching his jaw was like punching a wall, but well, walls had their merits, and so did the blood glistening on the edge of his knuckles. It hovers near his cheek a second as he thinks to wipe it off -- then thinks better of it. The man had proclaimed he was finally allowing himself to slate his bloodlust after all - hadn’t he?* In case you were wondering.

Eyes dark, he steps back, stretching his fingers and admiring his handiwork. Drinking in that anger, the delicious sound of bone’s crunching, the heated breath. Rolling up his sleeves he adds brightly, even mildly,* I’m truly grateful for that revolutionary advice. You see, I left her with -you-. Thank you, for taking care of her, *his chin lifts,* you’ve gone above the call. Beyond, actually. So, relax, darling. *His arms stretch beside him and he takes a step forward saying simply,* I just want us to be even.

 **Tony:** *Mother.fucker.

Ansel hit with the force of a thirty ton freight train, a punch that would have easily killed a normal man by the sheer strength behind it alone. That said, he was still alive, but bleeding and with a broken jaw. His bottom lip was cut and as he tasted the metallic blood, he became rigid in place, turned away from Ansel, his hand hovering over his mouth. Tony chided himself for letting a simple thing as a busted lip affect him, reach his bones, yearn to tear the throat out of the other man and drink until he was bathed in it. He hated it, detested it, and loathed Ansel at that moment.

He hissed in pain again, narrowing his eyes in a heated glare as he just stepped back then forward again, sauntering in the same area. Tony swallowed, let his hand drop and forced himself to spit the blood pooling in his mouth instead of swallowing it the same way he forced himself to smirk.* Funny though, she called to warn you might pop by. So I made her a deal, you injure me, she gets to nurse -me- back to health. Nurse costume not included, but you know, I have a good imagination.

 **Ansel:** *As he clips the cuff of his shirt to leave his forearm exposed, his eyes track the blood he spit at the carpet (then tuts, thinking, Olivier must be so fussy about such things). His hands land near his hips as if to consider the new bit of information (and perhaps the mental image of Stefanie in such a costume. Halloween, two -- no, three years ago, he thinks, lips curling). He smiles like he always does, like a misbehaving child, guilty of nothing but being playful and fun, and in possession of getting-away-with-murder-literally dimples.* Quite right, in fact, reminds me. *Reaching inside his breast pocket, he pulls out one of the single-serving gelato containers, and tosses it to the man with a little extra flare to his fingers, still not cleaning off the blood.* Promised her I’d give you that - for the inevitable heartbreak.

*Then he tilts his head, feels the silence that follows his words filling up the air between them like a fog, thick and blinding and dangerous. Rubbing his thumb back and forth in the scarlet that tops his knuckles, he waits. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, now. He sounds almost reassuring,* Having trouble collecting yourself? I’ll wait. *Tongue flicking against his own bottom lip, the muscle above his eyes twitches again with his hiss,* Though I should mention, she only called you to prove a point to me in the first place.

 **Tony:** *Catching the gelato cup (at least Ansel had good taste when it came to ice cream), he smirks again through his annoying pain (more annoying than anything else), and chuckles through the man's words. How did that clever line go again- oh yes, I'm rubber and you're glue? He might as well be thinking of childish lines when they had regressed into playground drama.

Well, in the playground he was sure the kids didn't lust after each other's blood or have to force themselves from attacking like he wanted to.* Yeah, that could be entirely true. *He laughs and wipes his lips again, his eyes didn't know whether to focus on the blood on his own hand or on Ansel's.* But, mate, you just brought a fucking container of gelato to this. Are we really going to discuss who's more pathetic? *He tosses the ice cream back to Ansel*

I see you need it more than I do, for the previous heartbreak you just can't quite get over. Eat it on your way out, I'm done playing this little game.

 **Ansel:** Don’t mind if I do, then. *Easily catching the gelato with the left hand, he lifts his knuckles back to his mouth and licks just the edge of it. The tip of his tongue sticks, slides along the ridges and is careful not to quite clean his hand whole before darting back, sucking on the edge of his lip. All the while he glares at Tony -- well, stares at him with dark, humorous intent. But honestly, he didn’t want to think about the truth of those particular words and -- staying here was only proving the point. Then he drops his hand, saying simply,* Do tell you’re brother we’re awaiting that meeting, won’t you? And I suppose, tell him sorry for the mess.

*He gestured mindlessly over his shoulder even though he’d only touched the one folder - then immediately curls his hand right back into a fist and -- laughing once under his breath, launches it again. This to his neck, uppercut, as he expected face-on would be deflected. That, was the mess he was referring too. He did know how protective Olivier was, after all. Ah well. Some things couldn’t be helped.

The other hand fixes his collar. Pops the button out. As he cocks his head he says breathing harshly, fingers stretching again with more blood and with a customary little smirk,* There. -Now- we’re even.

*For now, anyway. And he left the same way he came; through the front window, swinging over the side of the railings and landing on the ground -- already transformed.*

 **Tony:** *That hit caught him off balance, made him turn on the spot and groan as he brought his hand to his neck. So focused was he on controlling himself that his defenses were shot. Well, last fucking time he had any sort of consideration for Ansel fucking Dorat.

He walked over to the window after Ansel leaped out and closed it shut, only to have it shatter. Not giving a fuck about cleaning it up, he turned away from it, digging little pieces of glass out of his hand now as he kicked a chair over.* Fucking werewolves. 'Oh, I know! I'll stop by the store on my way and get a carton of ice cream' *heads to the liquor cabinet, skipping the decanters and going straight for a bottle. The alcohol helped the urge, calmed the urge. He popped the cork off with a nail.* 'And then I shall throw it at him for dramatic effect! Hahaha, aren't I so clever? Oh yes, mustache twirl, evil laugh, dramatic pan zoom from my face to the ceiling, look how clever I am!'

*The alcohol stings the inside of his mouth but he ignores it and then narrows his eyes as he sees his shirt is stained with the blood. That was Prada, that was fucking Prada. Fucking great. He continues mocking, lightening the situation, before he initiated an interspecies war after another chug of the bourbon.* 'Look, Stef, look see what I did, Stef? Oh, please love me! Will you love me now? I'm such a good boy, did I do good Daddy Alpha? Can we play fetch now? Oh can we?!' *He scoffs and then goes over to write a note on the desk for Olivier. He had, after all, asked Tony to comment on any problems with the security.

_'Stop feeding the fucking strays, they keep coming back. And tell your husband he needs shorter leashes for his pups. xoxo, Tony.'_

&.

**Eliza:** That’s rule number one. *Her tongue flicks at the whipped cream against her bottom lip. Though it kind of became pointless the instant she sucks on thumb again, the tip of it accidentally swiping more cream against her skin.*

 **Hans:** Rule? *Or rather that was what he’d been about to say. Then he looked up, saw Eliza was sucking on her thumb and the white dot, and his lips curl in base amusement.* Luv, you got—*Oh, he couldn’t. A gentleman would point out the mark, wouldn’t he? The animal…his tongue ghosts the roof of his mouth. As ever, he decides to compromise. Laying her passport down, he leans over and brushes the tip of her nose clean, smirking,* never mind.

 **Eliza:** *Breath and motion swallowed in an instant as he leans in, she forces her back straight. She wasn’t scared of him. Eliza hadn’t ever been, but she tried not to acknowledge that, because it had to be fear (and loathing) that had sparked her skin alight every time he was close. That was before. Before…hadn’t existed, though. Screwing her eyes up in bemusement and a playful glare, she says,* You did that on purpose.

 **Hans:** How ironic. *He says with a low hum, pleased with himself and leaning back against the counter, arms relaxed against the blue granite.* I was just going to say the same of you, darling.

 **Eliza:** *Cocking an eyebrow, she pulls back from him, grabs the bottle of whipped cream.* On purpose? I wouldn’t need to work that hard, sweetie, you’ve always been too familiar.

 **Hans:** So I’ve heard. *Light, watching her move to stick the whipped cream back in the fridge. God, he loved skirts.And you knew it was true if even he was appealing to God.* And you’ve always enjoyed it.

 **Eliza:** I have not.

 **Hans:** Really? *Smirking, his tongue buried in his cheek. Whole face arranging in that way of “oh please” that made it clear to him he’d spent too much time with his baby sister in the last two days, he shakes his head. Playful and dismissive,* Your heart rate suggests otherwise.

 **Eliza:** *Swiveling, her hand flies from her hip,* Stop that!

 **Hans:** Stop…

 **Eliza:** Stop…using those..those stupid, super alpha-wolf abilities to listen to my heart rate and just wonder like the rest of us, okay, because it is not fair.

 **Hans:** *Those adjectives had only made him smirk further, enjoying the attitude as he had from the moment he arrived. Easily,* I’m not the rest, luv.

 **Eliza:** *And now her hands clap together under her nose, wiggling like she was praying and she used a stiletto to close the fridge. She just groans, stalks to the counter and picks up the chocolate sprinkles.* Then…pretend. It’s polite.

 **Hans:** *Genuinely, he had always appreciated Eliza’s attitude — the fact that this sixteen year old (she wouldn’t feel that way now he thinks, wondering at his own heart pang) had never been afraid to tell -him- what she thought was…impressive. Now it’s on full show, all laced together with heavy black liner, red lips and heels. As she shoves a bowl across the counter to him, he catches it lazily, super alpha-wolf abilities and what not.* Rule one? *He eyes her (new) passport once more.*

 **Eliza:** …oh. Right. *As she holds out the plastic container of sprinkles, she kept it open to the rainbow side instead. Just to bug him. Besides, who didn’t like rainbow sprinkles?!* Eliza Culpeper. That’s who I am. *She gestures at the passport…damn thing.*

 **Hans:** *Cocking an eyebrow once more, it arches slowly this time. Huh. Call me Hans, he thinks of a memory he hadn’t in years and almost tears his gaze from hers. Stubborn and willful until the end, he refuses even to blink instead.* I understand.

 **Eliza:** *Rule One: Her name. Eliza Simmons was the girl who’d been before. The girl who’d looked Harper in the eye and sworn to keep her self safe, told him to feign giving her the potion when the boss told him to do it. That was who then sat for two hours with him trying different ways to break into her mind (who’d urged him with sweet word a few times to push harder, where now she’d snap for the same). While they practiced, Eliza Simmons put everything she was in a box in her head: her affable warmth, her muggle music and band t-shirts, her loves. Harper’s son who’d been her brother, her boyfriend of sooo-blue eyes and sunshine smile. Her fellow Slythie halfblood who understood (and his girl), her blonde bombshell (the original actually), her best friend the gossip Queen. Her mother, the cousins that were sisters. Her father. (Especially her father). All in the box, so she wouldn’t think their names, wouldn’t endanger them.

Oddly, that had been harder than the personality traits she couldn’t have now. They weren’t forgotten…nor was Eliza Simmons, she just was the one who felt those things, who cared about those people. So she, Eliza, doesn’t mind rule number one at all. It made it easier to keep everything separate. I understand, he and his gaze said. Yes, he would. She nods. Where she wasn’t afraid of Hans…she was of going back to that person who’d been ready to die, who might have. At least not until Gustav was dead.

Happily, that hadn’t changed at all and happier yet — it was these rules that would make it happen.

These rules and that box; the one she stuffed in a locked room in her head and hid the key elsewhere. Harper had said he’d never seen anything like her mind’s defenses, and it was a point of pride for her. That was strength. A talent, a skill she was innately that provides a link untenable towards breakage or even strain. It wasn’t the only fucking thing she was good at, just the place to start. Eliza Culpeper had been born.

Picking up a silver spoon, she scoops ice cream into her mouth and smirks back at Hans,* Aww. Look. You’re having a moment Hans.

 **Hans:** *The hair (straight as sticks, gone were the curls that bounced), the clothes (it was only tight where it bothered to cover), the make-up (he knew too well that was what covers)…all telling of her transformation. It didn’t have to be a bad thing, he wants to tell her— she had fought, she had survived. (And he approves of the clothes if only on animalistic instinct). The rigor and hell was not worth it, but once suffered — you couldn’t go back, and he did understand: Eliza hadn’t died.

The caterpillar was becoming a butterfly. He wants to tell her—it’s on the tip of his tongue, when she mocks him in a way Eliza never had and he finds himself laughing instead.* And you’re telling me I’m impolite?

 **Eliza:** You are impolite, Hans. *Sucking on the end of the spoon as if clinging to it, she sits down in the little kitchen.* Rude, perverse.You like it. *The spoon slides out slowly, reloading with sprinkles, whip and ice cream.*

 **Hans:** I suppose I can’t deny that. *Chuckling, there’s a pop of plastic while he closes the container, looks over his shoulder.* You should get the cinnamon ones.

 **Eliza:** *Tapping her heel on the floor, twirling a straight blonde strand,* You telling me what to do?

 **Hans:** *Picking his bowl up and sliding in beside her (and maybe he hovers over her back but bloody hell, that hair twirl skirts the nape of her neck in view).* Ah, of course not.

 **Eliza:** *She chuckles to hide momentary breathlessness as he leans near her (fucking (stupid) (alpha) wolf warmth spreading that flush up her spine). Eying him sideways, she says, flippant.* Good. You mayyy be alpha but, I’m not one of your little bitches.

 **Hans:** *Amused, his eyebrow writes itself into his forehead as if it knew it had cause to stay there.* There’s nothing little about you, *he toasts her with his spoon,* Miss Culpeper. *And he takes the bite through a smirk.*

 **Eliza:** *She beams…only for her eyes to narrow suspiciously.* Did you just call me a bitch?

 **Hans:** No. *His lips flick.*

 **Eliza:** *Yeah, he wouldn’t give in that easily. Suspicious yet (well, he was bloody waiting all expectantly) she waits herself…and then groans.* I called myself one, you mean.

 **Hans:** *Pleasant,* Not at all.

 **Eliza:** *She blinks.*

 **Hans:** You called yourself -my- bitch.

 **Eliza:** *There’s a pause, while she catches her breath in her throat. Then— squeaks, the silver spoon popped out and she brandishes it at him like a weapon (while laughing),* Yo—oh—tha—

 **Hans:** *Chuckles peppering his exhale as he observes the spoon, he holds hands up as if to ward her off, in reality drawing her closer.* You know that isn’t actual silver, right?

 **Eliza:** *Letting out a squeak as he pushes her hand away, she huffs.* You do know I could make it hurt you anyway right?

 **Hans:** *Licking the corner of his lips in a quick little flick, that one he couldn’t let stand.* Not to doubt your abilities luv, but I’m fairly confident you couldn’t hurt me.

 **Eliza:** *She pauses. Spoon back in her mouth. Locking her gaze to his, searching his eyes as a shiver slips up her spine at the brief reminder. So then she nods, saying softer,* Not physically, you’re right.

 **Hans:** *His brows furrow, and he pauses eating the sundae too. Surveying her gaze so strictly, he realizes what she’s about to say— add to her agreement (for she could never just agree with him),* Is there only the one rule?

 **Eliza:** *As Hans ducks her gaze, she clucks her tongue at her lips. Ugh, men. Men! She didn’t need more than that flicker in his gaze to know he was thinking he couldn’t be hurt any other way. His question stalls her- but she points at him with the spoon anyway as if swearing to come back to it.* Huh? Oh, no. No, there’s others.

 **Hans:** *The indignant heat she swallowed threatens to intoxicate him as he inhales. Deeply. There’s a buzzing in his ears, so he only extends his hand as if to offer “do tell” with a proper invitation.*

 **Eliza:** I get the apartment. Honestly, this place is gorgeous: and look,* she points to the window — and for a moment she thinks, it’s a real one and feels her heart flutter.* You squint, then you can see the Eiffel is right there.

 **Hans:** *Tiny chuckle, saying lightly,* I don’t need to squint, luv.

 **Eliza:** *Oh honestly. Narrowing her gaze playfully,* You would if you were polite.

 **Hans:** *With a chuckle, he leans forward towards the window—looking at it over her shoulder. Pointedly locking his gaze with the tower, his ears swivel towards her instead, relishing the uptick in her chest and breathing out. Ponderous as he lets the stream of heat tickle at her neck, lick up to her ear. God, he did love that Chanel. Then he squints for show.*

 **Eliza:** *Oh Goddamn him, it—when he did that he made it very hard to concentrate on rules and the particulars.* Rude! *She whacks at his shoulder (light, her hand wasn’t all that recovered to go punching werewolves,) and scoots further down the couch.*

 **Hans:** I squinted, doll. *With a quick fake protestation, his hand up.*

 **Eliza:** You know what you did! *Her nose wrinkles, and she pokes it.*

 **Hans:** Oh no, I’m not using the uh—stupid, super alpha wolf abilities.

 **Eliza:** *She snorts in disbelief.*

 **Hans:** *Lifting his chin, continues idly,* I don’t need to, to see that flush. *He nods pleasantly at the top of her shirt, smirks as he pops his cheek out with his tongue and pointedly resumes eating.*

 **Eliza:** Seriously?! *Her voice near screeches and she thinks oddly it sounded familiar- a phrase she has said before. Sixteen year olds squeak like that. Rule two breaks a moment as she thinks of Rory, thinks with a hiss how she missed him, and…missed it being easy and…no. She couldn’t, she’d break. Swallowing further revelations, she twists to find her pillow and hugs it. Then she resumes eating ice cream, and sucking on the spoon.* I get the apartment.

 **Hans:** *He chuckles her repeat, approving of the stubborn remark, but only nods.*

 **Eliza:** And a cellphone, one that restricts my number too. Internet is similarly coded. *God, she felt like she was fucking reciting a severance package but they were simple rules. As long as she doesn’t finish them: i get the apartment, the cell, the internet — a window, could go outside. In response, all she had to do was sell her soul.* Got a credit card too! Kind of maxed that in the first uh.. three hours. *With a sheepish smile,* I had a lot to buy though! *Not just for herself; there was a bag in the closet she had paid cash for because dammit Harper was getting that green sweater.

As rather in her case…pretend to sell her soul. She had help. As she looks at Hans, she stills at the strange look in his eyes.* …what?

 **Hans:** *He looks away instantly. Rubbing at his lip and turning an exhale loaded with more than he knew what to do with into a chuckle.* Just surprised it took a whole three hours.

 **Eliza:** *That wasn’t it. She might not have his wolfie abilities but she knew what it meant when you were unable to look a person in the eye with laughter burning hot and sounding cold.

Hans had gone through it too. He hadn’t said; nothing beyond the answering question the last few seconds, the last few time she saw him. Yet those little words — “how do you think i was bitten?” — seven words, that was all it took, for him to tell her yes, and worse.* It would only have taken two but see, I stopped for ice cream.

 **Hans:** *Her voice was soft. Something sticks in his throat, but he spins back to look at her and nods fast and sudden as if telling her he appreciated that and forgetting about it in the same jerk.* Poison of choice, I see. *He lifts the bowl.*

 **Eliza:** Well, *smirking,* I spent too much time yanking the flask out of…*she catches and furrows her brow,* well…I’m not a hypocrite.

 **Hans:** *He nods. There was a momentary stillness about the room. Without taking his gaze from hers, he listens. The window was open (He’d done that too; Rachelle had spent nearly a month outside), a breeze had taken her curtain.

The heat was on; the motor freely rotating in the ceiling. He could hear her new laptop was on in the other room, the beep of a digital clock. Neither blink. That impresses him, he thinks, that she wasn’t looking away. Her face hadn’t shifted; there was nothing in her eyes, her breath hadn’t caught, the flush in her cheeks had receded. All make-up and lace and heels. …and yet with the half-started sentence, her heart had skipped hard, fast and all out disappeared a few moments. Alcott, he thinks.*

 **Eliza:** *Exhaling, she smiles at him without looking away, and shrugs a shoulder.* That’s rule two. I can’t contact anyone who knew me. *Without blinking, she chuckles,* As if I want to. *Rule two, she had to appear not to care. Not a flicker of her true affections could show, not an instant, or she would be lost. Reloading the spoon with her sugary treat, she pauses rule three to focus on eating. Like she could swallow her words.*

 **Hans:** *That makes his brows furrow curiously, speaking to ignore another pang in his chest.* You don’t have to say that. *Or maybe he didn’t ignore it as well as he thought. Gaze flicking to the ice cream again, he mutters something she doesn’t understand.*

 **Eliza:** *Her eyebrow cocks, surprised by his tone more than his words. Of course she expected that: to hear them all try and trick her. Exhaling, she starts to say,* Telling me what to do agai—?

 **Hans:** Eliza. *He cuts off, hitting his hand in the air.* I’m not. Agency, kind of a big deal with me.

 **Eliza:** *Her brows wrinkle together, mouth forms an ‘oh’ and she exhales.* Hans, I did make my choice.

 **Hans:** *Arching his eyebrows, jerks his head like he’s saying that he knew that already.*

 **Eliza:** *They look at each other for a moment and then says slowly,* Then wha—

 **Hans:** Did Angel give you a potion? *He half exhales, chewing on his bottom lip pushing away the urge to change and already wished he took it back.*

 **Eliza:** *Exhaling,* …yes, a lot of them-

 **Hans:** I don’t mean for…never mind.

 **Eliza:** *Flustered as he stands up and spins around, her eyebrows knit together.* You all right?

 **Hans:** *He exhales. The place would be bugged with spells; they couldn’t actually talk. The moment she’d said that…it was just…he rubs his forehead. His hands goes to his hip, he sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and looks at the passport. Eliza Culpeper. What a hypocrite he’d be if he — he rubs at the back of his neck. Hearing how her heart was racing, he shuts his eyes and waits until she’s gotten up…letting her move right behind him, murmuring her name. When he spins back, his usual smirk is in place, and he just nods at her.* You know me luv. I’m always fine.

 **Eliza:** *Eyes narrowing, a little breathless.* Hans.

 **Hans:** Just wanted to make sure he hadn’t skimped, that’s all.

 **Eliza:** *Her confusion instantly colors hot, irritated beyond belief by the cover and she exhales.* Don’t do that, Hans, Angel helped me—

 **Hans:** *That makes his breath catch, but he shakes it away with another head-jerk.* Yeah, I see that.

 **Eliza:** *Taking a step forward,* Stop.

 **Hans:** *Shrugs, but as she was moving closer, he can’t bring himself to move away,* Stop what?

 **Eliza:** *Crisply,* You’re right, I do know you. And you want people to believe that, that nothing touches you and-

 **Hans:** *His bottom lip steels, but as her hand came up as she said that he can’t help but look at it. She looked like she hadn’t decided if she’d hit or caress. A usual look for him, he thinks, and crimson flashes through his gaze—goddammit.*

 **Eliza:** And when you do get hurt, you lash out—you hurt someone. I know that for whatever blasted reason, you just got angry with him and I am not, *another step,* going to let you just go off and hurt him. Not on my behalf, not on anyone’s behalf—you leave him alone.

 **Hans:** *His head tilts, and he’s half through snapping,* Now you’re telling me what to do-

 **Eliza:** *Her hands fall at her sides,* Yup, I am. Live with it. And you tell your little bitches to leave him alone too. Or I’ll make them.

 **Hans:** *In low heat,* Eliza. *That was the reason, that—she’d strode up to him like this once before and told him that people make themselves monsters. Now she was threatening him, now…*

 **Eliza:** I love him, Hans. *She snaps at the way he says her name, not certain why for a moment it made her want to burst into tears. She didn’t. Eliza was done with that, she didn’t let them dictate her emotions or actions—no. She’d taken that faked potion willingly and if it made her a liar than screw it. Only the thing was, Hans seemed to know about the potion-and why on Earth would he give a damn if she was there willingly or because of a magical binary switchie thing!? (Because this was Hans, and nothing mattered more to him than freedom for those he loved, she thinks, though he hadn’t and wouldn’t phrase it that way). After a quick intake, she takes the chance. Eyes slits, hand curled with nails like a cat, she hisses,* Have for a long time.

 **Hans:** *All he’d been planning to say slips out of lips that burst apart in one hot exhale at that last sentence. A long time? It had only been a few blasted weeks—unless—* Oh how long could it be?! *And he arches an eyebrow at her, trying to restrain from wincing at how he had snapped.*

 **Eliza:** *He got it. She arches an eyebrow back, taking a step forward. And then nods. It was the most she dared, whomever was listening—Harper couldn’t personally debug her apartment, he couldn’t get out of the place, it was (one of many, many reasons) why she was so damned determined to do this. And give him his sweater.*

 **Hans:** *The nod told him everything her eyes hadn’t already— which was nothing, for she still had the most expressive eyes he thought he’d ever seen. He lifts his chin. The only way it could be long, would be if she knew he was Alcott’s father. His gaze darts down at the thought; she was still coming closer. When he looked up, he stopped her, his arm moving as if silk in the air to rest on her shoulder.* Your concern is duly noted. Admirable, you could fall in love so fast.

 **Eliza:** Oh, don’t be a dick. *That slipped out. Brimming and shaking with the understanding he got it, she goes motionless at his hand on her shoulder. Mutters,* Men.

 **Hans:** *A smirk flicks up at the oh-so-very Eliza mutter and he’s surprised to realize he was breathing clearer. She was doing more than fighting, he realizes and for some reason…for a moment, he smiles.* Sorry, luv. Can’t help being what I am.

 **Eliza:** *Tiny voice for a moment, she ventures weighted,* You want people to be sure you have one, that’s all.

 **Hans:** *His head tilts back as he hears the phrasing and wonders which of her friends she was quoting—or remembering. Really no way to narrow that down, as they all hated him. So he simply shrugs, wicked as he asks,* You want to check?

 **Eliza:** *Head swiveling from his hand and the grip and the warmth as that shoots fire down to her toes, she exhales in a half laugh. And then says primly,* I am not dignifying that with a response.

 **Hans:** *He winks, nodding.* That’s all right luv—denial’s the first step.

 **Eliza:** I am not denying any—Hans-! *Her voice cuts out as her breath did, as his other hand has her other shoulder too.*

 **Hans:** *Shhs, and leans down to look steadily in her wide eyes. She quiets, stilling under his gaze and repeats his name like a prayer, soft this time. Reminded of reality with the whisper, his smile softens and he shakes his head a fraction of an inch.* Eliza, no one talks to me that way. No one. And for a moment —* he shrugs, ignoring the momentary glint (and then realizing he’d memorized it at that second),* I just…thought you wouldn’t again.

 **Eliza:** *Breath and chuckles and maybe his name slip through lips that gape and she finally just says with a smile.* Not a chance of that, hun.

 **Hans:** Good. *He nods resolutely to himself, smile tight as he adds softer, so soft he wasn’t sure she could hear it,* You’re…just full of light, Eliza. Don’t lose that. *Before she has the chance to push him away or process what he’d said, he leans in and presses his lips to her cheek. The side of her lips twitch up as he meets her warm, painted skin —lingers for a heartbeat and then pulls back all at once, memorizing the look she gives him gaping and then slips away, shrugging with his palm out in open offering.*

&.

**Tony:** *Oh my, well, this was a totally unexpected, utter, complete and total surprise. Daniella Faye in the flat, making herself at home like she had been for the past few weeks. He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at her when she came around from the kitchen as he closed the door behind him, before proceeding to head on over to the couch and fall on it, collapse on it. He was way too fucking exhausted. Too exhausted to go get a drink and that said a lot.* Do you even have an apartment?

 **Daniella:** *Popping the little chocolate in her mouth, with one hand (the box was tucked beneath her arm), she pauses. Tony. And he...didn't even head straight to the bar or liquor cabinets (which was lucky, as she and Stefanie had done a decent job cleaning them out the previous night.) As he smirks at her she thinks: something has gone terribly wrong. And smirks back, voice bright,* Three. Noah, Dylan and Lila-Elise still stay where we did when moved out, there's mine, *she falls gracefully into the couch beside him and ignores the open book on the table,* and well, the place I used to share with Dad. *He lived there now sometimes, the subtext was, but she wasn't saying it aloud. Just from...habit more than anything, she realized. She smirks,* Oh, and Faye manor I suppose if I was desperate -- but my Uncle lives there. I could never leave France for long. But I like it here! It's cozy. Gorgeous view, fantastic memories on this couch, *her brows flick,* No chance of sibling intrusion. Well, there might be other intrusions, but still. How exciting. *She's undone the chocolate box (and if she was sharing her personalized chocolates, purchased courtesy of her father, then it was a big deal).  Popping another one in her mouth, she offers it to him with the lid only half open.* Don't peek. You'll ruin the surprise.

 **Tony:** Well, glad to know you're not homeless, at least. *He smirks amused, passing his hands over his face, pretending his jaw didn't still hurt and then watched her extend her box, offering her a piece of chocolate. Well, couldn't deny her that since she was being so generous. So he closed his eyes, made a show waving his finger in a swirl before picking one up.* My mamma always said, life is like a box of chocolates. You neva know what yehr gunna git. *He popped it in his mouth, savoring the taste and then decreed.* Cocunut rum. Pretty good. Secret admirer?

 **Daniella:** *Batting laughably round eyes,* You going to offer me a place if I was? I must say, I am a fan of the silk and leather and motorcycle over a white horse but baby, I don't need your rescuing. *And she winks, smirks and giggles--all of which turns perfectly genuine when he quotes Forrest Gump. Shutting her eyes and choosing one herself, she brightens with the hint of cherry and shakes her head.* Gift from the family. Forget which, *no she didn't,* it's sort of gigantic. *Twirling a black curl around her finger she finishes the chocolate before adding,* Glad to know someone in this family appreciates classics! Ah, wait. Should rephrase. Classics as in movies and rock, not classical as in the specific historical era or anything predating the nineteen fifties...give or take. I do approve of swing and jazz, but baby you're never gonna beat the king, *in her best Elvis voice,* he don't sound like nobody.

 **Tony:** *He scoffed and then chuckled* Please, if anything, I'd want you to rescue me. *He nodded and then smirked.* Besides, just needed to know if I was gonna feel bad for kicking you out. *He sighed in feigned suffering* But then you brought out the chocolates, so I suppose I'm not gonna kick you out. *He shrugged and nodded, glad to have someone appreciate his knowledge of the "classics". He smirked at her impression, curling his lip.* Uh huh, well little lady. There's a...whole city of uh, people who sound like Elvis. *He dropped the accent, after laughing once at himself.* But I'm not one of them. So how does the illustrious Daniella Faye develop an interest in muggle pop culture?

 **Daniella:** *She liked Tony. Had the moment she met him, when she discovered Olivier had a brother, only to watch him drop everything so he could chase after family. Of course, she chose not to remember why she had been in the flat in the first place. Yet, after the night with Hans over (interrupting his good brotherly attempt to suss her out--she tried not to be grateful to Hans), and now as he impersonates Elvis while clearly upset about something, she realized: oh she really liked him. Giggling and moving to tie the box back up, she shrugs.* You tried. All anyone can do in this world. Wouldn't it be nice if we still got the gold stars for it? *Then she laughs at the question, and sits back, kicking her heels off and says lightly,* Share circle time already, Tony? Damn, I don't have my teddy bear to pass around. *Hugging a pillow instead, she answers promptly and politely,* Let's see. I was emancipated at thirteen. Didn't take much with the legal system --actually it was more about letting them off the hook, since my father had bribed Beauxbatons to let me in, and it was Uncle Brandin who fixed my birth certificate and passport. So it was convincing Daddy that was the hard part.

*Tiny, small smile crossing her lips,* I still remember the look on the lawyers face actually, walking in. They had tea and crumpets out, preparing to tell me how hard emancipation was, that I had to prove an unstable home and did I really want to do this to my parents--about there I cut him off and just said all sweetly, well my mother hasn't seen me since I was nine because she was wanted in two countries for thirty plus murders, and oh, Daddy's Ryan Faye. *She winks at Tony.* They asked shocked, who I lived with now. I bat my eyes all innocent, why, with my parents and my baby brothers and sister, who else? They ask where, of course that I wouldn't tell them--I know how to evade trackers and stalkers too of course, and voila! Emancipated. Got custody of my siblings too. *Chuckling,* A wonderful day really. Anyway. Your question. One thing the lawyer said, was intelligent shockingly, and it stuck. That I had to be ready to know the world, handle it. So I tackled it. Starting with muggle studies, specifically their music. *Lips smack,* So, I went to the Big Apple for a year. And I thought Parisians were full of themselves! *She squeezes the pillow, then holds it over to him.* There. I shared! ...And I think you know my question.  
  
 **Tony:** I never got a gold star. Just one more reason I have such a horrible and traumatic personality. *Grins* But I did have a teacher when I was 8 who marked all my papers with little hearts. *He smirked, and then made himself comfortable, putting his hands behind his head as he listened to the wonderful story of her emancipation. Ha, if he'd tried to do that Remington would have just tried to kill him sooner. He smirked, picturing a 13 year old smirking and batting her eyelashes Daniella and lifted his head up to golf clap her achievement with a wink of his own and then went back to his comfort.* Inspiring! Well, glad to know I have a fellow enthusiast. *He took the pillow, holding it against his chest, under his chin.* Obviously, you want to know the reason for my perfect skin- well, I moisturize. *He smirked, wiggling his eyebrows* Ask it out loud anyways.

 **Daniella:** I actually think you have a delightful and impression-leaving personality--*lips flick,* it's all in the packaging, cheri. Apologies, publicist's curse. *She laughed and tilts her head at the story, thinking aloud,* Aww. You ever give her a valentine? I wager university years are...less adorable in this regard. *She pauses, spinning around on the couch to look at him closer. That was more for comfort: she wanted him to know whatever he said, she would not blink. And asks firm, but without a hint of judgement,* Who was it that you killed...and why?

 **Tony:** *Publicist, actually that made quite a lot of sense if he thought about it. Smirking briefly at the thought of his university years, and Professor Santana, he put the thought process aside and inhaled deeply to prepare.* Okay, bit of a long story. So I left France in a rebellious flare, the first time, but then eventually, I came back. One goal in mind: take down my father's organization. *He smirks and then shrugs, remembering how Olivier had said he'd met Daniella.* Something we have in common, I suppose. Didn't end up pretty, I was found out eventually. As you can imagine, father was...*smirks* displeased. But long story short, fast forward *makes a fast forward noise* Dad wanted to kill me, turn Olivier into a vampire, was in the middle of doing just that, so I killed him.

 **Daniella:** *In spite of herself, the fast forward noise made her chuckle. That was good, for though her smirk flicked wider at the mention they'd had that in common, she had to ignore the little pin that stuck in her heart--especially at the thought it wouldn't wind up pretty. She could imagine that. Too well. So she says flat, with a dry smirk,* I don't know about that, I happen think you're very pretty. Both you and your brother. *She amended with a flick to her lips, but her breath had caught. Twice. Breathing out slowly, then in and then out* ...when I first met Olivier...I thought I was meeting with Remington. I wondered after...why it's not...known, when, well. Remington is still feared. *Breathless, a twitch in her eyebrow,* ...this is why. Right? He hid it. Olivier.

 **Tony:** Such a flatterer, must be the publicist in you. *He smirked and then nodded as she shared that; Olivier had said the same as well. No, it wasn't well known at all. Their father's reputation proved useful yet and that was something Tony -couldn't- kill very easily.* Yep, he did. My caring older brother. See as many enemies as my father had, he also had many friends, people very loyal to him, that bastard was good at that-- many people who would retaliate. So, he protected me, covered up everything and in doing so, stepped up to the plate. Filled in the shoes. And I was so angry at him for "throwing his life away after I'd just saved it" that I left again. But wait, I'm getting off topic. *He gave her back the pillow.* So, my question, Miss Independent, -you know, we should really be doing this with rum instead- why would I tell you that when we've only met three times? Hmm *taps his forehead* food for thought.

 **Daniella:** Must be. Plus, I'm a girl. Makeovers are imperative. *She spoke with a wink, for one very simple reason; eager to avoid further discussion on specifics. Daniella wanted to believe it could still work out "pretty" in the end. She listens curiously; trying to keep her breath steady and at the same time…trying to look a little more surprised than she was. As in command of her expressions as she was when thirteen and convincing a federal judge to emancipate her without looking deeper into her background now, she nods.* Charisma's a dual-edged sword. One side makes for a benevolent leader, the other for a despotic tyrant…but the sword always makes you king.

*Her wide eyes blink, and then she gathers her hair, smirking idly at the title. Humming "miss if you wanna use that line you better not start, but she miscalculated…say ooo, she fell in love", to give herself a little time, she nods again (in absent agreement with his quoted statement -- for he must be quoting himself, it was too specific), then lifts her gaze back to his.* Nah, we don't need alcohol to be honest. *And she still had a headache. Irrelevant. Her brow arches, curious at his question.* Because you care about your brother, and I'm guessing that most women bolt after the first time they hear "D'Grey." *Her fingernail pops up," excepting of course the women who only hop into bed because, of that name. Infamy does have perks. If you call it that.

*Fluffing out her hair, she rests her head on her chin, looking at him calmly,* And because what your brother cares about you, you care about. Plus you want to look out for him. It's endearing. And I respect that. So you're sussing me out, that's fine, that's what I'm doing with you. *She bats her eyes again, innocent and more playful as she adds,* But tell me what? You already answered yes.

 **Tony:** Oh I didn't say it for the honesty factor. I'm already an open book. *Though, no perhaps more alcohol wasn't the solution right at the moment. He really needed more hobbies, of the not-murdering-people kind. Maybe he should think about taking up cross stitching or photography . He tilted his head to listen to Daniella's calculated response, nodding idly in honest agreement for the majority of what she said.* Can't argue with that. I also told you to make it clear it to you, if it wasn't already, the lengths I've gone and will go to protect and help my brother. You taking custody over your siblings at 13, I know you can understand that perfectly. So it's my prerogative, and you are getting closer to being in a position to either help him or ruin him, to say so generously, and I'm not sure he's realized that yet. *He smirks and then shrugs, sinking back down on the couch and closing his eyes.* Yeah, I'm sussing you out. Nice word by the way, don't hear it very often anymore.

 **Daniella:** *As much a warning as a statement of respect -- was it ironic that she respected him more for that? Admitting that he killed his father (and she shivers just once at her own mental reminder for the simple fact was: she didn't understand how a father could ever try to kill their son, and she equally couldn't imagine hurting her own), well. That couldn't have been easy for him. To say the fucking least. She arches an eyebrow slowly as she realizes one more thing and says softer,* I do understand it, yes. *It was why she'd decided to come in the first place -- though now, she had to admit to herself: even though she hadn't done anything (yet?), she was already very much in the thick of it.

Tilting her head, she smirks slowly adding,* If anything, I like you all the more for the idle threat. Bizarre, huh? Guess apple didn't fall too far then. I mean. Apart from the fact that I have no intention of killing, or kidnapping, or frankly physically harming in any respect with the potential exception of that bitch Clarice at work, because some people just need to be slapped -- what was my point? Oh, right, I'm not killing anyone. *She purses her lips and says softly,* No offense meant. *She burrows her chin in her palm, regarding him for a second before she adds, off-hand,* You know you also told me something that could ruin you. *With her brow cocked, still quite seriously,* You can trust me with that, but -- why should you have done so after only three conversations?

 **Tony:** *He smiles, pleased to hear so even if she was right, it was a bit odd that she only liked him better after his not so subtle threat. As long as it worked. He didn't want to cause any trouble after all, he wasn't that type of guy, but if he had just remained silent about this then he wouldn't have been the infamous Antonio D'Grey. Unperturbed as Daniella got a bit off topic, he waved his hand away, not feeling offended.* None taken. *He opened his eyes again, staring at her as she spoke more serious now and then he nodded with a sigh. Yeah, yeah he did.* Yeah, yeah I did. *Some thoughts were meant to be spoken out loud.* Because thanks to Hans and his little slip, you knew a detail without the story and if I hadn't told you it you'd be wondering, "oh who has Tony killed? Is it more than one? Does he enjoy it? Is he secretly a hypocrite and actually more psychopathic than anyone else here?" No chance of you ever trusting me.

And then there's the matter of Remington's death, eventually, spending more and more time with Olivier, you might have poked for the how, he would have gotten all broody "don't ask about it" trying to protect me and then ooh, more secrets, now you're suspecting him, you can't trust him, I'd rather not let you believe he could have killed his own father.

*He shrugs.* I plan ahead. I also have a little more faith than this entire conga line of acquaintances combined, which is just sad, really. So I'm more willing to make the first move to gain trust. Sometimes it works, sometimes it comes to bite me in the ass but *he scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air before letting them fall on his chest.* That's life. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you trust the right people, sometimes the wrong ones. It's all fantastic and spectacular.

*He holds a finger up* But sometimes the wrong people come and punch you in the face and that's -not- fantastic or spectacular.

 **Daniella:** *It was curious to her. He made such a point to threaten, yet demanded no response from her on the matter beyond "understood." She hadn't answered after all, if she did still intend on destroying the D'Grey organization (she did, she just no longer saw that as meaning "destroying D'Greys themselves," because in her opinion it was exactly the opposite and what was more -- judging by his oh-so-specific self-quote, Tony didn't disagree with her there). Nor had she said a word about the fact that she was (conveniently) in place to help -- or ruin. Though now, she adds off hand with a tiny chuckle,* As for my place? I like being in the position to like make things happen, Tony, life is dreadfully monotonous otherwise.

*She winks again. Amused as he starts waving things off, she nods alone once, chuckling and waving her hand with him along. Then she starts blinking, and stalls all together, holding her pointer finger up again as she inserts,* I wouldn't have pried about Remington specifically. *Partially because she hated the man herself and that - wouldn't be fair, he had been their father after all - and partially because, as she says,* What Hans said spoke to your character now -- though it spoke a quite bit more to his. And yes, I like to know the make of whom I'm spending time. But as to poking there, if Olivier said not to ask -- that particular event is in the past. *She wonders for a moment, if he's actually followed any of that, and then decides with no small surprise: he likely had. He was a lot more intelligent than she thought he usually tried to appear -- a lot more…cunning. Shrewd. But then, how could he have grown up in this family and not be? Dropping her finger, she adds softer,* And you didn't want me to think he'd killed his father, but you don't mind me knowing you did?

*She cocks her head, for a moment curiously sad. This time, she didn't shiver. And realized that if he was willing to admit that..than yes, she did trust him -- at least as much as she was willing to trust anyone. Rubbing over her lips with the back of her hand she chuckles a bit and adds,* Fair enough - with that I quite agree. Speaking of which. *She lifts the box again, pulls on the ribbon and offers the chocolates,* Which wrong person was it? If I had to guess, I'd say it's the one who called here yesterday and nearly made Stefanie break your brother's phone.

 **Tony:** Hear hear. *He nodded. He could appreciate that after all, even if before now all he had wanted to do was to run away and bury his head in the sand like a good little emu or ostrich, he wasn't sure what the difference between those two birds were anyways. Off topic.

Tony was both surprised and not to hear that Daniella wouldn't have kept poking for information, mostly because that was human nature- ever inquisitive, ever nosy. And Hans was a dick. That didn't exactly have an established train of thought but it was nevertheless true.*

Like I said, open book. Don't mind, and Olivier lets enough people, see: the world, think the worst of him. *Oh, he must have done something right if he was getting another chocolate out of her special box. He grabbed one, was delighted to find an orange filling (oranges were so great) and then scoffed.* If you're talking about Wolfie 2.0, then you're right! Ten points! *He rolls his eyes only to open them and look at her with a tilted head, now curious.* You girls have a sleepover? *He smirks.*

 **Daniella:** That is refreshing. *It was only ... a little bit a tease. While she pokes around the box looking for another cherry one (and breaking her own earlier rule, ah well; her rules, she made them) she abruptly stills at the remark. Her eyes flutter her gaze over the top of it, hooded and then she nods.* ...he does, yes. *Slowly twirling the red ribbon between her fingers and forgetting what type of chocolate it even was she pops in her mouth, hardly tastes it and then asks with a small smile,* What's the betting I can convince him to let me do a make-over piece? Or even just a make-over, I'll settle. Not that I have a problem with the suits, mind you, but he did call me desperate to borrow my brother's clothes to go out with you the other night. *And wasn't that strange, to see him wearing Dylan's clothes...she shook her head to clear the thought, smirk lifting as she clears her throat too.* We did actually. Seems both of us were looking for our "D'Grey boys" as she said, and avoid the manor at the same time. Couldn't have turned out better really. *Her eyebrows both pop up and wiggle together.*

 **Tony:** *He snorts, trying to imagine his brother having his image getting a makeover, or just getting a makeover in general and then he laughed. Oh, well, that made sense to him. He had been way too surprised to see Oli in normal clothing.* I knew those couldn't be his. *Was than really only a couple of nights ago? It felt like years. It might be weighing on his face too, damn.

He couldn't help it, his smirk grew wider and he wiggled his eyebrows* Sounds fun. Invite me next time. We'll listen to records and dance to millennium covers of 80s rock hits. And talk about boys and do our hair. *Smirks again* So she say nice things about me? Be careful of wounding my ego, please. I'm a sensitive man.

 **Daniella:** *She chuckles, raising her shoulder to shrug it away.* Well hey. He said Pink Floyd worked since you gave him that CD. *Amused as he continues, she reties the chocolates box listening and slid it into her purse - which she promptly clicked shut and shoved with her heels under the coffee table. Ear perking up, her eyes swivel back around at the last question and then she clasps her hands together, folds them over her knee and says lightly,* Are we having a girls night too then? *Lips flick,* Asking me for gossip? Sensitive...ah, right. Yet you still show an ego as... *Clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth -- but her smile is wide, honest, earnest.* What makes you think she even mentioned you?

 **Tony:** Pink Floyd works for everybody, pft, please. *He shrugs, a lazy grin covering his expression before he nods seriously at her light question.* Of course we are, just us gals. *He'd much prefer to have one of those, especially right now. All those years off at university, he got too used to things being normal and quiet. Problem was, in the end it was always a lie, just a very happy, very relaxing lie. It had been nice while it lasted too, and not every aspect of his actual life was difficult and stressful either. Just most of it. Alright, pity party over.* Because she came looking for me so I was probably on her mind and alcohol loosens the tongue? *He shrugs, before chuckling and shaking his head.* Nah, mostly hoped. I suppose.

 **Daniella:** Well in that case. *She gets up while he seemed to be thinking to himself for a moment and well -- he did look..wretched when he'd walked in (she wonders now if she'd interrupted him actually calling Stefanie by her being there and figures she'll find a way to slip out soon. Especially as she...had quite a bit to think about now). Either way, she wasn't going to interrupt his thoughts. ...the soothing notes of Floyd would, as she lays down the record. It was an actual record, not a CD, but the vinyl, high-velocity, best. She still sets it low, and immediately goes to the proper song with Tony's words, spinning back around and humming to it, "so you think you can tell, heaven from hell, blue sky from pain...", and then sits right back across from him, on the table, tucks her feet under it around the leg and says lightly,* Well. Then you didn't hope in vain. But even if it just us girls here, you know very well I can't break girl code. *She winks.* I can say she did defend your honor though. On the phone. Quite the chivalrous show really, sorry you missed it. *Folds her hands together, curious and light at once,* ...is that why he hit you?

 **Tony:** *The sound of that wonderful acoustic guitar in the background made him smile and then chuckle. He really did like her despite all his threats and suspicions and by all he meant the barely one threat and half-formed innate suspicions of any woman willing to stick around a D'Grey man that long. Great song, and oddly quite poignant at the moment, hmm, Daniella must think herself so clever.* Ah, well see, ego soothed. *That was only half a joke, he chuckled again and then thought it through.*

Number of reasons I suppose. One, because he's a dick. Two, because I left him momentarily bereft of words when I defended her honor, ah see I did it too. Three, he doesn't like me very much. Wonder why?! *he grins and winks before singing along* How I wiiiiish, how I wish you were heeeeeere. *continues humming before he adds.* I didn't hit him back though, I should get brownie points.

 **Daniella:** Endearing really, you being worried... *She trails off humming again. Her eyes were on him, steady even as she swayed, as she had to admit she could understand why. Not because she thought it justified -- but because even these brief glimpses and explanations, of a life torn between older "perfect" brother and a disappointed (disgusting) father telling him (lies) that he wasn't enough -- all the way up until Tony killed him in self-defense? His ego probably did need soothing. If she didn't think it would be quite as insulting as trying to "pet" him she'd have 'aww'ed' aloud (she might still have had to stifle one). And then she finds herself chuckling, shrugging,* One, no argument, two, oh Tony teach me your ways -- I barely got him silent for ten seconds, and third, oh I have no earthly idea. *Sitting up and stretching her hands behind her, she's tapping her foot in time to the music as she adds,* You know I think there is brownie mix in there. We could make them. But now, *Tapping her chin, lacing both hands together and perching atop it, she bats her eyes and adds,* You defended her honor too? How so?

 **Tony:** You describe me as endearing quite often, I hope you've noticed. *His eyebrows raised as he looked at her, unmoving before he was forced to relent with a chortle.* And by often, I of course mean twice or thrice but you know, who's counting? *It was his curse. For someone to claim to care very little of what people thought, he remembered with absolute scary detail what it was people said about him. He was sure there was some not-so-fascinating psychological reason for it, but he couldn't be bothered to think of that there.*

You too? *Ten seconds was actually a very long time, he raised his hand to high five her with a smirk.* Oh you know, the usual. I told him to stop being a dick, that Stefanie actually cares about him, that obviously he does about her as well and to get his head out of his ass because she deserves more than just to be fucked and left on the side until he so deigned to speak to her again.

*He scoffed again, shaking his head, and the words just started coming out, much like vomit. That's what he did, when he was tipsy, and annoyed, and irritated: he talked. Sometimes it was just to himself but now that he had someone listening, well, he wasn't gonna pass that up now would he?*

You know, I didn't even want to get into this drama but that douchebag just pissed me off. He expected me to brag, wanted me to brag, wanted an excuse to beat my face but I don't play by the rules. I never did. You tell me to jump, I'll go right ahead and sit down. And he wanted me to brag! I don't brag, that's disrespectful, as if she were some kind of trophy or achievement. God, I mean *he scoffs, throwing a hand in the air, waving it off, irritated* that wolf's a bag of dicks. And a pussy, contrary as that sound, he's a downright pussy. If he has a problem, then do something about it asshole. Talk to her, talk with her, leave the douchebaggery behind, forget everything else and just tell her how you feel.

But no, he's an idiot, who probably thinks she's too good for him, and he's right, she is. So he fights me instead because easier than fighting for her. And a man or woman unwilling to fight for what he or she wants, deserves what he or she gets- damn subject agreement. I started out singular I had to keep going with singular, it reduced the power of that sentence, let me restate that without all the 'or's. *he clears his throat* People unwilling to fight for what they want, deserve what they get. Bam! *claps his hands together* Write it, print it, sell it!

 **Daniella:** I hadn't noticed, *she chuckles but decides not to say anything else beyond,* must just be true then if I'm not picking words so carefully. *The thing was she had noticed as soon as she said it the second time. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was. It was so true. As someone who spent her life finding proper descriptors and tying together images, at that moment she couldn't think of a word better than "endearing" for Tony. He even frowns prettily, tangled short curls of dark hair hanging down over eyes that had seen too much, and smiles with the same sort of knowing. Grim self-consciousness. The smirk appeared his default, because it hid the most -- everything. And nothing, nothing at all. Open book.

Maybe she thought it was endearing because she recognized it as a look too often on her own face. She dreams of redemption and of being a savior -- to her siblings (especially her brother), to father and now to the boy she'd found when seeking to destroy his -- maybe to both boys. Does it matter it's a foolish dream? She's no longer a child (sometimes it felt she'd never been), she saw the harsh white of reality and yet somehow she yearns for it. Endless optimism while trudging through darkness too real, that was endearing right?

And she high fives him too, even if all she'd said was a lie to make him doubt Hans but you know what, screw them both. Her brow twitched in eager and angry agreement at the first statement: too damn true was it, that Stefanie deserved better. She listens hard to the half-rambled rant that sounds like he's practicing a speech - working out the finer details to give to Stefanie later (or was it someone else?). The endless insults were entertaining, but somewhere along the way her smirk turns to a smile echoing his and she perks her chin up. Golf claps, says,* You're right. I should have had rum to toast to that.

*It wasn't Ansel he wanted to tell that to at all, was it? Daniella couldn't say for certainty, because she had just met him and because however alike they might be they were certain to soon find hundreds of other differences. Maybe he thought the best Bruce album was Darkness instead of Born to Run -- or that the eleventh Doctor was better than the tenth. That was the way of it when you found someone alike; all you saw afterwards were insignificant differences. Was it true of vice versa? Hollywood would make you think so. Maybe that was the secret to those romantic comedies: when you get caught on difference and fate conspires to throw you back together, all that was left to find was common ground.*

You don't mind if I steal that to do just that either, do you? Print it and sell it, I mean. I promise I'll give it to you first. I agree with everything you just said - especially the troubles with subject agreement,* her finger went up, *only I don't think you particularly care if he fights for Stefanie at all. And I also don't think him pissing you off is a reason to get into this drama either -- but I don't think it's why you are. He asked you to brag? That's odd. And kind of sad. Did he brag? I don't know enough context. But you're right, it is disrespectful...and idiotic, as she threatened him if he hurt you.

*Oh, now she knew what she thought it was sad: it sounded to her like Ansel was doing everything to push her away and simultaneously couldn't stop caring through hazy gun smoke. Say something awful, like fucking the world is your right. That was as painful a thought as the look on Tony's face and she rubs her forehead, decidedly taking another tact.* You didn't hit him. So are you going to talk to her, leave the douchbaggery behind, forget everything else and just tell her how you feel?

 **Tony:** This is the part where I find out that there's no more alcohol in this apartment, isn't it? *Just his luck. But again, it was for the best that he didn't drink anymore. He had already downed a bottle. Maybe wolfie was right, and he had increased tolerance but if he did, it wasn't as impressive enough to never get drunk. Oh, he got drunk. And in the early stages of being drunk is when he felt the best he'd ever had. That euphoria, no cares, and nothing could touch him or bother him, that was the best part.

Then came the plunge. Whether you sobered up or kept drinking, it was still a plunge. Sobering up meant leaving the carefree stage behind, wishing you could back to it, stay in it and when you kept drinking it just brought out all the demons at once to slay you together. Either way, a person's fucked and Tony got fucked a looot.*

Nope, don't mind at all. *He shook his head and then tilted his head as she kept talking, trying to and successfully, pulling apart veils and covers to get at the truth underneath. A truth that Tony himself had not noticed in the middle of his irritated rant against that motherfucker.* No, he didn't. Why bring yourself up when you can bring someone else down? That's his logic, was anyway. Well, he tried. Can't bring me down.

*That made him half smile, half smirk a bit. Even with his hybrid strength, he felt like Stefanie would have an easier time threatening Ansel than he would. Then he looked up again, gaze focusing and confusion spreading through his features as Daniella addressed him instead.* Me? I- *he chuckles incredulously, sitting up straighter* that's...I mean, I'm gonna tell her what I told him but she...and Ansel, I don't know, they've got something, some connection I don't understand and I'm not- Daniella, I liked you better when you didn't make me think.

 **Daniella:** Exactly how much do you think we drank? *She asked with a tiny smile because really, she had no idea. It seemed unlikely though. These D'Grey boys always seemed to have alcohol nearby. With her tiny grin still on her lips (She ignored the latent stinging in her head), she chuckles and echoes,* Too bad for him then.

*Actually she couldn't have given less of a fuck if it was hard for Ansel, but her brows furrow in surprise at his startle. Folding her fingers against her chin and tapping she thinks, oh Tony. See? Endearing. How had that not crossed his mind? Granted, she thought perhaps it was because from what Stefanie said, this wasn't the longest relationship. "We need a new term, him calling me for a sex-guaranteed date at a respectable hour," after the whirlwind after the Gala -- "I thought we were both just making each other feel better, but" -- and then, wasn't that exactly why Daniella thought her stab in the dark attempt at insight wasn't as mindless as possible? There was a but. There always was.*

And too bad for you too. *With an exaggerated smirk and shrug,* I like making people think. As for that -- that's crap Tony, why should you care what "connection" they have? Are they married? Nope. *Her lips smack together on the p.* Has she confided in you some desperate desire to be with him? Because she certainly didn't say that to me. Caring about him - even fucking him, doesn't mean that's what she wants. Not that I know what she does, frankly I don't think she knows. It's a mess. Life's a mess. So you know, in that way it's all kind of poetic and perfect isn't it? And, *she shrugs a shoulder,* if you're about to say you don't want to get in the way of them working it out -- that's not noble. That's just you not fighting. Unless I'm wrong, and you don't think there could be something between you too.

 **Tony:** Hopefully enough for some girl on girl fondling to have happened but *he shrugs* a guy can dream.

*But a guy didn't want to think. Thinking sucked, there was a lot of thinking involved in the world and he didn't have to think with Stefanie, it was natural and easy despite how messed up and complex their lives actually were. He liked spending time with her, why would he want to jeopardize that by trying to define what it was he felt? He didn't know! He didn't want to figure it out right now either, not while he was carving himself a path straight to hell.*

I wasn't going to say I don't want to get in the way, I am very happy to be in the way, because I do firmly believe that she deserves way better than that...Scooby Doo, but you know, she deserves a lot better than me too. There, I said it, boom. And you know what, it's been like...a week. The equivalent of our time spent together amounts to a week, she hasn't told me anything about Ansel, I'm not about to go tell her what she should or shouldn't do about him, I enjoy her company, she's a beautiful, amazing woman, that's what I think, that's how I feel right now. It's not some big revelation that I should be sharing, I've -told- her I like spending time with her, while our clothes were still on mind you. What more should I say?

 **Daniella:** Yeah, Dylan - that's my brother - he once told me not to ruin those dreams by pointing out girls actually don't spend sleepovers in skimpy negligees and hitting each other with pillows. *Granted, she'd just done it again. As if that wasn't a ridiculous image anyway. Wrestling was much easier without being worried about their chests falling out. Still, she wasn't supposed to ruin those dreams. She clears her throat, tilts her head and adds idly,* So instead I'll say - yes, Tony, that's exactly what happened. We drank two bottles of red wine while playing darts to Smooth Criminal, did each other's nails, and then you know - oh. *Her mouth fills an "oh" out, eyes rounding,* oops, I'd splashed her with it and you know, nail paint stains so fast and is just so hard to get out, so she shimmied right out of her skirt so we could clean it, but the zipper was stuck so I knelt to help her and you know, she had thought she might run into you so she was wearing these little red lacy panties and well once I saw that I -- well. *Her smirk was wide, her fingers still clustered around each other to hold her chin up, and one taps the corner of her lips.* A lady never tells.

*Actually she had spilled, but on her own jeans and popping them in the wash had just prompted her to wear Olivier's over-large shirt instead before they resumed the movie but -- well, she did say she liked making Tony think, didn't she? So there. Spinning around to wave her hand at the record machine, she smirks to herself as she flips the record, starts the B-side (ponders how sad it is, the lost of the B-side and vinyl cover art), and only looks back when he (finally) spills himself.

Listening patiently, she nods with a softer smile on her face. Ouch, she thinks on his behalf as she feels a tug in her heart before she just nods. Daniella says absently as Floyd starts again,* That's what she said about you too. And I do hope you recognize the gravity of my semi-breaking of girl-code. But anyway, I don't know what you should say - I'm not going to tell you what to say, I do that too much in my job already. Though...God no, I didn't think you had some revelation to tell her. *She spins back around, brow arching.* I did think that you wanted to see her tonight and that maybe I should slip out and let you call her. That true? Because I will.

 **Tony:** *He sighs, almost ashamed to admit that he had been hanging on her every word of this little fantasy, licking his lips after it and then pouting, shaking his head at her. Unfair, very, vastly, horribly unfair. It didn't even pass his mind to compliment on the choice of song.* You're cruel.

*Funny how Daniella was both 'a lady that never tells' and a woman who just 'semi-broke girl-code'. He rubbed his face, forgot how tender his jaw was for a moment and had to bite down on his tongue to prevent a hiss from coming out and then after a pause, hesitantly, nods.* I was thinking of ringing her up, let her know I wasn't maimed. Please don't tell me you're psychic too.

 **Daniella:** I've been told that, baby. *But how canny of him to deduce it so quickly while she spun him another fantasy, like she always does. Actually, it wasn't fantasy -- it wasn't a lie, just a packaged truth to sound as best she could. Fanning the edges of her jeans she pushes the thought away and lets her mouth purse in a teasing smirk instead.* But you enjoyed it anyway.

*Of that, Daniella had no doubt. She was used to it, with both men and women, used to them believing her and coveting her and why should she be ashamed of that? Though her eyes do narrow as she sees a momentary grimace and she wants to ask. He'd looked wretched coming in, yes, because he was clearly at least one bottle in himself and rambling, and he'd admitted to getting hit and she realizes -- wolves had to have a hell of a punch. But she should let Stefanie do that, so she summons her purse and heels instead, scooting them on as she says,* Too? *Black hair tosses off her shoulder with the head tilt and grown,* Did he say that to you too? Honestly, he needs new lines.

*She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and exhales, wondering for a moment idly as she lifts her purse back up to her shoulder, preparing to get up, wondering where her jacket even was.* Nope. Not psychic. Just a girl who likes to know. And because yes, of course, I think she'd like to know you weren't maimed. Do you believe in psychics though then? *She could think of one she did - if her uncle was to believed - and really...Daniella liked believing in the impossible.*

 **Tony:** While it lasted. Guess that's true about everything in life though right? *He shrugs and then wanted to hit himself for sounding so down. His energy was failing him, great. Maybe it wasn't the best of ideas to call Stefanie after all. Maybe, but well, when has something being a bad idea ever stopped him from pursuing it or following it through?*

No, I wasn't talking about him. He bought me a carton of gelato for my 'impending heartbreak'. I mean, he -actually- brought me ice cream! Who does that?! Who goes out of their way to do that? I almost laughed in his face. *If he hadn't been so busy trying to control the urge to cave in his face instead.*

After everything I've seen in this world, I'm willing to go on a little faith. *He shrugs* Not that unreasonable to think some people can see the future. I'm just glad it isn't me.

 **Daniella:** Someone desperate. *She chuckles, even though it's actually fairly quite true and she didn't know how to...deal with that thought, so she decides: I won't. Mature of her, she thinks, but did she have to be so fucking mature all the time? So as she finds her leather jacket, and starts to zip it up, she smiles more honestly at his last remark and turns around, nodding.* My thoughts exactly.

*About the world and having to have faith to deal with it. She wonders about what he'd seen, but then thinks, she didn't have to wonder as much as he did. Her emancipation was one thing; the things she'd seen from her father, from Dylan, and...well. She wouldn't go into it, because frankly, she didn't have alcohol, she didn't want to want, alcohol. Tony on the other hand had been fairly forthcoming: she knew what he'd seen, in that he'd seen Ansel hitting him, his father feeding on his brother (likely others), seen his father die at his own hand. Hm. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world actually. But that didn't mean it had to be hopeless.* Not that unreasonable at all.

*Olivier hadn't actually thrown his life away? She knew that actually, she'd seen it: seen more than just "good deeds" and so no, she knew he wasn't lost. It was just a question of how long so -- she had faith, that she could somehow do this, save him and take away his organization at the same time.* And actually. I think I'm willing to go on a lot of faith.

*She zips up winking, then blows him a kiss.* I'm sure I'll see you soon, cheri.

 **Tony:** *He makes a flair out of catching the kiss she blows him and then storing it in his shirt pocket for a 'later time' before he waves her out a soft chuckle dying on his lips. She was quite the woman, Daniella Faye. Intelligent, cunning, and dangerous. She had one of those faces, one that couldn't play off being completely innocent even with an attempt. He supposed he was 'sussing her out' as hard as he was because she reminded him too much of him already and well, Tony had already hurt his brother more times than he would like to admit or remember. He didn't want this to be another repeat.

He also respected it wasn't his business though, so he knew he wouldn't interfere after the idle threat he had spoken out tonight, and frankly needed to stop trying to distract mind enough to actually press call.

His phone was already in his hand, her picture in the upper left hand corner of the contact information. Smiling briefly, he hit the call button and brought the phone up to his ear and sunk back on the couch, finally taking his shoes off as the phone rang in his ear.*

&.

**Daniella:** *Exiting the penthouse, Daniella promptly saw a scene she’d hoped never to see again and it threw all idle thoughts of Tony from her mind. Her face contorts. It becomes her momentary mission in life not to trip in these stilettos on ice as she veers from the street, deeper into the park; one of those little bicycle paths that tourists ignored. The rest of her walk she doesn’t remember.* Oi!

 **Dylan:** *Immediately flinching, cursing in French under his breath, hurriedly trying to stuff his pocket and spinning around, eyes narrow,* Dani—this isn’t—

 **Daniella:** Not talking to you yet, Dylan. *Despite her words, she’s grabbed his wrist to see what he was holding, keeping it from his pocket.*

 **Dylan:** *Muttering, half under his breath to the man,* Sister.

 **Daniella:** She mhmms, and then spins to the man who probably had twice her height without these heels on, eyebrow cocking.* Thank you, for that charming introduction - *she promptly shushes him*

 **Pietro:** *After an understanding, sympathetic even “ah”, he holds a hand up honestly, irritated at the interruption.* Listen, cheri, he’ll be with you in just a minut—

 **Daniella:** *Brightly,* You’re right, he will! When I’m done with you.

 **Dylan:** *He huffs, falling into a stony silence as his breath shows in the air.*

 **Pietro:** *Snorts,* Tempting as that sounds -

 **Daniella:** Oh, you do think highly of yourself don’t you?

 **Pietro:** Hun, we’re just in the middle of business here.

 **Daniella:** Does it appear to you that I don’t have eyes? No? Wonderful. *She seizes the paper bag in Dylan’s hand - plucks it fast, lest it rip, and ignores his curse and repeated “Dani” as she slaps it down into the dealer’s hand.* Take it. Keep whatever money he gave you as severance, because you are never coming near my brother again.

 **Pietro:** *That, she could see, struck a nerve in him or rather - a cord in his jaw. Feigning a ‘friendly’ smile, he shakes his head,* Cheri, sweet as it is to worry about your brother -*He looks at Dylan, whose apparently very interested in his shoes.*- I think you’re uh - misunderstanding. You realize who you’re dealing with?

 **Daniella:** Mm, sweetie you realize, *fishing her phone out of her back pocket and taking a step in front of Dylan,* I have the top three newspapers in France on speed dial?

 **Pietro:** *Eying phone with amusement on his lips and then chuckles, even as he looks at the numbers as they scroll. His breath is a hot puff in the snow.*

 **Daniella:** I know you don’t fear me calling the cops, and I know why. But I don’t think your boss would be too happy with your face splashed on the front page, would — oh! *There’s a click,* whoops, look at that, I already took a photo, damn, didn’t even get to finish my own speech —

 **Pietro:** *Eyes flick to Dylan, narrow.* She’s -

 **Dylan:** *draws a line across his throat to get him to shut up, shaking his head and then brushing snow off his jacket pocket.*

 **Daniella:** She’s right here. *Finishes, showing that the picture is set up to send, taking another step forward,* And now you know who -you’re- dealing with. You going to run along now, be smart boy? Leave without another word and I won’t press send.

*There’s a tense moment, and then Pietro makes a motion to Dylan, who appears not to say. Her arms fold over her chest, and she waits until he’s walked off before-

 **Dylan:** *Grabbing her arm, and spinning her around, eyes narrow,* There, you happy now? What is -wrong- with you?

 **Daniella:** *Incredulous, she slaps his hand away and bursts in a whispered shout,* What’s wrong with -me-? Are you kidding me right now?

 **Dylan:** *Eyes roll, letting her throw him off and he just takes a few steps back, shaking his head,* You know what, just forget it —

 **Daniella:** Oh no. *Stepping after him, shaking his head,* I am not done talking to you. Dylan. Parker. Faye. You get your ass back here.

 **Dylan:** *Hasn’t stopped walking, hands buried deep in his own pockets as he spins around and shrugs shoulders,* Cool it with the mother act, all right? I’m eighteen now sis, you aren’t responsible for me.

 **Daniella:** Oh I see. *Her hands set on her hips, and she stops walking,* You’re an adult now, are you. Big man. *Head cocks,* Tough shit, Dylan. *Takes a step forward again,* You’re still my brother. And you’re fooling yourself if you think I’m going to watch you do this again —

 **Dylan:** For fuck’s sakes, Dani. *He spins back, stops walking,* It was just some pot -

 **Daniella:** And if I call your sponsor, what do you think he’d say?

 **Dylan:** You just love threatening to call people don’t you?

 **Daniella:** Yeah, well. *Her nose wrinkles in the snow and she slaps at her jeans.* The magical world needs to get over itself and use cellphones.

 **Dylan:** *Snorting,* Yeah, that’s right, magical world should just do what -you- want, sis.

 **Daniella:** *Eyes narrow, hard and flinty,* I don’t give a damn. You, should have called Dion, I’m sure he’d agree with me — just some pot?! Yeah, and how long will you be high before you want a hit?

 **Dylan:** *Hisses, hand coming up and slicing the air,* I always want a hit, Daniella. It’s called being an addict. I’m handling it, okay? And you have no right to -

 **Daniella:** You call meeting with a drug dealer handling it? *Grabs his arm in the air, trying to cling to him,* Dylan. *After a few moments of struggling to calm him down, she blinks away a tear, her voice suddenly broken as she asks,* Dylan, what happened?

 **Dylan:** *Face hardening to chase away a wretched expression, he shakes his head and looks over her shoulder, muttering “nothing.”*

 **Daniella:** *Whispering, the words frozen in the air,* You’ve been sober seven months.

 **Dylan:** Yeah, well. *He rips his arm away from her and holds both hands up, as if to show he was all right and then rubs at his red palms to warm them up. Shaking his head, he snaps angrily, accusing,* That was before I learned what a fucking hypocrite you are.

 **Daniella:** *Face clouding with confusion, she blinks multiple times,* Hypocrite? What are you —

 **Dylan:** You really thought you could just keep it secret, didn’t you? *Half laughs,* From me, anyway.

 **Daniella:** *Her back straightening, cheeks flushing and she puts her phone back away in her back pocket,* I’m not a hypocr—you think I’ve been fucking doing drugs?

 **Dylan:** No, that’s not what I think you’ve been doing. *Hissing, he takes a step forward and there’s a strange, twisted vindication in his face as he snaps,* Rather, not who. *When she’s silent, he throws a hand up in the air in a “what?” kind of gesture adding bitterly,* You’re fucking D’Grey.

 **Daniella:** *Instantly, she goes rigid. Her eyes flutter shut as if she couldn’t stand to see that look on his face - disappointment, hurt, anger. Her breath had deserted her; heart thudding in her ear as it tries to push frozen blood against the cold. Exhaling,* Dylan…

 **Dylan:** I don’t want to hear it, Dani.

 **Daniella:** *He snaps, and she realizes he’s further away, which makes her open her eyes again; looking at him stepping backwards and snapping herself,* Dylan, listen to me. It’s not -

 **Dylan:** Why on Earth should I do that? So you can lie to me again?

 **Daniella:** *Still standing still even as he moves away, voice twisting in hurt,* I haven’t lied to you -

 **Dylan:** Bullshit. *He spins back around and the look on his face - the betrayal there - it breaks her heart.* Bullshit, Daniella. *He can’t stand to look at her for another few seconds and spins around, shaking his head starting to walk away.*

 **Daniella:** Dylan, *her voice raises as she calls in a sudden snap,* Remington D’Grey is dead.

 **Dylan:** *Now he’s the one who goes rigid, stalling instantly. Turning to a marble statue in the snow, he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s on the edge of the path now, that he hadn’t known where he was walking. Dead? How could he be dead?*

 **Daniella:** *Taking a few steps now, quieter, glad that she stopped him and wincing at the thought that there was just another damn good reason he was.* He has been for two years. Maybe three, I don’t really know the—timeline.

 **Dylan:** *Slowly looking around, his brows are furrowed and there’s sudden understanding in his gaze as he asks incredulous,* He has a son?

 **Daniella:** *Nodding, voice soft,* Two, actually. Olivier and Tony.

 **Dylan:** They vampires too?

 **Daniella:** *Another step forward,* No.

 **Dylan:** *Brows furrow, asking in slight confusion and amusement,* So you’re sleeping with a…psycho crime lord vampire’s hybrid offspring?

 **Daniella:** *Wiggling her nose,* Now there’s an image.

 **Dylan:** *His bottom lip is trembling, but he seems to take a breath of fresh air - his first, in several hours now so he forces it stiff. He shakes his head,* And which one is it you’re screwing?

 **Daniella:** It’s not like that, Dylan. *There’s hurt and disgust in the back of her throat but she takes a few steps tentatively extending her hand.* There’s…look, it isn’t that I didn’t trust you, that I didn’t tell you. There’s something — actually there’s a lot, a fucking lot else —

 **Dylan:** *Brow arching, and he shuffles his feet for a second as she takes his forearm again and squeezes reassuring. Looking at his sister’s face, he bites down hard on his tongue and nods,* I’m listening.

 **Daniella:** *Quiet,* We can’t talk about it here, Dylan. Not here, we’re in open air, and your - *she arches her eyebrow still half-accusing,* dealer? Likely reports to him.

 **Dylan:** *Wrinkling his nose,* Daniella, you think Lila, Noah and I haven’t known from when we were - what, eleven, moving in with you, what it is you want to do? Well, wanted to, I suppose, if he’s actually dead —

 **Daniella:** He is. And I’m not talking about reporting to a D’Grey. *She squeezes his hand again, saying softer,* They’re using his name, but for at least two years now, they’ve not been the ones in charge.

 **Dylan:** *Just as soft as her, but he’s desperately restraining a shout,* You’re telling me that the D’Grey’s are not in control, of their own damn —

 **Daniella:** That’s part of what I’m telling you, yes. *She snaps before he finishes the thought, and then her eyes flutter closed again before she says softer,* Olivier. That’s — I’m not screwing, him.

 **Dylan:** *With an unmistakably hurt little hiss,* Don’t tell me you’re falling, for him.

 **Daniella:** I have no bloody idea what I feel for him, actually, but yes Dylan, I actually care. It isn’t what you think. He’s not — I bet you’d like him, actually, and he’s not fucking me. And, *she pokes his chest,* I’m not screwing you over.

 **Dylan:** *Arching an eyebrow, as if he finds that hard to believe but - desperately wants to at the same time and so he half nods, half shakes his head and looks down at where she’d struck his chest.* Daniella. What have you gotten -in-to?

 **Daniella:** *She chuckles, blinking away a tear and rubbing at her chapped lips, shaking her head,* That’s funny. I was just asking myself the same question. All day actually.

 **Dylan:** And the answer…?

 **Daniella:** *Hell. She didn’t know. The thought of Dylan and Olivier in the same room had been one for ages that had made her flinch in disgust but - that was rather when she’d thought it was Remington, not Olivier, and she knew too many secrets about that already. Tony’s story was fresh in her mind. She shakes her head softly as she answers him,* Life. *Her shoulders shrug.* That messy thing.

 **Dylan:** *He laughs and rubs at his own lips now, nodding, unsure why he felt he almost has to push away tears himself, and adds quietly,* Right.

 **Daniella:** *Her lips screw up and then she moves her hand up to cup his cheek and hold his gaze hard, forcefully and adds,* You listen to me, though. Being angry with me? Not a reason to hurt -yourself- again.

 **Dylan:** *Can barely move his lips as she’s holding his jaw so tightly so instead of answering, he forces a nod after a second, sheepish and humbled.*

 **Daniella:** I mean it, Dylan. *She pulls her hand back, pointing at him,* Mad at me, go ahead and burn one of my dresses or some—wait, no, no don’t do that —

 **Dylan:** *Lightly, lips twitching up,* Now there’s an idea.

 **Daniella:** Dylan -

 **Dylan:** Come on, *he points over his shoulder with his thumb,* You’ve got a long story to tell me it sounds like, I’m thinking we grab pizza for that —

 **Daniella:** *Nodding even as she threatens,* I see so much as a match next to my dresses —

 **Dylan:** And you’re buying, yeah?

 **Daniella:** Dylan! —

 **Dylan:** I love you too, sis. *Kisses her cheek, grabbing her hand to disapparate them.*

&.

**Hans:** Ah. *Locating a dot of blood left under his nail, he pauses walking to lick it away. Jarring Olivier into fighting him would be depressively counter productive. Another reason to be aggravated for his interruption: the call from Ansel informing him he'd had to pull Zachary and Melissa out from under the Minister's nose. Alls' well that ends well he'd said back to his brother, only to turn around and inform both of the naughty misbehaving pups it hadn't ended yet.

  
The Stuart children, were Rachelle's. It was for her to decide. Once he was satisfied they understood, he'd left them to Ansel--which was kind of him, he'd growled. As if it wasn't also necessary; he was not stepping in to do all his own dirty work, for they may as well have taken all his authority right then. It had appeased Ansel too, allowing him to be seen trusted as his second (and release some pent up anger, he supposes). Alls well that ends well, he chuckles to himself. He did applaud their protectiveness of their sister though--of course he did, so not only would Ansel heal them, but he'd bring some suitable treat. Later.

  
After he and Olivier got a few things straightened, he thinks with the smirk twisting up. His words were light when he leans against the pillar in the d'Grey library, speaking idly,* Tell me, mate. How long -have- you been aware of the pack's guardian Angel's former identity?

 **Olivier:** *He'd been alerted by both his wards and a maid that Hans was there, so he didn't flinch. Stilling his pen where he was writing, he looks up from the desk, a bemused smirk crossing his face.* Hello to you too.

 **Hans:** Naturally. *He chuckles, shrugging a shoulder as he comes further in to the room.* I forgot how forgoing the niceties offends you. 

**Olivier:** *Aha. He lays his pen down, surveying his friend walking in with interest. He was well aware Hans knew who Harper was--Harper had told him. Their affiliation on the other hand...he knew it couldn't have been Harper who told that. Tilting his head curiously,* I must have missed asking you in.

 **Hans:** *Smirks,* Well, I know your predilection to the offensive.

 **Olivier:** How nice it is to be understood.

 **Hans:** It's just--I'm a little hurt, mate. *Feigning unconvincing, as he was still smirking, putting a fake chirping voice on,* Thought we told each other everything.

 **Olivier:** ...because we're twelve year old at a slumber party? *tossing his pen and book away, he stands.*

 **Hans:** *Sitting down across the room with grace and ease, he crosses his legs up on the table.* You figured it out yet?

 **Olivier:** Angel wouldn't have told you anything, *he shrugs a dismissive shoulder, then goes still as he realizes.* ....ah. My--yes.

 **Hans:** Tony. *He nods. Then he laughs, realizing his friend had immediately gone to check if his brother was in the room. Cute.* 

**Olivier:** *Sighs and resumes walking--only changing the destination to the bar.* Right.

 **Hans:** *Playful, he keeps the tone light,* It -was- a bit surprising, your letting him into this in such an...hm, intimate manner.

 **Olivier:** *He turns, face dark at that and looking unblinking at Hans. He doesn't say another word.*

 **Hans:** *He wants to laugh at the attempt at intimidation, but after a few moments he continues unhindered anyway.* Tony however--now, he joined the day after you took care of that dreadful Steven for us.

 **Olivier:** *Eye rolls, immediately pouring the drink. When he turns back he says light,* My apologies of course, stealing your ability to be Eliza's white knight. *He downs the shot.*

 **Hans:** *Snorts, but continues pleasantly,* In any case...you'd never have done so otherwise-which can only mean that when Eliza looked me in the eye today and said she'd loved the man for a long time-

 **Olivier:** Shall I pour you a drink for your broken heart?

 **Hans:** *He smirks in appreciation but doesn't break thought,* it means she knows. And you stepping in--you're working together. Which point you know very well I want in. So. Just between us girls. How long have you know that Angel, is in fact the long-lost father of our mutual friend? *Back in the high mockery tone,* Cross my heart and swear to die I won't tell.

&.

**Stefanie:** \--beautiful, babe, I'd fuck you in an instant. *She was speaking in French, to her coworker. Then she lifts her hand and shakes her head to forestall another comment,* But don't let him before he's paid for dessert, and the after-dinner cocktails, right? *Her shared laugh is cut off as she hears her phone ring, and she starts to make an apology pulling it out. The smile that appears on her lips must have been something, for the girl couldn't help herself making an "ooh" that makes her shoo her away, turning on her heels and headed back to her own vanity, thanking God they'd finally given her one with a door. As she lifts the phone to her ear, she sits in the swivel chair, and spins so she doesn't have to actually look at how ridiculously wide her smirk was as she answers,* Buon giorno. You know it actually is pushing the witching hour this time, Tony.

 **Tony:** Your Italian is coming along deliciously, cara. *He grins lazily against the phone, turning to lay fully on the couch, his head on the arm rest and his free hand toying with the fringes on the pillow. Why the pillow had fringes, he didn't know, he hadn't bought it.*

Now is that code for 'you're interrupting me but I forgive you because your voice does wicked things to my body'?

 **Stefanie:** Always had a knack for the romance languages. *She answers in French. God, she did love when he called her that. Sue her, for her total love of his voice -- actually, she was glad to hear it for another reason. Ansel's chipper 'going to visit him' hadn't left her mind all day.* Now, why would I need a code for that? I believe we're at least intimate enough, I'd just tell you that. Besides, trying out this whole, open book thing, you know.

 **Tony:** You just have that talented a tongue. *Unfortunately that had to be in English. He chuckled at her use of the phrase 'open book' after having used it himself not fifteen minutes ago. Or maybe it was half an hour, who cared? That wasn't the point here. The point was...what was the point? No point, apparently, he enjoyed listening to her talk.*

So you're not busy then? Because see, had a little visit today from a mutual friend *he rolled his eyes, unable to help himself* and I'm missing a leg.

 **Stefanie:** You're what? *Now she doesn't care that she can see her own expression, swiveling back to the mirror and muttering that she-was-going-to-kill-him under her breath in one hot exhale. Because when she looks at herself in the mirror, she realized: if Tony was serious, that's not how he would have told her. At least she sincerely hoped it wasn't. Grabbing a washcloth and rubbing off the fashion make-up, she gives herself the second to breathe, eyes narrowing. The thought that Ansel and Tony had been in the same room at all was...sort of one to make her breathless. But if Ansel didn't think she was as capable of revenge as Hans, he clearly didn't know her as well as he thought.* That wasn't funny. *She breathes out, though the quirk in her lips said the opposite.* And it...may have been code for 'I'm sincerely glad to hear you're alive.'

*She sets the washcloth down, and then gets up. Going over and screwing Tony until he couldn't see straight was -- well, it was a fantastically beautiful idea frankly and goddammit, Ansel. He did know her. He knew that if she did that now, it would be about revenge on him, and that she'd be thinking about him, and he was oh-so-sure that's exactly what she'd do wasn't he? Because he does know she's capable of revenge, and as fun as it seemed in theory to have these two hot, damaged, men play her off of them (okay speaking of beautiful images) she was fucking done playing by those rules.* Come here. *She says hardly noticing how demanding her voice turns,* I'm at a shoot -- well, what was one. I'll text you the address. *Her eyes were on the long run of dresses, her hand playing with one of the hangers so she could change.* There's something I want to show you.

 **Tony:** *He smirked, more at imagining her facial expression than being amused (and flattered) and her instant concern before he chuckled once and nodded while he spoke.* Hopping all over the place, hope this doesn't mean you'll find me any less attractive.

*He smirked as she reprimanded him but the expression softened as she revealed what it turned out to be code for. His fingers pausing on the pillow, he guessed the drink was still in full effect because of what he spoke next.* Yeah, well, this entire call is code for 'I want to see you', so...

*He shrugged, even though she couldn't see him, because he had left the word hanging and because he was Italian and couldn't help himself to body movements when he talked. Eyebrows rocketing upwards at her next words, demand, he hummed in the back of his throat and then spoke lazily* Yes, mistress. *He grinned now, happy to have a distraction, and sighing at having to put his shoes on again. He held the phone with his neck as he did.* Do I get any guesses to what it is?

 **Stefanie:** I hoped it was. *Her smile softens at that. She did want to see him, she had for days now but frankly she was tired of looking desperate. About as tired as she was of staring at his name on her phone. Nodding and then remembering he couldn't see her, she muses aloud,* How about that, for two people who love to talk. One of these days we'll get communication down.

*Pulling her clothes out and tossing them on the swivel chair, she chuckles at "mistress," brows narrow.* I could get addicted to that you know. But frankly, I'm not so much a fan of whips and handcuffs. *Her smirk flicks wider, setting her own make-up back down on the mirror's edge, drawling,* Nor do I need them to get a man to do what I want.

*Her chin raises as she undoes her robe.* Hm. Not to disappoint you, but it does require shirts and shoes, or no service. *There's a light in her eyes. She shimmies the robe from her shoulders as she adds,* Don't make me wait long, Tony. Nurse isn't the only costume I have. *And then she clicks the phone off, and proceeds to get dressed at a rapid fire before she'd allow herself to text the address: as frankly, apparition was instantaneous.*

 **Tony:** Me either. *He replied with a full smirk now, one that didn't do a successful job at stopping his face from contorting in distaste but at least there was no one around to witness it anyways. Besides, she drew his attention away from it completely at her next words.* I do love a woman in charge.

*Surprisingly, maybe a little less surprising than it should have been, it didn't disappoint him to hear just that so he stood, grinning, with a comment on his lips that didn't make it out before she hung up on him. Chuckling, he puts his phone in his back pocket before heading to the bathroom to check on his appearance.

Car crash. He was a car crash. He had healed his lip and jaw (it was only after he had calmed down that he realized it had been broken and that he had only kept talking on sheer stubbornness alone) but he knew it was swollen and would be a nice purple color by the end of the night. Ouch.

He sighed, got himself presentable again, switched out of the shirt that had been stained with blood, just a drop or two but still unacceptable so that by the time she texted, he was ready and apparated on the spot.

Landed in another spot, right outside the door (he did have manners after all) and then he knocked to the rhythm of 'Shave and a Haircut'.*

 **Stefanie:** *Running her hand through her hair as she undoes the last curl from the mass of the ones that Mark decided to grab a wind fan for, she pauses hearing the tuned knock. Tony had flair with everything he did, didn't he? She waves Mark off -- she knew he would be irritated to have his "proofs review" time interrupted for a moment. Artists, honestly.

She looked surprisingly unmade she thinks, with one final check in the mirror. Despite the fact she actually was more covered now than she'd been for the photos -- the dresses had put new meaning to the word "little" in little black dress. Now she wore a white cami and tan suit-jacket (three quarter), a gold heart necklace that fell to below her chest, jeans and heels. Simple, for her. Perhaps it was the absence of three-toned eyeshadow, liner and mascara (replaced with a single tone alone), or the fact she went for a pink gloss over scarlet (she hated lipstick anyway). Or perhaps it was her expression.

Opening the door, she's tucking her clutch beneath her arm and can't help but look him over entirely. A quick glance ascertaining she'd been right - that he wasn't hopping around one-legged yes, but also just...that he truly was in one piece. And judging by the fact he didn't seem to be smirking quite as...fully, like his jaw hurt him still, when her glance darts back to his eyes, her own's softened.* Shave and a haircut? Never do anything without style, do you?

 **Tony:** *She truly made everything look good didn't she? Besides, truth be told, Tony appreciated the comfortable look. Of course, little dresses and tall heels were always fantastic, but he also appreciated when women felt comfortable enough with him to dress comfortably (to a point here, she was still wearing heels after all) but that wasn't something he was used to either. Then again, it was because he didn't usually spend time with a woman after a night (and morning, sometimes the afternoon too) of rigorous and enjoyable sex.*

Neither do you. *He gestured to her wardrobe, grinning with appreciation and then winking, all thoughts of the previous occurrences from the day slowly fading away.* I suppose it comes with being a model.

 **Stefanie:** *Seeing him all right seemed to return air to her lungs, and after she realized she'd taken a moment just standing there breathing and looking she lifts her chin again, determined to stay poised.*

The clothes do. *She says as she walks through the door, letting it swing shut behind her without looking back at the photos (that was a new one for her). Hand in her pocket, she hasn't taken her eyes from his as she continues, lips quirked up,* But I'm the one that makes them look good.

*She takes a step to the side, fully prepared to step right by him whatever his superior height even in heels, only to look back over her shoulder.* This way. *Her heels clacked on the marble hallway floor as she did, and she wonders for an instant how he'd known which suite to come to - the whole building belonged to the publishing company after all.* I have to admit, now I'm a little curious how you'd have made one leg look good you know. *Her brow pops up,* even if I'm certain you could.

 **Tony:** You won't find me disagreeing there. *He licked his bottom lip playfully, a bit for show, but he wasn't exactly joking when he meant it, now was he? He followed her through the hallway, now officially curious for whatever it she wanted to show him.*

I was debating whether or not to glamour it invisible for you, actually. *He smirked as he teased her.* But I figured, giving a woman a heart attack and then being killed by that same woman, *he shook his head* not a good way to spend the rest of the day.

 **Stefanie:** *That, made her stop walking. Turning an inch to glare at him all scrunch-nosed and pointy eyed, she elbows his side as if it wasn't an excuse to touch him and adds lightly,* Debating? Debating with who? Whichever part of you that said not to terrify me like that, I'd like to kiss.

*Her gaze hovers on his lips, but only for an instant. Then she keeps walking, and this time she wasn't waiting for him, certain he'd follow and telling herself she'd be okay if he didn't. At the end of the hall she turns left, opening the door there immediately, and entering the stairwell -- well. Calling it that was a bit presumptuous, actually, it was more a single ramp of twisting, rickety metal. Her hand curls around the edge of the railing as she looks back to him over her shoulder.* Not afraid of heights, are you?

 **Tony:** *Now he hadn't actually contemplated that but seeing that expression on her face was enough of a reward for having even mentioned the fleeting idea out loud. He pouted and then mouthed a little 'oww' as her elbow made contact with his ribs and then wiggled his eyebrows.* Obviously the sensitive part of me that wasn't ready to die.

*His pout returned as she kept walking only to disappear for his grin once he started following her again. God, heels did wonderful things to a woman's behind.

Walking through the door, a low whistle reverberated across the room as he examined the stairs. He was about to crack a joke (wasn't he always?), when she beat him to the punch with a question.* Nope, opposite. So as long as you don't take me deep sea diving, I'm good.

 **Stefanie:** *Hanging on the edge of the metal bannister, she pauses at that, saying instantly,* You're...afraid of lows? *There was a smirk on her lips but sudden and abrupt sadness in her eyes even as she thinks: me too. And then because she'd made herself a promise in the instant she'd decided to tell him to come, she says it aloud and soft,* Me too.

*And then she starts climbing, working her way around and around the little tower saying as she went,* This building's the first that I worked in when I left Austria. *Fled, she thinks with a tiny wince in her shoulders but she keeps her chin up. Kyle was a cheating asshole, Marcel was in father's place, father was dead, and Hans was just -- gone. Her chin only lifts as she thinks the facts through.* Mark's the first photographer that wanted me to do a full shoot for him -- well. *She pauses, tilting her head with amusement at certain university memories,* The first professional, that is, obviously. *Resuming walking, she continues aloud,* The whole building's the publishing company so, the girls and I have been in most of their studios, including this one and that first year -- I came up here. First spread was on this set.

*She stops walking, reaching the little landing - the studio rooftop with the reflective mirrors. Both of her eyes are twinkling again as she spins back to Tony, her hands on her hips. Her head jerks towards the set; a painted ocean, imported sand inches from their feet, and the fake old resort set.* I come up here to remind myself there was a new life to be found, basically.

*Starting to walk towards the rainbow umbrella, she steps out of the heels to avoid catastrophe, kicks at a discarded beach ball by the half sunk plastic chairs, ducks under the hanging large wind fans. There was the wooden deck...and of course, up to the the "no shirts no shoes no service" painted sign. She wiggles an eyebrow at him, as her hand lays on top of it.* And then there's the fact that I signed this. *She swivels it, showing her five year old signature in shiny silver ink on the bottom of it.* It was in a heart because I was in a habit of putting the guy's name there but - see I didn't have one of those, how pathetic is that, right?

 **Tony:** *Nods, lips quirking up at that.* That's one way to put it. *And another thing in common, it seemed.* You won't catch me riding a subway either, not if I can help it, or sober. *He only smiled and kept walking up the metal stairs, they really were rickety things. Tony always thought winding staircases were classy, made things a bit elegant but this was bordering on death trap. Perhaps he could come out of this with a newly found fear of winding metal staircases too.

He listened to the story with interest, a little chuckle sounded from the back of his throat as she corrected herself about the photography and he nodded though she wasn't looking, while he followed. Reaching the landing, he didn't expect there to be such an elaborate set.

He laughed with amusement because he had mentioned the deep sea and this was made to look like a beach, well, beach resort rather. He grins, only to have it soften as she stated her reason for coming up here. He understood that, that reason, definitely.

Tony walks around, thinking to himself how hot it would be to wear a leather jacket to an actual beach, and picks up a beach ball himself and pretends it's a volleyball and serves it before spinning back to her as she reached the painted sign and laughed again. He read it out loud.* No shirts, no shoes, no service. You sly woman.

*He wiggled his eyebrows and then took a step closer as she turned it to show him her signature, a softer smile crossing his face before he shook his head and looked up at her again.* Not pathetic. *And because he was Tony, he added a joke.* Now, if you had signed it like 'Stef wuz here! XOXO' then yeah, that would have been pathetic.

 **Stefanie:** Sly? Huh...you know it probably says something about me, that I take that as such a compliment but...*The truth was she was just talking now, talking nervously and filling the silence and goddamnit even her thoughts were jumbled and repetitive weren't they? It was just...she didn't want to think yet about what showing him this place meant to her, because if he didn't get that than...well. She supposes, the original plan of revenge grew more tempting as she'd have learned something she wasn't ready to name either.

The look on his face stills her, even as she fills with warmth contrary to the fan above them. Her face flickers with understanding, gratitude, affection, amusement -- then incredulity, a tiny snort she tries to stifle, and she just shakes her head once at him.* Hm. *She reaches into the dark-wash back pocket and pulls out her phone, cycling through a few messages and reads the text aloud with a smirk,* Yup, thought so -- "Let's get together and plot, XOXO, Tony."

*She looks back up, she's breathless again, because her stomach was doing weird things (naughty things, she thinks) and her gaze flutters to his lips for a heartbeat.*

 **Tony:** *He groans under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand while he nods, sighing, as if to say 'yeah, okay, point made, laugh it up'. He brought his hand back down to his side, slapping his thigh and grinning at her. He could enjoy a laugh at his expense, he learned a long time ago how to laugh at himself and this was by far the most innocent tease. He enjoyed it even, of course he did, glad that it had amused her enough to keep the text.*

Yeah, but see, it made you smile didn't it? *He wiggled his eyebrows at her.* It's so purposefully uncool that it's...*He searches for a word and then finds himself smirking as he repeats Daniella's previous adjective.* Endearing.

*His gaze falls again, it wasn't his fault really, that pink gloss was distracting but he forced himself to look up again to her gorgeous deep blue eyes.* I learned that in college, actually. About there being another life out there, waiting to be found. I mean people were crying over finals, my roommate had a breakdown because his paper was in due in five minutes, it was a ten minute walk, and he didn't have any printer ink. *He laughed.* Two childhood sweethearts got engaged in the middle of a basketball game, I went to their wedding. Traveled abroad for a semester in the fabulous land of Buenos Aires. It was nice, it was normal.

 **Stefanie:** Endearing. *The way he said the word made her think it had two tons on it, like it mattered. Then again, everything Tony said felt that way with her - everything he did. The easier the gesture, the simpler everything was, the more she felt weight and gravitas. (Ha, he was making her use even English words that came from the Italian). Like every little teeny thing meant something to him the way it did to her. (Her brother taught her that when she was seven years old and taking her to the Hermitage, but she wasn't thinking about that). Her head tilts, she chuckles under her breath and says a tiny bit softer,* Yes, I suppose it is.

*The way he talked about what he'd had -- about people crying over finals and people getting engaged...there was a sudden spark in those soul-deep eyes of his. A light she didn't think she'd seen before, when they'd looked at each other drinking and poisoned-recovering and angry-at-their-brothers-and-the-world and found consolation in the dark by wrapping each other in flames. Her heart was flittering, her breath fluttering, all those other dumb butterfly adjectives she thinks and she straightens her back almost unconsciously. Like her body was fighting it's want to flee before this hurt.

And then of course she thinks: too late, because that was the problem. She always cared, she always hurt, and right there - nice and normal - sounded so good she might have cried. The smile on his lips keep that at bay, his warm laughter and she realizes, she's so glad to hear someone had those thoughts too she couldn't run if he pushed her. But because she was Stefanie Ricard, she had to say first with a little lip flick, joking and light,* So, you're as pathetic as I am. *Her eyebrow cocks up, writes deep in her forehead and she adds,* Good to know.

Normal. Nice. Sounds...like the least normal thing in my life, and absolutely wonderful. *Sliding her phone back into her back pocket and catching her racketed breath, she says softer,* Actually, I'd say I can't understand why you came back, *her brows flicker and gaze darts down before she nods to herself,* but I do believe it. *Her eyes flick up as she postulates, hesitantly but heavy with her own soft certainty,* Olivier?

 **Tony:** *He laughs, nodding, glad that she turned it, even a small part of it, into a joke because the moment it became too serious was the moment he would start panicking. Tony couldn't help it, that was just the way he was: he lived in a state of equal joking and seriousness but the moment the balance tipped in any direction, Tony grew uncomfortable. It was a problem, of course it was a problem, but the majority of the time it was the least of his problems so he paid it no mind and wrote it off as a quirk.* Yep, pathetic.

*She understood, probably better than anyone why it was so great, but also why he couldn't stay there. Pegged the nail right on the head there. He nodded.* When I graduated I had a...clique, I guess. A few of us stupid enough to study the most useless degree next to Philosophy. *He chuckles, shakes his head, continues.* Anthropology, by the way, case you were curious. Anyways, graduation came, ceremony was boring, walked down the stage, got the diploma, threw our hats in the air like the movies, yayyy and confetti. Took a few pictures with the gang outside and I met their families, those I hadn't met already. I offered to buy them all dinner on me, but they all had their own plans obviously. And I just...I stood there, and I saw everyone hugging parents and siblings and cousins you didn't even know you had but they came down anyways and I realized I hadn't even spoken to Olivier in years. *He dropped his gaze for a moment, a bit ashamed of himself really.*

I realized *he brought his gaze back up* fuck, I wanted that hair-gelled, brooding, buzzkill Bob there. To make fun of my cap and gown or my hat hair or my useless degree and mediocre achievement. But he was here, being the uncrowned underground king of France, so I...left. Didn't go to the graduation party I just packed up and left. Let it be known it took me like, four months to actually get here. *he smirks and shrugs* Better late than never.

 **Stefanie:** *The description he gave Olivier in that instant made her smile: she loved that he did that. In an odd way, when it came to Olivier D'Grey - oh that illustrious name, she figures it's when Tony called him Olivier that would be the most serious. In fact she reckoned she was one of five, maybe six, people who actually called him that instead of "D'Grey," and Tony gave insulting nicknames like they were candy. Men did that (because...men), as a sign of respect. So she knew when he said that long descriptor, he really just said "I love my brother" and each adjective was another "really, really, really" tacked on there.

Uncrowned king of France was even better. That she wanted to use. Even if presently, it appeared someone else was in charge...Tony had told her sparse details that were about as satisfying as Hans and Ansel's. When he looks down she can't help but think of the fact she'd gone two years after Hans killed their father and put Kyle in the hospital before she'd spoken to him again too. Her lips quirk up at the end though and she nods, letting go of the sign now and taking a step closer. It seemed an uncommonly large gesture for something that was only a single step; her toes burrowing in the fake sand.* My philosophy exactly. Better late than never.

*The small smile quirks on her lips as she shrugs a shoulder to say only,* I get it. *It was a small statement, three words, but she knew it meant a lot more than that.* My secondary school graduation was actually the first time I saw Hans again. I was fourteen, when I convinced him to leave. *She bit down on her tongue, shaking her head, eyes clouding over as she looks to the fake sea on the wall. Tasting cherry and regret in her mouth as she smacks her lips, she shrugs,* Two years, I worried that he was dead, which sometimes was preferable to the thought that he abandoned me without a word, and then he just showed up there. Suave and debonair as ever, *she looks back, a tiny little smirk on her lips,* I might have thrown my cap at him actually.

*She sighs, rubbing at her neck and stays quiet looking at him,* Maybe...not the most welcoming of greetings but, I suppose we do share a few traits after all. You know he still hasn't told me what happened? He just said that he was recruited, and he didn't even tell me that much except it was three days to a full moon and I guessed what the potion was he was downing so intensely...and then because he asked me to help chain him down. That's a funny thought. Don't remember the last time he wasn't eager to transform.

*Shaking her head to herself she clears her throat, a bit choked up at the thought and trying to remember the brother he'd been then -- it seemed to get harder every passing day, every passing comment.* He also was...very intent on the fact that he didn't want Dad or Marcel to know he was even in Austria, he begged me to keep that secret, *she sighs and slides her hands into her back pockets,* which I did. Because I'd missed him too. He wasn't always there but it wasn't...it wasn't until he was nineteen, that he had the ability to turn at will...something changed then. *Her nose wrinkles and she presses her lips together, a look of confusion in her eyes as she shakes her head, very slowly,* I don't know what. He told me he had something to do in Budapest. When he came back he was...just...different. Darker. Angrier. I tried to talk to him, but the most I ever got out of him was when he was drunk, and it was just a name, just, Laura. *She clears her throat, rubbing over it as her face turns to a business bitter smile and tone brisk,* Then he put my cheating asshole of a fiancé in the hospital, killed Dad, and that's -- ah, *she looks down to her toes, saying through gritted teeth,* that's when I met our mutual friend, in a bar. Had no clue who he was, he didn't know who I was, wish we'd never spoken again after that day.

*No she didn't, but...she did wish he hadn't been with her brother. She wished he'd never been a wolf and that she didn't have to connect the two. Her hand drops from her throat, bitter smirk on her face as she looks back up.* Told Hans to leave. He did. Guess I'm a hypocrite now for being upset he has neglected to even call, right? Poison or no poison. And then I came here. Didn't want to be in that house or in that life but...*She looks around the beach resort set again and shakes her head, her smile softening to herself as she says quieter,* You never stop caring about family, right?

*There was a breathless pause when their eyes meet again, before her soft smirk breaks open, she prods his arm, and adds,* You should feel special. Never shown it to anyone else before, you know.

 **Tony:** *I get it. Those three simple words, three syllables, six letters, were enough. She got it, she understood it, she lived it and Tony believed her. Anyone else, he probably would have scoffed at, laughed at their face, then snapped defensively about not needing to be placated, and he might have even added a reference of 'you know nothing, Jon Snow' but he didn't do that then because he believed Stefanie when she said it, and believed her even more as it came her to turn to share. He must have hugged that share pillow a little harder than he'd thought, the effects hadn't worn off by the time he had gotten there. But given that she had shared something with him, her sanctuary of sorts, he had wanted to share something back, something he hadn't told anyone before. Hell, not many people even knew he had gone to college.

Recruited. That was...a nice word for it. He hadn't ever thought of how Hans came to be involved with the Death Eaters, didn't pay it a second thought before but now given that he was willingly joining them, it was all he could think about. Recruited was too nice a word for it. It was hard to think of Hans as 18 (despite having met the man as a pre-teen), even more difficult to picture him not intensely smug of his wolfie abilities.

Something had changed alright, they grabbed one Harper Brackner by the balls and threatened to chop them off, well metaphorically but he tried not to think of any literal situations either though that scene in Daniel Craig's Casino Royale sprang to mind too quickly.

He smirked at the mention of their mutual friend, wolfie 2.0 and then couldn't help but shake his head at that for a brief moment. No she didn't. Oddly enough, he understood that too.* No, you never do. *Except for when you never once cared about them, i.e. daddy dearest.

He forced himself to smirk again, grin actually.* I do! *He chuckles and nods softer.* I do, honestly. *It was the representation of a clean slate, fresh start, something better out there for her and she was willing to share that with him. He felt humbled, actually.*

Don't tell anyone because I've got a reputation to protect *he began with a wiggle of his eyebrows* but I appreciate it more than I would have some skimpy and lacey lingerie. *He gasps dramatically, lifting a hand to cover his open mouth.* Did those words just come out of his mouth? Yes they did! The scandal.

 **Stefanie:** *There was something on his face for a second, something dark -- a look she realized she recognized too well. Only this time it wasn't from the mirror; she'd seen that look on Hans face, and she thought once on Olivier's, and Stefanie bites down on her tongue. Hard enough she thinks she almost bit it off, but then it passed and she decides that was a question for another day; the moment he was smirking again and laughing again and then -- that smile was threatening to make her blush.

She was glad there wasn't a mirror in here. Stefanie often felt compelled to look in them and well -- actually come to think of it she didn't think there was a sight that could pull her gaze from his wiggling eyebrows and then open mouth gasp. Feigning her own gasp (okay maybe she was trying to cover her cheeks too), Stefanie nods along lightly,* Safe with me, Tony. *And because she could, and her finger was still out she kept it on his forearm rubbing the area where she felt his pulse and saying lightly (despite the fact her words were anything but),* I thought you might. Though I have that too, as you know. But...really I just wanted to do something with you that had absolutely nothing to fucking do with him.

*She didn't need to elaborate who that "him" was really. Her eyes stay on her finger, brushing his pulse and linger there, focusing on breathing out instead.*

 **Tony:** Yes I do know...*Yet far from imagining what she might have been wearing under that great outfit, and imagining ripping it off her (didn't have to imagine too hard as he had the memories recent and fresh in his mind), his attention was focused instead on the actions of her lone finger on what was probably one of the most innocent parts of his body, his forearm. Not that it couldn't be made arousing if they tried, but that was the point, it wasn't and it didn't need to be. Especially when paired with a statement like that.

She keeps her gaze down this time, seeming just as transfixed by her motions, or his vein, as he was. He tore his eyes from her finger first, and brought the hand that was free to her face, brushing away stray curls, his hand following the hairs back to behind her neck. In that moment as he stared in silence into her eyes he realized he hadn't actually kissed her without it being a precursor to the sex. In the next moment, he realized he wanted to. And in the following moment, he did. With his hand cupped around the back of her neck, he pulled them closer and kissed her, tasting her gloss on his lips and tongue.*

 **Stefanie:** *Incredible. The first time he'd kissed her had been a few weeks back, the room behind a hotel bar where he saved her life -- and then again even more recently this week -- yet as his lips press to hers now, she thinks it might have been the first time. Was that possible? Oh, fuck it - she couldn't care, not when he was holding her so and she flutters her eyes shut, kissing back. Flutters like her breath was, the breath his mouth didn't swallow or steal, the tiny gasps through her nose, though it kept brushing against her cheek.

She had known Tony was an excellent kisser that first night. What Stefanie hadn't known was that a kiss could taste and feel like this, period. Bringing her hand up to cup his cheek too, the other wrapping around his wrist and pulling herself in even as he tugged her closer too. Even, she thinks with amusement somewhere, dim at the back of her mind and god, his chest was warm to the touch. Tender, she realized, that was the word she was looking for. A kiss that wasn't meant to be just about sex and release or hiding -- a kiss that was promising nothing and in doing so, everything.* Tony...

*She gasps that, only to kiss him again, just as soft and sensitive as before. Tender for another reason too she thinks, as her fingers trail over his jaw and she feels pallid skin, taut with forming bruises and understands abruptly: he might not be missing a leg, but he hadn't escaped scot free at all. For touching her, that was what he fucking -- she presses her lips to his harder, swipes her tongue against the roof. Hissing with her exhale, she pulls back a centimeter, eyes fluttering open to behold his and just looks at him, shivery and smiling in spite of herself.* ...I have bruise balm at my flat.

 **Tony:** *They had made a game last time out of their names, rather out of his name. In the midst of tangled limbs, hot breaths, and taut muscles, she had managed to say what seemed to him at that time, every single word imaginable except his name. So he went searching for it in every curve, every dip, every angle of her body only to have it received after a muttering of her own name through his lips. Now as his name passed unrequested from her lips, he didn't know whether he should be smug or worried.

A shake of his head so subtle he wasn't entirely sure it had happened proceeded her little gasp. Surely, in his mind, if she had kept speaking at that moment it wouldn't have been good. Was he selfish for not wanting that to occur? For enjoying the kiss so much to abandon logic and ignore whatever red flags and alarm were sure to be going off in his head?

God, he was so fucked.

The reminder of the pain in his jaw came from a light caress, and the kiss changes at that moment to something a little harder, more reminiscent of what their kisses were in the midst of passion, and he certainly didn't object. Licking his lips as she pulls back, eyes opening, taking in her hooded gaze he just nods, a smirk growing slowly on his face as he teased.* That code for 'your broken jaw has worsened your kissing'?

 **Stefanie:** *Broken jaw. Ansel had fucking broken his jaw. Well, naturally she thinks ruefully first, being a wolf -- and then, if someone had hit Tony hard enough to break his jaw, that punch could have killed a normal man. Her grip seems to tighten on his wrist just at the thought. She wasn't sure what to say to that though - because really, on the one hand, how was she supposed to ignore it and on the other -- she really hadn't lied when she'd said she wanted to do something that had nothing to do with him. Because this didn't.

And it was easy in that moment to forget him entirely as her gaze traces his little lip flick, breath skipping through her throat and then she shakes her head a fraction back at him.* Not at all. But I never break promises, and nursing you back to health did sound, well. *Her gaze flicks up from his lips to his eyes, but still she didn't blink or look away.* Enticing.

*She couldn't say fun considering the injuries origin source, but that didn't stop her from tilting her head and adding softly,* Besides, if you don't let it rest properly Tony, you could do serious damage and just what am I going to do without your gorgeous, sexy Italian voice all the time?

*When had she laced her fingers with his?*  
  
 **Tony:** *His eyebrows popped as his smirk grew into one of genuine amusement and enjoyment as his ever-creative mind delved into images that were just too -enticing- (to use her word) to ignore. So he hummed, a sound that seemed to emmanate from his chest, and it grew to a chuckle after a lick of his lips, chasing away the gloss that had transferred over to him. He had to admit, he had never thought the color pink would have a taste to him, but this was surely it.*

My mouth resting? You do realize who you're talking to? This might just require overnight supervision. *He nods as if the situation was more grave than it actually was before he smiled again as she held his hand.* Despair. You're right, this is not only about my wellbeing, this is also about your eventual pleasureeee being at risk. I consent to hospitalization at L'hopital de Stefanie. *His French was no match for his Italian, but he succeeded anyways.*

 **Stefanie:** Overnight supervision? *Her head tilts as she echoes, wondering idly how it was he could still bloody be so damn sexy, smirking, with a broken jaw. Well, not that it was still broken but it had been, that day, recently and just...she shakes her head, wondering how it was this man had gotten under her skin so quickly. (Admittedly, she had met him once or twice when they were both still pre-teens but, that she didn't tend to count those visits. Tony hadn't come often, when Olivier did, and frankly some of those more "professional" gatherings you'd have thought the bastard only had one son, not two. So, they didn't count).

Sighing aloud, she shakes her head as if making some great sacrifice here and wondering if that meant technically...her bed. She supposed it did, and wasn't that curious? They'd spent the night together twice - the first time in what was technically his brother's bed, the second the London hotel - neither time involved one of their actual beds. It was a funny little thing to focus on, but Stefanie knew...well. She always did that.

Squeezing his fingers, she leans up again to kiss him, because she wanted to now, just once, softly...like she could memorize his mouth and taste from a single impression to last for ages. Then she nods, brisk.* Exactly. And now, I just can't have that sacrificed Tony.

*Turning to tuck herself against his side, she nonetheless was taking the lead as she thinks: oh Lord, she hoped she'd put away the dirty clothes and what not from the previous few days. That she tries not to show on her face.* Let me, then. *It started as a question...but then she recalls half way through he liked her demanding so - she turns it to an imperative and disapparates them both.*


	47. [An A+ Mouth]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the year 2022. College campus, fraternity party, Saturday night.
> 
> Olivier, aged 20, partner in the business and Antonio, aged 19, college student (of criminal justice). It's been two and a half years since the brothers have spoken to each other, when out of the blue Tony uses a coded message, and Olivier dropped everything to try and convince his brother to come home: unaware that was exactly what his brother was already planning...but for a very different reason.

**Olivier:** *Seriously, though? Was this guy actually in existence, or someone his brother had conjured up to teach him some lesson?* Do you know who I am?" *Oh, speak of the devil, he thinks with a sudden smirk on his face feeling his brother grabbing his shoulders (in a feigned nice-pat) and looks sideways at him. 

 **Tony:** Whoa sorry about that! He just landed a commercial gig, thinks anyone should be able to recognize him by now- the new face of Pepto-bismol! he's a natural isn't he? Look at it- his face looks constipated already. *shoulder pat*"

 **Olivier:** What are you, my agent? Because I have to say, *trying to unclench his shoulder blades and swallowing hard before smirking,* telling men to look at my face sounds more like you're pimping me out and I'm not very comfortable with that."

 **Tony** : Me pimping you out or me pimping you out to -men-? Cuz I figured you know, no girlfriend, maybe you *clicks his tongue as he hits his shoulder, til ting his head* swing for the other team. Completely okay with it if you are, by the way. It'd explain the hair, and the clothes, and the meticulous care you give your nails. *He nods and then grabs a beer away from a guy walking by with a cooler and puts it in his brother's hand* Sorry, no wine here!

 **Olivier** : *Had been gesturing as if to say 'yeah, yeah go on, laugh it up', but his eyebrow pops as he finds a beer shoved in his hand. After looking at the man with the cooler and back to Tony, he thinks; he was a bit impressed, to see him just take something. Then he chuckles.* Why anyone would choose this cheap swill over a genuine Cab...but, *He pops the beer cap off with his thumb, forgetting that was supposed to be difficult, takes a long swig and shakes his head. Mid-gasp,* Ah, you know what? I was wrong. *Pats his brother's shoulder back,* It's the expensive swill. I'm honored.

 **Tony:** The cheaper it is, the faster you get trashed, obviously. *he wiggles his eyebrows, grinning, quite pleased with himself and then makes a show out of bowing, hand fluttering away from him.* Anything for you, brother. This -is- a private university, after all. *He stands straighter again after bouncing once on the balls of his feet.* Come on, there's so much to do! We have *he turns, gesturing at the areas as he speaks of them* get drunk at beer pong, get drunk with a keg stand, get drunk with shot darts, you're looking at the reigning champion b-t-w, that means, by the way. Get drunk off body shots *smirks and waves at Quinn when she does before looking back at Olivier* I'd avoid the stoners though, such moody people.

 **Olivier** : Are you--yup, bowing, why brother aren't you --clever--. *He quickly finds himself taking another swig (if he opened the back of his throat he didn't have to taste it). Reigning champion, girl on the table waving at him--well, honestly, no wonder Tony never wanted to come home. A second only of the soft appreciation and understanding crosses his lips, before another swig.* I think I'm figuring out why your stories all started with 'that time we were getting drunk at insert location here'. *Dammit, he wasn't going to be outdone by these boys, and if that meant-clearly some form of getting trashed-so be it. He was Olivier D'Grey, and if they didn't know what that meant, they'd learn. Cocking an eyebrow at Tony, he raises the bottle to say,* Oh, the body shots, definitely. 

 **Tony** : Not _all_ of them start that way. *He says objecting with a finger raised in the air before he allows with an impish smirk* Just the ones worth telling. *He claps his hands together after his brother decides and then pretends to wipe a stray tear from the corner of his eye, sniffing twice for effect, putting his hand over his heart.* Never been so proud, Olivier. *Puts his arm around his brother's shoulders and pats his chest encouragingly, knowing he was out of his element here as they start walking over.* But wait, you never clarified for me, do you want to do it off Emi-ly- or E-mile-? *Smirks*

 **Olivier: *** Yeah, right back at you--he almost said it but swallows it back off his tongue's tip. It was too serious from him. And oh all right, his tongue had other things on his mind seeing Emily. Or maybe that wasn't Emily, the name didn't really matter, he whistled anyway, received appraisal and a wink (and the side of her chest hitting his arm after his "hey baby" (in Italian naturally)--as she hissed in his ear to find her later. Olivier spins back to Tony after another swig, (after he watched the girl walk away because well, she was putting a show for him on with that walk and what gentleman didn't watch?).* So. You've very nearly convinced me to go to university myself. *With a burst of restrained laughter at the question he tilts his head,* You know Tonio, when you get all insistent like that it makes me think you're projecting--you trying to tell me something, brother? 

 **Tony:** *The question here was not 'to be or not to be', but rather 'to tell his brother or not to tell his brother that the girl who'd just made a pass (Sonja) was the daughter of the head of the CIA'. It was a quirky little detail in his opinion but nah, best keep it to himself then. He smirked.* Nearly convinced you? What more do I need to do? Host an impromptu wet t-shirt contest? I did that last week. *Better to be a host than a judge at least, he got to be nice to all of the ladies, both winner and runner-ups. The word loser was so cruel.*

 

No, there's just some things brothers _shouldn't_ know about each other. *He turns away from his brother to greet Emily, kissing her cheek, close to her mouth* Ciao, bella. Want you to meet someone, this is my brother, Olivier. *In a stage whisper.* Body shot virgin. *Or not, whatever, not the point, it just gave him the excuse to be funny.* Wanna pop his cherry?

 

 **Olivier** : *The look on his face as he surveyed the girls around him so-clearly said that while the addition of water would be welcome, frankly he didn't think some of these girls attire _could_ get more skimpy. Not -- (he lets out a tiny whistle again) that he was complaining.* Well, if I do, it's definitely going to be States side, I'll tell you that much. *Having attended such _private_ education all his life he considered himself a fair judge on the fact this (being the trashed, bikini-wearing beer-pong playing girls hanging on equally trashed men who looked equal parts playboy and serial killer -- oh! No wonder he fit right in,) was a scene that would never happen in Oxford. 

Turning at the stage whisper, he lifts a smirk and shakes his head without even looking at his brother, coughing away his tiny apprehensive moment, eyes locked on Emily's,* Ah - I'd say ignore him, but if you're acquainted, then that's just going to be so repetitive. *He wiggles his eyebrow and picks her hand up to kiss the top of it adding the proper,* Enchanté, Emily. *Side-eying Tony,* Really brother, you're going to give everyone the impression I've never had any fun in my life before. 

 **Emily** : *Another one? Oh fuck her sideways (and actually, please and thank you) she barely had enough restraint for one but two of them? She grinned, adding playfully.* But virgins are so messy.

 **Tony:** *He laughed, grabbing for a beer and popping the cap off before taking a few chugs, wiggling his eyebrows appreciatively over the top of it.* You gotta crawl 'fore you ball.

 **Emily** : I know how this one operates-- most of the time he doesn't mean half of what he says and half of the time he says less than half of what he means.

 **Tony:** *snorts* She's chatty when she's drunk.

 **Emily:** Something we have in common. *A kiss on the hand, now that was something else entirely. Someone please have mercy on her. Cheeks pinking, it was the alcohol, it was the heat.* Pleasure's all mine.

 **Tony** : No actually, it'll be all his. Virgin remember?

 **Emily** : Stop being such a typical man by ragging on your brother. Let him prove himself. *She places her hands on the two men's shoulders to hoist herself up back up on the counter with a wink, swiveling around and picking up a slice of lime and putting it in her mouth.*

 **Olivier** : *Honestly, from the moment he'd stepped off the plane (traveling the muggle way was the only way to insure he wasn't going to be followed here by their Dad's men) he'd been struggling to understand the appeal of the States...but oh, oh now he understood in spades. Cocking an eyebrow at the descriptors (thoroughly enjoying that, as opposed to this beer, which he was only too eager to lay down and enjoy the tequila), he remarked lightly,* Uh oh, brother. Seems you made a mistake - someone who doesn't fall for your charms? 

*Holding up a hand to indicate he'd taken no offense (honestly, he was barely paying attention to his brother's words -- or, he'd say that until he believed it, considering tonight was the first time he'd seen him in, oh, two years and the last occasion had been far from friendly), he chuckles at being used as a gymnasium. Well, nothing like putting the hybrid strength to use, he imagines as he swivels, reaching for the bottle of tequila, and the pinch of salt.* Ready, cara? 

*All right, so he was already standing between her legs, and there was a pleasurable buzz in his head (man the house was warm), but still - he'd be a gentleman even as he proved his brother wrong. Which, the counter was an absolute mess and honestly, he knew his suit was wrecked anyways (even without the jacket), but he still rolls his sleeves up first (and maybe ran his finger along her torso, and hemline, as it was revealed - dragging his finger tip casually, lingering, as if he didn't even notice he was doing it), waiting the instant for her to nod before brushing her hair off her neck, leaning over to lick her neck, sprinkling the salt in place, again letting his fingers linger and toy and play with her flushing skin, sticky and sweet skin. In one smooth, continuous swoosh -- he's pouring the tequila in her belly button, trailing up between her cleavage with his mouth, sucking gently and taking his time to savor the last remnants of the bitter drink (tequila wasn't his favorite, but it also wasn't the point right now), the sweet and sour against her skin. Then he plucks the lime from between her lips with his own, sucking hard for a moment only, to pop it out and lean down and give her a quick, proper kiss too. Because why the fuck not, right? 

He winks over her, lifting back and rubbing at the corner of his mouth, eyes twinkling as he asks,* Now I believe it's only proper I offer to share and let you do similar off me, you know. *And he winks. Flush with success to chase away the nerves he hadn't wanted to admit to, brimming with amusement at the look on his brother's face and -- well, grateful for it too, because he'd come here to talk to Tony but -- goddamn, it had been too long since they'd just...been brothers, out having fun, and that was why he'd come above all.* 

 **Tony** : *He smirked because quite honestly, yes, at first he'd wanted to charm his way into her pants, and hey if she was ever up for it he wouldn't be one to deny, but in the end he was glad to have kept a friend. A very hot friend.* She quickly learned the one sure method to keep me around- denying me.

 **Emily:** *She snorted, and then proceeded to want to kill herself for the sound, or rather kill Tony. Instead she made herself as comfortable as she could on the counter, her mind buzzing to the beat of the song playing on the speakers.* Born ready, baby.

 

*And apparently, deliciously, so was he. Ready and able and talented and delectable. If the lime hadn't been in place, her bottom lip would have been the subject of her torture, instead it was a battle not to bite down hard on the lime and to her credit, she didn't though it was impossible to keep down a sigh or two. It was even more difficult not to chew down on -his- bottom lip once he came back for a quick kiss.

 

Giggling as she sat up again, she licked her lips, tasting the lime on them and then decreed.* Oh, definitely not a virgin. You sir, have an A-plus mouth.

 **Tony** : *The smirk of amusement, and pride, on his face only turned into laughter as his brother continued to show off and then act his proper European self. He shook his head, smirk back in place.* Show off.

 **Emily** : Let him! *She jumps off the counter again, grinning wide now, reaching for the salt.* You gonna take off your shirt or am I gonna do that for you too, darling?

 **Tony** : Am I chopped liver to you now, Em? *smirks as he takes another swig of his beer, looking a moment to see where Quinn had gotten off to.*

 **Olivier** : A+..? *His eyebrows furrow but he was smirking in honest pride anyways, because that sounds good to him (the plus part in particular). Extending a hand to help her sit up properly at first (and okay you know, maybe it was and excuse to keep his hand's trailing over that soft, sticky, delectably warm, sugared skin), he laughs at Tony, shaking his head,* Your fault for underestimating me, *he adds purposefully,* baby brother. *And then he spreads his arms, spinning himself towards the counter too, letting his back hit it as he answers,* Oh please, be my guest. 

*The tequila was going straight to his head, he thought, or the cheap-ish beer was, or the heat or -- nope, some part of him knew what it was that had him so happy in that moment: he wasn't sure he'd seen his brother this happy in...a long time. Looking back at Emily (okay it was hard to look away), he shakes his head,* Nope. Not a virgin. Sure that's not the only lie he's told about me though, so. *He shrugs a shoulder, licking his top lip, adding in a louder voice for him,* So modest, aren't you, brother? He's, *as he gets up on the counter, smooth as ever, smirk lifting,* not one to brag. 

&.

**Tony:** *In his mind, the song 'Shots' kept playing over and over again throughout the night. It was the classical anthem to a night like that, especially given that his big brother ('the damn fucker had 'baby brothered' him) seemed intent on showing him just how normal and loose he could actually get. A keg stand! Olivier D'Grey had actually done a keg stand, by himself obviously, as the frat boys and the sorority girls all around them chanted 'chug! chug! chug!'. Tony hadn't been able to chant because he had been too busy laughing, but he did cheer with the rest and then had to swat away Olivier's new fans as if they were flies. 

Tony introduced his brother to more friends...girls, a lot of girls, but some friends too! Sharon, Quinn, Clare, Dustin, Olivia, John, et cetera, it didn't really matter but he had introduced them because it was necessary at least to know the name of the people you were going to play drunken Twister with.

Thing is, he didn't think he'd ever seen his brother look so...carefree. It was a nice expression on him, no broody or furrowing eyebrows in sight. That was also the sheer amount of cheap alcohol they kept drinking.* This is the life, bro! Seriously, come on, don't try and tell me I haven't convinced you. This happens every weekend, just different location. And Thursday counts as a weekend.

 

 **Olivier:** *Having convinced himself that the morning simply did not exist, for something had gotten spilled on his watch anyways, so according to it, _it didn't_ , and time had stopped and oh how much he suddenly loved a watch he'd had no particular affinity for before -- oh hey, was this what drunk felt like? Not that he'd never been drunk before, but _this_ amount of alcohol was definitely a bit of a ... well, new high. He decides to look at it that way. 

And pretends for some time that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was pushing limits he hadn't pushed in...ever, okay, frankly; yes, he'd done body shots before (nights out with Hans, it was inevitable). But no scene like this, even when Tonio was finishing his last year in schooling back home. He catches himself thinking a few times "if Dad saw me now...," but that's another thing to push off til later - and frankly, when gorgeous Tridelts were twisting their body around you for Twister (sure, that was why), home was the farthest thing from his mind.

'Chug, chug, chug,' was a different kind of recognition than he was used to but he couldn't help a proud, smug smirk when he dismounted the keg. See, he was right. There were many, many ways to make someone see you and know your name but for bloody's sakes, one way or another, they would. That smirk hadn't left his lips. 

Now they were out on the back of a porch, fresh air and what not because oh, he hadn't ever gotten sick from alcohol (whether that was the vamp chromosomes or what he had no idea), but right this second he thought he might be. Just from the sheer cheapness if nothing else, and oh Lord his head was going to hurt in the morning but--nope, that didn't exist. He chuckles at his brothers remark, twisting his hands around the wooden bannisters and nods absently,* Yeaaah, yeah, right. Good show. See and you say you're not as maniiipulative as me. 

*He hmms, swaying over the edge of the bannister and then pulls back, words abruptly brisk and honest,* Frankly Tonio, I'm unbelievably impressed you could do this three nights in a row. Four. *Yes, he could count. Oh no, no he couldn't not right now. He looks at him sideways, lips flicked in a lazy smirk, voice a little softer,* But I do see the long term appeal. *He exhales hot, with a little shrug and smile, not really even noticing his own bluntness as he was just being honest (and drunk) (drunkenly honest),* You're a star here, aren't you? 

 **Tony:** *He scoffs, putting his hands on top of his chest, looking around in fake outrage* Me? Manipulative- get oouuut! Get out of here with that shit, nope. *He sounds out the p and shakes his head from side to side.* Not at all. I am so honest. And so forthcoming. Not a manipulative bone in my body, no sir, no way, no. how. *He snorted, shaking his head, figuring alright enough with the act and then grinned.*

Well, not on Sundays, Sundays are usually reboot and then...get all the homework done. Maybe. I leave most assignments for the morning of and I....mayyy use a little help, just a teeny tiny help, I mean the *drops his voice* muggles don't have to know about it shhhh. *He lifted his finger to his lips before he winked and chuckled again, nodding.*

You know, I am. Not a jock in any way, not a frat boy, but they do love me here. It's _awesome_. I don't even have to try that hard, I'm just my awesomely awesome self, you know minus the wizard part, minus the hybrid part, minus the mafia part, and here I am, adored. Think it's the accent, chicks here go crazy for the accent, well *he smirks* you learned.

 **Olivier** : *His brows furrow as he can't help but retort, lips quirking and hands folding together and laying over his heart,* Oh, my brother, I sincerely apologize and beg apology because you know, you're _so_ right *(he used so because his brother had half a dozen times, but it was all in good humor),* you are honest, one hundred percent. *And then he cocks his head, gesturing with both folded hands together with that immovable smirk,* Well. Except for the wizard part, the hybrid part, and the uh -- the mafia part. 

*He drops his hands then, frankly a little bit too woozy to stand upright let alone be all Italian-expressive (like he could help that, he thinks, as his hands slap his thighs then grip the bannister behind him again so he can lean on the wood. Huh. There were a lot more stars overhead than he'd have thought. He supposes that's because usually, Paris's city lights might be a star on their own right but - they do pollute the atmosphere. See! He didn't have to go to college to know how to do these things.*

You sound surprised. *His brows furrow as he adds,* I'm not. You know, even if I'm fairly sure not a single one of your friends knew I existed before tonight. *Because minus the hybrid part, the wizard part, the mafia part -- well, it inevitably to him felt like minus the Olivier-part, and he shrugs a shoulder, knowing that Tony really only meant it was minus the _D'Grey_ part, but...oh, like his head wasn't going to hurt enough in the morning. 

So he exhales, adds,* And even though I happen to think those parts are all frankly part of _why_ you're an -- *his brows furrow, quoting with mirth and light and...honesty, that too,* -- "awesomely awesome person," brother. But speaking of forthcoming. *He lifts an eyebrow.* It's been two years, Tony. Didn't answer any of my calls, made me feel like some stalker psycho ex-girlfriend, *his lips twitch - honestly, it was a joke,* ...and I'm glad to be here, just. What changed your mind? 

 **Tony:**...Exactly. *He nods, smirking, ignoring how contradictory that simple statement was. He was completely and totally 100% honest while actually lying to the campus and uh, the rest of the world really, about who he actually was. It was either sad or ironic or funny, but at the moment, he couldn't determine which one of them it actually was. He didn't want to either, this was supposed to be fuuuun. And it was! It had been great fun, and frankly, that hadn't even been the plan. The plan had just consisted of Tony doing everything possible to make sure that Olivier got drunk enough to be approachable about what was on Tony's mind (what had been on his mind for a while now) but halfway through the night he forgot this was actually part of any scheme. He was just enjoying spending time with his brother, there was nothing wrong with that.

There was something wrong, however, with keeping things from him, especially one as big as this. And what was more he was...well, he wouldn't say frightened because he wasn't; he was anxious. That was the correct word, that was what he felt: anxiety. 

Chuckling, had to relieve the tension in his body somehow, and actually glad to hear his brother accepted him wholly (even if Tony himself didn't- wow, that was lame to think) and then he nods.* I know. Two years. Baaad brother award, baad. *He shakes his head and then turns to Olivier completely, using a hand on the bannister to steady himself.* Are you? Are you glad to be here? Because...life could be this way, Olivier. For you. Just like this, this easy. We could go to parties together and football games, which makes no sense because those players don't touch the ball with their feet, and just go ahead and be young! And live! Brother, I've been living! Without that gigantic shadow looming over me, watching everything I do and decreeing it wanting, I just...*he purses his lips and then exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.* 

I'm coming back, Oli. I'm coming back, and I'm destroying that empire built on the blood and suffering of others.

 **Olivier:** *Since he was -- well, not quite since he was born, but since he was six months anyway, he was relentlessly tutored, trained and told how to think - how to _predict_ what others would do, what they want, so that he could be in a position to grant it. More than that, he'd known his brother since he was six _years_ old; if there was anyone in the world he should be able to know, considering how innately they did - or, had, -- it should be Antonio. Yet maybe it was the alcohol (except he hadn't drank before coming here, flying the two thousand miles across ocean), but the last few lines Tony said honestly took him aback. He'd thought, maybe, his brother did want to convince him to rebel too, to leave too - that was the extent of it, in his mind. The words he spoke now...*

You serious? 

*That was all he could say at first, because it - sounded like such a fucking joke to him. Not that his brother might want to do that (no, that made sense to him, to...some part of him anyway), but that anything in the world could destroy their father's empire. He'd fended off attacks for a century, Olivier didn't even _know_ how young he was the first time he'd seen his father kill someone (though he did remember her, remembered watching her fall asleep as she was drained dry; when she'd come in, she'd given him a toy). He was Remington D'Grey, over a century years old vampire and capo, he just -- he was -- _Dad_.

Olivier blinks again, his breath caught in the back of his throat and he shakes his head for a second; realizing what his brother said first and tries to imagine it - but however fun the night was...he didn't know if he could picture that as his actual life. It just...seemed impossible. That wasn't his life - he had more than that, he thinks (though the words sound kind of awkward, and he blames that on his drunk-mind),* You- I mean, you're actually serious? You want to -- you can't. It...how? Dad'll.... 

*His breath catches and he can't say that, so instead,* _Tony_. I - yes, I am glad to be here. With you. I didn't want you to _leave_ , though now seeing this I'm -- glad, that you did. It just. I _missed_ you, brother. 

 **Tony:** *The alcohol did not impair Olivier's ability to furrow his eyebrows it seemed but Tony had caught him off guard enough that his brother's facial expressions were on show for him and besides the surprise and concern all he really saw, what was most prominent in his mind was the disbelief. The disbelief that Tony would try, not because it was Tony, because such a thing was suicide.

Probably. Remington D'Grey, alive since the 1920s, lived through so much and gained everything. His metaphorical throne was made out of the skeletons of the bodies he left in his wake, uncaring, cruel. A shiver runs down his spine he tries to keep from taking over himself too much and then he just exhales, rubbing his forehead. He forgot how fucking brainwashed Olivier was!

Oh, he was so glad he hadn't said that out loud because he regretted just thinking it. He sighed again as his hands gripped the wooden railing but he stood his ground.* Dad. *how he said that word without choking or spitting every time was a miracle. But he did bite down on his tongue.*

There's a life waiting for you, Olivier. It doesn't have to be the one that he made you! That he perfectly sculpted for you and left for you to take, is that what you want to do? Could you picture yourself doing that for the rest of your life?

Maybe you can, but I don't want that for you. You deserve so much more, and fuck it, so do I. That's why I left. I couldn't stand that man looking me in the eye one more time, those black and beady eyes like sharks just-- I can do it. Okay, I can do it, I fucking know I can do it.  

 **Olivier:** More? *His head was spinning, and now he knew that wasn't the alcohol; just pure, fucking confusion. In fact, he felt stone-cold sober all of a sudden, just with a different headache than he thought he'd been creating all night. There was a sharp knife he felt in his throat, his tongue felt thick and heavy and honestly -- he was used to (well, not _used_ to, because he couldn't figure out how to get used to it) having to fight himself for other reasons -- but it was familiar. This, on the other hand...*

Those are..I just, those are different questions Tony -- *his hand comes up as he rubs his eyebrows down, breathing in and out and then he blinks.* Yes, I can picture myse--of course I can, it's what I'm _doing_ already. *He regrets saying that the instant he does, doesn't really want to elaborate on the last two years -- there were other reasons he'd missed his brother so goddamn much. He was one of the only people who kept him...well. Who could hold him back.

His hand drops from his eyebrows, tucking in his back pocket and he shakes his head from side to side, unfocused eyes searching unfocused eyes,* I know why you left, Tony, I just -- I guess I didn't think you resented me that much. What he sculpted for me and left me and made me? It's -- that legacy, that's all I've had to mean _family_ , okay? What do you want me to do? 

 **Tony:** I don't- are you fucking kidding me, I don't resent you. At all! Before I came here two years ago, you were the only part of my life that didn't...suck. God, I'm a teenage girl, it's not you I resent okay it's _Dad_. It's that, that- monster okay? That's what he is. I know you don't see him that way, but that's how I see him, and that's how the people whose lives he destroys with either his weapons sales or his drug sales or just when he gets hungry, that's what they think and he is.

I want you to make your own legacy, make your own definition of family, I'll help you if you want *this didn't sound nearly as pathetic that morning when he had practiced it* I don't want you to become a monster, Olivier, I don't want you to become him. He's...putrid, he's sick, and I hate him. He has done so. much. wrong. He deserves to pay for what he's done, he deserves to dessicate in prison for everything he's done! I mean...just us! Just the fact that we're alive that's not...that's not normal!

*He grabbed his hair now, pulled at it, took a small moment to appreciate how strong his roots were, then realized he was actually thanking God for having such strong hair and stopped himself because what was fucking wrong with him?*

I want to be brothers again. Away from all that, away from him. I don't want to be the white crayon in his coloring box anymore! I want to abide the law! Except of course that stupid age restriction on alcohol over here, I mean please, 5 year olds in Italy have wine with their dinner- I mean don't you...want that? Something simple, something...it isn't easy, nothing in life's ever easy but it sure is easier than dealing with fucking low lives and psychopaths and drug dealers and hit men.

I mean what do you want for yourself, Olivier? Because if you want that...for yourself, not because you know it'll make him happy and proud, not because you know it's easy and sure, if you want that life because you believe in that life then just...I'll understand. I'll understand but then I'll need you to understand that I don't want any part in it. 

 **Olivier:** *He shook, first at the word 'monster' and then the long line of adjectives; the hatred and sickness and everything that he thinks is technically true but, God, wasn't it also true his father had a right to live, that _they_ did on top of that? He turns around, breathing out hard and leaning over the bannister as he thinks he's going to be sick but -- no. No, his goddamn stomach was too strong it seemed, even though the world was spinning away from him and he was breathing hot and hard and heavy. Actually it felt like everything around him was compressing in hot, and hard and heavy. A muscle above his eye twitches. His jaw clicks, and still all he can think about is to breathe in and out.* I know it isn't _normal_ , but frankly, I'm fucking glad that he did whatever he did -- I'm pretty damn happy to be alive and really sometimes it seems to me we wound up with the best of both worlds, Tony. *He flicks his gaze back over his shoulder, breathing hard because of everything he was accused of - it was the one thing Olivier would bother to defend his father on. 

His, father, he thinks dimly - realizing. Not _their_ father. Just .. his. And maybe, if he'd thought that because Tony just declared so resolutely how much he hated him, maybe he would have said something different. But Olivier realizes he thought it that way because Dad hadn't acknowledged Tony existed in two years - and seeing his brother now, he was done thinking that was acceptable "because he was hurt." Bloody hell, the man had hardly acknowledged Tony the last few years before he left either. And that thought pisses him off, infuriates him - lights his bones on fire - and he shakes his head in a soft jerk because if having the business - if that meant that he had to accept Tony's permanent departure - then, he couldn't give a damn about the business. Not if that was the choice.* 

Look, Tony. *He shuts his eyes, drumming his fingers on the bannister and says quietly,* I don't know, what it is that I want, all right? I - yes I know it makes him happy and proud, and yeah it's easy and sure -- but it's not that, it's...this was why I was - this is what we were born _for_ , engineered from God knows what. This is what I know, this is -- this is what I was taught, *his eyes flutter back open to hold his brother's gaze steadily,* from nearly the day I was born, it's...what it is. Hit men? Easily dealt with. All they care about is money. Abide by the law? Why in God's name would I want to do that over _being_ the law? *He shakes his head stubbornly, but his breath is quiet again.* So I don't know, okay, I don't.

*He takes a breath.*

But I do know that I hated every goddamn minute that I had to think I might not see you again, Tony. And I know if this is really what you want , if you really want to -- try and take him down, then, I know I've got your back. *He owed him that, he thought, after he'd put him through..well. He rubs frankly really hard over his lips and echoes himself softer,* I do, Tonio, because *he takes a step forward and keeps his eyes steady searching,* you're my brother.

 **Tony:** *They also had the worst. They had the vampire's lust, thirst, and desire for blood without need of it and they had a human's impatience and lack of self control that made it that much easier to give in to it. He couldn't even get too angry without wanting to unleash hell, he was like the Hulk but less greener, less smart, and less likely to wear purple stretchy shorts.

His gaze rose back to his brother when he started to explain, and Tony never thought that he had ever been more scared for some words than he was at that moment. For half of it, it wasn't something that was particularly revelational. Olivier had spent his entire life being groomed for command, no other life to hold on to, to wish for, to think about. Olivier had never lain awake in bed and missed playing scrabble with their mother because he'd never met her.

Frankly, he also thought it fucking unfair that she was getting blamed for leaving when a fucking Death Eater had shown up at her door to take away her baby. What was she supposed to do, fight to the death? Risk injuring her baby? It wasn't their mother's fault that Olivier grew up without her and that Tony never saw her again after he went to live with his father, it was Remington's own fucking fault, and everything was.

What kind of person knows how to deal with hit men? One raised by Remington D'Grey since diapers that's who.

He looks up again, trying not to be angry at the 'I don't know' though he would have preferred a more substantial answer. The annoyance was chased away by his brother's next words (came right back up at 'try' but left again quickly after), and he felt like he could breathe properly again, finally.* That's all I wanted to know...really, that's it I just...I couldn't do this without you.

 **Olivier:** *Nodding, he lifts his hand to his brother's shoulder, squeezing tightly and tries to think he's giving him more comfort than he's taking before he pats and releases. Because he realizes he couldn't feign that. He knew that to Tony - for all the reasons he'd just stated; there was nothing here that he was giving up, that all it was, was a righteous crusade against a man who'd stolen him, and then forsaken him. Oddly enough from a logic standpoint, Olivier utterly agreed with him. But it wasn't just logical to him; his father wanted him so damn badly he'd broken all kinds of natural, magical laws -- he still filled with pride even in that instant to remember how Dad sounded when he introduced him, "that's my son" -- how full of pride Dad was himself! He had good memories, where Tony had nothing but...ones of the monster.

Well rather, he knew that Tony just chose not to remember there might have been any good - because frankly, Dad had taken him too, he'd _wanted_ him too. But that broke a long time ago...and so of course, of course this was what he wanted (he really, should have known that), and if it was a choice between the two of them...it was his brother he'd choose, there wasn't even a question there. Not because he didn't love his father, or because he loved Tony more -- but just because there were hundreds if not thousands perhaps of people who gave a damn about Remington D'Grey for over a century. Sometimes it seemed Tony only had him. 

And that was funny to think now, when he'd just met all his friends here -- all these friends who loved him, genuinely -- but, Oli thinks at the back of his mind. They didn't know who he was, didn't know his past or abilities - and he couldn't blame him,for not telling, because who would understand? Olivier puts his hand back in his pocket, nodding once more, this time firmer, settling his breath. It felt less like he was giving something up now, less like he was about to try and destroy his own inheritance -- now it felt like he was saving something, the most goddamn thing in the world to him and that made him smile. Soft, but it was there.* No, probably not. *He agrees, in half a tease.* But what were you thinking to start?


	48. Blood Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if you're taking a walk through the garden of life  
> What do you think you'd expect you would see?  
> Just like a mirror reflecting the moves of your life  
> And in the river reflections of me
> 
> Just for a second a glimpse of my father I see  
> And in a movement he beckons to me  
> And in a moment the memories are all that remain  
> And all the wounds are reopening again
> 
> And as you look all around at the world in dismay  
> What do you see, do you think we have learned  
> Not if you're taking a look at the war-torn affray  
> Out in the streets where the babies are burned
> 
> We're blood brothers, we're blood brothers...

“—ah!” 

Daniella swears in French under her breath, bringing her wrist up in an instant and smacking her hand over it. The knife clatters, silver and ebony bouncing on the marble, off it, and buries itself in the wood near her foot. 

“What—,” and oddly, Olivier went rigid, cutting himself off. 

Daniella rolled her eyes, ignoring that and gestures with her elbow. Maybe there was a reason Dylan never trusted her to cut after all. Yeah yeah, she knew there was a point to the whole “always cut away from yourself, not towards” rule but it was just so much easier sometimes and wasn’t it better to cut in a manner you felt you could control? Well, okay, judging by the stinging pain in her wrist, maybe not.

“Nothing, just —,” she gestures with her elbow, “can you get me a towel?” 

Whatever noise he made, it suddenly seems to strike Daniella: the word _“inhuman.”_ Looking up, still rubbing her wrist and squeezing tightly to staunch flow, the unconcerned head shake stalls mid-jerk. Abrupt, Daniella’s as still as he is. Written on his face as if it was carved deep in stone was a look of desire warring restraint that makes breath flee Daniella’s raw throat. She thinks she’s breathing in knives, exhaling fire. As if her presence alone was chipping at his ice, was melting Olivier’s self-made statue without trying. Blink.

“Olivier?”

There’s a jerk above his eyes, as if he tries to pull his gaze and can’t manage it. Like in that instant she had become his world. The sole object he could ever want, the one thing he desired, no, needed. Had her heart always been so loud? It’s wild in her ear, in flames, pounding, throbbing. Her gaze darts. Up, over his desperate eyes; down, to the corner of his lips as they curl; across his strong jaw (drawn tight, like she could see every white bone) and then zipping to his hand as it fidgets, fingers twitching up, thumb smacking his pulse point and caressing back and forth. Daniella meets his eyes again, her skin lit. The look was more desperate than want or need, she realizes - just as he’s grabbed her wrist instead.

“Ah-!” The flutter in her throat escapes a second time, betraying a weakness and trembling she hates, but she’d startled, goddammit. How had he even moved that fast? Now it’s his hand strangling her wrist, only he missed the cut. Instead his clenched fingers rest just below it as he lifts it up. He bears over her, breath heavy and striking her lips, burning her teeth as it escapes his gnashing own. Eyes wide, she looks at him repressing a shiver. Echoing itself, his thumb brushes over her pulse, coating itself in her blood.

Olivier’s father was a vampire, she remembers.   

Caught. Daniella thinks of a rabbit with a fox. Prey to a predator, vastly stronger, faster, meaner. He wants her, he can no longer deny it. Olivier can feel her hesitation as it snakes up her spine, could taste it from the way his lips curl. He feels she wants to push him away, he knows she’s afraid. 

He growls “no” to himself, releases her wrist and spins as if to shove her off instead. She stands. Watching him, the tremble in his limbs, hands strangling themselves, ripping at his skin as he paints himself in her scarlet, desperate and needy. There’s apologies on his lips. Daniella doesn’t know why he’s doing that. There’s thrill in her veins, a tremor in her throat, but all she thinks first is: I’ve seen this before. The struggle - the leaps he made between seizure and banishment. Jitters of

apologies with refusal, and the half-meant sorrowful ones consumption. Addiction was the same no matter the habit. Pain in her blue gaze lightens with understanding. Breathing his name, Olivier snaps at her to leave in answer. Leave now, get out, get out, Dani…

Then he stops her from doing that, appears in her exit path, eyes manic with the want. Hunger. 

Daniella steels, lifts her chin and chest and stares at him with empathy, a gaze of want mirroring his. The first time she’d met him, she thought he was dangerous. The thought she was more right than she’d ever wanted to be or could have known skips in her heart. He could kill her. She sees it, he wants to consume her, swallow her wholly, bury himself in every inch of her skin, red and hot and burning. He needs her. The world ceases to exist; there was only his ravenous gaze and her, so fragile, so full of life. It’s powerful and fervent, this feeling. Thick. 

His tongue darts out, like he was tasting her fear. It doesn’t stop him (it never has before). That’s how the fear of prey turns the hunter on. The moment she thinks that, Daniella juts her chin back out; defiant and willful. No, she thinks. If he wants her, he could have her, but she won’t be stolen. 

“I’m—I—” Olivier’s voice is wrecked with his thirst. The dull throb in her wrist where the blood still flows freely only beats  contrary to the rhythm of her heart, leaving her with staccato notes for breaths.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Daniella takes a step closer, lifting the cut towards him, briefly restraining a hiss as he yanks on her arm again. Her forearm floats near his lips, his tongue darts out, then back and he struggles with himself as she mutters a spell, watching the skin repair itself. It leaves the blood, warm and wet. He growls her name. And then clearly he no longer can help himself from drenching his lips in her offering, shaking and shuddering as he goes. 

Daniella thinks she’s making a mistake, but his lips were soft on her skin, his hands warm comfort and his whole body affects her like a magnet. She just couldn’t pull away. Or wouldn’t - as this had been her choice, she reminds herself as he draws her in. Letting her eyes flutter shut so she can’t see what he’s licking, the quick darts of his tongue that poke and prod might have been cleaning maple syrup, viscous and sugary. The pain subsides (or maybe her heart just drowns it out). His breath is needy, his lips greedy. He plunders and plucks. When she feels his teeth, blunt little bites that would have ripped her arm apart had he fangs, she decides “enough”; leans up and just meets her lips to his messily, brutal and hard. 

Her blood tastes gross, that’s her first thought. Frankly, she spares the moment to wonder how she didn’t gag — but it passes with the heat from his hunger, the want he pours in her mouth and forces her to swallow. 

Abruptly, he pulls away, releasing her wrist and gasping. Daniella drops her arm to her side, surveying him. His eyes were dark with the need, hooded eyes shutting and he rubs over them, wipes her blood from his lips hard. She hears on them the little “no-“s before he starts and decidedly pops off her top button. 

“You want to eat me out Oli, I have something else in mind.”

There’s a growl. Of disbelief, of hunger, of incredulity and affection. A momentary smile on both their lips. Acceptance. Then the world dissolves into teeth, lips, tongue and flesh sticky — warm.  

He wants to have her; he wants to mark every inch of her body with his tongue. It travels down her neck as she whimpers beneath his touch. Daniella gasps for air. Her back strikes the counter top, the vegetables and cutting board tumbling as he shoves and replaces her atop it. His grip on her waist gets tighter — a hand on her neck tilting it so he plants a rough, possessive kiss deep. Her arms swing high, snare around his upper back, hand twisting in his hair. A moan escapes her mouth, making him shove himself close, her hips rough against his own as to make her feel the bulge in his jeans. Oh yes, she can feel that.

Stained mouth never leaving her skin, painting her as if he wears lipstick, he travels down her collar bone straight to her breasts. The tank top she’s wearing disappears. Lands somewhere over her head. She sees it out of the corner of her eye as she gasps, spreading her legs; hazy and thinks it might have caught fire on the burner and she wouldn’t care. The bra snaps under his wandering fingers. Her breasts react at once, hardening as he cups and then her eyes flutter shut when he worries a nipple with teeth and tongue. 

She gasps, “oh God-” and it brings a wicked smile to his face. 

“I’m just starting, cara.” He breathes into the dip of her chest, sends her to the edge. His hands slide down her back, wrap secure on her hips and squeeze. That makes Daniella dig her nails into his back, scraping at his t-shirt until he concedes and pulls up to let her yank it over his head. He kisses her again before she’s thrown it, a kiss so demanding she thinks he’s swallowed her mouth into his and is just sucking on candy now. Olivier pushes her backwards until her back hits marble. Tomatoes cushion her head, squish and burst beneath her. His hand sliding to cup her neck and settling his body over hers, he climbs, claims his dominance. The familiar heat in her abdomen burns her from the inside. 

He needs her. He needs her right here, right now. It’s like a daze, a trance, he doesn’t think. All he feels is lust, a powerful animal urge to take her. He doesn’t want to make love to her. He wants to take her, possess her, claim her. 

Garlic and salt pricks at her nose and she almost chuckles, seeing the wood stove above her. Olivier made pizza by hand, did he? It shouldn’t surprise her, she thinks. Italian men love their kitchen. Right now, Daniella loved both: man and kitchen, her hands stretching behind her, one clenched around the island’s outer edge, the other scrambling through scattering bow-ties. When his hips grind against hers, she thinks how once she thought the way you act during sex reveals your true colors. If that was the case, they were equally selfish - demanding - needy and desperate, and had no complaints for making a mess.

And she doesn’t care when he slides the skirt off her, panties with it, in one short, sharp yank. Impatiently and breathing heavy, she undoes his pants, lets her hand slide to feel the shaft. In an instant he growls again. It stirs her inside, Daniella shivers. He awakens something in her, primal, wild. His ardent kisses burn her skin so much she’s afraid she’ll go numb; he’s hungry still, like he’s feeding and eating her and crushing her with his body, grazing teeth and lips against her skin. 

Without any warning he pushes inside her and she cries aloud, eliciting another guttural groan from her that burns straight through her. 

“Shh…Ho te tesoro, respirare - cazzo - sì, che brava ragazza—”

Bastard. Fucking bastard using Italian like that and sounding so damn good and so put together, when all she could do was curse with a cry. And move. Oh she could move. She needed to move. Push and pull and tighten and grind and twist and — fuck — just move. Her legs wrap around his waist, heels that she didn’t know were still on digging into his thighs, as he pants and sucks on her neck. He showers her with kisses and little broken Italian mutters and stutters — as they rock together, getting closer and closer — she arches her back while her fingers play with his hair and then — groans. Freezes in ecstasy, feeling euphoric and complete. He listens, quickens, and finally grunts. For a moment they’re silent. She shivers one final time when he pulls out and rests by her side, his heartbeat still erratic, just like her own. 

Clings to him like her life depended on it. 

Which it had, she remembers slowly as she watches his wandering fingers. They brush over her side, as if in wonder or awe of her. Sees the prints on her skin - those bloody kisses that felt so sweet, the marks of teeth and tongue. Her breath only quickens again, gaze darting back to his. The dark-eyed want was gone, satiated — and she lifts her hand, startled when she realizes how it shivers until it lands soft on his jaw. 

They look at each other. Just look. Wonder and shock in both gazes, and she thinks — she’d known he was dangerous, but this was deeper. Savage and unpredictable - a destructive storm. But if he’d thought she was the fucking house from Kansas, then he’d only just met the real Daniella Faye.

“I think we ruined our dinner. Bit unsanitary, anyway.” She says, soft while she still struggles to catch scant breath, the pad of her finger light on his lip. It curls beneath her touch and then he pulls back. If she hadn’t known he was going to do that, it might even have hurt.

“Daniella…” His voice was absolutely ravaged and he dismounts the counter, retreats across his kitchen and turns his back to her. She watches him zip the pants up as she sits up, yanking her skirt back up and sits in that, swinging her heels to click against the wood cabinet beneath her. They both stay topless.

“That’s okay. I always enjoyed skipping to dessert.” 

He lets a low chuckle out - and then spins to her incredulously, a hand on his hip, and she takes the moment to appreciate his abs because seriously, fuck - and then look back to his gaze. Her heart melts at that look. The utter lack of understanding was more seductive than his earlier hunger, she thinks, wondering if she’d survive another round or — rather, if she could wrap him in a tight hug and never let him ago. 

“You aren’t afraid?” He asks, voice breathless and choked in awe.

She knew she should be. But Daniella shook her head anyways, because this was something he was born with - she knew that, she’d understood the moment she’d looked in his darkened eyes. 

“Why?”

A sly, coy little smile writes on her lips and she clicks her heels together, tilting her head at him. 

“Olivier, I’m trying quite hard to not be hurt here. You have to as—didn’t you enjoy yourself?”

For a moment there’s a look of utter shock on his face and then he tilts his head, letting out another low inhuman sound. He stills shivers in his spine by gripping the cabinet behind him. Then nods in a jerk.

“Too damn much, Dani — I could have killed you.” 

“See, I don’t really like dwelling on could-haves. And really,” she holds her hand up, showing the pink, newly knit skin and says lightly, “Much cleaner than a towel!” 

Olivier’s eyes only harden, knuckles appearing white and she thinks she should lower where she was so recently cut as a side note. He’s perfectly still, though for a moment his lips quirk. Then, “This isn’t a joke.”

Her face grows serious and she sighs. “Yeah, I know that—I know that too well. But I’m still here, all right?”

“You should have left — frankly? You should never have come —”

Daniella snaps her fingers, faking another gasp because she couldn’t help it, “Are you telling me you weren’t even trying— that was au natural? Oh, I am getting right back on an—”

“Daniella.” 

She hops off the counter. He stiffens instantly, but she steps towards him anyway. His gaze was darting between the chest that bounces and her skirt, when he knew well her panties were somew—oh, they were hanging on the ladle. God, he would laugh, but he was struggling too damn hard with want and the fact that he knew the right thing to do was send her away. Scare her away, if possible, but it didn’t seem to be and Olivier couldn’t understand that.

“Look.” She says softly, now in front of him and bringing her hand up, gracing the side of his cheek, “No fangs.”

He grips her wrist again, snapping and moving it away, “There might as well be, and playing with it—”

She immediately just laces their fingers together. Her voice snaps. Eyes narrow. 

“Olivier D’Grey. That wasn’t playing. Okay?” 

He’s incredulous and breathless. “What do you call it?”

“Like I said. You seemed to want to eat me. So I don’t see why we couldn’t enjoy it —” 

He murmurs something in Italian. Why he thought that would be less arousing, she frankly has no damn idea. Repressing a shiver, she shakes her head and stares - locks her blue gaze with his. 

“You want me to say I’m scared, Oli? Of course I was. But your father was a vampire, I worked out pretty quickly what you wanted - just trusted your human needs were equally strong.” 

His thumb brushes against her wrist. He stares, searching her gaze. His face breaks. An all-too-human voice colors his words as he asks, “You’re really okay with this?”

“No.” 

Olivier bites his tongue. He moves to look away as his face falls, only the hand she has cupping his cheek stalls him and burns a gaze deep into his. Her words, paradoxically, were light and bright.

“I’ll be great with it once you stop fucking sounding like Edward Cullen. Come on, you’re Italian! Be a Salvatore at least.”

He has no idea who that is, but he kisses her anyways. 

&.

Blood and sweat made his shirt stick to his chest, making it seem like it was hotter than it really was. Yet for all the fire that had spread to every extremity, his heart had never been colder. His feet dragged across the floor of the hallway as he made his slow way towards the parlor. There was no active thoughts in his mind towards his destination; his only intention was to get out of those dungeons as quickly as he could.

He thought the screams would be the worst of it. Tony had prepared himself to block the screams out, to give himself over to the urge and think nothing of his victim if he had any hope of leaving there with his sanity in working condition. Screams and the thud as blunt objects made contact with soft skin and weak bones: that was what he had been preparing himself for. Nothing could have prepared him for what had awaited him instead.

Gustav had wanted to be there personally, and Tony had asked his brother not to be there. This was not something he wanted to share with his brother, and he had no interest in Gustav instructing Olivier to show Tony how it might be done. That was not something he wanted to see. Instead, Gustav was there alone, overseeing the entire thing, a twisted smirk plastered over his face and for a long time Tony thought the man a statue for how still he remained as he looked down upon the scene as an angel of death might have.

That was not what had rocked Tony out of his carefully built fortress. Tried as he might have to prepare himself for the screams, to prepare himself to give over to the instinct to destroy, ravage, and mutilate, he had never thought to prepare himself to personally know the person they had chosen for him to torture.

His face had visibly blanked as he stepped into the torture room and saw a familiar face hanging from the wall by shackles. She’d been struggling, screaming, fighting, but the moment she saw Tony, Emily had stopped moving and stared with eyes wide. The fear had turned hopeful for a moment, and Tony had never hated himself, never hated everything and everyone in the world as much as he had at that moment when he’d been forced to look at a woman he called friend and saw her face brighten with hope that she might be getting out of this.

Tony thought of her pleads as he reached the parlor and immediately headed to the decanters. He didn’t bother with a glass as shaky hands took the cap off the crystal container. The amber liquid inside the exquisitely carved decanter vibrated as Tony’s hands were unable to stay still no matter how hard he tried. Any effort just caused him to shake more violently and the tremors to spread across his body.

“Tony, help me! Please!”

Gustav had then arched his eyebrows, looking between the two of them, as if he were surprised that the girl he had chosen for Tony had been at random. Acted as if this were just pure coincidence, a lucky turn of events. Lucky for Gustav only, amusing for him, but Tony’s calculated wall had shattered and his eyes had never been wider as he shook his head and tried to take a step back. Gustav had stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, though Tony knew that if he had truly wanted to rip away from the man’s arm, he would have done so with as much ease as it took to bat away a fly. Instead, Tony stood still, watched as salty tears traveled down the brunette’s bronzed skin. Gustav whispered that this would be even better; a more sure way for Tony to prove himself. In his own mind, Tony was screaming for mercy as well, mercy for his friend, a friend that he hadn’t spoken to in well over two years but someone he considered a friend nonetheless. Emily had given him the campus tour, introduced him to her friends, and repeatedly kicked his ass on the Xbox as he called time and time again for a rematch.

“Tony, Tonio, please, please let me out of here, please!”

It was only more details that he took in: she styled her hair differently, she opted for colored contacts like he had advised so many years ago, and she wore an engagement ring. His hands had shook when he had been there too, before Gustav pushed him forward when the older man’s patient had worn thin. He walked around Tony and remarked that he would be helpful- he took out his wand and pointed it at Emily. The spell struck her in the chest and her screams jarred Tony’s ears permanently. She struggled against the shackles, her back arching off the wall as she tried to escape her own body and escape the pain. Emily’s green watered eyes never once strayed from Tony’s own blue ones. Her disbelief seemed only to be beaten by her betrayal. As she kept staring at him Tony realized that she was too hurt to hate him.

Noticing that it didn’t move him, Gustav conjured a knife out of smoke and then cut her cheek. Relatively shallow, the sight of blood and the smell of it (mostly a memory for there was no way he could smell the blood from over here) instinctively pulled him forward. Every whimper of pain and fear as he approached the woman cut at him as much as Gustav’s knife had cut her. He reached her and a swipe of his tongue licked the blood and tears from her cheek. The taste of the blood was a key, and Tony turned it in its lock and ripped the door open, passing through the threshold without a second look back, otherwise he would have never been able to walk in.

The decanter slipped from his fingers and onto the wooden table. It laid on its side, spilling amber liquid across the cherry red wood. Tony gripped the sides of the table hard and harder until wood gave away from the table, splinters digging into his palms. The sting of pain was a trigger, and he was a gun that was going off.

He picked up the decanter and threw it at the wall. How many times would they have to make a mess of this room? Until it resembled the mess that they had inside? There were not enough aftermaths in the world to show the state of his mind at that moment but he could try. He ripped portraits from the wall as he remembered dragging the knife down her chest; he threw lamps against the window and when the ceramic crashed with the glass, the noise still had nothing on the screams he had elicited with the tip of his wand; he ripped books from shelves threw them in the fire and watched them burn the same way her skin had under the flaming touch of hot iron; he kicked chairs over, ripped cushions apart to the sound of her wails in his head; a glass cabinet crashed against the floor, shards of it digging into his skin and cutting it open the same way he had her back.

His own screams were tearing at his throat, but he didn’t realize until he was on his knees in front of the fireplace, tearing at his hair and shouting. Shoulders hunched over, he rubbed his red hands over his face, spreading more blood on him as he cried out again and again, his own tears mixing with the sweat running down his forehead and face, barely breathing.

Emily’s body had gone limp and her breathing quiet after a time, and Tony had asked Gustav to leave him alone. Surprisingly, the man conceded, maybe he had been hoping Tony would help execute an escape and give him a reason to take it out on Tony again. Tony did no such thing, he only approached Emily again, cupped her bruised and battered face in his hands and begged for forgiveness in the quietest whisper he could muster. Every single memory came rushing back, of them drinking together, of introducing her to his brother and watching her use them as her own personal ladder, and of countless of nights and studying with his roommates and hers. If anything, it just made him hurt worse because those memories were so difficult to hold on to when the taste of her blood was still on his tongue and he wanted nothing more than to keep drinking it, keep spilling it from her. Their friendship didn’t matter to him, to his warped hybrid body; he would have been able to do the same to anyone.

Still, whispers of apology kept leaving his lips as he brushed away tears and hair tendrils Emily barely registered him, but her head had come up and she had asked him again to help her. Set her free. Prove that he actually meant more than half of what he said. Tony had nodded, a choked sound that might have been a laugh once, a vision of red from head to toe and as she held his gaze one more time, his hands came up quick as lightning and snapped her neck.

He had set her free in the only way he knew how.

His hands fell to the floor, no longer able to hold himself up kneeling, he was on all fours as he threw up on the carpet, his limbs still shaking. He made sure to roll away from it as his whole body failed him, his chest rising up and down erratically, breaths going in and out with difficulty, breaths that felt like they had been stolen. Sheer stubbornness brought him to standing after so many long minutes of sobbing on the floor, and the realization that he was nowhere near settled led him out of the room and into the rest of the house, of the manor, to continue destroying. Servants yelled but kept their distances as he exploded vases and mirrors, ripped everything in his path apart, but they didn’t try and stop him. Tony would be glad of that later, because he had no idea what he might have done to them if they had.

He hated this house, hated everything in stood for, hated how it came to be, hated everything. Everything. He wanted to see it burn, like he had watched his father burn, like he wanted to set fire to himself. A small voice spoke in his ear that sounded so much like that bastard, saying that this was no way to help his brother, that he was disappointing him by being unable to handle such a simple little thing. He screamed again as he tore through all of the decorative shit laid across a table in the hallway again, before his knees failed again and he came down hard only this time, he stayed there, his face blank again, his eyes as red as…the rest of him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one and everyone, his throat dry. “I am so sorry…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” that was all he said, all he could say. It became a mantra, the only thing that was heard throughout the house after all the destruction and yet in Tony’s mind it was only a whisper being drowned out by high pitched screams of suffering that would haunt his every step. Tony realized then that he would never know real silence again.

{*}

The first time Olivier D’Grey murdered someone was to save his brother. It wasn’t, as he always glossed over details to make it sound, a noble jump-in-front-of-the-bullet act. It was cold-blooded vengeance two days after a birthday cake he’d bought specially had cocked and loosed the round. Fifteen years old, he’d caught his brother as he collapsed, held onto shivering unruly limbs and saw red. He’d done the only thing that made sense to his desperate haze; shoved his fingers in his brother’s gasping throat and reared back as he vomited. Picked him up with ease, deposited him on the couch and fetched half a dozen vials (they’d broken in his hands), then a bezoar. That made his brother still — for a moment he felt his own heart stop — until the sound of gasps similarly smacked breath into his own bruised lungs. When Tony woke up, Olivier had been packaging the cake. He’d asked why, only to go still again with a whimper when Olivier hissed he was going to save it to shove it down the bastard’s throat.

Then he’d told Dad.

Remington D’Grey had never cared the way he should have, but Olivier knew it didn’t matter in that instant—Tonio was his son. An attack on son was an attack on father, and in that warped mindset, he had likely killed himself that night. Olivier didn’t ask. What he did was demand every bit of recent business, spend two days combing through records—interviewing employees. He hadn’t found him. The man had learned the attempt failed (and of Olivier’s inquiries) and grew desperate himself. Desperate people did stupid things, the lesson was burned in Olivier’s mind. This time he had tried to shoot Tony (that hadn’t been part of the plan, his brother shouldn’t have been there), and Olivier had jammed the gun in his chest cavity instead. He avoided the esophagus. The bastard had cake to swallow. Only something in that moment had ripped into Olivier—as if he’d punched in his own chest and lit his veins on fire. There was maroon on his finger tips and lips, like the world’s macabre make-up and he’d painted himself with it, bathed in it, luxuriated. Olivier didn’t remember the rest.

Tony did though. Tony had seen everything; his fourteen year old brother had stood in the corner of the vineyard’s fermentation chamber while he ripped a man limb from limb. It must have been his whimper that woke Olivier to reality. When he’d seen…what it was he’d done; realized the monster inside him…he’d whimpered himself. Fallen. Sat shaking tears and blood. Whispered apologies were on his lips when he finally gained the strength to look at Tony. Terror, sorrow, horror, hatred, disgust—though perhaps it was the tiny glint of relief that hurt most.

Until this moment, Olivier hadn’t ever seen his brother look worse.

To be sure, this wasn’t the first person Tony had killed. That was their father, repaying Olivier’s life-saving with heartbreaking symmetry. But it was the first time he’d done so with genuine intent, had planned and prepped — and what was worse, the woman was not a stranger.

Tony had not wanted him there. Olivier hadn’t pressed the issue as—really he would not give Gustav the ability or time to play them off each other. That didn’t mean he hadn’t watched when they brought Emily in. It didn’t mean he hadn’t spun around quickly to insure he wasn’t seen—he hated to think he relied on his vampire instincts in that moment—and it certainly didn’t mean his heart didn’t break for his brother. Fantasies of squeezing Gustav’s tiny shriveled black heart from his chest and sucking it try danced across his head. Emily had been a friend.

Olivier knew it was ‘had’—he’d known the minute he’d seen her. If Tony went in that room (and oddly, he never once doubted his brother’s commitment whatever his morality), then he was certain that Tony would kill Emily. To give her peace.

Gustav had sent someone else to “dispose,” of course, but Olivier had taking one long look at Marlon and wisely, the man found something better to do. Handed Emily’s marred body, he’d stiffened at the lingering scent and warmth only to fight the urge to punch Marlon’s crude lips off. Necrophilia, oh, how original was he?

As it happened, he had wanted to return Emily’s body to her family, but knew—he couldn’t. Gustav and Gina and all the rest were watching too closely. He could not let all his brother just did be for naught. So he buried her himself. Outside Paris on a hill the Montmarte would never beat, losing himself in the action he’d hardly ever undertaken himself. Disposal was rarely so intimate for him, compared to the kill. Standing there, hands bent over a shovel and blinking stinging sweat from his eyes, he rubs his lips backwards looking at her.

Emily had been his friend too. Though he’d only met her twice, he’d always thought it was quality of memories, not quantity that mattered and he considered the fact that he’d done a tequila shot off her as quality indeed. So had she, he remembered. An “A plus” mouth, she said he had. Now it was stained with her blood. Olivier looks skywards, chasing away pangs in his chest with idle, angry mutters of wonder that it would end here. Newsflash, people die, it happens. His words come back to haunt him until he slaps the side of his ear like he was swatting a fly and shakes his head.

The first time he killed had been for Tony. The second and third at his father’s behest, for the benefit of the business (and once more when he learned he didn’t know how to stop drinking before he killed someone). When he took over, he’d never hurt anyone—because people did that for him now. Often without him asking. Until this monster, Roswell, and now he could only remember faces and names from the past year — and once again his brother was hurt, because he’d done something against every fiber of his humanity (he couldn’t say being, as the vampire was in there somewhere too). Once again, it was to save him. Emily died as payment for him killing Steven, to stop them hurting Eliza.

“Honestly, though.” He mutters, ungripping the shovel and standing to scoop Emily into his arms. A quick hop, and he was down in his crude hole. Cradling her and brushing hair from her forehead he adds in half an incredulous whisper, “Once again all Roswell did was make more enemies. He won’t get away with this, Emily. That I promise you.”

As he lays her down, his face breaks and he shakes his head to himself, rubbing a stray tear from his gaze and the pressing two fingers to his lips, then the same to hers. He only murmurs now, “Forgive us.”

And then he hops out of the hole, fills it in, and finds a plain white stone to mark the spot in a circle.

Collapsing beside it and fishing his flask out of his leather jacket, Olivier sits there for a long time puzzling things out in his mind in a quiet vigil. His phone finds it’s way to his hand, and he stares at a few names—his brother’s, Daniella’s…Eliza. She only had a monitored flat phone but, he knew how to encrypt the call so they could still speak freely. What the hell could he say to her now though? Just buried who died in your stead?

He clicks send anyway. Sets it on his ear, shuffling his feet in the dirt and lets out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding hearing her voice.

“Hello?”

It was affirming. Her voice nearly chipper, spoken with the sound of a whistling pot in the background—(a quick curse and plead to hold on) —she was making tea. Bless her for that.

“You need something? Make it fast, I’m not just sitting here making soup you know.” She asks, one of their arranged code phrases.

He forgets for a moment, saying with a soft smile on his lips, “No, no. Just…wanted to hear your voice.”

And then when he hears himself he chuckles, adding, “Wanted to check, make sure you were all right.”

There’s dead silence on the other end. Olivier grips the grass under his hand. Breathless and still.

“…D’Grey?” Eliza hesitates, and his face breaks open.

“Rig—yes, I need something, turn the burner off and pay attention.”

There’s a tiny chuckle on the other end, but Olivier only breathes easier and easier: at least she was all right. At least there was that, at least he’d insured someone was goddamn safe.

“Are you okay?”

There’s too much knowledge in her voice for his liking even as a smirk crosses his lips at the small familiarity.

“I’m always okay, Eliza.”

Still with obvious hesitance and clarity she retorts, “You know always is the same thing as never?”

There’s a beat. She relents, speaks softer.

“Tell me. Let me help.”

Olivier considers it. He does, but not for long—he won’t have her feeling worse, not now she was finally feeling somewhat better. These were his burdens, his ghosts he had to expel — because his brother was going to need him, and he wasn’t fucking going to let him down yet again. Especially not now; he knew what he was going through, he knew it only too well. It was a heaviness and lust burned into their bones. A cross they fashioned for themselves like a stake to ward off their own demons. Tony had always been better at it than he. Now his brother was in hell, and he’d gone there willingly - thrown himself into the pit for him, and Olivier was sure this was the feeling that tugged at someone’s chest and eyes that made others weep.

With an exhale, he shakes his head and then, realizing she couldn’t see that, says,

“Can you just…talk, for a few minutes?”

There’s an honest chuckle now and then after a soft “Oh Oli” from her he tries to ignore, she says pleasantly, “Yeah, trust me, that I can definitely do. Ever tell you about Al’s great turtle escape plan?”

He sat there until the phone call was interrupted by one from Hans. Eliza interrupts her own little tale to tell him to go, from the moment he said “my brother.”

And he went. He always would.

{*}

**Hans:** *Only in the D'Grey house did he have to use no less than three separate languages to inform the staff that really, no no, he understood the risks. This was after of course, slipping by the wards that Olivier had set to prevent Apparition from anyone he disallowed (how he enjoyed his status atop that particular list) and the security guards (who actually just scampered on sight of him, delightfully). No, it was the maids who managed to slow him, and not for the usual reason.

It wasn't a surprise that there'd be a bit of a ... mess, here, considering the situation. What was a surprise, was the man sitting in the middle of the mess. Antonio, and not his brother, was the reason the maids were scared and even the toughened security guards were on edge?*

Ah, mate I never thought I'd say this but, *as he surveys the catastrophe that had previously been a game room,* I think you should take a page from Olivier's book, learn to brood a little more brow furrowing, a little less...destruction. *He claps his hands together, but there's curiosity in his eyes as he looks at him,* Though I do appreciate a spectacle.

 **Tony:** *Out of all of the voices in the world there was only one that he didn't want to hear more than the one that had just spoken up and unfortunately, neither of them were possible to shut up. Breath heaving, he forced himself to stand again, though doing so seemed to require all of his strength.* You'll get an encore if you don't get the fuck out.

 **Hans:** *Ah, so the comparisons were just going to keep coming, then? Unmoved as Tony stands up, he trails his gaze over the blood covering him; it pricks sharp at his nose, a scent acidic on this tongue. The meeting with Olivier could wait. This couldn't. Keeping his voice steady, he shakes his head but arches both eyebrows.* Go on then. Scare me out.

 **Tony:** *He scoffs, shaking his head and then hitting his forehead repeatedly with the palm of his head. Shut up, shut up, shut up. He exhaled and tilted hs head as he surveyed the wolf, his brother's best friend and partner-in-crime.* You'd love that wouldn't you? Maybe you're a little bored, want to see how scary I can really be, or try to be, you would say try because of course you're the big bad one here right?

 **Hans:** *He keeps his gaze steadily on Tony's, unmoved, unblinking and with nothing more than a little lip quirk at "big bad one," acknowledging with a little shrug of his shoulder,* I am pretty much as evil as it gets.

 **Tony:** *He snorts* Seen it all! This is nothing,this *he points his wand at the wall, proceeds to blow a hole through it without a second glance* child's play! *He grins and then laughs* Right? Scared yet? Of course not. Why would you? After all it's just me! It's just Tony! Let me tell you *he puts his hands together and in front of his lips, as if in prayer and then smacks his lips* nope, lost it. Lost the thought. Sure it involved something clever and insulting because we both know we can't stand each other Hans, that's how it works. And because I can't scare you out, I'll just ask nicely- will you kindly get the fuck out? *Beams.*

 **Hans:** *Eyes following the hole in the wall, both eyes widen in slight surprise, as he muses as if astonished under his breath,* Really, what the two of you must spend on redecorating. *He tuts under his breath, looks back and takes a few steps towards his friend's brother as he appears to be praying. They're slow, purposeful steps and then he shakes his head,* Love it? No. But frankly, I don't think your brother has time to replace the entire staff, and you're on overload, Tony. If you want to fight someone, have at me. *His eyes narrow, glint and then he hisses under his breath,* Or take a breath. Furrow the brows a little.

And think about the fact that if anything was capable of taking me down, it would likely be a vampire, so child's play or not? There's no "just Tony." What there is, is my friend's brother whose been, as I understand it, denying this part of himself for far too fucking long and is going to frankly implode from the guilt if he harms anyone tonight, so I repeat. You want to fight someone, fight me. *In an even lower hiss, eyebrow arching,* Or take a fucking breath.

 **Tony:** No you're not. *He laughed and hated himself because he was speaking the words of the one in his head out loud. Figures, that they agree on one thing, one single thing, and it's about Hans Lawrence Ricard.* Oh, you're really not. *He shakes his head repeatedly, running a hand through his hair, pacing in the same area of just three feet, his own little self made bubble until he stops in place and looks at Hans, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling until it resembled breathing.*

Of course I want to fight someone, I want to rip you apart, you smell like wet dog constantly! But just because I want to doesn't mean I should! Means the exact opposite- why would giving in to something so destructive be healthy? Well, it isn't, it really fucking isn't. Paper cuts, people picking off their scabs, biting off a hangnail, the tiniest traces of blood and the rage wants to take over! And it took over and I let it take over and I didn't slip off the edge, I fucking jumped off!

*He put his hand over his face and started laughing again.* I can't fight you. I'll kill you, or you'll kill me. Either way, Olivier won't be happy. *He slinks back, stepping away, and having to steady himself with a hand on the wall.* You say denying this part as if its a mistake not to indulge it- I don't want it. I don't want it, I never wanted it. We were born this way...what other fucking creature is born craving blood and destruction? Vampires are made. Werewolves are made. Killers and psychopaths are broken, shaped by society, conditioned, man isn't born evil, it's shaped into evil. Except us, the...*he snorts* anomalies.

 **Hans:** *That was curious. Still just staying in place as he watches him pace, his lips quirk again as he continues lightly,* You don't smell like roses yourself, you know. *Actually, he was a bit curious at that mention; Olivier had never mentioned anything of heightened sense of smell. Were there differences between the uh - "anomalies"? But they were finally getting somewhere, so Hans shrugs.*

You did. *He agrees,* Jumped right off without a parachute. Why? *Hilarious, how he said all those things about paper cuts and hangnails -- as if he didn't deal with the same urges, the same wants but -- not the point.* I didn't say go out and raid a sorority house for a snack, I said fight me. There's a difference between indulging, and acknowledging.

*He takes another step forward.* You can hide wants, deny them, pretend they aren't there -- but the more you do that, the worse it is when you fall off the delusional wagon. You think Olivier and I haven't had this exact same conversation? *Oh, a dozen times or so.* Trust me. *He stops in front of him.* You won't kill me. I won't kill you. But the house isn't going to survive at this rate. *He takes a long breath, gaze hard and still unblinking.*

You need. to calm. down. *with his own breath rising,* because right now, Tony? I'd say the person in the most danger in this whole house is yourself. *Quieter, still locked gazes,* Why'd you jump off? Olivier?

 **Tony:** Emily was in a sorority. *He said absently, the only word he picked out of Hans' sentences, the only one he chose to pay attention to at the moment.* She pledged Beta Gamma Gamma, hottest chicks on campus. *But that was a lifetime ago, a whole other lifetime ago, so far away from right now that he wasn't sure whether or not it had actually existed.*

Trust you! *He repeats with an incredulous giggle and shakes his head again, gasping for air as his chest rise up and down in a frantic motion.* Trust you. Trust, trust...she trusted me. She saw me and then looked me in the eyes and thought she was gonna escape. Just another disappointment- *he punched the wall backwards and cracked it by himself, knuckles bruising as new blood added to the mix. He brought his hand up to eye level, examining it before he looked at Hans again.*

He trusts me, he needs me and I should have been here all this time, I should have never left him. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have...*His repeat dies out as his eyes go out of focus again, lost in his own thoughts that felt invaded.*

 **Hans:** Ah, poor choice of words then, that's my bad. *Whomever Emily was in particular wasn't of consequence to him, but his voice didn't change. He just twisted his expression, and stayed still as Tony continued breaking the wall; nothing next to a vampire fist, even a half human one it seems.

Contrary to everything about him: the casual light tone to his words and unmoving facial expression, Hans was listening hard. Command of his expressions was only a precursor to controlling his emotions - and until you could do both, there was no chance, none, of restraining base urges. What was a bit funny to him, was that he'd thought Tony more in control than Olivier. At that moment he saw that Olivier just hadn't wanted to restrain himself as much and in one of life's great little ironies, that meant he could do it a bit better.

Listening to every word, piecing puzzle pieces together to figure out what it was Tony needed to hear, it wasn't hard for him to figure it out who the "he" was, or what it was he was upset about. As Tony examines his own fist, Hans immediately catches it himself as soon as he hears his voice give out. The other hand he brings up to grip his shoulder. Fully immersed for a breathless second in the shaking limbs, Hans utilizes what seemed every inch of his strength. Oh bloody hell, that could only mean he'd done more than give into the violence, but was chockfull of that base craving. No wonder the scent was so strong.*

Tony. *Whatever the violent struggles with wrist and shoulder bound between him, his eyes were focused, piercing Tony's wandering ones as if with spears of understanding. Holding tight, shaking his head fractions of an inch, his words were low and firm.* Olivier tried to make you leave, did he ever tell you that? He was scared shitless, so he picked a fight -- doubt he meant half of what he said real-- *there's a bit of a grunt as he has to focus a moment on not slipping his own grip* -- ly. And then you came back. You came back. That's what matters, do you hear me? Every single time your brother's needed you, you've pulled through.

 **Tony:** *Was this what having the weight of the world on your shoulders felt like? He couldn't say. Hans was only one man, one werewolf, and that didn't amount to a world. It was heavy though, the hand on his shoulder and the grip on his fist, very heavy. He struggled against them, wanting to pull away, shaking his head from side to side as he rejected Hans' touch. Tony didn't want him here, he didn't want anyone here. He didn't deserve to be comforted. Hans had said the only one in danger in this house was Tony himself so let it happen. He deserved it, everything that could happen to him, Tony deserved it. It all boiled down to the fact that he had chosen his brother over the life of an innocent friend, and he'd always do that. Nothing gave him the right to choose which life meant more than another but he did it anyways.

Hans hadn't left his brother at least. Partner in crimes, some crimes, not many of them, maybe not even any of them. They both dealt with different sorts of devils, but the man didn't leave. He wasn't even leaving now, and this was just him, the brother of his friend, one he didn't really like. Tony never liked him either, or rather, hadn't liked him first. Didn't really matter.

With an exhale he brought his free hand and closed it around Hans' neck, eyes narrowing again, breath hitching.* Not this time. Look at me. -Look at me!- *It was with a gasp that he breathed in out, releasing his fingers from around his neck.* I'm of no help like this. *The voice agreed.* Just a wreck. How can I be of any help...if I can't even do this? *He shakes his head, breathing through his nose, trying to back up, choking out words.* Just go away, just leave, leave. I can't leave, you can leave, please leave, go, please go.

 **Hans:** *Had he been looking anywhere else? Not the point, he knew. The blood on Tony's hand so near his nose now as it grips his neck makes him tense, as he wars the urge to throw the man across the room. Desperation chokes his throat, but he didn't look away. The blood oddly almost gags him more than entices him -- he knew that was because it was spilled already, came from a dead heart that didn't beat now, but he just keeps staring and staring back. When he's released, he releases him too, letting him back up and mutter the requests into desperate, angry silence before he shakes his head.

His voice remains low, a murmured gasp as he says,* I can't.

*Wasn't that odd? He could. Physically, he could walk out the door. After all, Tony hated him, he'd never given a particular damn about the man either -- this wasn't his problem. It wasn't like he'd never seen someone else in hell before and walked away. At times he felt he did it daily. He presses shivering lips together to swallow back any of this; face tightened deliberately, lest he appear as wrecked as Tony. He shakes his head again - and then again. It occurs to him he should laugh, the irony of him giving a fuck but he did. Not about Tony, per-say, but he owed Olivier -- and he also sort of needed Tony not to be dead or give them all away. Laughter was too far from his throat, so he forces out a wet, strange gasp to clear it and repeats,* I can't, mate, because see I don't fancy your brother walking in on your corpse. Not really the best new decoration. Besides, you hurt yourself and then all of it was in vain, you want that to be true?

*He takes a step after him now, hand coming up to rub sweat off his neck and his hand comes back red. Oh, for fuck's sakes. He spits on the floor, then looks up. Throwing arms away from him in a low hung mockery of welcoming, exhaling,* You know you're right, maybe I'm not the most evil thing around but neither are you, Antonio -- you want to kill the problem? You want to get rid of it, make sure it never hurts anyone else? Because it's neither of us. Big bad vampire hybrid and big bad Wolfie - pft, *he spits again, still locking gaze with Tony*, Roswell's had both our asses for far too fucking long. That's who deserves to die.

 **Tony:** *He knew Hans spoke truth, spoke logic, but he was having a hard time processing it, especially when he didn't want to listen. God, why did it have to be him? Then again, it was better that it was him. Anyone else, Tony would have cut through them like a hot knife through butter except Olivier, but he didn't want his brother to see him like this. Tony had asked for this, had agreed to it, insisted on it, and he didn't need to put this on top of everything else on his brother. Instead he accepted the weight, and let it bring him down.

He slid down the wall and sat down on the floor, hiding his head in his hands, tugging and pulling at his hair again. After a few seconds he pulls his face away from his own trembling hands and looks up at Hans.* How do I calm down then? If you're so good at this, how?

 **Hans:** *Aha! Oh, the irony. Thank God (see that Stefanie?) he was still in some command of his expressions after all because he truly nearly did laugh that time. Tony was as contrary as his brother, wasn't he? Told to fight, he refused -- told to breathe, he got angry and launched fists -- now told to kill someone (not someone, the bastard who was responsible for all of this) and he goes and collapsed against the wall. Oh, was Hans tempted to tell him he should never ever try to -- oh, too many wonderful dares came to mind: streak through the british parliament, wear drag, call the Auror office and initiate phone sex with the first person who answered -- or oh yes, Aurors were in the middle ages still and hated phones, it would have to be an in person attempt to seduce then --

Right, off topic.

He gives Tony a few, long shuddering moments to rip at his hair and waits until he's asked for before he lowers his hands, taking a few steps forward and then crouches down, locking his hands over his knees. Still with his voice steady, he shrugs a shoulder.* Different for everyone. Usually starts with a deep breath. And thinking of some pleasant memory. I'd suggest listening to music too but frankly mate, you listen to the worst goddamn pop songs so, I'd prefer to spare myself. *He holds his hand up,* Just being honest.

 **Tony:** The problem here being *he exhaled and then forced himself to smirk though he knew it must resemble more grimace than anything else* that I don't want to do anything you tell me to do. *Wouldn't want to do anything anybody told him to do, that's just who he was from the very beginning. Tony go to class- he skipped. Tony, come to this very important dinner- showed up in boxers. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

But a breath was necessary, so he took that, as deep as one as he could and then threw his mind searching for a happy memory. Any with Emily were out of the question, his heart panged again, he remembered the blood on him and with a sick twist of his gut he took the shirt off and threw it away from him with a disgusted sneer. Happy memory. The most recent of his happy memories...

Ha, ha, ha. He wondered how Hans would react if he knew Tony was thinking about his sister at that moment.* If you're gonna tell me that you never once sang along to Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call me Maybe", you're a fucking liar. *He passed his hands over his face again, though not a good idea, they were still covered with blood and the sweat on his face made the dried blood run again.* I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me I'll never tell, I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way...*He exhaled after he had whispered the atrocious song.*

Maybe some Sinatra instead then. *He had sung 'Fly Me to the Moon' while he had cooked Stefanie breakfast as a 'thank you for playing nurse'. Sometimes he wished he was more of an asshole, because Tony would appreciate getting a rile out of Hans.*

Don't tell anyone about this.

 **Hans:** Most don't, to be honest. *His lips quirk up, honestly amused for a second as he adds,* Yet somehow I live with the disappointment.

*And that was too damn true he thinks frankly, waiting unconcerned while Tony breathed in and out. Maybe that was why he'd gotten so good at getting them to do it other ways. If certain people had just listened to him from the beginning...well, some people were idiots, how shocking. Laughing out just once almost in surprise at the song he starts singing, Hans furrows his brows himself, rubbing them down and muttering a spell to clean the blood from them.* Oh Jesus. *If he'd never heard that song again it would have been too soon frankly, but no he couldn't deny it. Stefanie had been a preteen when it was popular, after all and -- no. No, he wasn't thinking about anything that predated him at fifteen frankly, that person died a long ass time ago.*

Sinatra? *An eyebrow cocked, tiny smirk appearing,* That's more like it. *He wasn't really talking about the music choice at that moment though. At the request, he shook his head with a tiny twitch in his lips and sigh.* Ah. Well. So, I might have already left Olivier a voicemail. But, *with an honest shrug,* mate, if you didn't want your brother to know, I wouldn't have destroyed the house. *Not to mention he wouldn't have been fooled by any act any way, experience with siblings told him that much. Then he lowered his shoulder and adds pleasantly,* Frankly fun as it sounds to go around ruining your reputation, I think I have better things to do with my time, Tony. *Honestly, lightly, and with an underwritten smile,* So, secret's safe here.

 **Tony:** *Dry* Of course you did. Husbands. *He shook his head.* See, much better. I prefer you when you're being a grade A dick. *He smirks again and then exhales and inhales again. On the fucking floor in front of Wolfie, this was not the way he wanted today to go. He swallowed the driest lump in his throat he'd ever had and then looked around to see if he had left any alcohol in the room alone. He didn't remember doing any of it, the destruction of this God forsaken house. Half of him wishes it would have collapsed. And he'd never liked that wall. He wondered if they could keep it with the big gaping hole.*

Thanks. *That was half a mutter but he knew Hands would catch it. He forced himself to standing again and then reached for the wand he had let fall on top of a table, what remained of a table. He'd done enough stupid things this day, he wasn't going to keep adding on to it. Any big existential questions that remained unsolved would just have to stay that way, and Tony would have to live with his guilt in a less destructive way.* Damage control time. Now, you can leave.

 **Hans:** *A strange twist appears in his smile, a sharp little intake of breath to his nose and he nods,* I know that already too.

*Another one of those strange little ironies then.* My greatest asset it seems sometimes. *And his greatest downfall too likely, but really, Hans knew what he was. He had to accept it. Or else he'd burn alive he thought, from skin already aflame in that ever-present wolf-fever. The strange twist only appears again as he hears the little 'thanks,' a twitch to his eyebrows and another quick intake. Then he stands with him, rubbing off his hands and adds lightly,* Don't mention it.

*Gripping his thumb as he stares at the dried blood he'd missed on the back of his right palm he rubs over it, hard jab against the bone and looks up to add in a low undertone,* Seriously. Never. *The usual smirk has reappeared as he tilts his head, jaunty even with the alpha's tone appearing,* You're not the only one with a reputation to protect here, mate.

*He lifts his hand to rub at the sore crick there, thinking idly how goddamn cold Tony's hand had been and how ice should bloody soothe fire, not irritate it, he cocks an eyebrow and looks around the room slowly. Hmming under his breath, he shrugs as he adds,* Fair enough then. *Hans wouldn't stay where he wasn't wanted. At least not long. Perhaps that was why the last few years had featured twenty-two different countries and residences. Tilting his head and looking back, he screws up his face seeing the look on Tony's.*

Oh for God's sakes. *He mutters, digging around in his inner jacket pocket for a moment, finding a flask and reaching back to toss it to him.*

 **Tony:** Mention what? *Gone. There. Poof. Off it went into the land of fairies and unicorns and butterflies...which was oddly enough, actually the wizarding world they lived in. Tony demanded a refund, because this was definitely not what he had signed up for. A world so cold, a fire so deep in his bones, and an ever-present chaos, that's what the land of fairies, unicorns and butterflies was actually about? Nothing was sacred, it seemed. He would have to hold out for the land of milk and honey.

He looked up and then caught the flask with what might have been the most sincere smirk on his face in the whole day. His hands were far from clean so he groaned under his breath as he muttered 'wolf germs' and took down gulps like water. He exhaled, the burn in his throat finally giving him so balance and Tony realized he had given his own version of a drunken breakdown. In front of Hans of all people. He needed to keep drinking. Another gulp and he capped it again, throwing it back to Hans.*

I won't fuck it up. *He smirks.* Case you were worried.

 **Hans:** Wonderful. *Look how easy it was to erase all good deeds from the world! And that was wonderful, because some damn pop song told him that never went unpunished and frankly, Hans had been punished enough to last him a fucking life time. Discipline was never his strong suit anyway.

The mutter of 'wolf germs' made his eyes roll but he couldn't keep the smart remark from his lips.* Never pegged you for a germaphobe, Tony. *He eyes the hole in the wall, even as he fishes a bar towel free and rubs over his hands. Adding lightly and idle,* Actually seems I'm learning lots of new things tonight -- joy. Just what I wanted. *His head tilts as he mutters that under his breath, turns back and drops the towel as he catches his ... entirely empty flask. Great.*

Worried? Now, why would I be that? *A hand rests over a heart beating twice as fast as it should have been.* Never doubted it for an instant, Antonio. Learned a long time ago not to go against your brother, anyway. An-- ah. Speak of the devil. Of a sort.

*He claps his hands together - he'd heard Olivier when he was still down the hall, but Hans waited for the dramatic moment to say it just before he appeared in the open way. All for show, right?* Leave you two be then, *he says generously, as if he wasn't frankly itching to get out himself now. It was too close to the full moon anyway, that had to be the reason - day before usually was a mess even with the silver angel-send.

He rubs over his lips with the now clean hand, darts up the few steps and claps Olivier's shoulder once, looking between the brothers as if to reassure them -- or mock them, wasn't quite sure which was on his mind at that moment, and left.*

{*}

**Olivier:** *Walking past unravelled tapestries, more broken glass than he thought that terrible eyesore on the Louvre contained and turned over bookshelves had barely bothered him. Nothing he'd never done himself - though, actually, this was a bit of a grander scale. Several rooms...he didn't (couldn't) think about what it was he'd done when this angry. It wasn't amber liquid that appeared them, but scarlet.

And that wouldn't help anything. The tiniest eye-roll and snort of incredulity (and gratitude) was his only answer to Hans before he spins back to look at Tony. All he does first is nod. Sorrow and rage on his own face were both dulled by the terrible understanding in his eyes as Olivier looks at his little brother, feeling a kick to his gut. Tony didn't deserve this, he thinks bitterly as he closes the door and casts the silencing charm with waves of his hand; there was nothing he felt capable of making him look away from Tony.

Heavy exhale leaving his chest, he takes a few steps forward, stopping in front of his brother - close enough he could catch him, far enough he wasn't in his space. There was water appearing in his eyes, but that was just because he hadn't blinked dammit. He wasn't afraid; he was ashamed, and he was hurt on his brother's behalf -- and angry. So goddamn fucking angry it was written heavy in blood on his own bones. If it was him, Tony telling him that Gustav would die would have helped.

Tony wasn't him. He lifts his hand to his little brother's shoulder, pats once and squeezes as he says,* Eliza is in her own apartment now. She's healthy, recuperating - chipper, actually, she uh - even learned to make tea.

*Tony was so much better, than him.*

 **Tony:** *He wasn't, not really. You really couldn't make it through a frat party with your sanity intact if you were a germa-phobe-- but no, that was getting too close to those memories and he couldn't revisit them again, not today. He wasn't entirely out of the danger here, he didn't want to take a chance.*

No reason. *Was his answer, because it was a lot easier to say that than to try and explain his train of thought. Lifting his head, he turned towards the doorway, watching his brother walk in. Tony didn't think he had ever felt more exposed and that wasn't because he was shirtless.

Tony didn't even give Hans another glance as he left, his wide gaze so focused on Olivier's. He felt fourteen again, but in different places. He was the one that had gone haywire, saw red, blacked out and it was his brother who now surveyed the damage. There were two very vast differences of course: there was no body ripped limb from limb in front of him and there was no fear in Olivier's eyes.

What he said next was unexpected and caught him a bit off guard. Eliza was making tea? Great, great for her, honestly.

Ah, that was...that was the point. Tony knew how all of this started. Olivier had killed the man that had been torturing Eliza, and the price Olivier had to pay Gustav had been another recruit, Tony himself. Not in vain, Hans had said. At least there was that.

So after a swallow, his eyebrows arched and he replied.* You're telling me an Englishwoman didn't know how to make1 tea until now? You're pulling my leg.

 **Olivier:** *The laugh bubbling wet from his throat and sudden, his gaze falls to his hand, as he shakes his head and squeezes. Squeezes so hard he thinks he might break him even as he held him together,* Hey, I don't know.

*Shrugging both his own shoulders he lets his brother go, and rubs across his face, trying to scrape the anger from his teeth and skin. He can't smirk or smile, but his lips try to twitch that way anyway. If Olivier wasn't used to his body having a mind of it's own, he wouldn't have believed it.* Guess that's what happens when you've had servants your whole life - see, this is where you tell me I'm the one that would know.

*His hand drops to his pockets, rubbing off on his thighs before he shakes his head half an inch each way and says quieter, honest, his own voice half-wrecked,* I'm sorry, Tonio.

*There were hundreds of other things he could have said; that he didn't think his brother should have had to do this, that he knew he'd cared about Emily (he'd buried her, that he could show him the grave), that he was grateful (and how sick was that?), or apologize another half hundred times for all the things over the years. Only his throat sticks and beyond a little "I-uh...", all he can do is look down to the floor and breathe.*

 **Tony:** Well, you ruin the fun for me if you take away my comebacks. *The fun. He didn't think he could handle anymore 'fun' today. Because that's what had killed him more in the end, the fact that he had enjoyed cutting into his friend like that, after he had given in.

A small shudder traveled down his spine again, and he steeled himself, taking away from the strength that gripped his shoulder for his own, otherwise he might have fallen back down again.

He looks up again as his brother apologizes, not having expected it. That's the exact opposite of what he wanted, but of course Tony couldn't be bothered to keep his destruction secret. So much, Tony thought, for keeping the burden on his shoulders alone. He sighs and as his brother struggles for words, he placed his own red, bruised, and cut hand on Olivier's shoulder and squeezed too.* I know. *He nodded once, before dropping the hand and looking down at himself, so much red.*

Do you mind if I wash down before we tackle the uh, apocalypse I made out of daddy dearest' mansion?

 **Olivier:** *He was grateful to hear that, the tiny "I know", because frankly he couldn't find another word -- nor did he seem to have the breath to support them. Looking from the hand on his shoulder (and swallowing at the last moment his tongue before it would trace his lips at that delectable scent), he nods, once. Perhaps it was better not to say anything else anyway. Tony had done this for him, he didn't want his brother to feel he had to support his guilt on top of that already.

He looks back up at the remark with another warm, wet laugh and nods, eyebrow cocked on his forehead,* Well I was gonna say, if you didn't at least put a shirt on...

*Now he can smirk. A few breaths, a few moments of grief, and then he had to move on. They both did. Or else they'd never survive this. So he jerks his head and moves out of his brother's way to let him leave, patting at his thigh again as if to gesture to go ahead. Tongue buries in his cheek as he breathes in, the air, destruction's aftermath, everything broken in the room. It tastes empty.

{*}

Thumb brushing in the loop on his dark wash jeans, he feels his phone again and almost startles at it before he realizes it was buzzing. Wasn't that backwards? Well, how unusual for him, he thinks wryly, and then smiles dimly seeing Daniella's name on the LCD.

Raising it to his ear, he only breaks out with her name before he goes to the broken window, letting the winter's chill wrap itself around his bones and calm his racing heart. Her voice is sweet in his ear, he thinks, and now can't restrain his tongue swipe.* Yeah, sorry - I was just about to call -

 **Daniella:** Don't worry about it. *The moment she'd heard his voice -- how gruff and emotional it sounded -- any irritation she'd felt at his lateness disappeared. Kicking her heels up as she flops down on the bed and twines her ankles together, she stuffs the phone closer to her ear and tries not to think about the fact she'd be alone in the penthouse then. Hurt and understanding in her own voice she twirls a curl around her finger as she asks,* What happened?

 **Olivier:** It... *He glances over his shoulder at the room. The hole in the wall twice the size of his brother's fist, the tattered pages still fluttering away, and so much dried blood he didn't really know how he was staying still at the moment. His brows pluck together,* The apolocolypse.

 **Daniella:** *An honest smirk lifts to her lips, even as she tugs on her curl. and feels a knife jab her heart at his abrupt tonal change.* The apocalypse, really? How long do we have then? Because I am fairly good on the phone but--

 **Olivier:** *The image that bursts across his mind instantly makes his smirk break open and his eyes dart up to the ceiling. That was undamaged, he realized dimly, nodding to himself and lost anyway in a very different captivating image,* Oh I know --

 **Daniella:** But I'd prefer to you know, not just ...*okay, the tongue-popping against the edge of her cheek was just one of her favorite sounds to make. Sue her, okay?*

 **Olivier:** Please. *He says half indignant, not entirely sure where the words were even coming from. His heart was beating like a drum now.* Like I would ever be that fast.

 **Daniella:** Ooh don't make me time you. *She chuckles, rolling over onto her back and looking at the fancy headboard. You'd never guess how much that hurt, really...but hey, worth it.*

 **Olivier:** *Sharing the chuckle, he shakes his head, grateful at the small reason for relaxation.*

 **Daniella:** ...you're shaking your head, aren't you? *With a dramatic sigh,* What am I going to do with you Italians? *No seriously, what the hell -was- she going to do with them?* So delightfully expressive with your gestural language --

 **Olivier:** Gestural language? *He echoes, wondering how she managed to make such a peculiar phrase sound that alluring. He decides some things were better left secret.*

 **Daniella:** *Laughing it off, she realizes she's waving her hand to discard it as if he could see it too and quickly draws her hand back to her breast. After a moment, she asks softer,* You okay?

 **Olivier:** I'm fine. *He was, he realizes as he hears the words a second after he'd retorted them. For the first time it felt odd, like he should be sick but just - couldn't be. Tony's face in his mind's eye, he just mutters,* It's uh - it's not me. *In the interest of being honest,* It's Tony.

 **Daniella:** Could have guessed that, baby. *She retorts as quickly as he did, but honestly - she was so grateful that he'd been honest - even in only two words, she didn't want to press it. Well, okay, press it much. She cared about Tony too. (Dammit, how had these boys gotten into her head like this?)* He's upset?

 **Olivier:** *He barely stifles his laugh and nods, tapping his fingers against the window, surveying the damage again. The broken bottles, the torn Bible that fluttered with red finger prints on it's edges, opened to a psalm.* In a manner of speaking, yeah. *Oh the bitterness in his voice made him flinch. He closes his eyes.*

 **Daniella:** *If either of these boys were admitting to being upset...it was bad. Her breath catches and she thinks to ask - but then realizes he's not going to tell her more over the phone. She'd give Tony a hug if she was there but -- well, actually, she could think of someone better in an instant. He wouldn't pick up if Dani called, but there was someone else...* You still with him?

 **Olivier:** *Blinking rapidly in confusion, he ceases tapping.* Not at the moment. He's - uh, showering.

 **Daniella:** *She winces into the sheets. If he was showering, likely as not he was -- well -- she didn't want to think of what he was washing off. Shutting her eyes, she sits up on the edge of the bed and nods absently,* Right, well, I'm calling Stefanie then.

 **Olivier:** Stefanie?

 **Daniella:** You know her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, always wearing little stilettos?

 **Olivier:** *He chuckles, amused in spite of himself and shakes his head,*

 **Daniella:** Oh, and she's your sister in law.

 **Olivier:** Daniella.

 **Daniella:** I just think she's going to want to know, and it might help him, okay?

 **Olivier:** *He waits a long moment. Was it really that serious? He knew Tony had seen her a few times but, they...well they had a lot of other things on their mind, he thinks. Still, Daniella...well she had a bit of a sixth sense here, didn't she? So then nods.*

 **Daniella:** More gestural language, huh?

 **Olivier:** *Laughs abruptly,* Yeah, sorry -

 **Daniella:** No no. *Grinning wickedly,* I enjoy picturing your body moving. No apologies necessary. *She makes the tongue-popping noise again,* I'm going to hop off so I can enjoy that image actually - maybe I'll just text Stef. *And she waits long enough to hear his amusement (and groan) before she does just that without so much as "Adios."*

 **Olivier:** *Blinking rapidly again, he smirks to himself, inevitably calmed and clicking the phone off, sliding it into his back pocket. When he looks around the apocalyptic room, he takes a long breath. Rubs under his eyes, and then collapses onto the couch (after he turns it right side up again), and points his wand to start the repairs - it sounded as if Tony would be busy and really, this was one mess he didn't mind cleaning up for his brother. Least he could fucking do.*

{*}

**Tony:** *Blood made jeans stick to the skin very uncomfortably and peeling them off had been like peeling off a second layer of skin. The shower was scalding hot but he didn't mind it, just let the water run down from head to toe, the glass and indeed the bathroom entirely fogging up with the steam. Then he had scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the water stopped swirling down the drain in a pinkish hue.

Clean, as clean as he could be, he wrapped a towel around his weight and stepped out of the shower, water dripping onto the floor that he paid no attention to. Opening the door, he was surprised to find himself face to face with Stefanie.

He didn't think he had ever felt more conflicted than he had at that moment. Tony was nowhere near to being okay yet, and yet he was so glad to see her, but the thought of her finding out what he had done...*

Ever hear of knocking? *He wiggles his eyebrows* What if I was indecent?

 **Stefanie:** *The utter lack of details from Daniella (which was Olivier's fault, and oh how shocking that was - not) had left her vivid imagination to run rampant. She wished she hadn't been so vivid, because frankly it wasn't in the fun way at all and after debating with herself whether or not he'd pick up her phone call she decided to screw it and just go over. If D'Grey didn't want to let her in, then that was his problem. The wards let her by, she made sure to appear next to the security guard that knew her and liked her (and winked at him extra) before she marched down (disabling the extra two different spells that Olivier had taught her to do recently) the long driveway, wondering why stilettos and gravel had to be so anti- each-other.

Now that Tony's door popped open and she sees a very different vivid sight - it took her mind and lungs a moment to catch up to her open mouth (bloody hell), before her eyes leaped back to his. He looked gorgeous, irresistible as ever and -- when she meets his eyes again -- wrecked. Absolutely wrecked.

Upset was an understatement, she realized (as if the servants cleaning up what appeared endless broken glass and rolling a rug up when she stepped by hadn't been a hint) and bit down on her tongue. Then her head tilts, she shakes her head softly, exclaiming in endless frustration and disbelief under her breath,* Men.

*And then took another step closer, saying a bit lighter,* I did knock. You didn't answer. And to be fair, you're the one that just opened that door, not me.

 **Tony:** Ah, sorry then...I get so into my shower concerts. Today was Gwen Stefani. *He grins and then goes to move around her, water still dripping on the hardwood floor and then going to his drawers instead of the closet. The more casual clothing instead of the Gucci and John Varvatos. Just an excuse though, he just didn't feel like he could look her too long in the eye.*

Don't mean to be rude, just today is not very...well, not a good day today. *He looked over his shoulder* Can we reschedule the me appearing wet and naked in front of you for another day?

 **Stefanie:** Is that what that sound was? *As he moves around her, there's a soft smile on her lips for a moment.* Misinterpreted. Sorry. Thought you were just saying my name. Took it to mean come on in.

*The shower door was still open; but it was the jeans on his marble floor that surprised her -- and, didn't, at the same time. Scarlet, pink and -- that could only be blood then. Hans had told her once that Olivier hadn't "entirely escaped the blood lust" in passing and refused to elaborate. How he loved failing to protect her, she thinks with a tiny shake of her head. Then she steels herself, and swivels back around, arching an eyebrow,* That's not rude, Tony. *Without a trace of hesitation in her demeanor she takes a step forward,* And of course we can. But I guessed that already from the - well, state of the hallways.

I mean, I don't mean to be rude - *she echoes him, defiance sweet on her lips,* - but really it only just ranks in the top of five of heart-wrenching tantrum aftermath's I've ever seen. Debating between the time in Salzburg and the festival in Vienna -- long story, don't ask. *Her hand comes up, then flutters away, and she takes a step towards him. After looking back down over him - partially because she couldn't help herself and partially because she was looking if he was bruised or cut anywhere - she looks back up. There's a breathless pause for her, where she just looks in his eyes, trying to burrow past the male ego with one single gaze and simultaneously point out she was there for the long haul if that was what he wanted and -- well frankly it was a lot to put on a single look. She did her best. But not being male herself, she adds aloud,* I won't insult you and ask if you're okay. Just -- I'm here. If you want to talk about it.

 **Tony:** Well then, I guess I do understand how you associate my saying your name with coming...in. *He smirked because he had to, because he could, and because he needed to learn how to once more.

Right, of course, Tony had momentarily forgotten that in order to get into his room, she would have needed to go through his...masterpiece. Or rather, masterpieces, as there were more than one and they were all scattered. He pursed his lips together and chuckled as she repeated his words to add some of her own. That was sad, he wanted to say, when she admitted to having seen worse tantrums in her life but he kept his tongue in place because she was saying it with every intention to be lighthearted.

He turned back to look at her as she walks closer to him again and noticed the open bathroom door and the evidence she must have surely witnessed already. He tilts his head down to look directly at her, his breath caught in his throat as he debated with himself, he so desperately wished to tell her...

And then she offered and he wasn't one to deny a woman anything. He nodded once, slowly, and took her hand, tugging her towards the bed with him. He sat down on the edge of it, inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth before he began.*

After the Gala, I told my brother I would help him in anyway, whatever it took to finally get him out of the thumb of the Death Eaters and get 'our city' back from them. He hasn't been in charge, not really, for over a year, either way, it's all the worst for it. They recruit by...stealing teenagers in the middle of the night, away from their homes, and beating them and hurting them until they break. Take away everything they are and turn it into a soldier, a slave for their organization.

My brother found out that Eliza Simmons was in those dungeons and Olivier killed the man who had been torturing her on that day. He's already being watched, they're already suspicious of him because he's been working to destroy them from the inside out, so when the leader, Gustav, asked my brother to break a new Death Eater to replace the one he'd kill, he offered me instead after I told him I would do it. Whatever it takes, I told myself when I got here...whatever it takes to help my brother, and keep him alive.

*Having kept her gaze while he spoke, this was the first time he had to look down at the ground, his bare feet hovering over the hardwood. He swallowed a lump in his throat, before he looked up again.* The new initiates prove themselves by torturing a prisoner. I knew what it was they would have me do, what they'll keep having me do...I just...

I knew her. *He swallowed, biting hard on his bottom lip.* We went to college together, one of the few girls that wasn't undone by my sexy Italian charm. *He smirks, shaking his head.* It was a lie, she was stubborn, but once I stopped trying to get into her pants, she became one of my good friends. Until I came back I mean, the first time, and then I sort of...lost contact with everyone. Made a new group of friends.

*It was in a soft and broken whisper that he finished.* I killed her.

 **Stefanie:** *She had always wanted answers. Always, from the moment her brother first told her she was too young to hear something or see something - every attempt he'd ever made to protect her wound up worse in her mind. So she follows him to the bed, lets him half - yank her in, really and sits down, only lacing her fingers with his and refusing to let go. But what Tony said now...she had wanted to know for his sake, wanted to know so she could understand. Stefanie had never thought that what he'd say would answer a question of hers from when she was sixteen years old.

Only it did. And she felt her heart break three times. At least. She stays silent and locked on his gaze the whole time, but there's a quiver in her lips the moment he said "recruit" and then a tear in her widening eyes as she hears such brutal, simple sentences explain what must have happened to her brother -- it spills and her face falls, teeth clenching together as she looks to their joined hands, gripping the laced fingers tighter like she was holding on for life.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe.

That was what Hans went through? Stolen, beaten, and broken into a slave? That's how he was bitten? And she'd stood there and screamed at him - God, he'd let her throw her purse at him, hit him with it over and over again; was her heart actually properly working anymore? Her free hand leaps to her lips and she scrunches teary eyes shut, and waits. Waits for breath. For something.

And then she looks back up, eyes clearing, because Tony gave it to her in an instant; her hands leap off her lips and she smiles, just barely and briefly as she asks,* Eliza Simmons is alive? *She could have sang fucking Gwen Stefani herself at that news. Her hand in his squeezes again, buries into the sheets and she thinks instantly she has Irene's phone number - her gaze darts to the phone in her pocket. She breathes out,* Thank God.

*Her hand releases the phone though as the rest of what he was saying sinks in and -- Tony wasn't done. Her heart pounding, she steadies herself and falls silent now. Just listening. Her breath is scant and she won't take her eyes from his again as she starts to guess where the story was going by the time he reached the phrase "prove yourself." There went her heart again. Her lips move almost in parody of directly mirroring his; smirk when he smirks and bites her lips when he bites his. She swallows, and for a moment she just can't think of the rest of it -- of what that meant for Hans, of what that meant if Eliza was alive, or even on the fact that he and Olivier were breaking the organization apart because she understood the tantrum now (and that cheapened it, she thinks, made him sound two years old instead of genuinely hurt and broken down by truly evil men) and all she could even think of doing was lifting her other hand to his neck and tugging him in to a tight, furiously and desperately so, hug.

Her chin tucks backwards on his shoulder and she blinks away further tears, sliding her hand into his hair and holding on to him. For a few long moment she doesn't say anything, staring at the side of his room and tracing her gaze over the few books and pictures she'd never seen before. Stef wonders if he's read them, or what other things might be new to the room since Remington's death -- wonders what the books might say about him. The pictures were obvious. There was one of him and Olivier, one of nonna, one that probably was his mother -- though she supposed it might be any pretty black-haired beauty, she just didn't...want it to be anyone else. Sue her for possessiveness.

And then still holding on to him she turns her head to whisper in his ear, choked on emotion and determined at the same time,* I'm sorry you had to do that. It's not fair, in any way shape or form. But all it proves is why what you're doing - what you're trying to stop...what you will stop is so goddamn necessary, Tony.

 **Tony:** *It had all come out of him like word vomit, with no hesitance over what he might say. Very plainly, he just needed to tell her everything. Tony remembered only afterward how she had mentioned her brother Hans being recruited and he wanted to tell her then. He was having such a great time with her though, he decided not to ruin it; sue him for being selfish.

He shouldn't have been piling this all on top of her. This information was bound to be shocking to everyone and Stefanie was intimately involved, at least indirectly, through Hans. This was a lot to take in too, he should have been more sensitive.

He nodded at the information, had an idea of whom she would call when reaching for her phone and Tony loathed the thought of having to stop her so he was relieved when she doesn't move to dial and he holds her hand a little tighter, making sure he wasn't hurting her because that was the last thing he wanted, especially today.

He didn't fight whens he pulled him in for a hug. The very opposite, he seemed to cave in on himself as he wrapped his bare arms around her and held on to her. Her hair smelled of coconut and cinnamon as her blonde curls brushed against his face, and her warmth radiated outward from her to envelop him. He only held her tighter, his face tilted down and his mouth pressed against her shoulder, as she finally responded.*

I never wanted to kill anyone. *He admits quietly, his throat constricting.* But it's part of who I am, I was born...*He exhales hot against her neck and wished it was in a much more pleasant situation.* We were born with a vampire's bloodlust, I didn't just kill her, I...I destroyed her. *He pulled back now before admitted on a shaky throat.* And I liked it. There's no greater rush...the blood *he stopped himself.* That was my friend and I didn't even care while I did it.

 **Stefanie:** *Tilting her head so the side of it could rest comfortably against his, she shuts her eyes and frankly, if he weren't so strong she thinks she might be about to crawl in his lap. The words he breathes against her make her still, and for a moment at least she forgets that she wants to strangle Hans and Ansel for having never told her - as it was not a new thought and ...well, it was also a bit...counterintuitive. A bit. Her heart was hammering.

Her face flickers at the word 'destroy' as she thinks of the destruction in he hallway and for a moment - thinks of what she'd seen in those goddamn photos from Ansel's past, thinks of Colette and now this girl with Tony and just -- geesh. Seriously, there had to be something wrong with her. It wasn't quite as bad as Colette, as Ansel had loved her -- but this...she shudders and stays quiet for another few moments. He pulls back and she keeps her arms loose around him, her one hand moving to his throat and rubbing gently as he shakes.* You care now. *She says softly,* And it was traumatic -- it isn't just vampires who might shut such events out, have to come up with another defense in such horrific situations, Tony.

*She brushes her finger against his adam's apple while still staring directly in his eyes, unflinching as she asks,* Do you want to do it again right now? I understand - well I can sympathize - that it's innate. But we choose who we are, Tony, you weren't born any particular way. We all have demons and temptations - yours just happens to be a little more...literal.

 **Tony:** *Logic and understanding, precisely what he needed at the moment but two things he didn't feel like he deserved, especially the latter. Just thinking about how he had been, how he had acted and what he'd said made him want to bury his face in his hands again. He used to think he was in such control because he was better at abstaining from it but once he had given in, it was a destructive spiral like no other.* I care. *He nodded, agreeing with her. He did, he cared, but after years of being told that's what made a person weak (and it recently playing his mind to the jarring background noise of screams) he couldn't help but wonder if it was indeed better off not caring.

Her touch was soft and light against his skin, yet he felt every caress poignantly. Every finger running through his hair and then over his throat, and every squeeze of his shoulders.* Yeah, a little. *He forced himself too chuckle and then shook his head before resting his forehead against hers.* Oh Stef...I'm choosing this, that's the point. Spent half my life trying to run away from it, here I am. Willing. If that's not irony, I don't know what is.

 **Stefanie:** That's what matters then. *It had to, she convinced herself it had to because the truth was she couldn't take another moment of any world that could do these things - could break people like this, physically and emotionally and mentally, and then not allow them redemption. Jesus forgave everyone, didn't he? So why couldn't she? Women were supposed to be naturally more forgiving anyway (ha, that lie nearly hurts her teeth).

Tony lays his forehead on hers and her hand stills at his words as she thinks -- wonders more, if she should be afraid. Probably, she thinks as her eyes shut. Her hand curls against his neck instead.* Ironic, yes. But ... Tony, look. *She opens her eyes, hand coming up to her cheek.* The Bible doesn't say not to kill. It says thou shall not murder. God acknowledges a difference - just like the law does. There's a different consequence to say, vehicular manslaughter and first degree and second degree --- what matters above all is if you meant to. -You- , all of you , not just some base craving that you willingly gave into for other reasons -- but you Tony. You didn't want to, you didn't mean to - that makes the difference. All the difference in the world.

*The other one moves to his arm, turning it over and saying pointedly,* I don't see a mark. Which...thank you because frankly, I'd like people I care about to stop telling me they're death eaters. Because it's getting a bit ridiculous.

*Her thumb presses over where the mark would be and says quietly, but still matter of fact as she looks,* But you aren't one. You're ... *she trails off and then finds a tiny smile on her lips. He'd read them too, she remembers that discussion (three hours long) very well (especially as it ended with a scene recreation) -- fluttering away from her even as she speaks but honest still,* like Jon Snow. When he becomes a wilding after killing Quorin. *She's rubbing her thumb back and forth but she can't stop looking away from him.* Intent is everything, Tony. Basic cravings are one thing, but giving in to them because you want to help your brother save lives...that's not the same thing. Now on the other hand, if I see some red haired chick telling you you don't know anything, I may have to find some dragons of my own.

 **Tony:** *He didn't think he would ever have the Bible explained to him again. He had once been an avid reader of the Holy Book in order to find some answers, and then he'd been an avid reader of many other holy books when he hadn't found them. But as they had already found out, they both considered themselves religious in this eternally doubting world, so if he would have believed anyone over scripture, it was her. It did make him feel better even though he might not have been feeling like he deserved it.

He lets her turn his arm, knowing what she was looking for, or rather was she was pointing out wasn't there and couldn't help the smirk on his lips as she admitted relief at him not having it. He didn't feel like saying the mark was supposed to be an honor bestowed on the most trusted of Death Eaters, the inner circle, so instead he chuckled.* I was never much for tattoos.

*Not only had she referenced the bible, she also referenced A Clash of Kings by Evil Sant- er, GRRM. His soft smirk now holding genuine amusement never left her gaze as she finished her point. Eyebrows wiggling, he moved strands of hair out of her face.* God, that has to be one of the sexiest things you've ever said to me, khaleesi.

 **Stefanie:** Really? *She asks in apparent, feigned surprise.* I'd always considered getting one on my hip. *Only she could never decide what to get and it was such a permanent thing she usually went with henna instead and -- oh Lord, her thought were meandering internally in that way she got sometimes when she was trying extremely (superbly, ridiculously) hard not to think about something she'd just learned. Her breath caught.

And then her eyes fluttered from her thumb on his forearm to his fingers in her hair, and flick back to his eyes, and wiggling eyebrows. Her heart was aching, she thought, wanting just to pull him in to another hug - or run (with him, preferably) somewhere goddamn far away where none of this mattered. Her smile flicks to a soft smirk at his words as she muses,* Mmm and to think, Lord Commander, you're the one in the towel. *Her hand comes up to his cheek and she presses a very soft kiss to his lips. Just rests there, her thumb resuming it's soft trail over his jaw as she rests her lips on his and breathes out - half like she was trying to breathe for him, knowing he wasn't doing so naturally yet - and half like she was trying to suffocate them both so the world would go the hell away.*

 **Tony:** *His groan is soft as he pictures that image, of her with a tattoo on her hip, so tantalizingly close to one of her most sensual areas and yet so far. Yet relatively easy to map out a route with teeth and tongue- wow, totally off topic here. But could anyone blame him? Stefanie was like a goddess in human form. She could make eating a cupcake sexy, and she had.

The kiss was soft, unexpected, different from any they had shared already. If he had to describe it he would use the word 'sweet', and he never thought that would be a word applicable to anything in his life. His hand slides down to her neck, content with the silence for that moment but he was Antonio D'Grey, he didn't stay quiet for long. He spoke against her lips, quietly, because he didn't want to pull away.* How'd you know to come here?

 **Stefanie:** *As he didn't pull away from her, she didn't pull away from him. That was a constant truth in her life, she thinks with a little smile to herself even if that was ever counter-intuitive. Especially as her lips were still pressed against his. At the question, she exhales into his mouth, her hand slipping up to the crown of his head and her eyes staying shut as she answers.* Daniella. It's perfectly innocent though I swear -- your brother stood her up. *Quietly still,* So she called him, she says in one word she knew something happened by his tone, he gave absolutely nothing away in that way of his but mentioned you were upset...so then she called me. She said I'm meant to give you another hug from her if you did ask that too, *her arm around him squeezes for a second.* So there.

*She waits, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his lips and then pulls back a breath, just so she could look in his eyes as she asks in a bare whisper,* Was -- is it okay that I did?

 **Tony:** *Her breath was fueling his own, and he found he couldn't care. He might prefer this method of breathing except for the part of him that retained some primary biology and reminded him that he was actually inhaling her carbon dioxide emissions. Still not a good enough reason to pull away.

Tony wasn't surprised to hear that it had gone through the grapevine but he was glad that it had been a very short and very subtle one. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Daniella was taking it on herself to play cupid here. He chuckles at the other hug and nodded.*

Yeah, it is...*He's breathless for a moment before he admits in a whisper* I'm glad you're here.

 **Stefanie:** *Still quiet, she finds another honest smile fluttering away from her lips -- first at his chuckle, and then his whispers. It felt more real that way almost (as if no one had ever lied to her in a towel before), but it wasn't his literal nakedness she was referring too: but the metaphorical one. Actually, she didn't know if anyone had ever been so vulnerable with her and it made her want to think of something else she could share with him, but nothing comes to mind -- at least not that moment. She may have been distracted by the towel.

And by the nine hundred other questions she had: was Eliza the only person whose death they faked? (Maybe that was because she was desperate to think Hans hadn't killed as many as it seemed he had). Did he know for certain that was the only way someone might be recruited - or that her brother had gone through that? Was this boss Gustav someone she'd ever met -- how long was this going to take, how many people would he have to torture, when had it started, why had Olivier given in to helping them in the first place (she knew why the pack had - Ansel told her)...

There was too much on her mind and she just slides a little closer to him on the bed.* I am too. *She echoes how quiet he was and keeps her hand slipping down his cheek to fall back to rest on the towel. For a moment she wars with herself but she -- she has to ask, she just -- it had been so many years...* Do you - do you know if that was what happened to my brother?   
**Tony:** *He smiled, wanting to believe that was true. Was it that desperate of him to want someone actually glad with his company, especially today? Maybe it was. This was one of the reasons men didn't show or talk about their feelings at all- if they did, they had been conditioned to think it somehow made them less. Especially when you grew up in a house like this one.

He could practically see the number of questions run across her face as she pulled back and kept staring at him. Yet it was not a surprise to him that that was the question she had chosen to ask out loud. That had been the first thing they shared, a love for an unhinged brother. Bit hypocritical of him of course but he never claimed not to be one.*

Yes. *He admitted with a nod, reaching for her hand again to squeeze* I don't know much else, but I do know that's how he got involved and bitten.

 **Stefanie:** *Breath arresting in her throat, she nods as she has to immediately remember and remind herself that this had been years ago - that neither D'Grey had been involved then - because anger and betrayal flashes through her eyes, buries in her chest and she twists her neck to glare at the floor. Only then he takes her hand and she feels a bit better instinctively, thinking to herself: all things considered - it was Hans she could not believe would help them now. And had been - after they'd hurt him and turned him? She remembers when he first appeared at her graduation again, remembers how it felt watching him start to transform - the pain on his face as he bit his own tongue so she didn't hear him scream and blood dribbled down his lips and --

Her heart seriously couldn't take this. Suddenly clenching his hand tight enough she realizes dimly how strong he was, as Tony's hand didn't break or move under the strain. It surprises her a little, and she looks at it, curious - much more willing to focus on things she didn't know about this bloodlust than further on what had befallen .. Lawrence, what made him Hans (the nickname she'd first given him when she was a little girl). He'd always been Hans to her, but he hadn't been to everyone else until ... God, no wonder it was like he was a different person, that's legitimately what they'd done to him.

She was still thinking about it and she was still staring at his palm and she was dead certain that the only reason she hadn't burst into tears was because of a low pit of anger fanning fire in her chest that makes her want to ask Tony to let her help, let her do something (anything) to take these bastards down. Instead, she brings her other hand slowly over his chest, narrows her eyes curiously at the extraordinarily well-defined muscles and realizes they...were actually almost more defined now, despite the fact it had only been twenty-four hours.

That was a welcome distraction, she thinks. And her gaze flicks up, asking softer,* Did you work out this morning or...? *And she tries to pretend her voice wasn't ravaged with the anger and hurt and as ever -- mostly, succeeded.*

 **Tony:** *Now it was his turn to offer comfort, no matter how small it actually was. Hans was...well, he was Hans now. What he went through, all those years ago, there was no way to turn time back and make that not happen, not without a parallel universe and if they went back and changed it then that meant that the reason for them to go back never happened which meant they would have never gone back but if they never went back- time travel headache. That wasn't the point.

He watched her with curious eyes instead, following her gaze and the path her fingers made against his chest, all dry by now. Her brows furrow, creating a small crinkle between her eyebrows and his lips into an appreciative and amused smile before he laughs once at her question, caught off guard by the it.* No I...didn't.

*But then again it made sense that the reason he felt stronger after the blood was that he was stronger, which meant his muscles were stronger. That was creepy...that was scary, human blood made him more muscular.* It's a hybrid thing...the blood...it makes me stronger.

 **Stefanie:** *Her fingers still at his answer, her eyes rapidly shooting back to his muscles. Evidently, a welcome distraction to them both. Well, she still was getting answers - and she still was hoping she was comforting him as much as she even could - but this was a much more pleasant topic either way. Or...well it was until he said hybrid thing and she finds herself blinking. So he'd...drank her blood.

Perhaps if she didn't have a wolf for a brother, if she didn't know he legitimately craved eating people when transformed -- then it might have bothered her more. In that instant though, and maybe it was because her hand was drifting across his lower stomach, she wasn't particularly thinking of it in a creepy way - but rather thinking how it felt when his lips were on her neck.

She bites the tip of her tongue again, clears her throat and looks back up, nodding once.* Makes sense, I suppose. I mean...vampires are stronger that way too. *Her brows furrow as she asks,* Blood is the essence of life, and what not? I mean...you're the anthropology major, you tell me. *Her lips quirk up softly a little, hand trailing across without her apparent knowledge of how...addicted to it she evidently was.* What other hybrid things...do you know about? There have to be some good ones.

 **Tony:** *What was probably most astounding to him was the fact that she wasn't running out the door. Then again this was a woman with Hans as a brother and with Ansel as a...well, he didn't really know what they were to each other and he didn't really care to think it through. Point was, he should have guessed by now that she wouldn't be so easily frightened. In his defense, the existence of there being a hybrid period was scary in its own right and there were actually two of them.

If anything, he was just glad that didn't seem to stop her from letting that hand of hers wander. Focusing on the feel of the touch alone made it seem as if they weren't discussing such an atrocious topic.*

Blood is sacred among most cultures, yes. There's a natural...curiosity, fixation. There are many tribes that believe on the power of blood, and some shamans spill it and collect it in a cup to draw power from it. No bullshit...*Maybe some bullshit, but mostly it was factual. It was hard to tell, she was being distracting. He licked his lips.*

Let me see. Takes me a while to get drunk apparently, but I still get there...and I'm strong either way. Pretty fast...got some great stamina too. *He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.*

 **Stefanie:** Well that I already knew. *Her brow pops up at the last because she couldn't help herself,* So are you saying that would be even -more- right now...?

*It was a joke (okay it was 85% a joke), because she was turning all this information down in his mind on top of absolutely everything he'd told her and she was also not entirely sure -- well. She shouldn't think about daring herself (and she really should move her hand. actually make that move her hand less). Stefanie had always been the sort to stick her hand into the flames, and truth was tempting whatever -- she should think of this like when someone was high, right? Or was that not the right metaphor...

Fuck, what metaphor was there for "hello, my father was a vampire, my mother a witch, who had to be magicked in someway to allow my conception and when i drink blood my muscles grow but also i might kill everything in my sight"? No wonder he just said "hybrid thing." Really.

Stefanie lifts her hand again to her own top, curling around her necklace as if to force restraint, pressing the silver crescent moon and cross hard into her palm. Her gaze stays locked on him. There's a smaller smile on her lips as she says,* You know I happen to think that facing this is a lot more inspiring than running. The fact you're here -- still fighting...choosing to confront - that's strong. And I know, I know, it's an unpopular opinion among men but if you'd just allow my soap box for one teeny moment, *she pinches forefinger and thumb,* I think acknowledging that it wasn't easy, it hurts, you're upset -- that's stronger too. *She lowers her hand, letting it fall right back to his thigh after swiping the air saying lighter,* That's it, I swear, only tiny moment of womanly advice. You know, for now.

{*} 


	49. Settle Down, Myagi

**Olivier:** “I don’t think you’d be much of a fan of my action either-“

 **Eliza:** *She stills & look to Hans, with a questioning eyebrow.*

 **Hans:** “Oh, has he not mentioned his father was a vampire?”

 **Olivier:** “Dick.”

 **Eliza:** “…wait but—seriously?”

 **Hans:** ”You know your brother said the same thing—you’d think one of you would be more inventive.”

 **Olivier:** It’s just sometimes it fits you-so well-“

 **Eliza:** Oi! *finger snap!* I’m talking here. Back to the point?”

 **Hans:** *looking at her fingers* Luv, exactly why do you think we’ll respond like trained monkeys?”

 **Eliza:** Because…it would be insensitive to use a dog whistle.

 **Olivier:** *snorts* I don’t know-I think he’d come if you whistled.

Hans *smirk* Ah, I wouldn’t be the only one comin—”

 **Eliza:** *squeak* Shut up! God, *hand on her forehead* men. I need Irene just to smack you both with her purse.

 **Olivier:** Long as she shares the flask afterwards.

&.

**Irene:** Jimmy! *She beams as the butler opens the door and then hugs him quickly before letting herself in to a stammering Jimmy’s complaint, otherwise he would have to take her to the parlor and summon Al and announce her- oh what dreadful business, she would rather avoid it.* Tell Al I’m here, s’il vous plait.  
Jimmy: I am sorry to say madam, he is not in at the moment.  
 **Irene:** *All of which could have been avoided if he learned to pick up his mobile! You would think, wolf hearing like his, he’d never miss a phone call or text. Unless he’d left it behind- new users, unaccustomed to walking around with mobiles, frequently left the gadgets in their room. Irene felt naked without her phone in either her back pocket or purse, always. But most frequently her back pocket, or sometimes in the clubs when she’d only take her fake ID and some money, she would also slip in her phone in her cleavage.* Do you when he’ll be back?  
Jimmy: I cannot say, madam. But I must insist you take your leave, the house is empty-  
 **Rachelle:** Pish posh, Jimmy darling, *she leaned against the wall behind them, her arms folded across her chest with a smile across her face* I can entertain.  
 **Irene:** You?! *It was both an accusation and a question, and she stepped up to put herself between her and Jimmy* What are you doing here?  
Jimmy: Ah, madam-  
 **Rachelle:** I live here. *grins* Temporarily.  
 **Irene:** *primly* Thought you were rotting in a cell.  
 **Rachelle:** *She chuckles and then steps away from the wall and towards the girl* Clearly I’m not.  
Jimmy: Miss De Lamarliere is a-  
 **Rachelle:** Prisoner, Jimmy, say it like it is. House prisoner.  
 **Irene:** Been there. *She still eyes Rachelle with eyes narrowed and suspicious.*  
 **Rachelle:** *smirks* Irene, your moxie is admirable, you wear it well, but if I had wanted to harm either of you, I would have done so already.  
 **Irene:** Glad to know you’re capable of some self-restraint. *Standing straighter.* Unlike some of your friends.  
 **Rachelle:** Brothers. Sisters.  
 **Irene:** That just makes the intra-pack orgies you’re all having that much more wrong.  
Jimmy: *Gaping* As I said Miss Burns-  
 **Rachelle:** *after biting back laughter* Jimmy, would you bring us some refreshments, please?  
 **Irene:** Yes, Jimmy, that would be wonderful. *She beams as she turns to him and then hugs his arm for show.* I’ll keep an eye on her.  
 **Rachelle:** *She keeps eye contact with Irene until Jimmy is out of their sights, or rather out of Irene’s sight and then she steps up with a smile* I don’t recall us meeting face to face.  
 **Irene:** Your mug’s all over the papers, honey. Dangerous werewolf and kidnapper, known to associate with Death Eaters.  
 **Rachelle:** How sweet of them to publish my resume.  
 **Irene:** You know who I am though. *eyebrows arch* Didn’t need a paper for my name.  
 **Rachelle:** No, I know quite a bit about you.  
 **Irene:** *glaring* Because your pack was instructed to steal me away?  
 **Rachelle:** *Simply* Yes.  
 **Irene:** *Rolls her eyes* Don’t I feel special?  
 **Rachelle:** it’s nothing personal, cherie.  
 **Irene:** Funny. *It wasn’t funny, she thought as she tapped her nails against her forearm, hip cocked to one side* You sound like your ‘brother’.  
 **Rachelle:** Ansel? *She shrugs as she thinks technically that wasn’t very true- hunts for him were always personal one way or another.* We were given a job, we did it.  
 **Irene:** You mean you tried to. *she smirks* You failed.  
 **Rachelle:** Baby, you are delusional if you think it’s over.  
 **Irene:** *eyes narrow* If that’s a threat-  
 **Rachelle:** It’s advice. The death eaters wanted you for a reason- *she leans in to whisper* that hasn’t gone away. *She walks past her and then towards the sitting room.*  
 **Irene:** *She spins on her boots and then annoyed, walks into the sitting room too, wishing it had a door she could slam.* That’s not advice. Advice would be where the Death Eaters are.  
 **Rachelle:** Can’t say. *She sits down on the couch with an ease she could tell Irene both admired and envied.*  
 **Irene:** Can’t say or won’t say?  
 **Rachelle:** Unfortunately, cannot. I get tongue tied when I try to say it, I forget how to write when I put pencil to paper. Trust me, I’ve tried.  
 **Irene:** *That caught her by surprise. She tilted her head.* You have?  
 **Rachelle:** *she licks her lips and then nods.* Sure. What’s the first thing you do when you’re forbidden from something? Go ahead and do it. In this case, however, it is quite literally impossible.  
 **Irene:** What if we just gleaned the information from your mind?  
 **Rachelle:** No.  
 **Irene:** So of course, you don’t really want to help.  
 **Rachelle:** I don’t really want to let some stranger go poking around in my mind? Would you? *She turns to look at Irene now, gaze fixed.*  
 **Irene:** *She physically jerks back as she feels an introducing presence in her mind and then her eyes narrow* Don’t-  
 **Rachelle:** Please, that was barely a poke. *A nail file appears in her hand out if thin air and she starts filing.* Making a point. I’d work on your occlumency if I were you.  
 **Irene:** You mean the uncommon and difficult practice that involves years of practice just to be somewhat decent at it?  
 **Rachelle:** Hmm, yes, that one. *She points at the girl with her file and then gestures for her to take a seat too.* There, advice. Seriously. Maybe for a common person, they have no need for these precautions.  
 **Irene:** If you’re saying I’m unique, save your breath. *She sits down and then crosses her legs, and tosses her hair, however little of it there was, over her shoulder* I know that already.  
 **Rachelle:** *She smirks in approval and then nods, continuing with her nails, though they were of course perfect.* Yep, and currently with too many vicious eyes upon you.  
 **Irene:** You don’t have to tell me about that. I already know very well.  
 **Rachelle:** Been followed yet?  
 **Irene:** *Her eyes and nose scrunch up in genuine confusion as an automatic-* What? *Leaves her mouth*  
 **Rachelle:** Baby, here’s how it goes. *She prepared her fingers, ready to count out.* They’ve got security on Nadia and therefore her family, because she was rescued. They’ve got security on the Minister’s children because they -are- the Minister’s children on top of the attempts against them. They’ve got security on Alcott and the Brackners *she gestures at the manor* because they’re keeping me under house arrest. *She points at Irene now* how much security do you think you have? Your father, your brother? You got out of Hogwarts and got here. You’re the most accessible one that they’ve already tried to take but of course, you’re the one that made least sense. Why would they take you, a muggleborn, alive? You couldn’t answer them, you don’t know because Ansel never told you, so obviously, the ‘good guys’ must have thought the Death Eaters just meant to hang you by your thumbs and fuck you senseless for amusement so no reason to give you more guards and spread themselves thinner. Anybody wants to reach your little group, well, Death Eaters that would want to reach your group, would have to come through you. *She leans in again, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee* So, tell me. Have you been followed yet?  
 **Irene:** *Her mouth had gone agape for a good half of that explanation but as it neared ending, that part about fucking her while she hanged from her thumbs, her mouth shuts close with an audible click of her teeth and then said teeth grit against each other, just tensing her up further, nails digging into the couch cushions when Jimmy steps into the room, snapping her out of her silence.* Oh!  
Jimmy: I apologize miss, *he places the tray on the small table between the two of them* I did not mean to startle.  
 **Rachelle:** You didn’t. *She’d heard him coming a mile away, or at least, she would have if the manor had a mile in its stretch but no matter how immense it was, it wasn’t -that- big.* I’m afraid that was entirely my fault.  
 **Irene:** I wasn’t startled. *She says quickly, reaching for the tea immediately and then looks up at Jimmy with a smile* Thank you, Jimmy.  
 **Rachelle:** Yes, thank you. *She picks up her own cup and saucer, taking a quick sip and relishing in the way the liquid scalds her tongue. Tastebuds were burnt off and shed off as she passes her tongue against her teeth, before she started to regrow them, admittedly slower, much slower than ever before.*  
 **Irene:** *Rachelle didn’t wince as the tea burned her tongue, because surely it must have burned because she didn’t pull a face a normal person does when they’re trying not to let hot things touch their tongue, therefore Irene didn’t either when her own attempt was less than sub-par. She put the cup down on the saucer and then looked back up with a raised eyebrow at Rachelle.* You know all of this, you know how they operate.  
 **Rachelle:** Of course I do. Spent years with them didn’t I?  
 **Irene:** You could tell the Aurors all about them!  
 **Rachelle:** I’ve answered every question they’ve posed me. I’ve been helpful. *Her eyebrows arch* But I’m not a Death Eater, and they’ve got two in custody they’re prioritizing. Because see, they actually have charges on them. Me? I was caught before I could actually attempt kidnapping. And you’ve got the word of a little kid who’s mental condition is not in the best state.  
 **Irene:** *snaps* Nadia is not a little girl, she is my friend, and she helped orchestrate everything that `made the Gala a failure. *She raises her chin.* Give her some respect.  
 **Rachelle:** I do. *she nods, admitting that easily at least.* She’s got spunk, I like her. Or rather I did. Till she got me arrested.  
 **Irene:** *reminds her with a smirk* Lynn and Hols did that.  
 **Rachelle:** Yes, and Devin put a knife through my throat. *grins* Send them my regards, Al simply refuses to. *She takes another sip of her yes, burning her taste buds all over again.*  
 **Irene:** *She watches the woman again with teeth gritted and then she asks because she can’t stop herself.* You really think they’re gonna come after me?  
 **Rachelle:** *She shakes her head and replied as she swallowed the tea.* Oh no, it’s been a while, and the leader isn’t one for waiting and lying low, if they haven’t gotten to you yet, it’s for a reason.  
 **Irene:** And that reason is?  
 **Rachelle:** Hmm, I’ve got a few ideas.  
 **Irene:** *takes a sip of the tea* And the most likely?  
 **Rachelle:** *Simply* Ansel.  
 **Irene:** *It was a very good thing that her hand had already been down to put the cup back on the table otherwise there would be hot tea all over her Versace blouse. Then she laughed.*  
 **Rachelle:** *One eyebrow arches, amused at the girl’s reaction.* I didn’t realize that was so funny.  
 **Irene:** It’s hilarious. *she fans her face after she’s done laughing* Good one. Really.  
 **Rachelle:** *Smirking still* I wasn’t kidding.  
 **Irene:** Then you’re delusional.  
 **Rachelle:** I know my brother.  
 **Irene:** Then you also must know that he had no qualms with *her eyes turn into a glare* smashing my brains in-  
 **Rachelle:** Funny, you don’t look dead-  
 **Irene:** as if I were some kind of zombie, giving me alcohol poisoning, and before that! Beating and snatching my boyfriend and imperiusing him-  
 **Rachelle:** Nothing personal.  
 **Irene:** I’m getting real tired of everyone saying that- of course it’s personal! It’s personal to me, I’m the one getting hurt by all of this.  
 **Rachelle:** And yet you’re not there in the dungeons.  
 **Irene:** I got away.  
 **Rachelle:** *smiles* Yes, maybe. First time. He’s not so easily discouraged *she takes another sip.*  
 **Irene:** So I should expect him to knock on my door any day then?  
 **Rachelle:** He prefers more memorable entrances.  
 **Irene:** *She scoffs, shakes her head and then sits further back on the couch, arms crossed over her chest and her brows in a furrow.*  
 **Rachelle:** *Now it’s her turn to shake her head, and she does so, leaning forward.* I didn’t say it was the reason, I just said it was the most likely. He was in charge of bringing you to the Death Eaters. If you aren’t there it means that they can’t find you, and that means he hasn’t told them, for whatever reason.  
 **Irene:** And not because he hasn’t found me yet either?  
 **Rachelle:** *She tsks her tongue* Sweetie, he could find you anywhere in the UK with his eyes closed.  
 **Irene:** That’s not creepy at all!  
 **Rachelle:** He knows where you are.  
 **Irene:** Hmm, then why doesn’t he know where -you- are? Think your pack’s given up on you?  
 **Rachelle:** Careful, cherie.  
 **Irene:** Just curious on your reasoning behind -that-.  
 **Rachelle:** He could know. *Her eyebrows arch* If you told him.  
 **Irene:** Why would I do that?  
 **Rachelle:** I don’t know hon, *shrugs and then smirks* get creative.  
 **Irene:** I’m not going to tell him.  
 **Rachelle:** Yeah you are.  
 **Irene:** And what makes you think that?  
 **Rachelle:** *She smirks* Because you want to talk to him again.  
 **Irene:** That’s some bull-horse-dog shit.  
 **Rachelle:** No…*she shakes her head* no I don’t think it is. I think you want to talk to him again and you’re gonna want to appear in control, have the upper hand. Because let’s be honest, he’d probably come see you if you reached out but it’d be on his terms and on his time. But if you dangle the fact that you know where I am…  
 **Irene:** *She bites down on her lip when she realizes that damn, that did sound like something Irene would do, actually she’d been-* How did you?  
 **Rachelle:** *She taps her forehead and then smiles* You think loudly cherie. Damn, here I was hoping you would think I’m a fabulous psychoanalyst.  
 **Irene:** Well, I won’t do that. Nothing would stop him from looking inside -my- head.  
 **Rachelle:** Can’t read your mind through a phone call.  
 **Irene:** He could trace it.  
 **Rachelle:** Do you think we’re MI6, Irene? *smirks*  
 **Irene:** You want me to do it too, you just want to get out.  
 **Rachelle:** Of course I do.  
 **Irene:** I don’t want to help you.  
 **Rachelle:** *She shrugs.* It’s only a matter of time before they find me. Wouldn’t you rather be on Ansel’s good side instead?  
 **Irene:** *She almost snapped back with a “he has one?” when she remembered instead her conversation with Stefanie and she groaned, rubbing her face for a moment.* I think that’s reserved for people with fur.  
 **Rachelle:** *She smiles, momentarily a bit sad before her expression clears and then she shrugs* Your choice, amour.  
 **Irene:** It is. And I’m not going to do any of that. *She shakes her head* I don’t trust him. He’d twist my arm off to know where you are.  
 **Rachelle:** *That makes her smile genuinely, proud of the lengths her brothers and sisters would go to to rescue her.* I know.  
 **Irene:** You know most siblings give each other concert tickets and things like that to show how much they care, not severed limbs.  
 **Rachelle:** How would you know?  
 **Irene:** *She grits her teeth again and then shakes her head* Like I said, most do.  
 **Rachelle:** Ah.  
 **Irene:** *She exhales again and stands up, too jittery to remain sitting. In reality, everything was going through her mind a hundred miles an hour- to think she was still a target, that it was only a matter of time, that what they wanted with her still applied— she detested just waiting. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been pacing until Rachelle moves to stand as well.* Where are you going?  
 **Rachelle:** *she turns around again, a hand on her hip and the other one gesturing to her* You seem to be doing just fine by yourself.  
 **Irene:** *She takes a few steps forward* I wasn’t done talking.  
 **Rachelle:** What more do you want to talk about? Ansel? *She chuckles and then her eyebrows rises as she realizes, a small ‘ah’ on her lips.* You actually do, don’t you?  
 **Irene:** *Immediate* I don’t.  
 **Rachelle:** I suppose I understand the allure, if you’re into that.  
 **Irene:** Well, I’m not.  
 **Rachelle:** Hmm, all evidence to the contrary-  
 **Irene:** *She claps her hands together* Here’s the evidence. *She holds up her hands and starts counting down.* He’d been stalking me for weeks before we ‘happened’ to meet. Leading me on all that time to gain my trust. Then he abducts me where he proceeds to use me like his own toy, a toy he doesn’t really even like because then he leaves, after bashing my head in. Then I found out he beat up my boyfriend! And he’s working with twisted psychos! And hunts people for sport! And killed his girlfriend!  
 **Rachelle:** *She snaps* Careful-  
 **Irene:** I know it was by accident- not the poin- the point! The point is that he treated me like shit. And throughout my life, that’s what men have done, starting with my father, treated me like shit, did what they wanted with me, then tossed me in the rubbish bin when they were done. And I’ve been running after them! That’s the stupid thing, I let them do that, but you what? Look at all the fantastic men I have in my life now: Dillon, Alcott, Trent, Devin, Rory, Nick, Enrique, Reid, even Justin sometimes, kind of, he’s on probation- but I don’t need to take this shit! I don’t need Ansel fucking Dorat in my life, I don’t want him in my life, because this is not some pitiful abuse relationship where I apologize for everything he does, no! No, no- I have a dent in my head okay?! My head is dented! He dented my head! I got stitches! From where he dented-  
 **Rachelle:** Yes sweetie, I got it, a dent-  
 **Irene:** I’m not into him! Okay, yes, maybe I was a little attracted to the person he pretended to be, but no mas!  
 **Rachelle:** *She sighs, shaking her head* oh darling. Logic is all fine but the heart rarely goes by it.  
 **Irene:** You know what’s in my heart? Tons of fucking love for my boyfriend, that’s what’s in my heart!  
 **Rachelle:** Ansel got in there darling. Or at least in your head.  
 **Irene:** I expect it was in the same instant where he-  
 **Rachelle:** Put a dent in your head, I got it.  
 **Irene:** He’s in my head because he looked at me with those -stupid- green eyes of his like this close *she puts her hand over her face to show the space* to my face and told me Colette’s death was an accident and I believed him.  
 **Rachelle:** *Her eyebrows arched in surprise. Huh, that was interesting.*  
 **Irene:** And then I talked to Stefanie-  
 **Rachelle:** *Oh dear. She was sticking around? Rachelle exhaled, suddenly wanting to be at Hans’ side even more than before, if his sister was back and not leaving then he must be-*  
 **Irene:** And she tells me that Ansel left me behind, with the rubbish and bleeding, to save her. And that’s not fair!  
 **Rachelle:** *At that she snaps up, head tilting* That he chose her over you?  
 **Irene:** No! *scoffs* I don’t give a shit about that, but it isn’t fair that he shows me glimpses of his non-psycho self! I can’t hate him that way!  
 **Rachelle:** You want to hate him?  
 **Irene:** It’d be a normal response!  
 **Rachelle:** So what’s your response?  
 **Irene:** Wanting super powers so I can put a dent in -his- head instead! And then as I’m using his hair to slam his head over and over again, yell at him “Be a better man, motherfucker! It’s in there, you piece of shit, be a better person!”  
 **Rachelle:** *She laughs at the image her mind just conjured and at Irene hitting her fist against her palm to accentuate every word. But then she shakes her head.* Its not that simple.  
 **Irene:** Then explain it.  
 **Rachelle:** *She shakes her head again.* Not my place. I’d be speaking for myself.  
 **Irene:** Then speak for yourself.  
 **Rachelle:** *After arching her eyebrows, she relents.* When people see good, they expect good. And when people expect good, they think they can manipulate and take advantage of you. I’m in control, I’m the strong one here, the manipulative one, not anyone else. *She shakes her head.* It’s all on my terms.  
 **Irene:** Why can’t there be good terms?!  
 **Rachelle:** Because there is no good left!  
 **Irene:** There is though! *She steps forward to grab Rachelle’s perfectly French manicured hands* There is! I’ve seen it in you here, a bit, and I saw it in him, and I know Eliza saw a little of it in Hans before she *She closes her eyes then, willing tears away and then she looks up and shakes her head, taking her hands back* and you know, at least he gave her jewels. I got-  
 **Rachelle:** A dent. *She smiles* Yeah. I know.  
 **Irene:** *She clears her throat and then goes to move past her* Anyways, can’t wait for Al all day. His loss, he’ll make it up to me another time. Though I might leave him a sticky note *opens her purse to see if she has some in there.*  
 **Rachelle:** *She follows Irene out, the teas completely forgotten about and then watches her write the note in a purple gel pen.*  
 **Irene:** This is what he missed out on, you know. *She writes a note and sticks it to the front door: ‘Check your mobile, slut.’ Then she writes another and puts it on the staircases: ‘And enjoy the sound of my aggravated voice.’*  
 **Rachelle:** What? Vaguely insulting sticky notes?  
 **Irene:** My friendship. My love, a part of my heart I would have given willingly as I do for all my friends. Maybe he’d even gotten a bigger slice, who knows. *She shrugs and then snaps away the sticky note and scurried up the steps to leave it on Al’s door: ‘You owe me one. I’ll come collecting. Love, Rene’. She travels the staircases quickly down again and sees Rachelle has stayed where she left her.* His loss.  
 **Rachelle:** He’s got the pack. *her eyes hard and glaring* We don’t need anyone else.  
 **Irene:** It’s sad that you think that. *She shrugs and then moves towards the door again.* Bye, Rachelle.  
 **Rachelle:** Irene, wait. *She turns around and then her eyes have softened, as her voice.* Please tell him where I am.  
 **Irene:** *her voice caught and she shook her head slowly* I can’t.  
 **Rachelle:** *Not one to ask twice, not anymore, she simply turned away and in a flash was back in her room.*  
 **Irene:** *Closing the front door behind her, she took her phone out of her pocket and then stared at the stupid name and cursed, putting it back in there, muttering to herself as she walked down the long driveway* Nope, nope, no, fat chance, never. Not from me. Don’t think so. At all.

&.

**Hans:**  *Resting at leisure against a tree trunk, a hand in his pocket and mid-sentence,* —exactly, luv. What were you expecting?

 **Eliza:** *Looking between the two of them near speechless, she throws her hand up and fluffs out her hair,* Oh, I don’t know. Some tiny sliver of decorum? Hopeless, I know—

 **Olivier:**  No no. *Amused, sitting on a fallen log.* Hopeful, not hopeless. Come Eliza, you’re the one who insisted on providing a moral compass—

 **Eliza:** *Lips flick, and admits,* Well. Because you’d be hope-less- without me, but—

 **Hans:**  Obviously. *Flicks his finger into a claw against the tree, which rips a piece of the bark off and it shoots across the clearing, which cuts Eliza off. He grins.*

 **Olivier:**  Oh wait—*he chuckles and reaches behind him for a beer bottle. Setting it on the log, he gestures at Hans,* all right, go.

 **Hans:**  *He laughs, then flicks again, eyes gleaming amber as another shaving turns projectile.*

 **Eliza:** *She huffs, even with a tiny smirk when it strikes the bottle square,* Are you two capable of being serious?

 **Hans:**  Sorry luv, are we barred from having a little fun? *As his crimson eyes return to blue,* If that’s what decorum requires, no wonder I’ve always despised it—

 **Olivier:**  *chuckles* Oh, don’t ruin your gentlemanly image for her now-

 **Hans:**  Besides, *head cocking, still with his lips curling,* you don’t want to see this one brood.

 **Olivier:**  It’s true, you don’t. *agreeably, picking up the bottle, as it spins around and around.*

 **Hans:**  …what are you doing?

 **Olivier:**  *blink* Oh, I was—*tiny smile as he sees Hans confused and looks bemused,* going to recycle it?

 **Eliza:** *Lights up,* Yeah? *With an adorable quiver on her bottom lip and eyes narrowed, shrewd,* Really?

 **Olivier:**  *Blinking at her expression as Hans scoffed behind her,* Okay, first, yes really and secondly, stop looking at me like a daughter begging her father for a pony.

 **Eliza:** …would it work? *tossing hair over her shoulder to look back at Hans, eyebrow cocked.*

 **Hans:**  *After looking a second he carefully avoids her eyes, smiling,* You want a pony lovely, just go and take one. *He shrugs a shoulder.*

 **Olivier:**  That’s a ‘yes’, but he’s embarrassed. *lightly*

 **Eliza:** *lips flick* I know that. Just like I knew you embarrassed to say it would work for you too by saying to stop.

 **Hans:**  *laughs behind her and ceases carving the tree, pushing off it and summoning another beer bottle from the case as he says lightly,* Pity the one who tries to keep something from Eliza, huh mate?

 **Olivier:**  *Smirking,* It’s those baby blues, they’re very effective you see—

 **Eliza:** No it’s not. *Tiny sigh, though she’s got a small little smile of honest pride on too,* I’ve spent too long with men. I need to spend more time with girls, prontissimo—

 **Hans:**  *sipping, and a hand goes up as if swearing to God,* We’re not stopping you.

 **Olivier:**  Oh no, not at all. *Brow wiggles,* as he said, pity the one who tries to stop you-

 **Hans:**  You don’t mind if we stay too though?

 **Olivier:**  I really think we should meet your new friends —for your own protection really-

 **Eliza:** Ug-men!! *Huffing and turning on her heels and sits on a log too, planting palms into the seat.* Exhibit-fucking-A.

 **Hans:**  *chuckling, as he finishes the beer in one long gulp, he tossed it to Olivier too; who catches at the last second then hisses and looks at the red mark where it hit.* Ah…oops mate, forgot for a second.

 **Olivier:**  *rolls his eyes, rubbing his finger over it.* You know if I was anyone else, you’ d have just broken a few bones in my hand.

 **Eliza:** *Head lifts, looking back between them and jabbing her nail into the bottle cap to flick it off, without care for the pain—taking a large gulp and then blinks,* What do you—

 **Hans:**  Well, anyone but your dear brother.

 **Eliza:** Tony?

 **Olivier:**  *Brows flick as if saying “yes”, with a tiny head nod and pockets this bottle too.*

 **Hans:**  Do you have another brother I don’t know about?

 **Eliza:** Hans, it seems sometimes you call half the world your sibling.

 **Olivier:**  She has a point. *smirking*

 **Eliza:** *nodding* It’s this Facebook generation—people can’t stop claiming their own faked family members—

Olivier/ **Hans:**  Pardon?/The what?

 **Eliza:** …never mind. *eye rolls* We seem to have drifted from the point.

 **Hans:**  *chuckles,* Well luv, you interrupted our training session twice.

 **Eliza:** *brow furrow* …twice?

 **Hans:**  *smirks at her*

 **Eliza:** …hitting a bottle with a piece of bark does not count as training!

 **Olivier:**  *Barely swallowing a laugh back, he says lightly,* You know mate, I think your plan to impress her backfired—

 **Hans:**  *narrows eyes at him for a second, tongue just trailing his bottom lip as he hmms for a second and then straightens,* I think you’re right, Eliza, we have drifted from the point.

 **Eliza:** *Her gaze darts away as she trails her hand up her forearm to her shoulder chasing a shiver. There’s a tiny smile on her lips as she looks back, nodding more earnestly,* We have, and I did.

 **Olivier:**  Perhaps I should begin the report then, for the sake of decorum.

 **Hans:**  *both hands up as if he swears on God above, which makes both of them roll their eyes,* I did not realize accurately describing what Miss Courtenay wore was going to be such an offense—

 **Olivier:**  *snorts*/ **Eliza:** *scoffing and looking skyward,*

 **Hans:**  —*offhand as he thinks about it,* though it’s appropriate actually, considering she’s rather an offense herself—

 **Eliza:** *brow cocks up and wiggles as she thinks first, that shouldn’t have amused her so much, but she couldn’t help it: it did.* Yeah, could we not call her Miss Courtenary?

 **Hans:**  *With a gleam in his eye,* Is that too mannerly then?

 **Eliza:** For her. *flatly*

 **Hans:**  You drive a hard bargain, luv.

 **Eliza:** Shall I compromise? Miss Twat.

 **Hans:**  *Sits chuckling as she tilts her head in benign acceptance of the fact like she knows and she’s worth it, and toying with his bottom lip with one finger, the other hand gesturing to Olivier,* As I can’t imagine beating that name—take it away then.

 **Eliza:** Could you start with how your hand didn’t break? *Tentatively, laying her hand on his shoulder and squeezing.*

 **Olivier:**  *casts his glance to her hand and arches his eyebrow, amused and asking without a word.*

 **Eliza:** *Insistent,* It’s comforting.

 **Olivier:**  …squeezing me like a cushion?

 **Eliza:** *brow furrowing, in slight confusion,* You have a seriously hard shoulder—

 **Hans:**  That’s part of the point, luv.

 **Olivier:**  *narrows his gaze at Hans, but doesn’t move, instead focusing on a steadying breath.*

 **Hans:**  *clicks tongue against roof of mouth in place of a chuckle, eyes narrowing. They look at each other intently and then he says in an abruptly more serious voice,* Eliza darling, you might want to let him go-

 **Olivier:**  *In a dangerous light chuckle,* She isn’t the issue.

 **Hans:**  *With an equal laugh,* Yes, but I can handle your darker moods.

 **Eliza:** *Had let him go, but at that she hisses, spins and -smacks!- Hans.*

 **Olivier:**  *Smirk lightening, he chuckles and relaxes his shoulders, shaking his head from side to side while she speaks high and pointed.*

 **Eliza:** I, am not made of candy glass thank you. *pointing at him* So if you could kindly refrain from acting as though I am-

 **Hans:**  *He’d held her gaze steadily, his neck still straight, he notices as her thumb brushes on her palm and smiles, taking her hand and laying it flat, rubbing the sore spot for her—which cuts her off. Candid,* Next time you hit a werewolf, remember they have a bit of a stronger jaw.

 **Olivier:**  Is this the training you were talking about? *chuckling* Because I must say I approve—

 **Eliza:** *Flustered and speaking simultaneously, glances darting between her palm and his eyes intent on her with scattered breath,* I see that, fuck—seriously—

 **Hans:**  *He chuckles completely at ease, thumb stilling over her pulse and saying simply,* Breathe…

 **Olivier:**  And be thankful you didn’t punch him. *nonchalant, unfolding his own fist on his kneecap and flexing fingers,*

 **Eliza:** Right…*Breathlessly, she has gone completely still, her slow exhale tickles the fine hair on his forearm to raise. Then she snaps her hand back. Jerking her head to Olivier, she says flatly,* Any time you want to tell me how to keep my hand from breaking, I’m all ears.

 **Hans:**  *With another easy chuckle he says, * Oh he can’t help you with that. *Taking his hand back, his thumb brushing over his own pulse now.* Genetic gift and what not.

 **Olivier:**  *sigh* I wasn’t aware sharing family history constituted as training.

 **Eliza:** *With widening eyes and folding her hands on her lap,* Family history?

 **Hans:** I have always found information to be the best beginning step to preparation.

 **Olivier:**  Bullshit.

 **Hans:**  *Breaks into laughter, he holds a hand up as he swears,* All right, all right that was yes but it was -gentlemanly- put, give me that—

 **Olivier:**  *He sighs, chuckling as well, nodding,* Yeah yeah—

 **Eliza:** *Shaking her head but she’s breaking into a smirk too.* And doesn’t it simply make for a nicer atmosphere?

 **Olivier:**  Because we’re laughing? Sure.

 **Hans:**  Yeah all right mate, keep dodging the question—

 **Eliza:** It…wasn’t a metaphor, was it? Like…when he said born of a vampire…

 **Olivier:**  *Exhales, and pulls back and rubs his forehead before shaking his head.* No, it wasn’t a metaphor.

 **Eliza:** But…how? I mean is that…is that even possible?

 **Hans:**  *matter of fact* Unless we’re joint hallucinating, and while I wouldn’t necessarily mind if that were the case I would hope we might be a bit more exciting and inventive-

 **Eliza:** Am I going to have to hit you again?

 **Hans:**  Ah-Olivier, do save Eliza’s hand and elaborate good fellow, would you?

 **Olivier:**  Good fellow?

 **Hans:**  Must you keep dodging? Someone might think you don’t enjoy your family.

 **Olivier:**  Perish the thought. *eye rolls, lips perking up even as his hand rests over his mouth and then says simply, hands clasping together,* Ah—as to the exact how, I imagine it was mostly the same, as I never asked for my father to give -exact- instructions.

 **Hans:**  *tiniest chuckle* Well, I should hope not.

 **Eliza:** *shoots Hans a look,* Okay but—

 **Olivier:**  *Wiping hand across his mouth, he shrugs, then smacks both hands together and leans forwards elbows digging into his thighs. As his fingers tangle he says,* I don’t know—there was a spell, he got it in his head he wanted a son, found my mother, said procreation ensued. *with a bitter bare chuckle, then he looks back up at Eliza and answers the more pertinent question.* Neither Tony nor I are vampires ourselves. Much to his disappointment.

 **Eliza:** *swallowing on a raw throat, but she nods hedging,* And the — darker moods…?

 **Olivier:**  *Exhales to steady himself,* Let’s just say neither my brother nor I…entirely escaped the bloodlust.

 **Eliza:** *Blinks.* You mean…

 **Olivier:**  *he chuckles, waving a hand as he frees it,* No no, nothing quite so drastic as that. *pointing to his mouth* No fangs. See?

 **Hans:**  More’s the pity. *smirking*

 **Olivier:**  We’ll agree to disagree. *delicately*

 **Eliza:** *rolling eyes, but she nods once.* But so…you’re stronger?

 **Olivier:**  *shrugs a shoulder* Not innately. It’s more like…long as I’m working out I get stronger…faster.

 **Hans:**  *Snorts,* Understatement, I think— come on mate. A beautiful woman is asking you to brag about your abilities, why feign modesty?

 **Olivier:**  *Smirks, brows both popping at once as he feigns a lightbulb popping over his head,* Because I’m secure enough my ego doesn’t need constant fluffing up from blondes?

 **Eliza:** Oi! I will hit you too! *hand flapping* Super vampire strength or no super vampire strength!

 **Olivier:**  *unclasps hands again in abrupt hilarious confusion* What did I do?

 **Hans:**  *mimicking his friend, he clasps hands together and mimes having a novel idea,* I think you demeaned her, mate..

might want to apologize, you don’t want an -Eliza- black mood to deal with—

 **Olivier:**  Ahhh, you’re right, *speaking gravely. And then he falls off the log onto his knees, hands locked as if he’s praying.* Eliza, beautiful, sweet, intelligent and not-at-all too blonde —

 **Eliza:** *had squeaked in surprise and she now breaks into laughter, lifting her hands to his shoulders and begging him to get up,* Oh good Lord stop—*giggle* stop, jus—

 **Olivier:**  Am I forgiven then? *Brightly, both brows wiggling,* Oh please say I am, dearest—

 **Hans:**  *tiniest bit of a growl* Watch it with the terms of endearment—

 **Olivier:**  *popping up on to one knee,* Why—am I stealing your lines and pointing out their gag-factor?

 **Hans:**  *Lightly,* I can think of other gag factors—

 **Eliza:** Formerlinssakes*panting* How heavy are y—get up! *Still bursting out in honest laughs, she shakes her head at both of them.*

 **Olivier:**  Heavy?! *Feigning affronted, he harrumphs and pulls back.*

 **Eliza:** *Through another laugh,* Oh I know you’re not that sensitive—

 **Hans:**  You sure? Have you seen the amount of hair products on his dresser…?

 **Olivier:**  I refuse to apologize for good hygiene. *Settling back on the log and smirking, hand gesturing as if he’s merely continuously asking for more.*

 **Eliza:** …it is kind of poofy.

 **Olivier:**  *face breaks as if he’d heard wrong,* Hm? Poofy?

 **Hans:**  A real, honest masculine adjective right there.

 **Eliza:** Not in a bad way! *Reaching forward with her hand hovering over it, smiling and relaxed now.* Just uhm. *Her hand barely brushes over it as if to gesture it’s height.* Poofy.…*giggles* Tall! There you go. Masculine adjective.

 **Olivier:**  *Head shaking* I don’t know, you’re calling me heavy, poofy-

 **Hans:**  Don’t forget threatening to hit you, mate.

 **Olivier:**  Yeah, well she did just hit you so—

 **Eliza:** Oh God -*turning red*

 **Hans:**  True, you’re right, *folds his arms together nodding,* wow Eliza, I mean—do you even like us at all?

 **Eliza:** *Prodding his shoulder to push him away, and then covering and rubbing at her cheeks,* Not at this moment, no, no I don’t.

 **Olivier:**  Ouch. *tiny chuckle* I mean I’ll survive but- I don’t know, I think you may have just killed Hans —

 **Hans:**  *Eye rolls, and he hits Olivier’s shoulder too,* Yeah yeah, let’s go.

Olivier’ *brightening to have hit the nerve* Go?

 **Hans:**  Train. *His eyes darkening even as he smirks.*

 **Olivier:**  Ah. I see how it is. Prove your masculinity as if she didn’t just bruise your ego—

 **Eliza:** *Rubbing at her throat and then she pops up immediately, talking over him.* Let me have a go.

 **Hans:**  *Face half transformed, he looks back to her, surprised.* Oh, darling?

 **Eliza:** *Steadying breath, drawing the wand Harper made her out and nods resolutely.* Yes. I have to learn.

 **Hans:**  *He takes a long look at her. Eliza was moving on her toes as he imagines she’d learned watching boxers circle each other, and for a moment he wonders what fights she might have watched. It was quite the image really, picture her with golden halo, maybe tied up, her blue eyes narrow with intent as she surveyed men circling, jabbing punches, breaking jaws and drawing blood. All that sweat, dirt, and adrenaline in a charged room lit by swinging bulbs. Red eyes glinting, he nods at her, tongue pricking around an extended fang before he says,* All right, darling. Let’s see what you’ve got then.

 **Eliza:** *She nods, unflinching as his fangs appear and eyes darken, only tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. Surveying him, she spins the wand, too intent to speak. She waits…and waits…and then just as she’s exhaling in frustration he leaps at her, and she ducks, having expected a wolf, so her head hits his stomach instead; her world spins, jarred, but she casts quickly, knowing she can’t possibly take him at close quarters. The spell hits his toes and he spins abrupt, and she squeezes free, his hand scraping her back, and she spins to cast again. A few short spells later, and she bursts out with,* Dammit! *And huffs, breathing harsh and heavy, her arms pinned behind her back and his chuckle filling up her hair.*

 **Hans:**  *Holding fast and ignoring the lingering ache in his foot as she swears again, his nose buried near her neck.* Is it considered proper decorum to curse, luv?

 **Eliza:** *God, his skin was on fire, how was it she hadn’t even made him break a sweat? Bleeding wolves were unfair. She was sweating, she knew that; sweating and shivering and swearing—at least until he points it out.* Oh shut up—you cheat. *Her feet kick beneath her into thin air, as she gasps for breath against the arm squeezing her waist in.*

 **Hans:**  I just use what’s available, darling. *The Chanel 22 was overpowering, her struggle engulfing him for a second before and he lets his eyes shut — then sets her down. The arm on her waist spins her in a snap. Hands cupping her cheeks he leans in, resting her forehead on hers as he tutors, eyes deep in hers.* You’re never going to beat any supernatural on speed. But your size is an asset, and wolves in particular? We’re on sensory overload darling, use it. Your heart, right now, is twice it’s normal speed — your breathing is deafening, and that lovely Chanel? *His eyes flutter shut as he inhales the perfume, his tongue flicking against his top lip. He hears her twitter, and opens his eyes again, slowly shaking his head, thumb brushing against her cheek.* Intoxicating. And…*But he pauses, realizing her small smile and blinks, because she shouldn’t be so hazy that close.*

 **Eliza:** *He was right. About her heart, which it only made sense he could hear considering it’s speed—and her breath, every gasp seemed unnaturally loud and shallow to match her heart—and he was right about her perfume too. She smiles, feeling him spin and his fingers scrabble on her cheek and tangle in her hair.* I know. *She whispers, lifting her hands to wrap around his wrists. Trying not to pay attention to the fact she feels the flutters in his pulse, she whispers with eyes intent on his unfocused ones and breath tracing his lips,* You might want to let go. If you breathe it too long, you’ll pass out. *Gently lifting his hands from her cheeks, she lets him pull back and smirks, hands going to her hips.* Easy luv. *She pats his shoulder and steps back.*

 **Hans:**  *He wasn’t sure he’d heard that right, considering he no longer knew which Eliza said it and he chuckles drily as he lifts his hand to his own head, trying to breath the abruptly fresh air again. Shaking his head, he guesses,* Angel.

 **Eliza:** *Eyes narrow and nose wrinkles,* Harper.

 **Hans:**  Right. *Leaning against the tree as his head clears; paying no attention to Olivier’s laughter behind her.*

 **Eliza:** *She pauses, having heard herself.* I—I mean, Mr. Brackner. It—I’m not really sure which I should—I mean, on the one hand I think he likes being called by his first name but on the other hand he’s…Alcott’s father and that’s just—strange, it feels…disrespectful to say Harper and not Mr. Brackner, you know? *She turns to Olivier, tilting her head as she asks.*

 **Olivier:**  *Chuckling, he shrugs a shoulder.* I think personally he won’t care so much what you call him provided you tell him he had a hand in knocking Hans out there. *Nodding at him.*

 **Hans:**  *His eyes are shut as he steadies himself and laughs, bitter and feeble. Then he nods, allowing,* True, really.

 **Eliza:** Right well. *Brightly, hand on her hip.* I just use what’s available darling.

 **Hans:**  *Now certain she was calling him darling, he chooses to ignore that it was in mockery and looks up at her, eyes fluttering open and shaking his head.* Touche. *Simply,* Though hun, whatever this potion is, it certainly will help, but if I’d wanted simply to snap your neck it’s much too slow.

 **Eliza:** *Nods once,* Point taken. Though I haven’t met any one here who would favor giving such a quick death.

 **Olivier:**  Touche. *Echoes, standing up and brushing his jacket off. With a tiny smirk,* In any case…*Olivier pauses midthought patting Hans shoulder as his friend coughs again.* You all right mate? *barely restraining another chuckle.*

 **Hans:**  *Grumbles, low, for he’s lightheaded and breathing with some difficulty,* Whatever his name is, I have no doubt—he’s laughing. *Pushes him off and shakes his head.*

 **Olivier:**  …hm, well. Perhaps if you bother respecting him enough to learn his name, he’ll be less keen to poison you.

 **Hans:**  I’ll keep that in mind. *tiny snort to keep it from becoming a gasp.*

 **Eliza:** *Tiniest bit apologetic now as she realizes how long it’s taking him to steady, so she moves to help him sit down, and then sits far enough back he wasn’t in danger of another deep gulp.* I hadn’t thought about sound though…*thoughtfully musing,* I bet there’s a spell to deafen…

 **Hans:**  *Looking at her sideways with a grin, fangs gone and eyes light turned blue once more, hints of his pride buried in the crease of his eyes.* I think it’s your turn Olivier. Before she kills me.

 **Eliza:** *Smirk lifting and hair bouncing, she leans over to squeeze his shoulder. Simply, and brightly.* Well. I can’t vouch for Mr. Harper Brackner.

 **Olivier:**  *He chuckles, rebuttoning his jacket and nods to himself in amusement.*

 **Eliza:** *Pausing as it occurs to her, and she chuckles, saying matter of fact.* Or Al, come to think of it. *Hans chuckle fills her ear again, and she softens, letting her hand drop both to her lap, fixing her hem and clearing her throat, flush.* But I am not going to do that. *Her smirk lifts, and she winks at him.* I swear.

&.

**Olivier:**  "....you know i wo--"  
 **Daniella:**  Oh no. no no. I don't mean recruit me. *She goes to sit on the arm of the chair.* God no. I can read between the lines with what's bothering Tony, Oli."  
 **Olivier:**  "...He's no--"  
 **Daniella:**  "*headshake* Oh, don't lie, I don't need to know. That's not what I'm talking about. But a name. There are other ways, to get information, to get someone to trust you, than undercover infiltration Olivier."  
 **Olivier:**  "Of that I'm well aware."  
 **Daniella:**  "Excellent! Then we're agreed; I just need a name."  
 **Olivier:**  "Daniella, I don't -- "  
 **Daniella:**  "Want me near them? I'm near you, I'm near Tony, I'm near Stef, Ansel Dorat called and stopped by, Hans owes me a game of darts -- I'm already near."  
 **Olivier:**  ".....that doesn't mean any of them know."  
 **Daniella:**  *Momentarily taken aback by the remark and then her eyes widen, a small smirk forming.* Know...  
 **Olivier:**  *He smirks himself, licks his bottom lip and looks away from her, arms unfolding on his chest,* You know what.  
 **Daniella:**  That doesn't mean it wouldn't be nice to hea-  
 **Olivier:**  Daniella, *he sits up cutting her off,* I am not, going to hand, them another fucking person - not one.  
 **Daniella:**  *She cuts off, surprised by the fervor of his remark and her face softens for a moment before she shakes her head.* You're not handing me over, I'm making a phone call and they're handing themselves over. Can I explain the actual-  
 **Olivier:**  *Sighs but he nods, leaning back down again and shakes his head.*  
 **Daniella:**  *Her lips flick up as he acquiesces saying calmly,* Thank you. *She gets off the arm rest, sliding her phone out. Handing it over to him with a tiny grimace on her lips she asks innocently,* How many of these papers do you own?  
 **Olivier:**  *He'd been looking curiously through her contact list as she showed him and at that his brows furrow, eyes narrow and flick over at her.* I don't own any newspapers Or magazines, or tabloids.  
 **Daniella:**  *She just arches an eyebrow, because she knew he was aware what she meant. Own as in controls, not as in necessary business documents that admitted that.*  
 **Olivier:**  *After they look at each other for a moment he chuckles under his breath, tongue trapped between his teeth and then finally allows,* On that list? Six of them.   
 **Daniella:**  *Her eyes momentarily widen even as she thinks she really shouldn't be surprised.* ...There were only seven.  
 **Olivier:**  The seventh's a tabloid. *He smirks.* They print sensationalist as anything without any encouraging necessary.   
 **Daniella:**  I suppose that's true. And if they published something you didn't like?  
 **Olivier:**  *Shrugs a shoulder, hands clapping together,* Then who would believe that rag?  
 **Daniella:**  *She snorts even as a shiver slips up her spine, a sly smirk crossing her lips for a moment. She appreciated it. Sue her. Lifting her hand and running her hand through her hair to bunch up and let fall she twists in the seat and looks at him sideways.* All seven of them? I have a credible in. More besides that, would take my press release.   
 **Olivier:**  *There's a tiny glint as he's starting to cotton on, but he grins a moment,* I'm well aware of that as well.   
 **Daniella:**  *Confusion darts across her gaze.*  
 **Olivier:**  *Licking at his bottom lip, he shrugs a shoulder.* As you indicated Daniella, I have a decent handle on the press.   
 **Daniella:**  That's where you got my reputation from, isn't it?   
 **Olivier:**  *Smirks.* The day we met?   
 **Daniella:**  Yes.  
 **Olivier:**  Oh no, that I made up. *He cocks his head, adding playfully, scratching at the back of his neck,* Maybe I'm psychic too, really -  
 **Daniella:**  *Eye rolls,* Well, I'm flattered to have garnered an interest from the infamous D'Grey himself but --  
 **Olivier:**  I'd say more than a passing interest, really, and "flattered"? I'm insulted.   
 **Daniella:**  *All he just said she mostly misses, as it was spoken quickly, as if he knew what she was about to say and wanted to forestall it.*  
 **Olivier:**  *He hands her phone back, and then meets her gaze steadily without another word aloud, waiting.*   
 **Daniella:**  Frankly? You just made my point. *She exhales.* I'll have credibility, because there is no way they aren't aware of who I am. *She knew, the hint of pride in her throat and the subtle raising of her chest as she said it was dangerous, dangerous to fall into -- but she was proud. She was Daniella Faye, they'd better know that. With a small smile,* First, my friend at this one? *She shows the paper title again.* They owe me a favor, it's a long story, *waving her hand off,* has a lot to do with the Spanish consulate but, in any case - I'll have them publish a puff piece.  
 **Olivier:**  *Cocks his eyebrow,* A--  
 **Daniella:**  *Her nose wrinkles.* You know! A puff, *she demonstrates raising her chest and wiggling her shoulders with a sharp exhale...until she sees him smirk at that.* ...you do know what a puff piece is.  
 **Olivier:**  *His gaze darts back up pointedly to her eyes, innocently shrugging.*  
 **Daniella:**  *After smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand and grinning, she tucks nearer into the couch and says simply,* They puff me up, and I'll write it so they're puffing up the people I have too - and will get. Say that I'm growing a client list of the most prestigious, most wealthy, most influential -- you know.   
 **Olivier:**  *He just nods, following with ease and looking at her a bit curiously now.*  
 **Daniella:**  *Exhales,* Then you give me a name. Or perhaps, so you aren't incriminated, I just - I give you names, you tell me if they'd be a good client or not. If it's yes, then they aren't moonlighting as a deranged lunatic with a skull tat. *Cocking up an eyebrow,* I give them a call, and I give some of the bad clients a call too. They'll take it. Prestigious, wealthy, influential douchebags will always take an interview with the press.  
 **Olivier:**  *Lips flicking up, his finger raising as he beats her too it,* I did take your call, yes.  
 **Daniella:**  ....It's not fun when you steal my punchlines.   
 **Olivier:**  *That makes something behind his gaze flicker. Tony said that to him too. Tony had said it recently, in fact, as if Olivier could do something about the fact that he'd been trained to think that way. Literally, like a dog, trained to predict, anticipate, outmaneuver -- he rubs the back of his neck hard.*  
 **Daniella:**  *Seeing the discomfort in his gaze she softens, and falls a little closer to him on the couch, putting her hand on his forearm.* I'll genuinely hire some, at random -- that doesn't matter, as long as it looks completely normal and then once that's established...*She trails off, tilting her head. A slow smirk as she bites her bottom lip is her only immediate explanation. After a few moments, Olivier mirrors it entirely, his chin lifting, eyes widening and head coming back as if he's seeing her a little differently - but all the more appreciative, if the tickle in her spine was any indication.*   
 **Olivier:**  Then it ceases being normal.   
 **Daniella:**  *Nods, singly and without a flicker to her smile.*  
 **Olivier:**  Veritaserum, to start. *He uncrosses his knees, leaning forward on them, elbows digging into his thighs.* And once they've told you -  
 **Daniella:**  *She cocks her head, waiting to see how far he gets. She'd wager up until the point where she had to differ from his father (in that she wouldn't kill anyone, she thinks with a wince), and wonders why she's only leaning forward and holding his arm tighter at the thought.*   
 **Olivier:**  - forgetfulness potion, yes? So they don't remember what they told you?  
 **Daniella:**  *Her smirk flicks up as she nods.*  
 **Olivier:**  You know Veritaserum won't get rid of the gag order for the headquarters...  
 **Daniella:**  *She waves that off.*  
 **Olivier:**  ...which you don't need, if you can plant in enough of their minds that they should meet somewhere else, go somewhere else, even just once --  
 **Daniella:**  *She beams, brightening and nods, pleasantly surprised he got that part.* Exactly. I know I can't just put that in their mind-  
 **Olivier:**  *His lips quirk as he thinks: Well.*  
 **Daniella:**  -but I'm more than capable of luring them somewhere, away, somewhere they can be arrested without being missed - that I can then testify against them with witness protection - I assume, the English government has as many moles as the French papers do.  
 **Olivier:**  *Allows that with a single nod, bemused and then says slowly,* And if you want to cut off their power, you start with their resources, yes.  
 **Daniella:**  *Tapping her lips in a smirk of surprise, even with an uneasy breathless quick intake.* Why, Elijah.  
 **Olivier:**  *He laughs out at that, shaking his head and saying pointedly,* Hey, you think Tonio let me grow up without seeing Mean Girls?  
 **Daniella:**  *Oh the irony of that...but she shakes her head happily and leans back in the couch adding idly aloud,* Remind me to buy him a burn book.  
 **Olivier:**  I think he's got one. *Offhand, as he too leans back. He waits a moment just looking at her. There's a silence. And then he asks with the same knowledge she'd started the conversation with - the affirmative answer he was sure to receive but needed to hear.* So, am I seeing here what my father would have been in for?   
 **Daniella:**  *The hand toying with her silver necklace stalls at that, and her chin lifts with her curl and index finger pressed beneath it hard. She peers at him. Then says slowly,* I never intended in killing Remington, Olivier.   
 **Olivier:**  *No, he thinks. No one did. The ones who had weren't alive long to tell as of yet - wouldn't be for a generation. And Tonio had never intended on doing it either - not until the moment he was halfway through the act. Still, her words were only proving his point. With a nod of agreement, he contradicts her aloud anyway,* That wasn't what I asked.  
 **Daniella:**  No, *she says softly without looking away from him,* it wasn't what you asked. *If he could agree like that, so could she. She just didn't know how else to answer the question. Exhaling, she continues just as quietly as before,* I wanted to meet him, you know. *She lowers her gaze to her necklace, playing back and forth with the chain.* It...I couldn't understand it, why my father loved him so much -- oh he hated him in the end, but...still...admired him.  
 **Olivier:**  *With a bitter little lip flick,* Dad was always good for that, yes. *As she's broken eye contact he sighs and gets up, letting her hand go and moving towards his kitchen. When he sees a bottle of water lying sideways he summons it, downs half of it and only then does he turn. He sees she's rearranged so her arms are folded across the back of the couch and her head is resting on top of them, laying there observing him quietly sideways. He waits a moment and then says as simply as she had,* Tony told you, didn't he?  
 **Daniella:**  *She just nods at first, thinking about that conversation with a shiver trailing up her spine and looking at him straight on still. Then,* He said he didn't want me thinking you could kill your own father.   
 **Olivier:**  *Brows (And face, frankly) furrowing, he just gapes around the lid of the water bottle for a moment.*  
 **Daniella:**  *Softer,* It's a horrible story.   
 **Olivier:**  *He shrugs instinctively, putting the bottle down and leaning against the pillar, surprised she was still tracking him with her eyes and yet hadn't moved her head.*  
 **Daniella:**  You don't have to do that. *Calmly, even yet betraying her irritation as she looks at his shoulder shrug.* Honestly, Oli, it is - it's a tragedy. Your brother never wanted to hurt anyone, and was driven to it in the moment of vindication for him - it's twisted, it's horrific. He did it to save you, he's still only telling me, because he thinks enough people think the worst of you, and not enough the best. I don't want to hear this is "just life," because that's -- that's not life, that's horror.  
 **Olivier:**  *Unblinking as he looks at her, there's a heavy, long pause before he just nods.* Yes. *He exhales, feeling oddly lighter the moment he'd said it, so he said it again.* Yes, it is. *But it was the only life he'd been given, he almost said, but it sounded pathetic in his ears. After a few moments, he pulls off the pillar and walks back over until she's forced to rearrange again, letting him collapse beside her on the couch, lean over and fix her top blouse button. Well, undo it. Fix in his mind. Calmly, he leans back and pulls away, adding softly,* You know that's how I feel about Dad too. How your Dad does.  
 **Daniella:**  *Her hand comes up to the crown of his forehead and she says softly,* I know.   
 **Olivier:**  *The question, why are you still here, gets caught in his throat when she leans to kiss his forehead and has yanked him -- him! with the hybrid strength in full bloom! -- into a hug. After a few minutes of dry little chuckling living way to the hug, she speaks again.*  
 **Daniella:**  It's one of the reasons I don't want to ever kill anyone, Oli -- they have families, more likely than not, whomever it would be. I...*she exhales,* I just can't be part of anything that tears that apart.   
 **Olivier:**  *That, he understands, even if anything after all of that-- he and Tony were closer than they'd been in years (and thank God, he thinks). Looking at her curiously still in his embrace he murmurs when she nods,* ...like yours was.  
 **Daniella:**  ...There's another reason too. *She murmurs, trying to forget she'd agreed with that as she adds aloud the thing that Olivier had already guessed,* ...Death would be too simple for these bastards.  
 **Olivier:**  *He arches his eyebrow at her with a smirk that says he appreciated the sentiment even before he leans in, kisses her once and then says aloud,* Say names. I'll say if they're on the naughty or nice list, Kat.

&.

**Lynn:** ...you did--what?  
 **Alcott:** *She had that look. The look one gets when processing damaging, infuriating information like standing in a lighthouse when the tide's out and seeing the oncoming storm. Calm deceptive and sick in seduction. Alcott wasn't too familiar with it before he knew Lynn Rivers well--too used to being the oncoming storm himself. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, looking her deep in the eye, he mutters,* Lynn, look.  
 **Lynn:** *Eyes widening,* Have my eyes gone wandering and forgotten to tell me? I'm pretty sure I'm still standing at the same exact spot Al--  
 **Alcott:** Listen. *Irritated, he cups a hand to his ear to demonstrate.*  
 **Lynn:** *Clasping her cupped palm in direct mockery, she huffs and says nothing.*  
 **Alcott:** *Hell, was it actually possible there was hurt in her eyes? Gritting his teeth, he speaks slowly,* I know you probably won't understand.  
 **Lynn:** Do I look stupid to you?  
 **Alcott:** No, you look human to me. *He echoed her tone and his hand lifts up, eyes wide himself.* And she tried to hurt you and I'm telling you this as afavor because I would think you have the right to react as you will.  
 **Lynn:** *Bewildered, blinking rapidly she still huffs indignant,* Oh well, as long as I have your permission to be human I suppose--  
 **Alcott:** Bloody hell, Lynn you know that isn't what I-  
 **Lynn:** *Shaking, her hand comes up and she slaps her thigh abruptly,* She did try and hurt me!  
 **Alcott:** I know.  
 **Lynn:** She was going to kidnap me! Without blinking, throw me to those fucking black cells--you've heard more about them from Nadia than me!  
 **Alcott:** *He grits his teeth and nods.* Yes.  
 **Lynn:** You're helping the woman who would have had me skinned alive because of who my parents are--better me than her, that was her motto!  
 **Alcott:** It was--*he pauses, recognizing with a tiny wince that Rachelle had in fact said pretty similar ("her family came first" rather), and in a flash he changes tact.* Is your motto any different?  
 **Lynn:** *Eyes wide,* Is my--I don't support brutal, systematic torture!  
 **Alcott:** That isn't wha-  
 **Lynn:** And you know what? I am so sick of this false comparison--this--I helped arrest her, Dev silenced her-  
 **Alcott:** *Interjecting subtly, lips flicking up in a bitter smirk,* With a knife in her throat.  
 **Lynn:** -The Aurors fight to kill if necessary--  
 **Alcott:** *Eyebrows snap together.*  
 **Lynn:** *Barely noticing the flicker on his face,* --somehow my father's not done enough to shut down corruption in police officers, we arrest criminals and put them in jail cells--so I'm no different--Devin's no different, my father's no different--bull fucking shit, there is a difference!  
 **Alcott:** Lynn. *Quietly, to suppress the thunderous growl under his breath,* I am not suggesting that you are.  
 **Lynn:** *Waving her hand,* Hold on, I'm on a roll here okay shh--  
 **Alcott:** ...*snort* Far be it from me to interrupt your poetic prose then.  
 **Lynn:** *Nods importantly and reaches for the sapphires she wore, holding firm as she continued.* Yes. Okay, yes, there are corrupt officers and there's bad judges, and there's shitty judgment calls. Newsflash--I know it's not as shocking to you as it was to me, but the world isn't black and white, good and evil! But you know what the difference is? My family does not fight because we like it. It doesn't fight because we think we're better than everyone else, because we think the world would be better off if an entire group of people were gone. We do not torture. We do not have a death penalty. We don't fight to see the world burn, Alcott, we fight to save it. And then there's my brother, learning how to use some potion so that he can have a chance to fight against supernatural creatures who came to my home and tried to kill us--  
 **Alcott:** *Taken aback, he exhales harshly.*  
 **Lynn:** \-- both for having the gall to beat them once, to orchestrate arresting the woman trying to kidnap me so I could be fucking tortured--how dare I defend myself! Bullshit, is my motto any different. Yes, it fucking is. Devin comes before me.  
 **Alcott:** *Breathing heavy, he nods with his sweating palm rubbing over his mouth. Waiting a moment, he's cut off from asking if she was finished, honestly taken aback again.*  
 **Lynn:** Of course that isn't any different so here--you know what is such a big difference?  
 **Alcott:** *There's a bare headshake and his hand drops.* Enlightenment.  
 **Lynn:** You come first too.  
 **Alcott:** *His eyebrow arches. For a moment they just stare at each other as understanding and a tiny smile flickers across his lips.* You mean-  
 **Lynn:** I mean I'd rather get skinned alive than spend an entire weekend alone with you-  
 **Alcott:** *Laughs out abruptly, both for the fact that's how she phrased it and oddly..because somehow he knew it wasn't true.*  
 **Lynn:** *, her lips flick up at his laugh but she finishes anyway.* But I'd still rather go through fire myself than let you get hurt if there was something I could have done. *Flatly, she slaps her leg.* That's the difference.  
 **Alcott:** *There's a quirk to his lips and he nods.* You're right-  
 **Lynn:** *Clasping her hand to her ear, which makes him laugh out again and she's breathing harsh, heavy, hot...but beaming.*  
 **Alcott:** -that is different.  
 **Lynn:** Yup-ah. *Her cherry red lipssmack together with the exhale.* What's more...I know it's how you feel too.  
 **Alcott:** *Arching an eyebrow,* Oh do you?  
 **Lynn:** *Simple and soft,* You transformed to save Shawn.  
 **Alcott:** *There's another beat, a flicker and his eyebrows. Shawn. The father of his girlfriend, the one he long blamed for his own father's death...he didn't now. He didn't know what to feel anymore. So he just nods because Lynn was factually correct, swallows the thought that it was what his Dad would have wanted and the rising lump in his throat and lets her sigh about Men never sharing their emotions. He missed that.Nodding,* Nice to know you care.  
 **Lynn:** Shut up.  
 **Alcott:** N-no, *laughs,* honestly, it is! Especially as it means I'm not the only one since-  
 **Lynn:** You care? *With a sweet smile crossing her lips, both shoulders lift.*  
 **Alcott:** *Shrugs, saying delicately instead,* When Mum told me about this I told her no initially, *not that she'd been asking,* on your behalf.  
 **Lynn:** My. *Her hands clap together.* Haven't we matured.  
 **Alcott:** *Chuckles, his arms cross over his chest and then he nods.* Don't tell anyone.  
 **Lynn:** ...of course. I will also pretend you did not just steal the words out of my mouth.  
 **Alcott:** *Groans wide-eyed,* ...good, and I'l forget you said that.  
 **Lynn:** *Firm nods.* Deal. Though it basically just confirms that Hols is in fact dating the slightly lesser version of me.  
 **Alcott:** *Drily,* Can I speak now, or are you still going to say I'm ruining your prose?  
 **Lynn:** *Utterly unashamedly waving her hand,* You may proceed.  
 **Alcott:** *After a tiny snort, he decides that's the best he's going to get and says -- to the point,* Everything that Nadia has told you about those cells is true. Rachelle's got the marks to prove it. *There's a dead silence. Breath arrested in his throat, he adds quieter yet,* So my mother said anyway.  
 **Lynn:** She was...*Her hand claps over her mouth as a hard, blazing look appears in her eye.*  
 **Alcott:** *Nodding once, he moves to sit when she does. Course she sat on her table, he sat on the couch but the juxtaposition of "normal" amuses him-- which of them was the wolf here?* Yeah.  
 **Lynn:** And that's why...*Mouth unclasped and reclasped, she shakes her head.*  
 **Alcott:** Oh no, my mother wanted to help her for purely political reasons. *He smirks slightly.*  
 **Lynn:** Seriously, *breathing shallow,* we need to relate less. Any day now.  
 **Alcott:** ...agreed. *He clears his throat.* In any case--it's...there's this man named...Angel?  
 **Lynn:** Dev's gay guardian?  
 **Alcott:** *Huh.* ...oh!  
 **Lynn:** Okay, and now I'm officially confused -- *she gets up,* you want a drink?  
 **Alcott:** Covered, thanks. *His hand goes to his father's flask, fiddling it for comfort.* I just--I bet that's who D'Grey meant. No, there's literally a man named Angel.  
 **Lynn:** Who names their child that? Honestly. It's like how Aunt Ama was going to be called Chastity --  
 **Alcott:** *He blinks.* She was what?  
 **Lynn:** *Smirks,* I know, bullet dodged--but seriously? Angel? Feels like the start of a bad joke. Pun of some kind.  
 **Alcott:** ...Kay, see, *Still thumbing the top of his flask,* his name isn't really important--  
 **Lynn:** *Snorts, swirls her wine glass now she's poured it and promptly sits back across from him,* Pft. Names are very important.  
 **Alcott:** ...to him, yes, but you're just making fun of it.  
 **Lynn:** D'Grey did first!  
 **Alcott:** *That was true. He did. His brows furrow, and he clenches his teeth as for some reason that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It wasn't even the Wolfsbane.*  
 **Lynn:** *Noticing the look, she tilts her head and then her index finger comes out,* Maybe it was a clue. Maybeee it's supposed to be a bad joke.  
 **Alcott:** Lynn, seriously I've spent too much time with you, your conspiracies are almost starting to making sense.  
 **Lynn:** *After a sip, she laughs,* Oh come on, like it isn't something you would do.  
 **Alcott:** *...Okay, he would. Though,* Must say, I really rather not hear your puns on my name.  
 **Lynn:** *Both eyebrows wiggle and she nods, mouth opening again but Alcott talks over her, fed up.*  
 **Alcott:** He makes a potion. The silver one--the--  
 **Lynn:** *Mouth in a round oh,* So you can transform at will... **Alcott:** *He nods. Then says frankly,* Hans saved Rachelle's life. Literally. And now I've had a taste of that potion...? ...I understand why they don't want to lose it. Because I don't.  
 **Lynn:** *Her breath catches and she rubs under her eyes as if forestalling tears.* So...Angel is a Death Eater who has Hans by the balls, withholding this potion unle--  
 **Alcott:** Not a Death Eater. *His fingertip comes up, though he isn't sure why that mattered to him to say.* He was...  
 **Lynn:** *voice breaking over the word,*...tortured too.  
 **Alcott:** *Why was his mouth so dry? Flicking his thumb so the flask pops open he adds, coughing until his throat cleared,* Yeah. The rest is right though. There's another difference in these sides, Lynn. They break someone apart and glue them back together until they're barely recognizable. But Rachelle...  
 **Lynn:** *Finishing calmly,* She--and your mom too--think that maybe if you get Angel away from the Death Eaters, help the pack...he'll be grateful enough to make the potion.  
 **Alcott:** *Nodding, he says in a lower growl,* I want to meet this man. If only because he can do my father's research--and he stole his wand too.  
 **Lynn:** *Hearing the low growl she lets her eyes shut. Taking another sip of her wine, she sets the glass down and nods with a soft smile.* I understand.  
 **Alcott:** *Brows cocking in surprise, he starts to speak but she "uh-ah!"s him to silence.*  
 **Lynn:** Not a word. *She reaches for his wrist, squeezing once sort of awkwardly but she was trying, okay!? Thank you for telling me, now moving on--  
 **Alcott:** *He just winks, oddly comforted and nodding.* To...?  
 **Lynn:** Business.  
 **Alcott:** ...which is?  
 **Lynn:** *With a determined smirk,* I believe you have a crossbow that has my name on it.

&.

 **Tony:** *He was proving himself with this little errand. Something small to start off with, a little roughhousing. Right, small. And with his "indistinguishable advantages" he was deemed able to do this on his own. His disgust had been apparent only to his brother but he was doing what he was told. The faithful new recruit, doing what his superiors asked. He was so excited, yay! Sarcasm. At least it wasn't someone he would feel guilty about.  
Looking left to right as he knocked on the hotel door, he rang out in a French thrill* Room service! *The door opened and he stepped through it quickly, the girl stumbling backwards. Tony waved his hand and disarmed the man jumping up from the bed in another moment and then smirked.* Sorry to interrupt what was bound to be a wonderful purchased evening, *He was glad it was that way, meant he didn't have to threaten her to force the man's cooperation* we need to talk, Guillaume.  
 **Guillaume:** *He spits at the man, as he scrambles to finish doing up his pants* Who the fuck are you? *His response is in a vivid but slurred French, learned in the Caribbean instead of mother France.*  
 **Tony:** Moi? Doesn't matter, you know who sent me. Sweetheart if you could kindly *he pulls out a few bills from the inner pocket of his jacket and pressed them into her hand, afterwards lifting the hand to kiss her knuckles* Merci, cherie. Au revoir. *He watched her leave after an anxious glance at her boss, gathering her coat and leaving the room in a hurry. Tony now sat down in a chair, and opened the champagne that was already in there.* You should really keep your bodyguards around at all times.  
 **Guillaume:** *he growls* I do.  
 **Tony:** *Yes he did.* Oh that's right...should really train them better.  
 **Guillaume:** What did-  
 **Tony:** Oh relax *he took a swig and then stood again, standing in front of Guillaume* You'll get them back. Now whether you get them back in one piece or several, that's entirely up to you.  
 **Guillaume:** I don't have the money.  
 **Tony:** You shouldn't have sprung for the Satine of whores then. *Another reference lost on another person. How dreadful.* Where's the money, Guillaume? We can't keep protecting you if you don't actually -pay- us.  
 **Guillaume:** I don't have it-  
 **Tony:** *He accio'ed the gun that Guillaume was trying to reach, and noticing a silencer attached, decided to take advantage of it and shoot the man in the knee. The bullet might have been silent but the scream, that was loud. He dropped to the ground and when Guillaume finally turned away his gaze, Tony's broke for a few seconds. He rubbed his mouth quickly, bit on his lip as he felt his throat grow scratchy and dry as the blood splattered and then crouched down, tilting Guillaume's face towards his with the gun.* You have till the end of the month, sweetheart.  
And we want double. Next time we gotta come see you, you know what Uncle's gonna do, don't you? *He saw the hairs on Guillaume's neck stand up but Tony finished the thought anyways* He'll sic the dogs on you. *It was easy to smirk when he thought he could refer to the pack, or personally the pair of Wolfies as attack dogs.* Nod along with me if you understand *he nodded slowly and then with Guillaume before he smirked again, licking his dry lips,* See, was that so hard? Bye bye baby, baby goodbye.  
*He shot the other knee and swallowed the lump in his throat along with the other man's scream before he stood and moved away quickly, clicking on the safety and putting it in his jacket before walking out of the room, only breathing in now that he was away from the blood.*  
 **Claude:** *Guillaume was scum. Then again, most in this line tended to be that to a certain extent--he knew he'd crossed the line to somewhere muddy between dirty and clean -- but he was honestly, prostitutes and drugs fucked up scum. It was the former that bothered Claude more for years that he'd worried where his daughter was. Now he knew. The knowledge had turned -- to use the British understatement her mother was so fond of: that "bothered" to "a bit cross with", the highest of capital offenses.  
And yet, when it came to contacts who could be relied on turning information for money he was one of the best (he'd never -rely- on him at all); as such Santiago's tip turned out quite useful. Gulliarme was in the market for protection from the very men he sought--those responsible for the vengeful wish burning hot black in the center of his chest. Those who had killed her. So off he went! Not that he'd actually bent over backwards (so much as crossed the street actually) when the hired bodyguards were taken down.  
No, the only thing that surprised him about this scene...was the enforcer sent. Claude hadn't expected to know him. Or if he had...he hadn't expected it to be...  
Elbow jabbing out the moment the door was shut again, he had both the nozzle of his own gun at the man's back had taken his own gun. His arm whips and squeezes the man's throat. Good thing Claude'd gone ahead and drank that damn foul-tasting potion then--he'd expected to need to mask his scent because of this wolf pack. He hadn't expected vampires (well, kind of), but they were his forte. Which was why he knew, senses masked, gun, stake and chokehold? Would last oh...ten seconds. For someone good.* This is a shame.  
*He was better than good, so it was twelve seconds before he was ducking too, cursing under his breath at Tony's goddamn strength, and after flashes of--fist, blood, skin, bright goddamn motel lighting--he was knocking the gun hilt into the man's throat. Growling, somewhere under his ear* I will shoot, Tony. *It was a shame, but he would. Previous friendship be damned--he could spare no thought to his disappointment or regret.That would have to wait til a firewhiskey tribute that night.*  
 **Tony:** *The breath had been promptly knocked out of him a moment later. An arm squeezing under his throat, cutting off further air from his lungs. He snarled, feeling his blood boil under his skin already itching to cause more pain and was only paused in his tracks as he recognized the voice.* Claude?! *What was this tough motherfucker- he had to get out of this chokehold. He brought his arm up quicker than normal and turned in the hold, pushing him away but as Claude leaped for him again, so did Tony. It was an instinct, a need, with only the barest of recognition for who the man really was. It was only after Claude had him caught again that he forced himself to breathe, think, and stop himself from wanting to struggle.* You crazy son of a bitch, always shoot first, get answers later! *He winced, head tender from a good kick the older man had delivered to his temple.* Settle down, Miyagi, *he breathed out* I can explain.  
 **Claude:** An instinct that's served me well as you already know. *That was more grunt than words, as he struggles to break Tony's hold on his arm. The gun, that he had no trouble keeping leveled. Eyes, teeth, jaw- they remain locked on him. Almighty--last time he'd seen him, Tony hadn't broken out of teenage years. Fucking hybrid thing, had to be, he looked mid twenties now at least -- and it had not been that long. Breathing out, he cut out only,* Then explain, LaRusso, I'm listening.  
 **Tony:** *And how in the fuck was this guy strong enough to hold him down anyways?! He had never gotten that secret and doubted he ever would. If there was one thing more typical to Claude than his weapons, it was his secrets. Though he had to admit, it was so goddamn satisfying to finally say a line and have someone catch the reference.* Missed ya too, bud. *He hissed through his teeth, looking up and down the hallway again. Tony had already disabled the security cameras on this floor, but who's to say the Death Eaters didn't have their own taps on the place to ensure Tony did a job well done and get him a gold star? No chances.* Not here.  
 **Claude:** *He smirks, because frankly he had missed Tony--at least until he'd heard him threatening on these bastard's behalf. There was blood dripping down the back of his throat from a broken cheekbone (maybe several). If he hadn't tasted the bitter copper where he shoved his tongue to consider, he'd still have known. The look in Tony's eye was unforgettable. Exhale sharper, he nods in a jerk and pulls back, keeping the gun out - but offered his hand.* Fine. Probably owe you a drink. I'll even buy.  
 **Tony:** *He exhales with new found relief to his throat, only to have to keep coughing to alleviate the pain, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down the length of it before taking the offered hand to stand up and then shook it* That's how you say hello. *He exhaled, hands on his hips as he caught his breath, his eyes still wide and wild from the rush and the taste of his own blood. Regaining control, Tony then nodded more to himself than anything else before stepping forward.* Okay, ready for that drink now, let's blow this popsicle stand.  
 **Claude:** *Oh hell--as he helped Tony up, he couldn't keep his teeth from gritting, muffling the grunt that would have made obvious that Tony likely could rip it free. Then he chuckles.* Yeah, 'bud', considering you just shot a man twice in greeting, don't think you're really the expert on that.  
*Hitting his hand against his thigh, once, twice to wipe drying blood off, he exhales as he takes a step back and let's Tony collect himself. He cleans himself off with a muttered spell. For a moment, concern crosses his expression--if it was that prevalent...it was likely a-uh, ha, "relapse" had occurred. Yes, Tony needed to explain.  
He nods when Tony looks back, then gestures over his shoulder with a thumb. Pushing towards the door, he kept his thumb on the trigger just in case while they exited the motel, walking to the nearest dive--only a few blocks. Still, he waits until bottle and shot glasses are in hand to be dramatically presented on the table, poured, held up and most importantly -- downed, before he says another word. Eyes narrow, calmer now, he leans over the high table,* What happened?  
 **Tony:** Once in greeting, the other in farewell. And he isn't a man, he's a scumbag. *But these were just excuses which didn't do much to move the pit from the bottom of Tony's stomach even as they walked in silence out of the place and into the nearest dump. It was safer this way, these hole in the wall muggle bars were by far the safest place to talk in. And if they had been followed, he would have noticed by now. Throwing back what was probably the worst tasting drink he'd ever had, Tony exhales, brings the shot glass down on the table and prepares himself to share.* Few years ago, the Death Eaters started started settling themselves here in France, rooting out everyone else, including my brother. About a year ago, they get back at him by finding me. *He pours them each another shot* I'll save you those details, it wasn't pretty. So I leave, and come back to keep my brother alive. They've got him in a chokehold, or so I thought. He's working to bring them down from the inside. And there was an opportunity for me to infiltrate and help him out, so I took it. It means getting my hands dirty, but so be it. *That had rushed out of him like the waters of Niagara but then he quickly realized or rather remembered that he trusted Claude with his life even if at the moment that wasn't true vice versa. Even if Claude would have just been willing to kill him and yet, if he honestly had ended up where he appeared to have in that moment, Tony would want Claude to kill him.*  
 **Claude:** *At 'it wasn't pretty', Claude promptly tossed down that shot too, stone-cold to save from imagining. Of course, it didn't matter. If anything was bad enough to keep Olivier D'Grey "in line", even if that appeared to be only half true... was....well it took a particular kind of psycho. Arms still folded, his face flicked only at the end as he worked through the information (even as he was still processing he adds aloud),* ...well, you're very convincing, mate. *A smirk runs across his lips. This meant he had a way in. He was trying not to keep gnash his teeth (Eliza had asked him to stop that), but as it occurred to him Mary would start throwing things again if he kept this from her too...he goes for the bottle again. While pouring he adds, concern back in his gaze,* ...and the temptations that'd present for you?  
 **Tony:** I know. *Smirk on his face and his eyebrows doing their little show before he nodded.* I'm a great storyteller. *In reality, he knew blunt and straightforward were more appreciated in the beginning with the long, drawling, narrative best left for moments when it was specifically requested. At least, when it came to this, and quite honestly Tony didn't think he could endure another narrative about this. Down went the other shot that Claude was pouring now. It made his throat burn but it was a different fire, one he preferred to the one that Claude was mentioning.* Tempting, obviously. Didn't kill Guillaume though hurting him was all too natural...*he exhales in a huff* I'm not gonna lie bud, it's bad. Gory details, yes or no?  
 **Claude:** Always were. *Running his fingers across sore lips as he thinks of the tale Tony told him when they first met (rather, when Tony tracked him down), he smirks. That had been entertaining-- the manner in which he was told, even if the details were sickening. Nodding (and trying to keep his eyes from rolling) as Tony answered the temptations were tempting,* Imagine,* he frowns briefly. Wonderful. Tony had gotten out and yet now...(Well then again, same with Claude, and he wouldn't be a hypocrite). Not lying though, not in denial--that was a good step.* Course yes, *he chuckles bitter (where was that bottle),* you know I'm a sucker for the bad horror flick.  
 **Tony:** *Well, he had asked for it. Tony nodded as he poured them again only this time he didn't take the drink, just passed his index finger around the rim of the glass for a brief moment before he looked back up and began his horrendous exposition.* You know how these douchebags operate. They just don't kick your ass and let that mess with your head anymore, they go directly there. So, they knew they had to test me. Not against themselves, they'd already had their fun with that *it was getting intensely difficult not to sound bitter from here in out, hell, from the very beginning* but against a prisoner. They know I'm supposed to be the good D'Grey, the good brother, I think they didn't expect me to go through with it. Especially not after I recognized the woman. *He couldn't take it anymore, he downed the drink and immediately poured himself another to have it in front of him.* Her name was Emily, we'd gone to college together, my first college...you would have liked her. *He points with a finger* She was immune to my bullshit too, fun girl, due to get married by the looks of that ring on her finger...she begged me...*he rubs the back of his neck, mutters a curse in his native Italian before he managed to choke out* I killed her in the end. Went home, and took it allll out on that pretentious three story blood throne of a house. Still standing though, I was intercepted...been hard to keep the lid on fully ever since. *He took the other shot now, as the grand finale.*  
 **Claude:** *Actually asking for details was a quarter sarcastic -- he wanted them to figure out his best approach here, but he mostly, just wanted Tony to talk about it. All that "share your feelings" crap they both did better drinking in honorium of, but Claude had swallowed that damn AA program the moment he had understood what the fifteen year old Tony was actually addicted to -- from birth, it seemed. Like an HIV-positive child. That would have been better, actually. So he listened, swirling his own shot back and forth, nodding at first to indicate yeah -- he knew these pretentious douchebags MO too well -- otherwise his face shows nothing. He waited for the bombshell, breathed out,* ...Shit.  
*Then takes the shot with him. Hissing as it hits the back of his throat, and scrunching his nose and eyes to wait for the sting to disappear, he swallows that too.* ...I'm sorry, Bauer, seems it's gonna be another one of those long days. *There's a clink as he sets the glass down on the half-dirty table and pulled the ash tray over with one hand, going to his back pocket for the fag and lighter. He flicks the flame with it stuck between his lips and then breathes a heavy drag (swallowing down a cough that reminds him of the limited lung capacity).  
Careful to blow the smoke away from the table, he rubs over his screwed up eyes and asks, flat,* How much does Olivier know about me? *He lowers the cig, eyes still on Tony as he says flatly,* I want in-or rather, we could coordinate, or I'll resume what I was doing tonight. *A light smirk on his lips as he points out,* You're still favoring your right flank. Only briefly, too fast for you know- human eyes, unless the someone knows you.  
 **Tony:** Shit is right. *He nodded agreeing wholeheartedly before snorting at the comment, replying only with* Better get some coffee then. *He dips his pinky in the other shot he served himself (apparently, because he didn't remember doing it, such was he on automatic) and then licked it clean as Claude either continued with his habit or decided he would start it again. Seemed like a good day to start at least.* More than I've told him I expect. *He smirks* He used to call you my sponsor. *He snorts, this time taking a little sip of the shot to taste it on his tongue and consider this. Tony was curious as to why Claude had been there and more importantly how he knew to be there. The man was a fighter but his targets were always more ah...supernatural.* My fucking flank, it'll be the end of me. *He shook his head before asking now* Since when do you have a personal V for vendetta against the Death Eaters?  
 **Claude:** Only if I'm the one to "end" you. *He pauses, then adds,* And that's not the impression I want to give your brother, so don't worry. *He pats Tony's shoulder once, then returned to the cigarette. Since the funeral, where he'd just found himself at the general store looking for the cheapest, worst brand, he'd kept a pack on him. Thumb flicking at the bridge of his nose in a twitch as he snorts,* Sponsor? Hey, look, you aren't the only hilariously clever D'Grey after all.  
*Actually, sponsor was probably pretty accurate. Someone who went through the hellfire first to guide someone else through it? Maybe the dive bar, cigarettes and alcohol weren't the best indicator--it was other urges Tony struggled with, other hellfire Claude had helped him walk through.  
The question made his jawline harder, but Tony had been honest with him. He exhales.* Never told you I had a daughter, did I? Course when we met she would've been ... eight, nine...*Fuck, he didn't know.* I was unceremoniously rejected by her oh-so proper family. *He snorts.* They were going to cut her mother off. Guess those heels of hers were too precious to part with. But really...was better anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to raise a little girl in all of...well, *He shrugs, bitter and taking another drag.* You know. She was safer with her mother. So I thought, anyway.  
*And another drag-and-puff out, rubbing over the center of his chest.* Long ass story short, *he waves the smoke away again,* she tracked me down. Glad she did, meant I got a few months before, these bastards killed her. *Exhaling, he taps the cigarette out against the ash tray and repeats,* Shit is right.  
 **Tony:** See if I would have stuck around and let you keep kicking my ass all these years maybe I wouldn't have a favored flank anymore. *He had been young though and he had wanted to learn how to protect himself, how to fight on his own so Olivier didn't have to do it for him, but not how to torture so he had...outsourced. In a manner of speaking.* No, just the more handsome one. *He nodded as if it were divine knowledge, taking another sip out of his shot glass before his eyebrows arched high and higher to hear his friend, his mentor, had a daughter.* You hadn't mentioned that, no... *And not that much older him, yet thankfully old enough that Tony would have never slept with her, cuz with all of his luck, that's probably what would have happened. Small favors. The rest of the story, not so favorable. His frown only deepened on his face, furrowing as if it meant to stay there.* I think we're past shit and we've moved into 'fuck' territory. Deep fuck. *He nodded, finishing the shot and then tapping the glass against the table.* And you're prepared to go on a suicide quest for revenge. *He licked his lips, chewing on the bottom one briefly as he kept Claude's gaze* Fuck it man, you know I want you on this with me. Olivier's a whole other ball game though, not sure what he'd say.  
 **Claude:** *Tap, tap, tapping away with the cigarette as his friend processes, he suddenly hisses,* She's my daughter. *His gaze locks back to Tony's as much as the alcohol-haze and smoke allow. As if that explains everything, as if the blood relation made all the difference when he knew well, Tony wouldn't believe that. He'd be right not to, even, wasn't that sad?  
Rubbing over his throat, he puts the fag out with another hiss, and brushes his hand off on his thigh. Muttering,* Fuck, I failed her enough when she was...I can't again--this I know how to do, tracking down psychotic, supernatural murderers -- yes, it's a weird skill, carefully honed so she wouldn't know it existed, but this I can do for her.  
*So yes, he was. Sticking his hand in his back pocket and shrugging, he adds,* End Lifetime moment. I have -got- to stop staying at Mary's. *Or rather letting Mary crash with him as, she hadn't gone back to the Culpeper mansion since the funeral. He was proud of her for that. The look Ellen had was priceless when they left together too. He chuckles at the memory and then nods, smirking,* In that case, must say. I don't see a reason he need know.  
 **Tony:** *And Olivier was his brother, he understood. Wasn't he already on a suicide quest of his own? The thing about revenge though, apart from being a lose-lose situation nearly all the time, is that it was seldom that simple. A murder spree in honor of his daughter, he wasn't sure that was the exact right thing to offer but Tony wasn't going to be the one to tell Claude that. He instead chuckled at the Lifetime comment, nodding along.* I do hope you see the irony of you staying with a Mary of all names. *He shook his head before considering. Not telling Olivier, now that felt a little...low. But maybe it was safer this way so if Tony ever got caught, Olivier wouldn't know anything (not that would stop the fucker from bending over backwards to take the blame). He tapped his fingers against the table and then nodded once, deciding.* We'll get some results first, then I'll tell him. By then, can't exactly say no.  
 **Claude:** Irony? *He smirks,* Why, because I know her biblically? Though as she'd immediately point out the historical meaning of virgin only meant "uncontrolled by man"...yes, that I can attest too. *Keeping -her- out of this would be impossibly difficult as...well as hypocritical, but he decides he'd do the same as Tony was. When he had something to tell her, he would. After disconnecting and hiding all electronic appliances. He smirks to himself and then nods.* Excellent. I assume, you can't tell me where the headquarters is. *He exhaled.* And I won't interefere where you're meant to be proving yourself- that's a dead give away. *Chewing on his bottom lip as he considers, he asks slowly,*...but other routes--you must know them, reandevous like tonight. *He cocks an eyebrow.* They took them from your brother?  
 **Tony:** *He laughs, wagging his finger and nodding* Good one, but- *Ah, too slow. All his points being taken away from him before he could even say them out loud.* Oh she's a handful then. I like her already. *Grins and then pours himself another shot to celebrate this new-old partnership.* Nope, gag spell. *If he could he would have already spilled the beans on where to find them. He nods then, looking up* Now that's something I can provide. Rookies go on runs like this all the time and they hardly deviate from my brother's. It was a very non-hostile takeover after all...kinda. *He smirks and shakes his head and raises his glass again before downing it.*  
 **Claude:** *Had he actually managed to beat Tony to a punchline? Well, Mary had. But still, man it was a bad day wasn't it? (Bad few weeks...year, it sounded like). Picking the shot glass up he echoes,* Handful. One way of putting it. You'll definitely like her. *He chuckles, index finger up,* And that's another way. *Clink-gasp-clink, down goes that shot. Pulling a face he adds,* God, this is really foul. We shouldn't still be tasting it. *They were doing something wrong. Something in the way Tony said that made him wonder exactly how many D'Grey loyal men and women (Lord knew there were those) had died the last year. He wouldn't ask that.* Yeah, right, non-hostile. *He rolls his eyes.* So you shoot me a heads up, I can intercept. *He pauses, adding in distaste,* Whatever recruit is most eager too, *he claps his hand together,* brava, patsy found.  
 **Tony:** It's almost like the demons brewed it, *tilts his head and scrunches his face as he feels the after taste* or heaved it up, something like that. I should be a lot more drunk than I am, that's for sure. *He rubs at his face again and then nods after clearing his throat* Sounds good to me, man. Only wish I could join you in some of these. Give em a little something from me too. *He clicks his tongue with a wink before downing another shot. Gross. He didn't know how he had been managing in sips before.*  
 **Claude:** Story of my life right now: *he holds his hand up, as if waving across a movie title,* should be more drunk than I am. *Pathetic. Blech. He ripped the back of his palm against his lips, then chuckles.* Yeah, will do. Though I gotta say, not surprised you actually infiltrated. Goal of yours since...well not long after we met I assume.  
 **Tony:** Hear hear! *He tapped the glass against the table twice just for show though refrained from pouring another shot just to let his stomach catch up to the fact that it was currently housing liquid evil.* Well *he started bitterly* this isn't my first time at the rodeo, cowboy. *That's right, he hadn't told Claude about this either, obviously.* I did infiltrate the organization back when Remington was still in charge. I mean I could say it didn't end up well but he -is- dead, God forgive me for being so damn happy every time I say it, but hallelujah.  
 **Claude:** *Chin cocking as if to say "oh?" like a smarmy, teenage girl (he pours himself another shot, damn the taste), and finds it hovering under his lips at the information.* I had discerned he was dead yes, but... *Though that hadn't been freely given information so much as a wild goose chase for what had been a surefire contact making him surmise it. Eyes round,* Didn't know you instigated. *He smirks. And waves off the "god forgive," shaking his head,* Don't bother--mazel tov to you, sir. *Down goes another shot.*  
 **Tony:** Yeah, it's still need to know basis. After all, D'Grey is in charge. That hasn't changed. *He tilts his head* Well, you know. *He smirks and then shakes his head. Honestly, the way Olivier had information, both truth and lies, so tightly bound was scary. Tony chuckled and then replied* Salute. *He refrains from the shot of demon upchuck (yes, a surprise to him as well) and then admits quieter.* I didn't just instigate, Claude. I killed him myself.  
 **Claude:** *He snorts.* Your brother, honestly. *The reason for the tight lid becomes clear in an instant - the moment of clarity following opening his throat and pretending he doesn't taste a thing. He blinks. The drink lowers. Otherwise he didn't move. Oh, his poor mother honestly -- here he was, with probably one of the only honest friends he had, who he had been willing to kill an hour ago, who was now admitting to his second murder of the night. And he didn't blink. He could hear the Psalms now, read from the Torah atop the altar in her living room. Hell, though. The question "why?" seemed ridiculous: if Claude could have gotten near Remington he'd have done it himself. There were hundreds of reasons only compounded when it came to being his son himself. Rubbing his lips again to chase away the taste, he lifts the carton to Tony this time, wordlessly offering. Instead, what he says aloud is only,* How long ago?  
 **Tony:** *Tony hadn't been sure of exactly what he was expecting when he revealed that. He didn't know anymore. Maybe he was subconsciously searching for one person, just one, to disapprove and call him the lowest of low for killing his own father. Only subconsciously though, if that, because Claude the Hunter was hardly going to disapprove of the biggest and baddest vampire of them all being gone.* 3 years ago. *He took a stick when he offered, put it to his lips and then covered the end with his hands while he whispered the spell to light it . He inhaled and blew out the smoke to the side* Give or take a few months. Shot him twice in the chest with the gun and wooden bullets you gave me. He might have died by that alone but I still went over and staked him through the heart. Felt good, too. Real good. *That had been Olivier's turn to watch from a spot on the floor. Kind of poetic if you thought about it.* These smokes are also shit, by the way.  
 **Claude:** *Listening carefully still, he chuckles half bitter as he inserts,* Aw, thanks man, glad to have some credit there. *It was only half bitter because honestly, it felt good to him too. Being able to think he'd genuinely helped his friend get rid of a monster...yeah, that felt good.* Three years though? Mate, this drink is long overdue--I owe you something actually...half decent really. *He laughs and nods at the carton,* Yup. Suppose it was a masochism thing. Quit for two years, shame for caving so cheapest and worst it was. *He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck.* ...seriously though man, Olivier. How'd that...?  
 **Tony:** Only -half- decent? Okay. *he chuckles* If I solve world hunger, think I can get a pretty decent drink? *He wiggles his eyebrows and then chuckles again at that logic. Ah, so Tony had been right. He had quit and restarted. Hell of a day to start again. He was about to tell Claude that there were far more efficient ways to get himself killed before he realized, oh yeah, the man already knew.* Man that was...*he took another drag and then frowned, realizing he had very little recall of what happened between killing his father and leaving the manor though it had been weeks.* I went into cold Tonio mode so he went into colder D'Grey mode and busied himself covering it up and taking over. And then, well apparently he had been purposefully picking fights with me to get me to leave so...you know, I did. Didn't look back until I got a drop in visit from a certain pink haired bitch.  
 **Claude:** *He chuckles,* Nah, you don't need to go curing world hunger. Getting me a steadier job on the other hand, *he shrugs,* then maybe I could afford the pretty decent. *It had started as a joke but honestly, at least half of what he did get paid for clients he was always sending to his mother anyways. He couldn't say he cared: he liked his flat, he never ran out of ammo as he carved half of it himself...what someone would need with a place as large as the D'Grey mansion, he had no goddamn idea. Tucking the carton in his jacket's inner pocket, he only just realized and chuckles, handing out Tony's gun back to him. Well, under the table. His brows furrow as he listens,* Yeah, sounds about right... Purposefully picking fights? ...you two have the strangest relationship, gotta say. So he stepped up because it...*His thumb points at Tony as it dawns on him, then pulls back. Ah. Saved him from Remington's friends. Instead he says,* ..what exactly is cold Tonio mode? *His lips flick up in amusement, trying to picture that.*  
 **Tony:** If you want to get paid as my hitman, now would be the time to say so. It'd even be clean money. *Well, how clean was the international market to begin with? In his brief time as a finance major he realized banks and businesses could be as corrupt as the Italian mafia. He would know right?* One of the most fucked up. Then again, that's my life *he motioned to Claude himself* I mean you're my vampire hunting mentor that I tracked down as a teenager. And I'm sleeping with my brother's best friend/partner in crime's sister. And she's forever involved, as I keep being reminded, with my brother's best friend/partner in crime's second in command whom he also calls brother? *A very long inhale of the smoke was necessary as he nodded.* I think the ship heading for Simpletown has long gone. *And there, another fact. Olivier did step up to be in a position to put any rumors or investigations to a stop. Vampires just lived so damn long.* Never have a lack of enemies though. Hey- c'mon, my cold Tonio mode! You know the *he exhales in a huff, and narrowing his eyes and setting his jaw to show only to erupt in laughter a few seconds after.* Ha, I was basically a dick. You know so, normal *he shrugged* but with no jokes or references or puns! Just broodiness and eyebrow.  
 **Claude:** *He arches his eyebrow at the word "clean", and tilts his head as frankly, he could consider it if...well.* You know I don't have a suit right? *And then came a long-winded explanation that made his brows furrow together as he blinks, (smirks at the word mentor), blinks, and says simply first,* ...okay, sounds...incestuous. But hold on. *He smirks, head perking back up as he cups his ear.* I hear that right? You're -repeatedly-seeing the same girl? *His hands went back to his back pockets as if to feign innocence.* ...mate I can't imagine you without puns or pop culture references. At fifteen you were quoting 80s movies at me.  
 **Tony:** You? Not own a suit- inconceivable! That's a deal breaker *he shakes his head* I can't have someone -not- dressed as the Kingpin while they work with me. *His eyebrows arch as if it weren't obvious he was laying on the sarcasm thick. He makes sure the gun (not his but now it was) still had the safety on under the table before slipping it in his jacket. Claude really was a tough son of a bitch. He looked up again and then groaned under his breath.* I don't know about 'seeing', I do -see- her, quite often...quite fervently but- you know what? Shut up. *He scoffs, shaking his head and tapping the cig against the ashtray* You're killing me Smalls! *He smirks* but yeah, nothing at all. I barely talked because I was just so...*not scared, but scared* anxious. I thought he was going to hate me forever.  
 **Claude:** We can't all have Valentinos on call. *Honestly, the D'Greys probably did. There weren't much they didn't have in his experience--you know apart from a decent family support system, but who the hell was he to judge? The groan widens his smirk, makes an eyebrow pop and he says lightly,* And you were taking the mickey out on me for -Mary-? *Actually someone probably should force them to define but--they'd been terrible at definitions for seventeen years, was that supposed to change overnight? Laughing, he shook his head,* Sandlot, really? *Expressing a light groan even as he saw Tony get more serious (oh hey there was that eyebrow thing), he nods absently and then goes still at the last. Hate him? See, this was why he'd never cared to get to know Olivier quite so well--once or twice and these stories were...fine for him. He understands Tony's loyalty, but...honestly, the poor kid was brainwashed to a point he couldn't help but feel sorry. Remorse was important though--reminded you that you're still human.* ...well how'd it happen?  
 **Tony:** Speed dial number 8. *He nods, feigning seriousness before realizing...did phones have speed dials anymore? He hadn't bothered to check if his could. Ah well, what use what speed dial when he could just tell his phone to call someone and it'd do just that?* Mickey out of you? *Eyebrow pops* So she's English! God, you drink tea now? Eat biscuits? *He smirks because see, he was very good at turning tables on teasing games. The laughter died out though as it tended to do and Tony set down the smoke to serve himself another shot of deadjuice (ooh, that was a good one) before he explained.* His death? Well Remington found me out eventually. Thought he was going to kill me instantly, he didn't. *He smirks and shakes his head* No, he said not to be obvious, he was gonna kill me, someday. Bastard. *He shakes his head* And well he was going to turn Olivier and I couldn't let that happen so, instinct set in.  
 **Claude:** She is, yes--*oh hell, as Tony turned it right back on him he makes a sound that's a cross between a laugh, groan and some weird sound of want that makes his own eyebrows do the D'Grey thing and,* Oh c'mon--,*he reaches for his friends' cigarette to bum a hit. Did that even count as bumming when it was his own pack? Shit, he really did need a better brand. Brushing the ash off his fingers as he lays it back in the tray, his eyes were narrow listening, each word feeling like a hit on his stomach. He jerks his head in a nod to agree with the insult, adding his own in French and then,* ...man am I glad you had my weapons-wish I could have done more. *He settles back on the barstool, surveying Tony. The kid who'd waltzed in to his apartment, demanding help with all certainty and alternatively with asking for it palms out, open, like a four year old. Once he was certain it wasn't a trick of Remington's...Claude had realized it was too late not to help him out. It seemed much hadn't changed now either, between his attitudes. Claude exhales.* So you saved him. *He nods, firm and certain with a tone he never got the chance to give Eliza,* Did the right thing, Tonio. Stone cold mode or not.  
 **Tony:** *Too easy. Seriously. The guy was practically begging to be teased about the woman he had living with him. Mother of his daughter? He wasn't sure and he didn't really want to ask now, not today.* Right, it was kinda like you were there really! A little. *He shrugged, taking the shot and fuck did it taste worse now than it ever had.* That's what I tell myself. Thanks. *He nodded, quickly taking another drag.* Certainly wasn't sad to see the cazzo go.  
 **Claude:** Little. *He pinches forefinger and thumb together and promptly uses it to pick the glass up, swirling the shot as he remembers dimly the fact of how long it took teenage Tony to get drunk. ..Er, not that he'd been serving to a minor but honestly though--alcohol or blood, which do you think was the better to drink? Brow arching, he repeats,* Well, tell yourself whatever you want, still was the right thing to do. By any law, Bible, or ethics code in civilized circles. Even more so in the uncivilized ones, yeah? I mean. *He smirks.* That you'll have to tell me-- never got the chance to study anthro up close and everything. I mean...except face to... gun point.  
 **Tony:** Not even Intro to Anthro? It's fun even to say out loud! Intro to Anthro! And without a doubt, every intro to Anthro class will be sure to cover the subject of, tribes in Africa, female circumcision, and whether or not -any- culture is uncivilized. *Smirks* Fun stuff, not the circumcision though that gave me nightmares. *Shudders, letting out the accompanying sound and then takes another drink* It is true though, from my research, almost every code on earth weighs in my favor. 'Cept for maybe a cult or two.  
 **Claude:** *Ah, and the alcohol was kicking in: wonderful, and about damn time. At least that was the only way he could picture himself laughing at the concept of female circumcision like he was now. Nodding, he picks the cap back up to screw on the bottle (why was he keeping this?) and sits in comfortable silence before perking his head back up, nodding.* ...it doesn't help does it? Knowing you were right?  
 **Tony:** *He claps his hands together and points at Claude with his two index fingers* You're laughing! *He was close to laughing but it was only at Claude's own laughter* But it's a terrible and horrible thing these teenage girls go through, want to go through sometimes! As a rite of passage- I mean, damn, I'm all for letting you do what you want to do to your body but *he shakes his head quickly, shuddering again, finishing off the cigarette and then tapping it out, exhaling.* Not at all, well maybe a bit, but not very much. Still feels wrong, and so good!, but wrong.

&.

**Ansel:** *Inhaling and half-intoxicated by the wonderful scent of the woman beside him and the coffee aroma, he looks up from his cup as his phone buzzes. He stills. Face furrowing with confusion, he tilts his head and then picks up.* Darling, I must admit, you have genuinely surprised me.

 **Stefanie:** Have I? *As she’s tying a fashion scarf around her neck and examines herself in the mirror.* Not psychic after all?

 **Ansel:** Ah, I see. *His face contorts oddly. Like a slow moving frown that turns into a smirk he forces out until you’d never have known this man could frown at all.*

 **Stefanie:** *There’s something in his voice that makes her go still, exhale and then straighten away from the mirror.* You see what?

 **Ansel:** *Pleasantly,* You need something.

 **Stefanie:** *She grits her teeth.* I—

 **Ansel:** *After a bitter exhale, he shakes his head to himself,* Go on luv, I’ll play white knight.

 **Stefanie:** It’s not like that, Ansel.

 **Ansel:** *Licking his pinky finger,* So you’re just calling because you missed the sound of my voice?

 **Stefanie:** *Tearing the scarf off her neck,she spins around and hisses,* Don’t do that. Just—you don’t get to make me feel guilty and then turn it into a joke.

 **Ansel:** *Eyes harden, glinting green and grey,* Last I checked Stefanie, I don’t control your emotions, and you don’t tell me how to deal with mine. If you feel guilty, like you’re using me, it’s because you are.

 **Stefanie:** *She bites down on her bottom lip. Inhales and finally says quieter,* Where are you?

 **Ansel:** Why? *Turning in the seat, and unclasping his top suede coat button, toying the silver between his fingers.* You want to come visit?

 **Stefanie:** I-*running her hand through her hair, flustered, irritated,* I need to talk to you.

 **Ansel:** *His brows flicker. The desperate quiet way that was spoken touches something in him. Then his head jerks as he gets it.* And if I tell you I’m not staying with Hans?

 **Stefanie:** *Caught, but only partially, she snaps,* Fine, you come here then.

 **Ansel:** *Surprised, he re-buttons and slides his hand in his pocket,* Where’s here?

 **Stefanie:** My flat. *Moving from the bedroom, she throws the scarf back onto her bed and shuts that door.*

 **Ansel:** Your studio? *Tilting his head, eyes wide,* My, I have been a good boy haven’t I?

 **Stefanie:** *In his exact tone,* Do you want your treat?

 **Ansel:** *Snorts and tosses a few coins onto the counter.* Oh you know me and temptation, cheri. *There’s a bell as he pushes the coffee door open and turns to the alley.* And far be it from me to deny you the attempt to persuade me.

 **Stefanie:** Mm, I’m not a tease, Ansel. *She turns to her window,* The address is-

 **Ansel:** *Dry chuckles, having already apparated, he just knocks on the door. Finding it open, he pushes, and clicks the phone off.* Cute you think I need that, luv. *Sliding the phone to his back pocket, licking his bitten lip in a quick flash * You whistled?

 **Stefanie:** *Oh for God’s—her heart leapt hearing the abrupt knock, she spun in time to see the door swing open. Mastering the beat with her dramatic breaths, she tosses her phone on to the couch and throws a hand to her hip,* Charming entrance.

 **Ansel:** *Still chuckling, as he walks in and undoes his coat again, playing at being a gentleman as he puts it on her freestanding coat rack. He says,* Well, I know how you enjoy a spectacle.

 **Stefanie:** *She rolls her eyes, and pointedly moves past him to shut the door.* Yes, *huffing,* you just know me oh so well don’t you?

 **Ansel:** Intimately, darling. *As she moves past him, his gaze follows her for a second as she had heels on and he was (mostly) only human (and all dog). Then he looks around the flat, curious honestly. That ottoman was the same one she’d had before — same bookshelf stuffed with every magazine of Witch Vanity ever printed. Same vintage poster from the ‘56 Salzburg Festival signed by Herbert von Karajan hanging in glass over her desk—though he assumes probably a dozen new protective spells on it. The flat might be unfamiliar, but it smelt of her and looked like her. A small smile flitters on his lips, turning back as she flusters back past him and he knows she’s trying to keep him from hearing her heart by drowning it out.*

 **Stefanie:** Right, intimately, of course. *Waving her hand in the air as she moves around him, she heads to the cramped little kitchen (counter and stove top, fridge, one row of cabinets and the opposing counter split it from the living area). Putting tea on to give her hands something else to do, she looks up over the pot with her eyes narrow,* Tell me. You know me so well. When I said “do not hurt him,” what did you misinterpret into “break Tony’s jaw”?

 **Ansel:** *Feigning surprise after a twitch in his eyebrow,* Oh I’m so sorry darling — did I not play my part right in your little game?

 **Stefanie:** *Her mouth gapes incredulously, but she doesn’t manage words, only little gasps and then the squeak of her handle while she fills the plot with water.*

 **Ansel:** *Hand up, a strange vindication in his eye and truth in his voice as he continues without missing a beat,* You tell me you slept with him to make me jealous — I go and fight him for you — oh. I know. He told you it wasn’t me that brought you up, that must be it, well sorry luv—had other things on my mind. I was there for your brother.

 **Stefanie:** *After a shiver snakes up her spine, she slams the handle down. The water bursts to a stop. Then the pot. * Oh of course you were, do you ever actually decide to do something on your own?

 **Ansel:** Sleep with you.

 **Stefanie:** *Her back was to him. So she doesn’t see the glint in his eye as he says that, the way his jaw clenched or how his hand slips from his back pocket. She spins just as he does the same, and instead only sees him sitting atop her ottoman (oh goddamn him) as if to avoid looking at her. Flames flicker on under the tea pot as she snaps her fingers.* At the Gala? When I was poisoned because you stole Dillon and—

 **Ansel:** *Toying with the brass round edges of ottoman, his smirk flicks and he tuts.* Oh please—borrowed, at most.

 **Stefanie:** And imperiused him!

 **Ansel:** Hans did that.

 **Stefanie:** And you gave him the poison.

 **Ansel:** *His gaze snaps back up to hers. Clucking his tongue against the top of his mouth, his voice is lower,* And you the antidote.

 **Stefanie:** Which I never would have needed if—

 **Ansel:** In Salzburg.

 **Stefanie:** *Momentarily thrown, she grips the counter. Her mouth opens, and then shuts as if she can’t bring herself to actually ask “what?” but it’s clearly all that’s on her mind. That momentary blank was a rare bliss for her.*

 **Ansel:** I wasn’t talking about the Gala. *His voice is quieter, jade eyes locked on hers.* I was talking about in Salzburg.

 **Stefanie:** *His gaze was burning through her, ripping down to her toes. Clenching them tighter in the pointy stilettos she was breaking in, she looks down breathless.*

 **Ansel:** *Pleasantly,* When you said your name was Stefanie Laurant.

 **Stefanie:** *Gaze shoots up as she snaps,* And you said yours was Ansel Deville?

 **Ansel:** So defensive, luv. *A genuine smirk appears with his shoulder shrug,* I didn’t say I didn’t approve of the tactic. Though it is curious you gave what would have been your married name.

 **Stefanie:** *Her teeth snap together but not fast enough to bite back,* And you gave yourself Colette’s surname.

 **Ansel:** *He’s still a moment. Breath, lungs, heart, face - everything. Then he nods, drawling slowly,* Never said we weren’t both a little fucked up.

 **Stefanie:** *Equally still and quiet.* Yeah. *Tearing her gaze again as if she only just notices the repeated click that says her stove is still trying to light itself, she moves to it and says lighter,* You know, shockingly I had assumed my brother didn’t order you to fuck me — I meant, oh I don’t know, everything else.

 **Ansel:** *Eyes rolling to the ceiling with an incredulous gasp to himself, he stands,* You know? *Moving slowly to the counter, speaking with every step,* I am getting really tired, of hearing that all I do is play follow the leader and carrel the rest of Hans little ducklings — you have no idea, what this is, Stefanie. Though hey, you sure do a good job of whistling for me too, don’t you? Guess I just replaced cocaine with the Ricards —

 **Stefanie:** *Flinching and then stiffening as he approaches, spreading his hands over the counter to bear over her. Heat ripples off his skin in waves, choking her as she bites back,* This isn’t the same—

 **Ansel:** *Cuts her off as his hand leaps as if for her neck and yanks back to grip fake marble instead.* Did it make me crazy to picture you on top of Tony? Of course it did, as you knew it would — but you’re right, not the same. See, your brother doesn’t willfully torment me, Stefanie.

 **Stefanie:** *Her hand leaps up just as his did, snapping,* No, just gets you to torment others-

 **Ansel:** And for the record? *It’s a jerk of his neck this time that silences her,* I didn’t hit Tony because of you. I punched him because he’s a pretentious prick who thinks he’s so much better than all of us, has spent years passing righteous Godly judgments and ah!

 **Stefanie:** Shut up. *Her teeth clench to fight back tears.*

 **Ansel:** *Only says hotter,* See now, he’s slumming with the rest of us sinners — as if that’s my responsibilty, that he has anything to do with the Death Eaters—he’s chosen, same as anyone!

 **Stefanie:** *Shaking, at that she lifts her jaw, teary-eyed still but tense anger clears her voice, interrupts whatever his final point was with, * Yeah? Same as Hans did then?

 **Ansel:** *Ice shoots through his veins, and his mouth jams itself shut, screwing lips, teeth and bones together.*

 **Stefanie:** *With his same earlier vindication in her gaze now, she snaps out,* Because I don’t consider torture to be free will.

 **Ansel:** *He will not look away from her. That at much he can give her, after the repeated insults of omitted pertinent information. Will not back away, will not turn from her. She could make him chase but she could never make him run away.* …you know.

 **Stefanie:** *Oh God, it was really true. Sorrow and hatred bubbles in her throat, making her hand leap it it, rubbing hard against her necklace and burning the chain in her throat. She nods.*

 **Ansel:** *Quietly,* How…—ah. Antonio.

 **Stefanie:** *Hearing his full name makes her spin back and she immediately lifts her hand,* You say one fucking word about him doing what others did to my brother—

 **Ansel:** *Still very quiet, that makes his chin duck, eyes still piercing hers with understanding,* I wouldn’t say that, Stef.

 **Stefanie:** *She couldn’t breathe. The tea pot would be done soon, she thinks wildly and spins, spins back to the cabinets and rips at the doors, finding cups, only for one to slip from her hand. Glass smashes and appears beneath her trembling fingers before she jams them to her mouth. Like she could suck them still. Or suffocate herself.*

 **Ansel:** *Coming around the corner, face soft with concern,* Stef —

 **Stefanie:** How could you never have told me? *Snapping herself back up, she shoves the shards to the sink and gets another cup.* How could have never once mentioned that this all started because a psychotic pureblood bastard kidnapped and tortured him until he—he—

 **Ansel:** *Stepping closer, earnest even as he lets her by; he has to twist as she does in the cramped space.* He asked me not to, Stef, he never once looked back because just as when he bit me, he awoke…stronger, more capable—

 **Stefanie:** *That. She could not fucking take that. Spinning on her heel, her hand strikes the air,* Stronger!? They took him and they broke him and they — made him a fucking murderer!

 **Ansel:** Better that than a coward.

 **Stefanie:** *Incredulity chokes her retort. She just spins again to hide tears, putting the cups down.*

 **Ansel:** *Taking a step, toward her, his hand hovers over her back like he doesn’t dare touch.* Stef, did he tell you who the first man he killed was?

 **Stefanie:** Oh God. *She shuts her eyes, but doesn’t spin around, even as she feels the warmth of his hand near her upper back.*

 **Ansel:** It was the man who bit him. *Voice steady,* Then he refused, utterly, to bite anyone for a little over a year. Until I asked him to. Until Rachelle begged him to, and until I asked him to save Allison’s life — you know how many people he’s been able to help?

 **Stefanie:** *Shaking her head back and forth as her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, desperately quiet,* Stop—

 **Ansel:** It is stronger, Stefanie. *His hand finally cups her shoulder, and he tries not to wince, hurt as he feels her tense immediately.*

 **Stefanie:** *There’s a pause, and she draws comfort from the squeeze—she knows it and hates it and needs it. Then she shoves him away. With a quick intake,* How could I know anything when he never tells me? When you don’t?

 **Ansel:** *Letting her push him back as she swivels, he furrows his brow and finally snaps,* You told him to go, Stef. Just as you left me in Salzburg.

 **Stefanie:** Yeah, well, I’m fucked up too. *Flinches and then looks up, her eyes locked to his with a strange teary determination —a triumph, as she shakes her head,* And you don’t believe that, Ansel. Stop. Because it breaks my heart, it does.

 **Ansel:** *Honestly confused, he breathes out,* Don’t believe…

 **Stefanie:** You would have rather been a coward.

 **Ansel:** *Each bone in his spine snaps into place.*

 **Stefanie:** *She thinks he straightens so slowly she could hear each vertebrae click. It should scare her. She finishes anyway.* Still would. You’d rather be a coward than a murderer.

 **Ansel:** *Breath inhales in a hiss.*

 **Stefanie:** What baffles me is how you somehow manage to be both in trying to be neither—*

 **Ansel:** So help me, *in a low growl, eyes dark,* if you say her name.

 **Stefanie:** *And immediately, because he challenged her and she had to, she takes a step forward,* Co.lette.

 **Ansel:** *Seizes her arms. Before thought, before breath, he just has her gripped between his hands as he squeezes her arms to her hips and half lifts her, back against her cabinet. He breathes down against her lips, like he’s struggling to remember moving or how to think, while his mouth shifts and gaze make clear his wish to swallow her whole.*

 **Stefanie:** *Finally, she stops shaking. Of course it’s because she can hardly breathe and Ansel’s heat and fury is pressing bruises in her arms, her back, enveloping her in an embrace that resembles a lock. Unafraid by the war in his gaze, she says quietly,* I don’t torment you, Ansel, you do that to yourself. You loved her. And you hate me saying he name because you still do.

 **Ansel:** *That only makes him lift her higher, growling down hot,* I do. And it doesn’t fucking matter, because she’s gone. You’re wrong, though. I -*breathes it like fire,* hate *his nails dig into her elbow as he lifts her as a doll,* you saying her name, because have no. right.

 **Stefanie:** *Hissing in the shiver of pain, she draws herself closer to his chest as he braces her higher, snakes her hand around his shirt, fists and tugs.* Go on. Threaten me. Tell me you’ll send me Tony’s heart in a box— we both know you won’t do it.

 **Ansel:** *There’s a growl at the back of his throat,* How you keep tempting me.

 **Stefanie:** *Eyes hard with her certainty,* You won’t. Because you’re still a coward Ansel, you’ve just learned to hide it by all these atrocities, because when you hurt someone, you think they’ll run, and that’s as cowardly as running yourself!

 **Ansel:** *Spits out, breathing hard,* Well, you would know, wouldn’t you? You have no right, Steffie, because you learned of Colette. *Her name half sticks in his throat.* And then you fled. The country. You found out and then you used her as a reason not to be with me.

 **Stefanie:** *Chin jerks up,* That wasn’t—Ansel—

 **Ansel:** *Bracing her with one arm, he lifts his index finger and lays it across her lips,* So you say her name one more time to me, and I guess we’ll find out which I am: coward or murderer. *His eyes are grey and blue as he murmurs,* She did.

 **Stefanie:** *Her eyes flicker down to her toes, clenching toes in the tips like teeth. She breathes instead,* Ansel, *exhaling so heavily her chest presses into his,* you break my heart.

 **Ansel:** *There’s a flicker, and his eyes flash green, ignoring it to say instead in a whisper,* C’est ma cherie. *For a moment, he’s still. Listening to her rabbity, jerking heart and the slow breaths she’s managing gasp even as he chuckled drily,* I’m wrong too. Sorry, *he hisses,* you didn’t happen to find out. Your brother told you. Hans didn’t like that you told him you’d keep seeing me, so he told you. Because see, honestly. You might be right — Irene? I do make them run.

 **Stefanie:** *Her gaze snaps back to his,* You -hurt- Irene.

 **Ansel:** *Tongue flicking up as if to say ‘well’, as if it was no big deal.* Better that.

 **Stefanie:** *Sharp hiss,* Than what? You’re proud you made her run? Well Ansel, *hiss* you didn’t succeed there then — she still asked me if there was anything good left in you.

 **Ansel:** *His head comes back and he’s setting her back against the ground now, but still doesn’t move. There’s an odd flicker in his face of want, before he forces it away, shoves the feeling as hard as he can until he laughs just once.* Then she’s less intelligent than I thought.

 **Stefanie:** No. *Eyes rolling as she steadies against the counter and clenches down her fist of his shirt again.* She has faith.

 **Ansel:** *His eyes flicker. He swallows, and then he bites out, moving in to her as she tugs,* She’ll need it. See, you were right to run. As long as they run, they live. So I can’t even say I mind, Stef — the Gala made it… six years? *Whistles, mutters under his breath, through a twisted little smirk as his gaze flickers down her front, and arches his eyebrow,* Six years…*he licks his lips, amused as it makes her look at them,* of banter and foreplay and chasing…. that does make the longest hunt of my life, Stefanie.

 **Stefanie:** *Her eyes seem locked on his lips as he waits a moment and plucks her scant breath from her own. The teapot whistles, drowning out any other sound to her but his words and breath. She swallows his name,for she wouldn’t give him that. Not easily. There’s another whistle. But it was bad enough he heard how rapid her heart was, could smell the pool he was drawing below her skirt, could taste her want as if it was a living thing.*

 **Ansel:** *Leaning a little closer, he speaks against her lips now,* No wonder it was so hot.

 **Hans:** Is someone going to fetch that tea-pot? That whistle is—shrill. *Drumming his fingers across his thigh, with an eyebrow cocked as he surveys their startle. Lips curl up in dry amusement, he speaks through the light smirk,* Sorry, am I interrupting?


	50. [Coward or Killer?]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to D'Grey Manor, 2018.  
> A little over a year after the first time that Olivier had ever killed anyone...

**Tony:** *He brushed ashes off his jacket after stomping off the cig before he stepped foot inside again though there was no getting rid of the smell of smoke that he had brought in with him. Lifting a hand to his shirt, he lifted the collar to his nose and took a whiff. He was smelling of pub fries too. Tony shrugged it off, knowing there was nothing important today except of course the Pureblood history lesson from the tutor. 

Granted, he was much more willing to pay attention to his latest teacher than all others (and not just because this one had breasts, though yeah that was a little bit of the reason), but some things he just outright refused. Besides! It was too beautiful a day to spend indoors though his brother didn't seem to think so. Tony walked past Olivier's room but as soon as he did the door opened, revealing his older brother. Tony turned, clapping his hand together and then holding them out* Honey, I'm home!

 **Olivier:** ...you're going to make me play wife now? *His eyebrows answered for him before his mouth (which twitched up in a small smirk), mind still on shutting his door behind him. Actually, that might not be too far off really, considering all his brother's latest...acts. Shrugging (and locking his door with a behind-his-back snap), he doesn't take his gaze from his brother.* Right, right...*Clapping his hands together,* I'm supposed to ask why you smell like smoke and--*adopting a mocking, higher voice* where have you been all night? Out again with that tramp Clarissa?

 **Tony:** You just play the part so well, though! *Leaning back, he clicks his tongue while he punches his brother's shoulder playfully, then nods importantly, holding his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat and brought his chin up, preparing himself before answering* Yes. *smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.* You should try it sometime! Have fun, know what that is?

 **Olivier:** *Snorting as his brother hits his shoulder, he looks at it a moment. Then,* You realize that's battery and spousal abuse? Know how much they could sue you for? *Walking towards the library, he stills at the question and smirks again, shaking his head, turning back.* No. What is this strange concept you speak of?

 **Tony:** Oh please, you have no evidence! Pics or it didn't happen. *He nods, now stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket and follows Olivier as he starts walking.* Oh you might not know it by it's modern term, I'm sorry. Um, jubilation, festivity, merriment! Something that makes you happy, and you know, *he shrugs and adds dryly* not at someone else's expense?

 **Olivier:** *That makes him smirk.* Look whose manipulating the system now. *It was a joke of course, both eyebrows arching attest to that but there was a little hint of bitter truth to his tone. The modern term--yeah, yeah...He nods along with it, waving with the words still chuckling. Even as he pauses in the hallway at the last remark. Echoing under his breath,* Not at someone else's expense.  *Rolling his eyes, he cocks his head and looks back to Tony.* Nice. 

 **Tony:** No actually those are the -rules-, manipulating would be doing something like threatening the jury. *He smirks too and then purses his lips for a brief moment and then shrugs, lifting his hands out of his pockets and holding them up palm first before he added* All I'm saying is when -I- go out and don't return till the middle of the night, I come home smelling of ash and weed, not blood.

 **Olivier:** *Not blood. His eyes harden. Hell, even the word makes his throat go dry. It makes him forget any other remark he might have had about jury tampering, though he's loathe to let his brother get both points at once, for he has to focus on forcing a laugh out of the back of a raw throat. Shaking his head until his eyes are softer he mutters through the laugh,* Always so clever, Tonio. Though it's actually uh,* he checks through the shade,* mid-morning, you know. *With a quick fluttering exhale, as he's still holding on to the curtain,* You talking about Dad or me? 

 **Tony:** Always such a fan of technicalities, okay. I'll give you that point. *He shrugs and then brings his hands down, crossing them in front of his chest before he scoffs, the exhale spanning a length of about 4 seconds before he actually got any words out.* If you don't think I've noticed your promotion to the position of daddy's feeding buddy, you must be on some good shit. Gonna deny it?

 **Olivier:** *A scoff leaving his own lips, his tongue flicks against his upper lip as he drops curtain and hands to his pockets.* It is good shit actually, yeah. *The bitter little remark made his stomach twist, his hand curling in his back pocket and he shrugs a shoulder,* I am actually, little surprised you're bothering to notice anything, though, yeah.

 **Tony:** *A shiver runs down his spine the same way an ice cube would down his shirt- cold and quick, but he refuses to move a muscle to show it. Tony knew what Olivier meant of course but couldn't be sure if the shiver came from how offhanded the comment came or from all the visuals his mind, his presently particularly imaginative mind, had offered him.* Yeah well I can't just keep turning my head away and pretending I don't see shit. *He shrugs* Can't pretend I don't hate it.

 **Olivier:** *He tenses as his brother does, and then forces his head back around to face him at the thought that he was now doing what his brother just said. Still, the look he was giving him made him feel like he'd just swallowed a burning hot coal. After a tense look between them, he says under his breath,* You don't understand, Tonio. 

 **Tony:** Oh! *He claps his hands together, nodding his hand and then puts one hand on his hip while the other waves and gestures for Olivier to keep talking* Go ahead then, explain it to me. Explain it- actually what you'll do is defend it so never mind. *He grits his teeth together* You are -literally- feeding on people for Christ's sake! What part of my brain do I need to sabotage and mutilate in order to be able to understand? *Eyebrows raise* Hmm?

 **Olivier:** *Heart seizing in his chest, throat tightening he shakes his head, starting to say,* I'm not killing any--you know what? *His hand comes up,* Wouldn't want to mutilate your brain or anything, make me look like even more of a monster to you so--*he slaps his thigh, ignoring that he was trying to rekick his heart with it,* never mind. *He turns, starting to walk away.*

 **Tony:** Oh so you're asking them nicely are you? Excuse me, miss, do you mind if I just take a drink from your jugular? *He rolls his eyes, shaking his head abruptly and then lets his arms fall from his chest and then walks forward, grabbing his brother's arm* Hey! I'm not some lame ass prom date you can ditch, I'm not done talking.

 **Olivier:** *Another scoff leaves the back of his throat as he bites out in scorn,* Yeah, just like that, got it all figured out really--*His skin was enflamed again with the sickening thought that actually that was a polite characterization, but fury chokes his throat off again as he thinks: Dad was right, Tony -wouldn't- get this. (Did he want him too? Did he want his little brother to know this...rush, the rage and guilt?) Aching at the thought he swivels abruptly, hand in a fat fist and lifting as pulls his arm free. Barely holding it back, he takes a few steps away still breathing hot, heavily and snorts at the analogy. Oh, Tony.* Oh fo--go on then! *He rubs over his face. Hard.* You think you're going to tell me anything I haven't already thought myself, Tony?

 **Tony:** *He takes a step back too, eyes narrowed at the fist that had been his brother's hand. Tony was so angry that for a hot moment, he almost wished Olivier would have done it, decked him right across the face because then he would have a reason to hit back. It was barely there though, had just swam across the pond of his mind in the midst of the shuffle. Now he wasn't thinking at all, now he was just reacting.* Yeah and that's what messed up! You're smart enough to know it -should- be wrong but dumb enough to believe its right! You're brainwashed, Oli! Don't you have a single thought of your own?! Something that dear old dad hasn't force fed down your throat?

 **Olivier:** Oh, congratulations! *He scoffs.* You did manage to find a thought I hadn't had--fuck--he hasn't force fed a single drop. *The growl he utters reverberates from the back of his throat and he just turns around, rubbing harder over his eyes and then returning to the curtain to rip it back down. It was too goddamn early and too goddamn bright and--hell. His throat was scratchy. 

Dropping both hands again he shakes his head, and doesn't turn away from the red curtains. He doesn't want to look at his brother as he adds,* Do you see now? *A hand raising, slicing through the air, jabbing at his own chest,* It's-- this is, what I, want, Tony. It doesn't matter if I can "know" it's wrong-*he jabs at his head,* you've no idea, what it...feels like. Like you're just -exploding-, with power, strength...on fire. And I want it. 

*There's a hunger that appears in the back of his throat, coats his words until they drip, sick.* Whatever this is inside of me? Tell me logic all you fucking want, I don't care. You're right. It's sick. But it is what I want. All Dad's doing is teaching me how to manage it! *He slaps his thigh again, hurt in his eyes and licking his top lip again.* And you'd blame him for the weather so, *shoulder coming up as he shrugs and scoffs,* forgive me if I don't think you're the most reliable source.

 **Tony:** *He watched with a twinge of sudden anxiety as his brother moved towards the curtains in a haste and ripped them back down. Tony could see his tense shoulders all the way from here. He swallows on a dry throat as Olivier looks back at him, tells him again that there's just no way for Tony to understand, no way for him to know, and that it didn't matter the lives of these people because Olivier -wanted- that power? And that's all that mattered?! He gritted his teeth together as he forced down words of knowing how that was. He'd nearly killed Claude when he made the man bleed during a spar! 'You wouldn't have gotten in a scratch' Claude had said but the way Tony had felt that high through his body, he'd felt invincible. And he hated it, he didn't want it! He forced down those words too.* I don't blame him for the weather, Oli. I blame him for being a sick, sadistic murdering -bastard- *he snaps with a disgusted scoff* like any normal fucking person should!

 **Olivier:** Normal. *That word made him choke on laughter so hard it felt like he'd swallowed his tongue. Turning around to look him in the eye again,* Yeah? Well guess what, Tonio? I'm not! You're not! *He looks to a standing vase. How would that look smashed on the wall? It was from China, likely porcelain and an antique--the blue on red was wonderful to contemplate as his breathing struggles for--ha--normalcy. Spinning back he mutters,* And last I checked you're the last person in this goddamn world who does 'what he should'.

 **Tony:** Well maybe I want to be! Actually, *he shook his head, licking his dry bottom lip* no maybe about it. I want to be normal! I don't want any of this ! I don't belong here, I've never belonged here, *he grinds his teeth together before spitting out* a fact that father keeps very well reminding me of. And now I don't belong anywhere, and it's his fault! You think I go out and just get drunk and high off my ass? They've already tried to kill me, twice! You think I'm gonna wait for them to try it again? For any of them? What if Remington one day decides he's had enough of biggest disappointment, huh?! Sends one of his precious vamp friends, hell, wouldn't surprise me if he sent the birthday cake killer too! Well I'm getting ready! *He jabs his index finger to his own chest, poking himself* No one, threatens my life anymore. No one, gets that power anymore, because I am sick to -death- of living in constant fear of that monster!

 **Olivier:** *His brother may not have lifted a fist, he felt one strike in his gut all the same. So stunned was he, he was almost grateful for the repeated slams: the scratchy want in his back throat melts as his mouth gaps and he swallows air.* You think h--Dad wouldn't kill you! You're his son! I know he's rubbish at showing it bu--he always wanted you here! And you're as stubborn as he is--you've never tried to do anything but piss him off! *He rubs hard over his throat, breathing out harshly, not wanting to think the about that damn cake. Furrowing his eyebrows he looks back up,* And you're damn right no one--I won't let them! What do you think I've been learning, if not to stop them ever fucking coming near either of us!? I--*He paused abruptly,* ....what do you mean you've been learning?! 

 **Tony:** You're blind to who, what!, he actually is! He would kill me. Once I ever stop being more than just a simple nuisance, he wouldn't even hesitate, and you don't, or won't, see that he's capable of that and more! *He grits his teeth and then snaps out* Don't- don't even compare me one single way to that, that that- demon! *He throws his hands up before passing them through his hair and then curses* Yeah well, Oli, you're not going to be there all the time, alright? I can fight my own battles.

 **Olivier:** Demon? Monster!? And you really don't see why you might have fucking hurt him too, Tonio? *Hitting his own chest and rubbing hard to prevent himself from leaping at his brother - he doesn't realize his hand lands on his clavicle at "hurt him", as if he gestured himself. Exhaling hot, eyes wide and glued to his brother's shoes, he has all the force of a tank behind his voice, convicted and sure through sheer need.* That doesn't mean he'd ever hurt you! He couldn't. And, *his gaze lifts up at that and he steps forward, fear shooting behind his gaze but, at least he could be certain about this.* I don't want you to know what I do. I don't want you to see it--God, Tonio, it scared the hell out of me, learning what I could do, I don't want you to ever, *his finger jabs forward, pointing at his brother,* ever!, *he stops walking,* have to have that moment! *He breathes out, harsh and fast.* Blind would be a blessing, *hissing, but his voice falters,* compared to what I've seen. 

 **Tony:** He hurt -me- first! *He gasps out, shaking his head before bringing his hands up to gesture* Why, why are you always defending him to me but you never defend me to him, huh?! *He was pointing to the door, out of the room, wherever that madman was right at that moment. Tony takes a step back and his brother does a step forward, shaking his head furiously, stubbornly, biting down on his tongue hard to try and keep words away but he couldn't help it.*

 I have seen it! I was there! I saw you...rip, *he gasps again, voice faltering* that man to pieces. I saw you. And I don't want to be that, not even if it makes father proud, I don't need his pride, or his support, or his love, I don't need anything he has to offer, I don't want it! I'm learning how to fight, how to control it on my own damn terms! Without hurting any innocent people! You're worse than blind, Oli! You see what goes around you, and you do nothing to stop it, nothing against it- you're a coward.

 **Olivier:** *Unable to bring himself to restrain a wince, he rears on heels as if he's wearing boots and forces himself to lean back forward. A bridge that swayed with the wind lasted forever, the ones that stayed rigid break. It was one of many lessons his father had; it was part of what had kept him feared, on top, for three generations. Olivier snaps,* Oh, hold on, make up you mind- brother! *Poison strikes at the word of their relation, like it was an apple an asp couldn't ignore.* Am I fighting too many of your battles or not enough? 

*The description of the man he'd destroyed makes his gaze go wild: first with obvious pain, as if he couldn't believe his brother would use that to strike back (but could, of course he would), and as if he was struck with a manifestation of two ton guilt--and then in anger, anger he would be hurt still by something that had been necessary, something that had made him strong.* I did it to save you! 

*He exhales, sharp. His eyes search Tony's in rapid jerks.* I tracked that bastard down, and I killed him -- not because Dad told me to do anything, not because it made him proud, but because he threatened you--and no one, no one fucking gets to do that and live. Not while I'm here. *He bites out, finger jabbing back at his own chest.* Was that me hurting a fucking innocent person? That's cowardly, to you? And who the hell are you to tell me, that I'm the coward, when you've been running away every night for a year?

 **Tony:** That's not fighting my battle! *He snaps quickly, mostly because he felt what felt like shame rise up his chest and neck to color his cheeks, and he had to fight it off somehow.* Twist my words all you want, you know it's true! *He drops his hand again from the pointed finger it was before, slapping his thigh and throwing the hand up again* Yes, running far and far away! And one day, one day I pray to God I'll be -cowardly- enough not to come back and just leave you to your own devices! Bunk with Claude or Leo, anyone at all. You think it's easy coming back to a place where I'm despised?! *He scoffs  before he wipes his mouth* You know what- screw you. I'd rather be a coward than a killer any day, and that guy might not have been innocent, but he didn't deserve that either. *He shakes his head after a deep inhale to keep his eyes clear before scoffing.* Screw this, *he turns around and walks away, snapping over his shoulder* if running away and getting my ass saved is all you think I'm good at then I guess it's just one more thing in common you have with dad.

 **Olivier:** Tony. *His brother's name left his lips unasked for in low heat, as if granted only by an ache in his chest he couldn't ignore. And he was right: he did know it was true, it was just...confronting his father was a lot harder than confronting Tony. For him, anyway.* Despised!? I don't--*The word choked him again and seeing the look in his eyes he felt his anger fly away from him as his own shut. Exhaling, he shook at the last snap and only then realized he was being walked away from. Shivering, he stepped forward again,* Oi! *He waited until Tony was near the door before saying quieter,* You don't walk away from your wife either, all right? At least not since prom. *His eyes scrunch together and he takes another few steps,* I'm glad -- proud, even, if you're learning to fight. I just...you're my little brother. I don't want you to...have, to. 

 **Tony:** *He didn't stall at his name and not even as his brother tried to counter what Tony had said, he didn't stop until he had reached the door and only then it was the surprise of hearing Olivier go back to their prom and wife joke they were going on about earlier that stopped his hand from reaching for the knob. Instead he sank his hands in his pockets so his brother couldn't see that they were shaking and only after a few deep breaths did he finally turn around again.* I do have to *He admitted quieter*...more than that, I want to. I want to be able to protect you too. *From dad, he wanted to say, he kept that to himself.*

 **Olivier:** *That made his brows flicker in hurt equal to his surprise. He steadies with breath to forestall another scoff. Tony knew he could take care of himself. As he'd said: he saw. But it was Dad who'd made him stop feeling like a monster when understanding set in and the shame burned behind his throat and ears. It had taken him weeks to look his brother in the eye again. Still...what Tony had said--'learning to control it on my own terms' was echoing in his ears. Did he struggle with it too, then? God...* I suppose, *he mutters just as quietly,* that I'd be a hypocrite if I wouldn't let you protect me too. *It was as much of an allowance as he could make. Brows furrowed, he asks,* Whose teaching you? ...is that who Claude is? You'd mentioned Leo before but...

 **Tony:** That's what the husband does, isn't it? *He nods once: damn right it'd be hypocritical and he probably -would- have punched his brother in the face if he had said anything about it.* Yes, that's who. *He hadn't actually expected his brother to pick up on that detail as Tony had just mentioned it on the fly and was wary of saying anything more in the house.* I promised him I wouldn't say anything.

 **Olivier:** *He snorts, nodding in agreement and adding off hand,* Yup...how long exactly are you going to keep this going? *He stills as he was proven right (of course he was, of course he could follow little details even when furious, reflect on them later--it would be damn necessary when he ran this company. Understanding anyway, he says softer,* ...right, makes sense. *He breathes out, biting his bottom lip as he wants to know how exactly, Tony had found a vampire hunter...* ...Maybe go for a walk...outside? *He asks, eyebrow arched. He wants to talk now too, but he just...didn't know how to start explaining...what he was feeling, and thinking with the blood lust.*

 **Tony:** Till I feel like it. *A childish response but he was 15 after all, he didn't have to be entirely mature or mature in the slightest. He was allowed -some- normalcy in his life wasn't he? Tony shrugs then, his hands in the pockets making his jacket open wider, like little leather wings before he takes his hands out and crosses them in front of his chest first before he smirks and motions to the door* Ladies first.

 **Olivier:** *Snorting, he nods, wondering why his legs still felt so shaky as he moves past him as if unbothered. It took a few seconds to adjust to the sunlight as they did, but he didn't bother himself with that either. Too many other troublesome thoughts were scurrying across his mind: if Claude was a vampire hunter, was he just using his brother to get to their father? Was Tony struggling with this too? Did he crave at every hour of the day that he thought about it or was it different for him? Could it be? Man, that sun was bright. As they turned down the long line of trees, he exhales hot again, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping both hands into his pockets. Quietly,* I do know it should be wrong, Tony, but I...can't stop...wanting. *His throat was dry, and then he looks up,* ...but...I could never hate you. And if I can only speak for myself than--I want you here, *he reaches his hand to playfully punch his shoulder back,* I always have. 

 **Tony:** *He followed quickly, flexing his fingers after having kept his hands balled into fists and allows steady inhales and exhales of air to go through his lungs as they walk outside. He had missed how it had gotten to mid-morning so quickly, it was only sunrise when he'd started heading back, wasn't it? Tony leaves the thought behind and lifts his head to look at Oli as he starts talking again. His eyes soften again from the hard glare they'd been in since their argument. He didn't understand the constant wanting, not yet and he hoped not ever. But when he was bleeding or someone else was, that's when the wanting came. He tried to shrug it away, swallow a lump and then a natural smile came on his face at his brother's last comment. He chuckles as his shoulder moves back with the punch and then grins* Well that's cuz I bring all the fun. *Wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Olivier:** That's the joyous-merriment and festivities, yeah? *Responding lightly in the same tone with both eyebrows arched, Olivier let out another breath. The fresh air was helping. They weren't far from Paris naturally, but the hillsides here that gave cover and atmosphere had that benefit. (Though he still found himself craving a baugette at the moment).* ...so...if Claude's teaching you hand to hand combat...*He cocks his eyebrow, throat dry. There's a pause. And then he just asks,* He's a hunter?

 **Tony:** Yeah that's the one! *Smirks pleasantly, happy and more than that relieved to be calmed down again even if really there was nothing resolved. Nothing ever got resolved when they argued and fought. It was this constant cycle of fight and make up, fight and make up. Damn, they might as well really be married. They were a ways away from the house now, the breeze coming from the trees was refreshing but even then he still stiffened at the question, exhaling.* Yeah. One of the best. Not just hand to hand combat though. Weapons too and he knows about me now, well us. We were sparring, and I got in a shot, drew some blood...*a shiver ran down his spine again* so yeah I kinda know what you mean on that.

 **Olivier:** *That makes him straighten and stop walking, looking sideways at his brother curious and wondering why he wasn't more discomforted at the thought. Well. He supposed: he was surprised Tonio had admitted to who his father was, and never did mind being introduced by that himself...and he liked more being introduced as his brother. Then it ceased to matter at all, throat drying with guilt more than thirst (though that was there too).* ...well. Makes sense. You're as strong as me too. *He rubs over his face hard to prevent his brows furrowing with his exhale. Had been, anyway, he was lately...stronger, he'd noticed. Muttering under his breath,* Fucking hybrid things. *Biting down on his bottom lip, he asked quieter,* You all right? 

 **Tony:** Yeah, exactly. *Couldn't have said it better himself. Not that he minded the strength part of it, probably the only hybrid thing he liked actually. Still didn't add up to much when he weighed every single disadvantage that came with it, but at least it was something. And at least he had his brother to share it with.* Yeah, yeah it was...well it was some scary shit, but Claude calmed me down.

 **Olivier:** *Gaze flicking from Tony's only at the last second, he peered bleerily at the blue sky and nods. He wants to say he'd have liked to have been there, but frankly knew in that situation he'd only have exacerbated the problem...and that hurt. That did remind him latently though, of that message to call him Hans had left. Looking back, he asks,* ...how did he manage that? I mean ju--did you...*tongue flicks against his top lip as way of finishing the sentence and he wonders why he was still so ashamed. It was the only thing that worked for him though, only by indulging could he seem to...parse the thirst.*

 **Tony:** *He shook his head quickly, trying to block away the thoughts and the images of him having given in. He might like and respect the guy but Tony wasn't about to drink his blood, at least that's what he had repeated to himself over and over. Even still, that hadn't worked as well as Claude's method.* Downed a bottle of Jack instead and then kept fighting. *He admits with an almost shy and guilty drill* Had me do running drills after too, until I was about ready to pass out.

 **Olivier:** *Both eyebrows pop. Huh.* And that worked? *He hadn't considered the idea that alcohol could be a deterrent. Then again...perhaps that was because he's been more focused on safe ways to satisfy, not endless denial...but he wouldn't say that now to Tony.* ...I'll have to get a flask then. I know, i know...*His lips quirk up,* You've said that before. *Softening for a moment, he adds half under his breath,* Happy you found your...own way to handle it though. *Nodding as he forces himself to clear his throat, he turns, hands up.* So sparring...if he's taught you as well as you're saying... *A tiny smirk crosses his lips.*

 **Tony:** Yeah. *He nodded enthusiastically, hoping that maybe his brother might think about doing what Tony was doing instead of whatever messed up shit Remington was feeding him.* Yep I have, oh, what a perfect idea for your 17th birthday present then. I was thinking a stripper but maybe I'll leave that for your 18th instead. *He smirks, eyebrows popping at the next comment before he brings his fists up and in front of his chest and face, bouncing on his toes* I'm Rocky Balboa, I'm Muhammad Ali! Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, bitch! *Throws a succession of quick alternating jabs at the air*

 **Olivier:** *The hopeful look in his brother's eye was one he didn't want to dissuade, so he just nods, not sure what he was nodding too exactly. He snorts, though he was far from unaware that his 17th was just around the corner: it being of such importance to the magical world.* ...Alcohol and strippers, yup, sounds about right for you on the day I turn of age... *It did sound like Tony; the truth of it made his smirk soften in momentary appreciation. Then he blinks, leaning sideways and otherwise unmoved as his brother starts jabbing in the air. The smirk's back.* You're floating like a butterfly and yet -I'm- the wife here? Ahuh. *His own fists raise now, though contrarily to before he's in a relaxed stance.* Let's see then.

 **Tony:** Well I figured a ball with the most prestigious and upstanding members of pureblooded society was in the works and being planned as we speak. *Yuck. He kept himself from rolling his eyes by quickly adding* So I figured I'd plan the -cool- party, the one you'll remember or rather *he smirks* wish you'd remember. *Now that sounded a lot more fun to Tony than some stuffy and formal party, definitely.* It's a saying by Muhammad Ali, and you don't mess with the best boxer this world's ever seen alright? *He rolls his neck in show and then raises his fists again before throwing jabs at his brother instead.*

 **Olivier:** *Amused at the look of distaste on his brother's face he nods absently,* Yes, I expect there is. *It made him shiver with the anticipation, frankly, the thought of being officially proclaimed and announced as his father's son (and heir) to the society -- even if it was already known (well, by those who mattered). He was still smirking when his brother continued and that made him chuckle aloud, feeling oddly blessed in that moment to have both planned for him; the best of both worlds.* Ahh, right well in that case I should mention -- I got a message from Hans, seems he resurfaced. If I was you, I'd coordinate - as he's been planning on kidnapping me. *He darts sideways again at his brother's jab and then blocks one cut with his forearm, amused still in the relaxed-looking defense, even as he was surveying his brother's form.* ...well Ali, I'll give you the butterfly floating anyways--*before his words were finished he jabs forward himself, just as light as his brother.*


	51. One Big Happy Family

**Ansel:**  *Barely swallowing back a French curse, he releases her at once.*

 **Stefanie** : *No, she thinks irritated, she did not just taste a curse on Ansel’s lips with his flicking tongue.* Hans-! *Shoving hard on Ansel’s chest, she has to do it twice. Goddamn werewolf with their goddamn strength. It reminds her instinctively that no matter how she tries, when she moves him, he’s letting her. When he moves her, she’s spun dizzy with scattered breath and left only bruises. No one was meant to -let- her do anything anymore.*

 **Hans:**  Sister. *He responds promptly, smirk light, hand clasping his wrist behind his back.* …Brother.

 **Ansel:**  *He looks down before he’ll pull away, as if to ascertain there were no gaping wounds or lack of clothes. There weren’t. Why did that surprise him? He hadn’t so much as kissed her. Dry chuckling once at Hans remark, he moves as Stefanie hits him a second time, remarking drily only,* Right.

 **Stefanie:**  *Breathing harsh and heavy, she rubs at her raw, sore throat and can’t seem to calm breath or heart, or do anything but mutter,* Mature.Hans: *As he simply can’t help himself, he muses aloud in a low dangerous hum with his eyes on Ansel,* Why, look at us. *His gaze flicks between them, still light,* One big happy family.

 **Stefanie:**  *Mutters ‘Jesus’ under her breath and looks to the ceiling.*

 **Ansel:**  *This kitchen was too small. It actually wasn’t a kitchen at all, was it, just a little sidebar—in fact he’d had women on bars larger than this. Exhaling, as he fixes his shirt—naughty, Stefanie had almost torn it,* Didn’t hear you come in.

 **Hans:**  Obviously. *Grin flicks pleasantly,* I would hope that little daliance wasn’t arranged for my benefit-

 **Ansel:**  *Under his breath,* Nothing little about it.

 **Stefanie** : *Immediately whacks his arm with the back of her hand (that didn’t hurt her, it didn’t) and stops away from the cabinet,* Don’t you knock?

 **Hans** : *Pleasant still, though his eyes had twitched narrow for a moment hearing Ansel,* I did actually. Door was unlocked though and see I heard something break so naturally I was worried for my sisters sake so—

 **Stefanie** : Oh, oh right, *her face forms a scrunched up in a face that read plainly ‘oh you’re always right big brother’ and then she huffs as she realizes it, spinning and rubbing over her eyes as if she can throw a facial expression away.* Poison, no big deal, she’s got that handled but heaven forbid I break a teacup—

 **Hans** : *tilts his head, taking a step forward,* Well now see maybe that tea-cup was poisoned, and that’s why you dropped it.

 **Stefanie** : *She looks back around at him, with slow appearing incredulity,* Seriously? That’s what—seriously?

 **Hans** : *Shoulders shrugging, he hears hurt in her voice and swallows back a sudde twitch in his throat. Eyes going to Ansel again, he tilts his head, eyes glinting* For the record, brother, I rather do not appreciate the bruises appearing on my sister’s forearms.

 **Ansel:**  *He clenched down on his back teeth but thinks, it’s a valid point (at least he knew if he’d walked in on someone with Allison like that—well). So he nods, or starts to—when Stef overcuts him to his own surprise.*

 **Stefanie** : No. Oh no. *She takes a step forward as both boys look at her, and though she’s a bit shaky still, she only slams her hand down on the countertop, clenches the edges. It was as much for effect as for support. Leaning over it, hissing,* There is no for-the-record, and you don’t get to make jokes about how I almost died, then turn around and play protective older brother! *Leaning even closer,* I actually have done a damn good job taking care of myself, Hans, at least as long as I have all the facts—

 **Hans:**  *After looking to her hands as she slammed them, he starts nodding along and then clenches the back of his teeth but says a little quieter, in a hum that half begs her to just-stop,* You’ve made your point, Stef.

 **Stefanie** : -*changing midword*- have I? Because you know what? *she flutters her hand over her shoulder without spinning around,* Ansel was the only one who gave a damn that night. You, were worried about your precious Rachelle—

 **Hans** : *Eyes narrow, but he’s paradoxically still as his sister gets more gestural. In a low how-dare-you murmur,* I only had time to save one of you, Stefanie, and I saw that  our dear here, *he moves his head to gesture to Ansel, but not his eyes; those are glued to Stefanie’s face,* had you in his arms so yes, I made a decision.

 **Stefanie:**  *She moves around the counter, not looking back even as she hears a light noise from Ansel behind her. Teary-eyes wide she steps near Hans,* That’s all you have to say about it? It’s been nearly a month, Hans — ah, of course. *She spins, clapping her hands together. Her eyes narrow at Ansel,* You told him you saw me. Why, you’re right, you are our personal messenger service. 

 **Ansel** : *His face hardens and he growls at the back of his throat but, seeing Hans expression behind her he just stiffens.  His words were sharp,* Yes Stefanie, how dare I reassure him. I also told him to come see you—*eyes flick to Hans, words abruptly lighter,* that what you’re doing here, mate?

 **Hans** : Matter of fact. *Mirroring the mockery of a light tone, but he can’t get Stefanie’s rapid heartbeat out of mind and is rigid.*

 **Stefanie:**  *More tears had appeared in her eyes seeing the flash of hurt in Ansel’s eyes and  she looks away to the floor, twisting her clasped hands together and wondering abruptly how she had gotten exactly here when she’d called him because she had wanted to talk to Hans. Twisting and clenching and  rubbing and breathing, she stills when Hans speaks again, and glares at the wall. And moves in a rapid huff.*

 **Hans:**  Now honestly. About that shrill little tea pot. *Abruptly he ducks, not bothering to unclasp his wrist as he swerves to avoid it, having guessed that was what she would do the moment he heard the uptick in her heartbeat.* 

 **Stefanie:**  *Tea, glass, metal and even the little lemon she’d sprinkled on top smash. As the honey-color soaks into her rug, she looks back up, unsurprised he’d moved-fucking wolf reflexes(that steals her breath)-but it still felt good to smash something.*

 **Hans:**  *Posture still relaxed off kilter, as if he expects to need to dodge more, he meets her gaze. There was a tug in his chest. He lets the tense moment where he stares deep into the shock, hurt and betrayal in his sister’s eyes lay. And then his face flicks in his usual smirk,* Feel better?

 **Stefanie** : *Holding his gaze had nearly exhausted her, she realizes as she leans to grab the counter again, and then nods anyways, echoing his abrupt light tone with sugared, fake sweetness.* As a matter of fact.

 **Hans:**  *Eying the broken shards, he stills for a moment and then looks back at Stefanie, suddenly stiff again.* That was mothers, was it not?

 **Stefanie** : *Rapid intake of breath, but she just barely manages a nod.*

 **Ansel:**  *Drily,* Shall I fix your tea pot for you both then?

 **Stefanie:**  *Taken aback, she looks over her shoulder. The look on Ansel’s face-a twisted, hurt mockery like their own but that somehow showed nothing but amusement (except for his eyes) seems to cut through her lungs.* Ansel—

 **Hans:**  *Tugging down his bottom lip even as it remains pressed to the top one, he says lightly,* That’d be great, thanks.

 **Stefanie** : Wai—Hans, he isn’t—

 **Ansel:**  *Smirking wider as he moves around the counter too, shrugging,* I don’t mind, darling. Shame we won’t get to share the tea though.

 **Hans:**  *Mms, stepping away from his mother’s broken antique,* I happen to be of the opinion you two shared enough really-

 **Ansel:**  *Even as he kneels to fix it, not bothering with a wand,* Oh, I don’t. Not nearly enough really.

 **Hans:**  *His brow arches as he realizes he’s never quite seen this look on Ansel’s face. His head tilts a centimeter, asking with his eyes if he’s quite certain where he’s going with this.*

 **Ansel:**  *As he summons the scattered shards, one by one grabbing them from the air and letting them cut into his palm without a care, he continues light * Seems to be a common problem in this family, actually. 

 **Stefanie** : *She tried to get down and help, but was stalled by the quick look Ansel gives her. Like a quick jab of a tiny needle straight to her jugular. The words just make it worse. Quiet, she mutters,* tell me about it.

 **Ansel** : *Smirk widens, and his chin comes back, saying pleasantly,* Why, yes Miss Ricard.

 **Stefanie:**  *At that she hisses and, ignoring her brother she gets down too,  and grabs Ansel’s wrist. Well, tries to. He yanks it back and nearly tears her thumb off.* Ansel, I’m sorry. *Y-iipe her thumb hurts. She cradles it to her knee and says softer,* I am, I didn’t mean it.

 **Ansel** : *His gaze fades back to green  as he holds hers, his smirk softens at it’s corners—and his eyes widen when Hans sits on the ottoman near them. It breaks their gaze, so he clears his throat and continues,* For instance, you’re both keeping something from each other right now. 

 **Hans** : *Immediately,* Ansel-

 **Stefanie:**  Wait-

 **Ansel** : *Pleasantly,* As your messenger, I only implore you not to shoot me.

 **Hans** : *He snorts, dry, but holds his hand up as if to stall words. It did usually work. Ansel pays it no mind; making his brow furrow deeper.*

 **Ansel:**  *Turning as he pushes all the shards together, he speaks lightly, but seriously,* Hans. Stefanie has a boyfriend. Well, that might be a bit generous a term—

 **Stefanie:**  *She guessed that would be it. More surprised he hadn’t simply said “Tony fucked your sister” (and even more surprised he hadn’t told before), her eyes flutter shut, especially at—*

 **Ansel** : —doesn’t matter, technicality, but you know him. Quite well, actually. *Seeing Hans face hasn’t shifted he chuckles, puts his hand on his heart,* Oh, not me.

 **Stefanie** : Ansel. *She grits her teeth but he ignores that as much as he ignored her brother’s hand up.*

 **Ansel:**  Though yes, *his fingertip points skywards,* I suppose I do make boyfriend too generous a term.

 **Stefanie** : *Her eyes open again and then she swivels, throwing the shard she’d fetched down. Sitting on her ankles, she looks Hans in the eye and says simply,* He’s right. I lied before. He wasn’t the only one to give a damn that I nearly died that night. See, Ansel actually might have, *her voice pitches, but her eyes were clear,* but he couldn’t stay either, brother. You made that impossible. 

 **Hans:**  *His first thought was only that the word ‘boyfriend’ had not honestly been one he’d heard since…well the last time Stefanie had one, the one who became her fiance (how he wished he’d killed that bastard). The second was similarly too pathetic to speak aloud; that he wished she’d told him. Rather, wished she could have trusted him—wished he hadn’t been so unavailable. The third, he speaks, and if Ansel didn’t want to hear the answer then well, he shouldn’t be taking it upon himself to speak her business.* Is he making you happy?

 **Stefani** e: *Taken aback, the rest of what she was going to say- that Tony’d helped save her life-flies from mind. She looks to Ansel, for her second thought is only: that was cruel of Hans as much as it was sweet on her behalf—to make her answer that when Ansel was sitting right there. As if the smile on her lips hadn’t already. Ansel meets her gaze as if he wasn’t going to be made to look away and she exhales, soft. * I don’t know what he is, but that, he is. Yes. Very much.

 **Hans:**  *Swallowing back —something, some sticky emotion that was catching in his throat he clears it forcibly and jerks his head in a nod.* I know him?

 **Stefanie:**  *Ansel hasn’t even blinked. It impresses her as much as it confuses her, and she answers without looking from him.* Tony.

 **Hans:**  *That, makes him frown, his brows furrowing.* Tony D’Grey? *How ironic, he thinks with eyes narrow and immediately he wants to tell Stefanie to stay away from him—from all of them, from all of this—but there was a simple problem. That only  ever made her more determined. Like brother like sister, he imagines. He nods, rubbing at the back of his neck and then says lightly,* Well, Good, then he already knows what I’d do if—

 **Stefanie** : *Snaps,* He’s been fucking hurt enough, you -both- leave him alone— *she stands with the need to move, brushing her hands off.*

 **Hans:**  *Mms under his breath, watching his sister stand and says almost idly,* I’d say I expect he has but—I saw with my own eyes last night. *Shrugging, he clenches down on his teeth as he thinks: he actually didn’t want to say more than that, especially as it broke his word to keep silent and wouldn’t do anything to keep Stef away from him. God, did she have to be so…like him sometimes?*

 **Stefanie** : *Startled, as Tony had not mentioned that part she points out only,* I saw him last night too, I’m aware.

 **Hans:**  Now genuinely surprised, he takes his gaze from Ansel’s relentless jade-and-gray glare at the floor to ask,* He told you?

 **Stefanie** : Yes, as see, he understands how protecting someone doesn’t mean keeping them ignorant! *Snapping her fingers, she points at Hans and then cuts under her throat.*

 **Ansel** : *Hans had been burning his gaze into him ever since he ignored his raised hand, and he knew, his alpha was listening to the trembles in his chest and lungs. He kept his gaze locked to Stef. He needed her to know he wasn’t afraid—of that, of her being honest, nor of fucking Antonio D’Grey—so he did not and would not look away. Despite it, it was Hans he felt he was answering.

His brother, as they called one another, knew Ansel was challenging him - vibrantly, that far from playful mockery, he was bitter and incensed. Hans had not had to say a word to assert himself, proving in an instant that which he’d said so many times to him: that power did not come only from brute force. Cruelty did not require a physical weapon. And he’d only needed a few words to ask his sister something she had likely wanted to be his response all her life—respecting her ability to choose—and to simultaneously punish him for the challenge, subtly remind him of his ‘place.’ He was glad that Stef got the response of respect she wanted.

As to the rest, he stayed still even as she stood while struggling to keep his heart steady. Then he spoke immediately following her, his hand floating over the shards and muttering the spell so they whip together and meld white hot. It burns his gaze, yet he won’t look away.

While watching them mend, he speaks pleasantly,* Ah, yes. Not sharing enough, again — oh this famiky. Which would bring me to—*He picks the fixed tea pot up and pushes it into Hans hand as he stands himself. Patting the top of the lid and looking down at his friend, he speaks in a low heat as well,* Tell your sister who Laura is. 

 **Hans:**  *Seizing Ansel’s wrist as it pats the top of their mother’s tea pot fresh-mended, he stands only after moving it, lest it shatter again. There’s a hiss from Ansel—oh, he might actually have broken his wrist—but he only stands eye to eye with his friend, hissing himself,* You don’t want to do this, Ansel. Trust me. *He pops the wrist back in place for him and only keeps squeezing, eyes crimson as he swears,* You’ll lose. *Leaning in as Ansel only grits his jaw, he adds matter of fact,* And I’ll be sorry to lose you, but not, as sorry as you’ll be.

 **Stefanie** : *After startling and catching her tea pot, she squeaks and hisses,* I swear to God himself if you two do not cease and desist right now —

 **Hans** : Of course, sister. *He let’s Ansel’s wrist go. The man blinked. Turning his head to look at her, he cocks his head pleasantly and says,* He was just leaving. *He turns to Ansel again and continues lighter,* I’ll get your coat, Mr. Dorat.

 **Stefanie:**  *Looking first at Ansel’s wrist, she watches him just slide into his pocket and then stifles a chuckle at Hans words along with Ansel. It makes her forget to point out he isn’t a servant to be dismissed.* Are you—

 **Ansel** : I’m wonderful, Stef. *Oddly, he was. Despite the pain in his wrist — that was mending already, after all, especially so close to the full moon. It was ridiculous of him, really, to be so warmed by her honest intervention—the half started question that he assumed would inquire after his well-being (as if she truly cared). He smirks at Hans words, genuine amusement, and catches his coat as it’s tossed to him.* You two do have a lot to talk about though, so I will go — *he grits his teeth as he shoves the red-rimmed hand through the coat arm, then says lightly,* — enjoy the tea pot, darling. The lemon looked delicious, must say. *With the recently broken hand safely locked in his pocket, he lifts his left to her cheek, leans in and promptly kisses her. He had been leaning to the corner of her lips, but then just—why the fuck not?

Stefanie shivers abruptly at the last moment change, but after he swallowed her squeak, she relaxes and meets it— kissing back as fervently as she dared (perhaps a smidgen more than she should have), with her brother there and Ansel thinks, he should not be taking such comfort from what was likely a show to spite Hans. But he did, he couldn’t help it.

Just as Hans cleared his throat- rather the moment before, as he could hear the gathering of phlegm behind him, Ansel pulls back and brushes his finger across her bottom lip. The customary smirk on his lips he just says simply,* Thanks for the call. 

*He turns before Hans could say anything (before Stef gathered her breath or worse for him, her wits), turns and walks closer to him at the door. Then he stops, looks his brother in the eye and speaks steadily, and low, so Stef wouldn’t hear.* Tony told her, Hans. *He shrugs a shoulder.* Not specifics. But after all, those would be your area of expertise — Tony’s  _doing_  their recruitment. 

{*}

**Irene:** -and that’s why orgasms help relieve menstrual cramps.  
 **Nadia:** *Eyebrows up high and higher, she just nods slowly as Irene finishes her explanation. Her friend, best friend, was staying the night after some much pleading to her parents (Nadia’s, not Irene’s, apparently hers didn’t care) and her company was already brightening the atmosphere. She ends up laughing at the end, covering her cheeks with her hand* Are you serious?  
 **Irene:** As a heart attack in a snowstorm! *She grins wide with a beam, tucking an idle strand of hair behind her ear before moving on to her knees on the mattress and leaning over to point to the magazine* I read it in Cosmo and I don’t know if you remember-  
 **Nadia:** I think I do, but isn’t that magazine a joke? *she giggles*  
 **Irene:** Not at all! *aghast* I googled it! Google doesn’t lie.  
 **Nadia:** *arches an eyebrow*  
 **Irene:** Okay, yes *waves her hand dismissively* it does but there’s actual scientific thingies involved here- Al and Dev would agree with me here.  
 **Nadia:** Probably just to keep you saying the word orgasm though.  
 **Irene:** *She laughs, nodding and then hitting Nadia’s leg playfully* Oh shh! Since when can you say the word without blushing anyways?  
 **Nadia:** Everything’s been pretty much put into perspective for me, recently.  
 **Irene:** *she nods, biting her bottom lip momentarily, agreeing.* Yeah…*she sighs before purposefully shaking her head and smiling* but happy thoughts! I’m here with my bestie! *She leans forward to hug Nadia, despite the fact she thought Irene a near-stranger, it didn’t matter. In Irene’s opinion, Nadia was used to dealing with how uncomfortable Irene made the girl on a daily basis, this was no different.*  
 **Nadia:** *She laughed, leaning forward to meet Irene in a hug, glad to have one of her friends treat her no differently. Well, she assumed, they were after all talking about how orgasms help period pains.*  
 **Irene:** And yes *she pulls back, plopping back down on her butt and crossing her legs* I’m always like this.  
 **Nadia:** *smiles* I’m glad.  
 **Irene:** Except for when I’m drunk then I’m like either all over the place or all over a person. It’s either you or Dillon or- *she had been about to say Eliza, but she bites her tongue down and then smiles, mouth shut* Right, you two.  
 **Nadia:** *She knew Irene had been about to say Eliza. Nadia might not have memories of any of her friends, but she wasn’t stupid. Irene had been an irreconcilable mess at the funeral, even while being one of the best dressed there. Just another pang of guilt to add to Nadia’s collection.* Try and not to get drunk tonight then. I have enough problems without having to fight off an unexpected case of lesbianism.  
 **Irene:** *She giggles hysterically, pulling a fluffy pillow into her lap and then smirking* That’s already happened to you.  
 **Nadia:** Shut the front door.  
 **Irene:** I’m not kidding you at all, girl, okay? It was cute, you’re tiny, so you climb like a…monkey.  
 **Nadia:** I climb like a monkey, okay. *she shakes her head, putting a hand on her forehead as if that would keep away embarrassment* If you say so.  
 **Irene:** Aww, you’re such a virgin.  
 **Nadia:** *she blinks* how do you know that?  
 **Irene:** Duh! *tilts her head, left eyebrow atched* we’re B-F-F’s! You would have told me. Unless it’s been recent- young lady have you had amnesia sex?! Naughty!  
 **Nadia:** I haven’t had- oh good lord. *she covers her face completely* Irene if you seriously think-  
 **Irene:** I am thinking about it now, dangerous thing by the way I have so many novel ideas, remind me to tell you about The Breath of Life series later on *she holds her hands up* listen. It’s been hell. And you’ve been through it. And it’s so maddening and intense! And then you have Devin! Who’s been so forlorn over your absence and here you are, finally! After evil and werewolves and being kickasss but *she gasps* oh no! Your memory! It isn’t here!  
 **Nadia:** *She can’t help it, it makes her laugh genuinely at the way Irene referred to her memory now.*  
 **Irene:** And now he’s walking on eggshells when really he just wants to rip your clothes off! So you, with a sense of newly found empowerment, you’ve seen it all! You’ve gone through the fires of hell! And now there is another fire you must let run ablaze!  
 **Nadia:** Oh my God! *she laughs and waves her hands in front of Irene’s face* Stop!  
 **Irene:** Consume you entirelyyyy. So you say fuck it! *Her hands smacks the mattress* You know what you want. You know what your body wants. It responds to him in a way you looove. You want him. And by God, you know you will have him! So you throw off the blankets, go to him in the middle of the night and right as he turns to look at you, you jump! Launch! Cling on to him, legs wrapped, face wanton! You want fire! You want passion! You want it now! And you know you’ll never forget it. *She inhales a moan, biting her lips for show, laughing out loud*  
 **Nadia:** *She’s laughing maniacally into a pillow, drowning out the laughter but not very efficiently. After she’s sure she’s calmed down, she brings her face up, wiping at her eyes.* Oh my God, you’re crazy.  
 **Irene:** Best selling Harlequin hit! *She nods importantly.* It’s not just about the sex, Nadia. This isn’t some cheap PWP written online. You need setting, you need characterization. It’s not just about the *she starts to hump the pillow in her lap for a moment-*  
 **Nadia:** *She has to go back to her pillow immediately, burrowing her face and laughing as her face continues to get redder and redder.* Stop humping the pillow!  
 **Irene:** *She stops with a grin on her face and she winks as Nadia lifts her head up again* I think I’ve made my point.  
 **Nadia:** That you’re crazy and sex starved?  
 **Irene:** That amnesia sex is totally possible and that I’m not crazy for having thought it might have happened.  
 **Nadia:** No, of course you aren’t crazy *she shakes her head immediately, lips pursed* I mean you just narrated me and my boyfriend’s possible sex life and then proceeded to hump the pillow. Completely normal.  
 **Irene:** Totally, 100% Irene Burns special. *she winks again and then reaches over for her bag and then takes out the bottle of sherry* I brought you your favorite!  
 **Nadia:** *Oh, Irene. She shakes her head and then leans over to take it and then tilts her head* Sherry?  
 **Irene:** You’re a bit of a lightweight, hon.  
 **Nadia:** That’s what I told Julio. *She goes to stand up and then notices Irene raise her eyebrows in question* What?  
 **Irene:** Where are you going?  
 **Nadia:** To open it? Get glasses?  
 **Irene:** Oh honey *she scoffs and then gestures with her hand for Nadia to give it to her and then gets the corkscrew out of her bag and then, having known Nadia would want a glass, honestly, she brought one of those plastic ones with the detachable base. She opened the bottle and then poured for Nadia, offering the glass to her.* Salute! That’s Italian, Dillon’s teaching me.  
 **Nadia:** Salud. *she smiles, holding her glass up to Irene and then taking a sip, licking her lips after in surprise as she realizes she does love it.* Oh my God.  
 **Irene:** It’s like falling in love all over again I know! *giggles*  
 **Nadia:** Hols gave me beer. Chace gave me red wine that was so -dry-, not at all like what D’Grey had when he made me dinner, didn’t like it. You gave me some green liquid-  
 **Irene:** Absinthe- that was a mistake of mine I’m sorry! *pouts* I was distraught.  
 **Nadia:** No, no, its fine. I gave it to Alcott anyways. But this *she raises her glass* I do like.  
 **Irene:** I’m glad. *She wiggled her eyebrow and then served herself some sherry as well before she asked quieter* So do you trust D’Grey?  
 **Nadia:** Yeah, I do. *she nods, tilting her head to look at Irene, frowning a little* Why?  
 **Irene:** Nothing it’s just…you don’t even know his first name. It could be something weird like Olivierderci.  
 **Nadia:** *she snorts, putting a hand up to her mouth and swallowing before she asks with a laugh* Pardon?!  
 **Irene:** Well you never known!  
 **Nadia:** It doesn’t really matter, does it?  
 **Irene:** I’m just saying, if a guy is reluctant to part with his name, who knows how many other skeletons he’s got hiding in his closet. Could be a lot.  
 **Nadia:** He can have as many skeletons as there are flies in the world, but he still helped me. And is, helping Dev and Al.  
 **Irene:** *She bites on her bottom lip, now wondering what roll Tony had in all of this. How different was he than this mysterious, gay guardian angel with great hair. She wasn’t one to enjoy being in the dark, no matter whatever previous instances she might have had in trying to ignore the situation.* I want this to be over. *She finished the sherry in her glass and then lifted her knees to her chest*  
 **Nadia:** *She could understand that perfectly. With a hold over her plastic glass (what a contradiction), she scooched over to Irene and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.* Me too.  
 **Irene:** *She groans and exhales despairingly, throwing her head back.* You know when I bought my costume as G.I. Jane -totally cute by the way, you kind of missed Halloween but- I never expected to actually feel like some sort of…soldier.  
 **Nadia:** *She nods, because Irene was preaching to the choir in this.* Well, at least you already have the uniform?  
 **Irene:** *She wiggles her eyebrows* And I look damn sexy in it. Who would have thought that these legs *smacks her hands on the side of her thighs* could pull off combat boots?  
 **Nadia:** Psh, that’s obvious! Girl, look at your legs. You are curvilicious.  
 **Irene:** *She beamed brightly and hugged Nadia again tightly because it sounded so much like her! (Not that she would say that out loud, she didn’t want to have Nadia feel unworthy or something like that.)* Of course in an actual war zone, I doubt my shorts would be very efficient.  
 **Nadia:** Maybe at distracting the enemy? *She laughs* You could stand in the front lines, turn around, bend over and shake it!  
 **Irene:** Hell yeah! Make them jaws drop from here *she snapped and then moved her hand in an arc* to Timbuktu! *Snap again*  
 **Nadia:** Why Timbuktu?  
 **Irene:** It’s fun to say. *she shrugs* Anyways *she groans again and then moves to stand up from the bed to stretch out her legs and then pops over to grab her iPod out and then announces* I made a playlist! Goofy songs to dance absolutely embarrassingly to.  
 **Nadia:** Why do I feel like you have the thong song on there? *eyebrow arches as she finishes the sherry in her glass and then stands up as well*  
 **Irene:** *Deletes it with a swipe of her finger* nope! Catchy song though. Now let me see that thoo-oh-oh-oh-ooong!  
 **Nadia:** I am not dancing to the thong song.  
 **Irene:** Okay how about the discovery channel song?  
 **Nadia:** Is that an actual song? *Her brows furrow as she wiggles her toes on the area rug at the front of her bed* Does it teach you about nature or?  
 **Irene:** …Kind of! *She hits play and then plugs it into Nadia’s speakers, where the song The Bad Touch starts playing. Irene passes scissor fingers over her eyes and rolling her hips to the music and then whispers with the music* I’d appreciate your input! *She starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, moving over to Nadia.*  
 **Nadia:** I’m going to regret this. I am so going to regret this- *Irene takes her hands and spins her into her, Nadia laughs as she’s dipped and then pops back up, not really paying attention until Irene starts singing along with the lyrics*  
 **Irene:** *singing* -You’ve had enough of two hand touch, you want it rough, you’re out of bounds! *Wiggles her butt against Nadia’s with a laugh as her friend squeals and laughs too* Coming quicker than FedEx, never reach an apex, just like Coca Cola stock, you are inclined to make me rise an hour early just like daylight savings time, do it now! *Claps her hands together as she keeps dancing* Me and you baby ain’t nothing but mammals! So lets do it like they do on the discovery channel, get horny now!  
 **Nadia:** *Soon she has to stop dancing to hold her stomach from so much laughing but Irene just keeps going.*  
 **Irene:** *Taking an empty cup and putting it in her shorts to give herself a bulge* -like the lost catacombs of Egypt *she makes a cross over her face and shoulders as she sings* only God knows-where-we-STUCK it! *Juts her pelvis out*  
 **Nadia:** *She’s a mess of uncontrollable giggles and before she has to run to the bathroom she runs over to the speaker and turns them off before enveloping Irene into a huge hug and the both of them twirl in place in the middle of laughter and pleas to stop singing the lyrics to the song. She would have the lyrics “Please turn me on, I’m Mr. Coffee with an automatic drip” stuck in her head forever. As the pair of them collapsed backwards on the bed and kept talking about things such as boys (Devin’s impressive pectorals and the fact Irene still squealed for joy every time Dillon told her he loved her), and sex toys (apparently, Irene had worn vibrating panties to class once), and food cravings (they both decided to get up and attempt a pizza, key word being attempt), Nadia was happy to realize she felt happy and normal and it was a sweet feeling to look forward to once this was all over.*

{*}

**Hans:**  *He’d looked away from the kiss, as he’d believed it to be a show for him this time - least until he heart Stefanie’s skyrocketing heart. Now his jaw clenches and emotion clouds eyes as the skin around it twists, but he doesn’t dare speak at Ansel’s words. Honestly, for the first time in a long time, Hans is frightened what might come out if he even opens his mouth. Steeling his gaze and refusing to blink, he just lifts his chin.*

 **Ansel:**  *That look, he regretted putting on his friend’s face, as vindicated as he was. Exhaling, he lifts the good hand to squeeze his shoulder. He’d been about to say he had guessed that was how he’d known Laura from the moment Hans launched a pencil at hin for saying her name, but seeing the…bewildered hurt steels his breath. So instead he mutters,* Stef just wants you to tell her the truth, mate.

 **Hans:**  *He watches, as Ansel’s resolve quivers away and finds his voice in an instant.* I know what she wants. What we want isn’t always what we need. You know that.

 **Ansel:**  *His gaze hardens as if he can chase away regret and disappointment that way and then he takes his hand back, shrugging it off as he takes a few steps back. Waving his hand he says simply,* As you say then. It’s your choice, after all. *His hand slides back in his pocket.* Why I’d never be General, right? *He slips through the door and disappears whistling into the corridor. Only then does he realize his hand’s closed around his cell.*

 **Stefanie:**  *She waits, because she knows Ansel can hear for freaking what seems like miles and she won’t give him that satisfaction, not when she can yet taste his mouth on her tongue. Then  she says softly,* Hans. Whose Laura?

 **Hans:**  *His eyes shut, as he goes rigid at the very simple question that really he should have been expecting (had been). Ansel leaves his mind. He shuts the door. It doesn’t matter. Hearing her name, thinking about it all again—his body couldn’t not react, as he warred to climb out of a depth Jules Verne fucking never imagined.*

 **Stefanie** : *She takes a few steps forward, all other thoughts gone by simple virtue of the fact that she hadn’t seen her brother look so wrecked in years. Quietly stopping in front of him as he speaks, she only answers with his name exhaled.* 

 **Hans:**  An old friend. *He shrugs, undoing his own coat now and tossing it to the coatrack.* How about that tea? 

 **Stefanie:**  *Rubbing at her lips and forehead as if it would clear Ansel away, Tony away, steady herself and give her less of a headache all at the same time, she nods.* Yeah, okay. I’ll get the cinnamon.

 **Hans:**  *He chuckled, picking the pot up and nodding. For a few minutes the siblings work in silence in the kitchen, and then,* She …*his hands were busy with the lemons and honey and he doesn’t look around, for fear his red eyes in a gaze gaunt would scare his little sister,* she was at the Gala. Hadn’t seen her in seven years. 

 **Stefanie:**  *When he spoke, she ceased repairing the tea-cup for an instant…and promptly does the math in her head. Salzburg, she thinks. The festival, the art he showed her and the fashion she dragged him to and the music they both loved. Dancing with Ansel…for Hans refused to bite anyone for a year. And then…*

 **Hans:**  *He clears his throat, muttering under his breath,* I’ve had a lot of sisters, haven’t I?

 **Stefanie** : *Train of thought derailed, she furrows a brow, but speaks lightly as she sets the cups next to the teapot and looks up at him.* You called her sister too?

 **Hans:**  *Still to himself,* Laura isn’t even her real name, I don’t even know that….she knew everything about me and I…didn’t know her at all. *He exhales, meeting her gaze.* Actually. Besides you, she was the first. She called me brother first.

 **Stefanie:**  *She holds his gaze and  then it just. Clicks.* She recruited you.

 **Hans:**  *For a moment he doesn’t think he can move. Not to blink or breathe or nod let alone verbalize. But he’d always been good at words, he thinks, always been good at talking (or had that not been true before Laura? He couldn’t remember anymore).* She…was more than that. Is. *He corrects himself, swallowing tightly, and looks back to his sister abruptly when he noticed she’d grabbed his hands. When had they started to shake? Searching her gaze, he says quietly,* I did see you— I thought…Ansel would-

 **Stefanie** : *Quietly, she squeezes his hand back,* He did. He did, he and Tony, they took care of me. *Her anger was melting; she’d never seen that look on her brother before.* You’ll find Rachelle too.

 **Hans** : *He nods, then pulls back all at once and bites out,* If it wasn’t for Laura I wouldn’t have lost her. Rachelle’d be safe—I fucking promised her that, I told her when I—I swore I wouldn’t let anything else happen and then that night I even told her I was coming, that I was there. I jus—*He rubs at his  forehead and paces away from the pot, thinking he couldn’t break it again. Back and forth, lungs exploding with breath hot, the kitchen was tiny, cramped, oppressive—a fucking closet, how did his sister live like this? How did—well fuck Rachelle was living with—*

I let her down. *Is what he finally bites out on a newly bitten tongue, bending over the sink and lowering his head. He hears Stef take the pot off the burner and turn the whistle off. Eyes shut, he mutters,* I let her down, just as I let you down. *His sister wasn’t breathing at that. Yet he just adds bitterly,* As Laura let me down.

 **Stefanie:**  *She pours the cups, letting him pace and is careful not to make eye-contact when he was talking more to her than he had since he told her what Kyle did. Blowing out and making patterns with the cinnamon, she looks up as he does, riveted by the sudden intensity in his gaze.* 

 **Hans:**  Tony told you? Well. Laura wasn’t my recruiter. I killed him. *He slaps his thigh to avoid hearing his sister wince.* Laura, was my mentor. Laura, put me back together. I thought….*he shakes his head, eyes shut and then rubs at his jeans biting,* It doesn’t matter. See, there’s a rogue ex-marine. Jensen. *He looks back to Stefanie, mocking suddenly with ghosts of his usual swagger on his lips and body,* and oh you know the type—he’s got those dreaaaamy eyes and those giant toned arms and I mean, he was sent to kill her but hey. Guess true love at first sight does exist! *He shakes his head, pulling his cup closer and downing half of it. For all the cinnamon in the world couldn’t make this sweet to him, but he wasn’t Hans Lawrence Ricard if he didn’t fucking even try.*

Jensen says he rescued Laura. I don’t know what she says, because it doesn’t matter. I’m not the only one she left. Just probably the only one who wouldn’t kill her on sight. Nope, not me, *he shakes his head back and forth,* guess she didn’t teach me well enough then, guess I didn’t learn every lesson as well as I thought I had because I was so fucking glad to see her still alive and so fucking angry that she was back. She got out. Why the hell would —why the bloody hell, if you got away from this life and that bastard, would you come back? 

 **Stefanie:**  *Honestly at this point she was only following half of what he said, but she tried. She wanted to have an answer for him. So she tries, soft and simply,* You want me to leave England, because you want to protect me, right?

 **Hans:**  *He swivels around, an eyebrow arched and with a ghost of his smirk,* Europe, frankly. But they aren’t to touch you. Or Marcel. 

 **Stefanie** : *She stuffs a dry chuckle in the corner of a raw mouth. Nods,* …you made a deal?

 **Hans:**  A deal? *Voice brightens, words sarcastic,* How provincial. Deal with the devil, is that it?

 **Stefanie** : Hans—

 **Hans:**  No, *picking his tea cup up again and saying quite sweetly,* Stefanie, not the sort you’re thinking. I didn’t have to make a deal. What I did was prove what I would fucking do if they laid a finger on you or Marcel. *He blows on the tea and takes a tiny, sweet sip. His gaze shines for a moment, and then turns empty as he hears Stefanie shiver.* I’m frightening you.

 **Stefanie** : No,

- **Hans:**  *Low, growl,* Don’t lie, Stef. I can hear it. *He taps his ear.* And of course I am. It’s why I didn’t tell you—

 **Stefanie:**  *Sharply,* I’m not scared -of- you, Hans. I’m scared -for- you! *And seeing his face blank she groans, winces and blinks away further tears, finally moving closer to him again as she finishes her earlier thought,* You want me gone to keep me safe—well, I’m not safe that way, I’m only abandoned. But fair enough, that’s what you want. You want to know why someone would come back? Why I did—why I do?

 **Hans:**  *He’s shaking a little at her sudden fire and he wonders at her breath—cinnammon wasn’t that strong, was it?* Stef—

 **Stefanie** : *Quiet, she grabs her brother’s hand and says simply,* You come back — I come back, because whatever else you’re still my brother. *She bites her tongue, stares up into his blue eyes and tries to make him believe it with earnest.* …and because I love you.

 **Hans:**  *He didn’t deserve one iota of what she said- couldn’t believe for a moment that was why Laura had- but he wants to believe it,  and he wants her forgiveness, her understanding, he wants and wants so desperately for all the things he could never have that he took everything else for himself and now she offered freely what wasn’t his to accept and irony of ironies, he couldn’t take it? Was that a fucking tear on his cheek too, hot salt burning down to the corner of lips? What the hell was wrong with him?

He gripped her hand tighter. All he can do is nod.*

 **Stefanie:**  *Rubbing a tear out of her own eye she just promises quietly as they used to as children,* Always and forever.

{*}

This bed was normal: at least as much as any bed provided by sadistic psychopaths could be. Eliza still did not want to sit on it, not when she was...concious of it, anyway, and she'd already bought (and changed twice) new sheets and a different comforter. 

So at the moment she was sitting finishing her sundae on the floor in front of it, half watching some French fashion show (and complaining in screeched French herself of the peacock gowns, because seriously?) and half fiddling with her cell phone. Olivier had encrypted it. After picking personalized ringtones so she could know who had to answer, she just kept staring at the dialer. 

It had been five days. Five days since she had faked a shout of refusal when Harper and Roswell appeared in her bedroom, shoved some foul thing down her throat -- honestly, she had not needed to feign either hatred or disgust when Roswell in the room. It still hurt to have to show those things to Harper instead--but it was a bearable hurt. Eliza did not remember living a day without some ache, some pang, and as much as she was a proponent of how words (really any emotional damages) were worse than physical injuries--she wasn't letting any one of them touch her again. Not one.

The thing was, it had been five days and there was rule three. The one she hadn't gotten to, because Hans had...she had no idea what to think about that--rule three was too prevalent on her mind. One week to recuperate, one week to shop and heal, somehow relearn to cope with sunlight that had nearly left her blind when it struck her face the first time--with the crowded streets of tourists wandering around a la derive, when every strange man casting her a second glance burned in her throat a terror she didn't know how to forget. A week. The first day she was mostly in the luxury shower and still she took two a day. The week she spent outside as much as possible, wandering to haunts she had gone that summer -- the cafe she'd met ... someone she thought was once important at; the hill she sat on with friends until three sharing chocolates (she pigged out on that too--the little chocolates with alcohol burrowed in them. She'd gone to the Louvre to be a bitch to anyone who liked the glass pyramid (and snuck in to see Mona again, though she couldn't remember why). One week she'd been free to go where she wanted.

The thought she had to return would have been bad enough without any knowledge of the part of their fucking game next. Only she knew. She knew intimately. And it didn't matter what Harper said, what Olivier did--and she wasn't ashamed either, because shame implied regret. It wasn't a regret. Eliza knew every goddamn time she woud choose this way--even if she was choosing to risk her life and pour salt in her wounds. lt was her only option.

No, her trouble, what she was trying not to think about, would be in recognizing she was going to have to do-- how could she lift her wand on a soul who had done her no harm, whatever the cause? Her heart skips a beat, she burrows ice cream under her tongue, and she finds herself dialing.

Of course she would. A countdown to when, through consequences of your own actions, with no fucking choice you'd be torturing yourself and out of control? Sitting with alcohol fretting about the thought you could without meaning to, kill someone? There was only one person she knew -- or had-- who would understand that.

"Hello?"

Eliza immediately cups a hand to her mouth as tears gather behind her eyes, or else the gasp of breath she'd let out (the one she didn't remember drawing) would have given it away. 

"You have reached the phone of one who is not currently operating," she rolls her eyes at that and still says nothing--not even as she wants to scold. Her silence stretches for a moment as she fight of tears.

Then his voice shifts, abruptly.

"Hey, whose this?" 

He'd learned to use the phone properly, she thinks, her other hand gripping on to a plastic metal box as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The fear and loneliness burned in her throat...yet there was relief there too. Relief he was alive. A feeling of height she wanted to stay at, as it seemed like forever since she'd heard him--like she was listening to something out of a dream. 

Blinking away tears and rubbing hard at her throat, she turns from the shadows and moves to the window. Looking out it, she fixes her gaze on the moon and thinks somewhere that was above him too. The desperate want to answer him threatens to blow everything, and she grips around the wood frame. The phone she only wants to glue to her ear.

"Okay, see I can hear you breathing?"

Oh, of course he would-- bloody abilities--and she inhales sharply. Filled with the loss suddenly, that she has to bite back telling him she was all right--telling him to tell everyone that. Instead she has to promise him silently, mouthing at the window how sorry she was in a gape, an echo she casts out over and over as he repeats in her ear.

"Yeah, all right, got it. If this is supposed to be threatening me? Just know it isn't going to work."

Now, she was genuinely breathless. Her nail bites into her palm as she listens hard.

"All you're doing is making me angrier," they hiss. Eliza looks to the ceiling, caught between hating putting that hurt in his voice and a flash of pride. "And right now is a really stupid time to do that you know, or wait actually you don't, do you? Because that's how stupid you are-- all mindwashed, broken and little fuckers who couldn't read picture books and wouldn't know how to think for yourselves if an original idea dressed up in a Santa costume, danced in front of you and then punched you in the face."

Eliza didn't know whether to laugh or cry. An overwhelming rush blasts in her chest, cracks open the cavity to dig a gaping hile she couldn't begin to figure out how to fill. It's me, she mouths at the moon, blinking away tears and smiling, it's me...you know me...

"You have no idea the world of hell you've unleashed on yourself. What you took from me? My father, my best friend? I am not letting you fucking touch another single person, not one."

I'm not dead, Eliza whispers desperately in her mind, fogging the glass of her window but holds on for dear life. 

"Now, thank you for calling," he continues, "so I can tell you to go fetch your baby blanket and call Mommy, because you think you've seen the last of me? Honey, you haven't seen anything."

There's a click, and Alcott's voice disappears.

Eliza erupts. Chokes more than gasps--scratches and sniffles more than tears, but she clings to the metal box anyway and burrows her dim relief in her gut. He was still fighting, she thinks, quickly deciding she...could not handle rubbing alcohol further in wounds that had not started to heal even in a week; could not put a knife in her throat or restrain from speaking this time.

Alcott had handled the first full moon through alcohol and work-out sessions--she had done both (as well as a credit-card new regiment) and she twisted with anxiety. She was grateful she'd thought to buy the green sweater--at least she had one good reason to go back. Yet where inebrieation and ice cream had done nothing -- where Hans words not to forget she was 'full of light' had become a mantra (as if she could forget his eyes when he said that) -- where Olivier's calls had kept her grounded -- it wasn't until this moment she felt any clarity.

Alcott was fighting to get to them--and he didn't even know who he'd find at the end of that bloody rainbow. Eliza swears in that moment for his and Harper's sake as much as her own, she wouldn't let either of them down.

The phone falls back into her lap as she rubs the salt off her cheeks and collapses to the bed, letting out a long, heated, overdramatic exhale.

Then she smiles, because she'd heard his voice, and pulls the little stuffed animal she bought four days ago out, hugging the wolf to her chest. It's snout burrows in her throat, his paws rest over a rapidly beating heart. Fingers closing around it's neck with reverance, she pretends it's howling desperately at the moon: _i love you too._

{*}

**Daniella:**  …you know. *Wearing lingerie beneath Olivier’s shirt and toying with the top button while her hand is on the open door,* I’m not even surprised.

 **Hans** : *A smirk flicks up, hands clasped behind his back.* I’m sure there’s an insult in there somewhere, Daniella but- I can’t say I’m surprised to see you either.

 **Olivier** : You are aware, *from the couch with his hand up, head tilting* that it is nearly midnight, Hans? 

 **Hans:**  I can tell time, yes. 

 **Daniella:**  Insult? *Pushing the door open, and spinning around she shrugs a shoulder,* How little you think of me, Hans, I’m perfectly accepting of all lifestyles. Just *plops down on the couch again next to Olivier,* don’t expect a threeway, hon. 

 **Hans:**  *He chuckled. Then shut the door behind him and nods,* Ah, how disappointed I am, truly.

 **Olivier:**  Did something happen?

 **Hans** : *Shaking head, chuckling as he walks in,* Not particularly. I just was wondering if you were going to bother informing me on the present relationship between our siblings.

 **Olivier:**  …I’m sorry, your tone implies that I’m supposed to actually care.

 **Daniella:**  *Curling a black strand near her bottom lip, after a tiny giggle,* Oh Oli-*she nudges his thigh with her foot,*-how blasé.

 **Olivier** : *Lips flick, sitting up,* Well, that’s in my best interest.

 **Hans** : Best interest? *Curiously, having been a bit off put by the attitude and standing against the pillar—he was looking for alcohol.* 

 **Olivier:**  Nothing. 

 **Daniella** : *With a feigned, exasperated sigh, she settles her chin on his shoulder,* Brooding again, Stefan. 

 **Hans:**  Stefan? *Turning around, hand sliding to his back pocket curiously.*

 **Olivier** : *Laughing out once, he tilts his head to look at her on his shoulder and hms,* She’s being meaaaan to me. *elbows her side*

 **Daniella** : *elbowing back, her head immediately tilts and nudges her forehead to his neck, pushing him away.* Just saying, if you ever want to hear Elijah from me when I—

 **Olivier** : *groans, covering her mouth and shakes his head.* Mean.

 **Daniella** : *blinking wide, innocent blue eyes at him and then when he releases her lips, she bites down on her thumb and smirks.* Call me Katherine.

 **Hans** : *Tilting his head and saying drily,* I withdraw all questions.

 **Olivier** : *For a moment he’d been breathless, as his gaze lingers on her thumb. Then he groans, pats her thigh to get her off his lap and stands up. Turning to Hans, he rubs at the back of his neck and says simply,* You saw Stef?

 **Hans** : *His chin lifts as his eyes flick from Daniella (who was making herself comfortable on the couch), to his friend—who seemed to get to the point, as ever shrewd.* Yes. And I would at least cease appreciate it if your brother cease telling her every little detail.

 **Olivier** : *Tiny shrug,* I wasn’t aware much talking had been involved actually.

 **Hans:**  *After a flippant smirk,* Cute. 

 **Olivier** : *Turning to walk to the bar to get a drink of water, he’s partially turned because he’s sure his brow furrowed again. Asking off-hand,* What…did he—

 **Hans** : Tell her? *Following him to the counter, hands falling to lay on the marble, idl y saying,* Nothing really. Just that Gustav is presently in charge, Eliza’s survival, the particulars of recruitment. *His gaze flicks over to his shoulder; he’d heard Daniella’s heart jump up abruptly. His brows furrow. How interesting.*

 **Daniella:**  *Seeing him look at her, she chuckles and says only,* Oh don’t mind me. I’ll rewatch the Delena porch kiss. *She clicks the tv back on and reaches for their popcorn…kernels. Ah well.*

 **Olivier:**  Because you haven’t seen that enough. *sweetly*

 **Daniella** : Utterly impossible to ever watch it enough.

 **Hans:**  *He chuckles, sliding his hand across the marble countertop and says quieter for-his-ears-only,* There may be a problem. 

 **Olivier** : *Both brows pop up, but he expected that if he was here this late, and he takes a sip of his water, by way of asking “which is”?*

 **Hans:**  With Ansel.

 **Olivie** r: *He blinks, an eyebrow rising slowly,* Because Stefan—

 **Hans** : No, not that. *He waves it off, still quiet.* Because he seems to have gotten it in his head that disobedience is acceptable.

 **Olivier** : *Bites his tongue, but keeps  his tone light as he says,* Forgotten his house training?

 **Hans:**  *He snorts and shrugs his shoulder,* Seems something like that. Oh, I’m certain it’s Stefanie — she’s been taunting him, but I’ve never known him to…care about it. I was wondering what you know of Irene.

 **Olivier:**  *He shakes his head slowly, sucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth while he thinks.* Only basics. Vivacious. Blonde, slight alcoholic potential. And of course the daughter of an asshole father -

 **Hans:**  *Drily, but still under his breath so they might not be overheard,* The esteemed Lord that’s key to Parliament, yes.

 **Olivie** r: *Nods,* Otherwise… I would talk to Eliza. *Tiny smirk,* I’m sure that’ll be hard for you.

 **Hans:**  *There’s a flutter to his face before he clenches down on his teeth in a little smirk as Olivier pats his shoulder and nods.* 

 **Daniella:**  *Freeze-framing the screen and looking around, amused at them,* Don’t you two look cozy. 

 **Olivier:**  *Lets go and then, spying screen, makes a show of,* Woah oh—hey wait, rewind, spoilers?

 **Daniella** : *She grins, shrugging.* Well, you two were all intense. *Brow cocked, but says, relaxed,* Don’t apologize though. I get it. *Lips flick,* Must be awkward when your in-laws start screwing.*

- **Hans/Olivier** -: *In attempting to prove her wrong and look at her incredulously, they prove her point instead with the same exact stance and disgruntled, bemused expression. Men. Honestly.* 


	52. Put Your Hands Into the Fire

**{*}**

**Tony:** *Irene had said 6 o’clock at The Queen’s Head pub in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. Not a bad place, maybe a bit too old-fashioned for his tastes but it was rather secluded as the bar seemed like it was scrunched between two buildings as an afterthought. If it had been a wizard establishment, he might have said that had been entirely the case. Checking his watch for the time, he took a sip of the beer he had in hand and then turned to look at the door as it rang open with a jingle of the bells situated atop the threshold.* You’re late.  
 **Irene:** Oh, pft. *She walked over to him, unraveling her scarf and slipping out of her coat and slinging it over the back of her seat at the bar.* A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early.  
 **Tony:** The Princess Diaries. *he nods as she sits down, offering a grin as she looks at him surprised* I’m good with movies.  
 **Irene:** It’s nice to see someone is. Asides from all those boring black and white ones that Nick and Lynn constantly quote to each other.  
 **Tony:** And this is how I know you’re a child. You think Casablanca is boring? Citizen Kane? Night of the Living Dead? *eyebrows arch* What are you, 12?  
 **Irene:** I’m twenty. *She turns the bartender with a smile, sees that he had been questioning her age too and takes out her ID.* I’ll have a grey goose martini.  
 **Tony:** 20, I can’t believe that- *takes the ID as soon as the bartender’s done looking at it and then whistles* Wow, looks real. *holds it up to the light*  
 **Irene:** *beams* Told you so. *she takes it back and then puts it in her purse* It’s the boobs, they make it believable, adds a few years.  
 **Tony:** Yeah but the face *gestures to it* Still soft, baby like. Takes away some of those years too. I wouldn’t peg you for more than 18.  
 **Irene:** If I put 18 on my ID, it’ll just be obvious I’m faking it. *She clears her throat before she accepts the cocktail with a smile and then takes a sip*  
 **Tony:** *He had chuckled a little incredulous but ultimately unable to argue with the logic.* Isn’t it a little dangerous to be out in London by yourself? At night? Don’t you have a boyfriend or a…*he searches his mind quickly for the name of her friend he’d met* Rory?  
 **Irene:** I was getting Christmas presents! *She points to the bags on the floor at her feet.* Couldn’t very well bring Dillon along. And besides, the rest are being protected.  
 **Tony:** You mean like you should be. At least protect yourself.  
 **Irene:** I’m not entirely defenseless, even without superhuman strength. *She takes another sip and then exhales* But we’re finally to the reason I asked you here.  
 **Tony:** And here I thought it was you trying to seduce me. *grins*  
 **Irene:** One Italian is enough for me, thanks. Besides, aren’t you and Stefanie fucking?  
 **Tony:** *eyebrow arch* How is that your business?  
 **Irene:** It isn’t. *She shrugs* But I’m a gossiper. It’s what I do. So you are fucking.  
 **Tony:** You’ve got quite the mouth on you, sweetie.  
 **Irene:** I deduced. She was a bit possessive when I asked for your number.  
 **Tony:** *He smirks a bit and then chuckles* And you got that from some possessiveness?  
 **Irene:** What else could it be? Also, what do you think I should get her for Christmas?  
 **Tony:** *thrown* You’re getting her something?  
 **Irene:** I think we should be friends. Nothing says friendship like Christmas gifts! I’m determined to have it be a jolly holly one, despite everything.  
 **Tony:** If you say so Cindy Lou Who.  
 **Irene:** Guess that makes you the Grinch- are you gonna give me some advice?  
 **Tony:** I’m not exactly the one to come for advice on these things. Don’t know much about her.  
 **Irene:** *sighs* Fine, she’s getting shoes. Do you know what size she wears?  
 **Tony:** No, because I’m not a pervert who’s into feet. *smirks*  
 **Irene:** You’re no help. *Takes another sip* I hope this is not a preview of how the rest of the conversation is destined to go.  
 **Tony:** Depends, but I wouldn’t get her shoes. She’s got access to a million and a half of them, she’s a model.  
 **Irene:** I knew it! *slaps her hand on the counter and then points at him* knew it! I was thinking either that or actress. Perfect. I mean she’s not like super stick thin, and she’s definitely not tall, so high fashion is out of the question, but! Everything else, I could see it. Do you know if she’s interested in acting? Because I’ve got a few contacts in the BBC and-  
 **Tony:** Settle down, Tyra. *he puts his beer down after having taken a sip while listening* This is all for a woman whose brother you’ve insulted and who you threatened to smash her head against the table.  
 **Irene:** To be fair, she did say she would stab me with a fork. You don’t threaten Irene Burns, not without retribution.  
 **Tony:** And the retribution is obviously, gifts.  
 **Irene:** Make love, not war right? *She winks and shrugs* I don’t like fighting.  
 **Tony:** Can’t say I disagree with you there.  
 **Irene:** But sometimes it is necessary, so I step up.  
 **Tony:** Preaching to the choir, honey.  
 **Irene:** But whenever I can avoid it, I do! Ergo, gifts. *She leans down to look through her bag and then plops a present down in front of him. A square black box with a red bow.* Don’t open it! *She warns with a finger* not until Christmas. *She uses the same finger to bring the skin under her right eye down, fixing him with a glare* I’ll know.  
 **Tony:** *He only laughs at her as she pulls out the gift, shaking his head as he grabs it and shakes it near his ear to see if he could figure out what it was. Not a sound.* You’ve taken precautions.  
 **Irene:** Guessing is no fun.  
 **Tony:** That’s sweet but I can’t accept this-  
 **Irene:** You can and you will! I’m not taking it back. *She turns from him a little pointedly, bringing the glass to her mouth again.*  
 **Tony:** *He shakes his head and sets the gift aside for now.* How did you even know what to get me?  
 **Irene:** Italian man, younger brother, likes to wear black, sassy- I came up with something.  
 **Tony:** Now you’ve got me curious. *he smirks* okay princess, what do you want?  
 **Irene:** No use is there in asking for the location of the hideout is there?  
 **Tony:** Nop-uh.  
 **Irene:** Well, now that crosses down my list.  
 **Tony:** You have a list?  
 **Irene:** *scoffs* Of course I have a list.  
 **Tony:** *He repeats* Of course. *he smirks*  
 **Irene:** If you know Stefanie, then you know Ansel.  
 **Tony:** *groans* Not you too. What is this, does the guy have a candy flavored dick?  
 **Irene:** Okay you just realized you thought about his dick though, right?  
 **Tony:** I know very little about him, Irene. Talk to Stefanie.  
 **Irene:** She is obviously biased because she’s riding that dick hard.  
 **Tony:** Now -you’re- thinking about it.  
 **Irene:** It’s your fault- anyways. *she waves her hand and clears her throat* She’s biased, they had, have, will have something between the two.  
 **Tony:** I know that quite well. But see, I’m biased too.  
 **Irene:** But you’re biased in the -opposite- direction which I could use with right now.  
 **Tony:** I don’t want to talk about him. My jaw still clicks when you mention him.  
 **Irene:** Having some territorial disputes?  
 **Tony:** *scoffs, sips* Sure.  
 **Irene:** You could do a threesome.  
 **Tony:** *eyebrows arch* I could also boil myself alive. Besides, there are more than one reason he doesn’t like me.  
 **Irene:** Is there? *she tilts her head* Why?  
 **Tony:** Sweetie, you might have gotten me a gift. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell you anything.  
 **Irene:** *pouts and sighs sufferingly* You’re no fun.  
 **Tony:** I’m tons of fun! When you don’t bring up that jackass.  
 **Irene:** You’ve obviously got some jealousy issues.  
 **Tony:** I don’t. I’ve got some “Ansel doesn’t deserve these many beautiful women worrying about him” issues.  
 **Irene:** *She tilts her head and beams* Aww, thanks babe.  
 **Tony:** You’re welcome.  
 **Irene:** So you’re not going to give me your opinion?  
 **Tony:** I just did.  
 **Irene:** Well, I need more. And more facts. And don’t tell me to ask Stefanie, because I won’t, because awkward and because she’ll totally feel like I’m moving in on her man even though I’m not, like I’m supposedly moving in on you.  
 **Tony:** Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.  
 **Irene:** I can honestly say no honey, haven’t. I’m a happy girlfriend.  
 **Tony:** I thought about it.  
 **Irene:** Of course you did. I’m a catch.  
 **Tony:** But then I realized you were actually 12, so.  
 **Irene:** 20.  
 **Tony:** 18.  
 **Irene:** 16.  
 **Tony:** Are we counting down by evens or is that actually your age?  
 **Irene:** *She chuckles and then shakes her head.* Either way, I’m flattered.  
 **Tony:** You should be.  
 **Irene:** I’m still going to push you into telling me what you think.  
 **Tony:** *groans* Why do you even care? He’s out of your life right?  
 **Irene:** Can you guarantee that?  
 **Tony:** No, I suppose I can’t- why did he get in your life to begin with?  
 **Irene:** *frowns* to fuck with it.  
 **Tony:** Not with you?  
 **Irene:** I’m confident it crossed his mind, but no, I don’t think that was ever his intent.  
 **Tony:** *he tilts his head, laying his chin on his hand* That bothers you doesn’t it?  
 **Irene:** That he was never trying to get into my panties? *scoffs* Why would that bother me?  
 **Tony:** I don’t know, you tell me.  
 **Irene:** Well, I don’t know because it ain’t true!  
 **Tony:** Ain’t. Nice.  
 **Irene:** I’m friends with a Californian.  
 **Tony:** I think I met him! Curly hair? Says the word dude a lot?  
 **Irene:** Yeah, Nick! You know him?  
 **Tony:** Briefly, at the Gala. *he nods* Yep.  
 **Irene:** He’s cool people.  
 **Tony:** He didn’t like me too much, though.  
 **Irene:** Yeah well, you were being difficult.  
 **Tony:** *shrugs* I’m difficult to everybody.  
 **Irene:** *grumbles* Yeah, I can see that.   
 **Tony:** oh come on! Don’t be like that, just because I won’t indulge your little want.  
 **Irene:** Listen, here’s the thing Danny Zuko-  
 **Tony:** Nice reference.  
 **Irene:** -until I know what he wants with me, I’m never going to get him out of my head. I don’t like him in there, he takes up valuable space that could be better spent learning how to whistle.  
 **Tony:** You don’t know how to whistle?  
 **Irene:** *sighs* No, I taught myself a spell that makes the whistle noise and I put my lips together and pretend.  
 **Tony:** *he laughs* That’s hard work for something as small as whistling.  
 **Irene:** It’s embarrassing okay? *she smiles, passing a hand through her hair* Don’t make fun.  
 **Tony:** I’m seriously considering making fun of the trouble you go through to make people think you can whistle. *wiggles his eyebrows*  
 **Irene:** Oh shut up.  
 **Tony:** Someone surely must have tried to teach you.  
 **Irene:** *nods after a sip* Dillon did.  
 **Tony:** I can only guess how that turned out.  
 **Irene:** *smirks* Okay but how else was I supposed to react to the instruction “put your lips together and blow”?  
 **Tony:** No, that was -precisely- the correct response, I applaud you.  
 **Irene:** *beams, shrugging* Anyway-  
 **Tony:** Katniss, let me just stop you right there.  
 **Irene:** That was for the whistle comment wasn’t it?  
 **Tony:** Obviously.  
 **Irene:** The force is strong with you, young Skywalker.  
 **Tony:** I’m not some gossip girl just because I sign my letters “xoxo”. I’m not giving info on Ansel.  
 **Irene:** So you have no idea what he wants with me?  
 **Tony:** Nop-uh. Think it’s more concerning the Death Eaters, obviously.  
 **Irene:** Obviously, so why aren’t I there?  
 **Tony:** *He tilts his head, looking at her curiously* Pardon.  
 **Irene:** If the Death Eaters wanted me, why haven’t they come for me? I’m walking down the streets of London by myself. I just got off the metro! Easiest place to grab someone.  
 **Tony:** Are you complaining?  
 **Irene:** I’m wondering why Ansel hasn’t turned me into them? I mean, not that he didn’t have a problem trying before-  
 **Tony:** I suppose he’s quite busy. *distastefully*  
 **Irene:** Looking for Rachelle?  
 **Tony:** That too.  
 **Irene:** *She exhales and then takes a sip, okay two, lengthy ones and then shakes her head* Gah, I hate it!  
 **Tony:** *He purses his lips now and then puts a hand on top of her arm.* I like you, Buffy. You’ve got spunk.  
 **Irene:** *She thinks of how Rachelle said she had moxie and she couldn’t help it, Irene liked to hear from these people that were supposedly (or rather actually) stronger than her that she was owed some respect. Damn straight.*  
 **Tony:** I’m going to help you, if I can. *He holds up a finger* I’m not getting you Ansel’s autograph though. I draw the line.  
 **Irene:** *Hits his arm with her purse* So what will you do?  
 **Tony:** I’ll make sure they don’t come for you and if they do, I’ll stop it.  
 **Irene:** *A shiver runs down her spine and she speaks softly* I thought you didn’t know anything.  
 **Tony:** While it was nice of Stef to say that I was the good brother here…it’s not that cut and dry.  
 **Irene:** Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out for myself. *exhales* Still, I just…whatever. *She smiles* Hey, we could be the best of friends still.  
 **Tony:** hold the phon- I’ve heard that exact expression before.  
 **Irene:** **Irene:** Exactly?  
 **Tony:** Maybe not so exactly, I was focusing on trying not to kill him-  
 **Irene:** *blinks* Who?  
 **Tony:** Ansel.  
 **Irene:** He said that to you?! Motherfucker, I said that to -him-, I got copyright on that bitch.  
 **Tony:** *He turns to the bartender* Excuse me mate, can you bring around a bottle of…*taps his fingers against the counter* what’s your poison of choice darling?  
 **Irene:** Rum. Rum’s good. *she nods*  
 **Tony:** Bottle of your finest rum. We’ve got some fucked up fuckery to drink through.  
 **Irene:** I like that term. *she nodded and finished her cocktail with a gulp.* You’re going to call a car for me though.  
 **Tony:** Please sweetie, how much taste do you think I have? I’m taking you home directly.  
 **Irene:** Hogwarts.  
 **Tony:** Maybe not so directly, I’ll get you to Hogsmeade and whatever basement trapdoor you made your way out of.  
 **Irene:** Sounds good to me!  
 **Tony:** So he actually *serving now from the bottle* stole your saying.  
 **Irene:** Dick.  
 **Tony:** I don’t think it was conscious.  
 **Irene:** Double dick! That is a double dick move! That’s just, oh no. Bad bad bad!  
 **Tony:** How is that bad? *takes a swig of the rum*  
 **Irene:** Don’t you see? *She drinks from the glass and then holds it out again for him to put some more in there, she was taking it in little shots. She exhales.* I’m in there. *taps her forehead*. A little.  
 **Tony:** I thought this would have made you happy? Retribution?  
 **Irene:** *she exhales and shakes her head* It’s one thing for him to creepily crawl around my brain after putting a dent in it, it’s another for me to do the same.  
 **Tony:** …yeah, I still don’t get why you’re upset.  
 **Irene:** Just another reason to hate him less!  
 **Tony:** Whoa there cowgirl. Hate him less?  
 **Irene:** Long story.  
 **Tony:** This is a big bottle.  
 **Irene:** You think so?  
 **Tony:** *tilts his head* Maybe.  
 **Irene:** I think maybe we should grab another later, momma has a thirst.

{*}

**Eliza:** \--and I know you were in Slythie too, 'cause Al, and so even though this isn't as light a green as I was thinking it's like emerald instead, for the house, see? *Holding it up, she's smirking happily to herself as she offers the sweater to Harper. The one decent thing about returning to the headquarters, she thinks, and as everything was one step at a time--right now she was focused on seeing Harper.* Oh one moment, -*Lowering the sweater, she pauses and flits a glance to the door. Still locked. Still safe. She nods to herself and promptly slips out of the boots she had on, takes two steps and launches as lightly as she can to hug him, tight. The sweater squishes between them.* Sorrryy, wanted to do it when I first--well--*She hadn't walked there alone; she'd had to snap at him a few minutes ago. Forgetting that intentionally, she just resumes,* --the sweater distracted me, I was excited!

  
 **Harper:** *He didn't think he had any clothes more colorful than that sweater. Not that anyone besides Gustav would notice him wearing it. Still, he could probably wear it safely enough and it was really the thought that counted here, very literally: the fact that she had been in his thoughts while she shopped. He chuckled, about to take the sweater when she held it back, checked the security of the room, step out of her boots and nearly tackled him with the hug. He hugged her back just as tight, uncaring about the hair in his face and smiled wide as he pulled back to look at her.* Thank you, I love it already. I'm surprised you didn't get me something salmon colored.

  
 **Eliza:** *She beams, happier by the simple fact that he had a smile on his lips made of honesty than if he actually did like the sweater. (Though really, it was cashmere, so she couldn't see why he wouldn't). Adjusting with a tiny oops-sorry as she realized she'd showered him with her hair, she said,* I considered it! But, *she pulls back,* I figured the first gift should be something you actually would like, not just a tease. Besides, I'm sure Lyndsi has those saved. Also. *Determinedly bright, she adds, tucking a curl back,* I ...heard, Al. Not talked to him, but heard him. He...well he was threatening me on the phone cause he figured restricted number, must be Death Eater,* which wasn't incorrect she reminds herself with barely a wince, and adds softer,* He was threatening for the sake of both of us, mentioned both "father and best friend." *Her smile flicks,* Managed to add that they couldn't be intelligent here if it walked up with a santa hat on too.

  
 **Harper:** Ah, right. *He nodded, because that did make more sense. It was with a smile and a chuckle (not at all unaffected by the mention of his wife) that he admitted* The gag gift is something I would have done. *He leaned back on his desk, eyebrows rising as he heard Eliza called Alcott. Threatening for people he believed dead and who were in this very room. The sad smile was replaced by a smug one at the next statement.* He is right though. They've got some real dumbasses here. *Gustav preferred them that way.*

  
 **Eliza:** *Shaking her head with a little huff and bemused smile she nods,* Well, I figured that. Because you're a guy. And Mr. Brackner on top of it. *Clucking her tongue and spinning back around, she sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to mess any of his things and clenching the sheets white-knuckled.* So you'll just have to buy me one as soon as we get out. *Chuckling at the smug look that appears, she tries to ignore the pain in her heart as it reminds her of Al. They weren't the same person, she reminds herself, wary of mistreating Harper for how badly she wanted her best friend back. So instead of pointing it out, she cocks her head in agreement.* They do. Blind ignorance, what a trait to cherish. *Licking at her dry lip, she admits quieter,* Thanks for not scolding me for calling, too. Olivier encrypted the phone so they can't know...It just kind of...happened. I just sort of dialed.

  
 **Harper:** *He shrugged, not denying it and then smiled a smile full of longing before he nodded quickly, swallowing a lump threatening to build up in his throat.* Sounds good, and you can just pretend Lyndsi helped me pick it out and not that I know to identify the color salmon already. *He cleared his throat and then shook his head.* No, I don't blame you. If I had a phone...I'm not even sure I could keep quiet.

  
 **Eliza:** *Her smile turns wicked,* You're going to make -me- wear salmon?! *She says as if it was highly offensive, hands laying over her heart. They clasp, and she looks down at her outfit, honestly a bit surprised, as if she couldn't remember getting dressed.* Huh. *Peeling the cami out from under the halter and black jacket (that was generous; jackets didn't have to cover your stomach too, did they?), she blinks. Then said, voice painted prim,* This is carnation. Not salmon.

  
*Then she pats the bed next to her; she didn't want to be sitting and have him standing. Not only was it too eerily familiar for her to "servants"--she also knew he couldn't get often to rest.* Right...*Her voice was soft.* Frankly? I think not uttering a sound was the....hardest thing I have done yet. *There's a lip flick; her mouth was dry again.* And I think I only managed it ...because I knew he wouldn't believe me. That'd hurt worse, I think, for all of us...he'd feel taunted, and I...I don't know if I could take his denying...*Harsh grunt clears her throat and she adds, soft,* And what would I even say?! *She looks up abruptly realizing this had to be ten times harder for him. Now she thinks of her phone, in her back pocket and curses the fact that Olivier said her encryptions wouldn't work on headquarter grounds. Goddammit! (And she means that literally considering the blasted location). So she adds determinedly,* We will get the opportunity to figure it out, joyfully and in person, soon. Very soon. Which reminds me,* she tilts her head,* ...oh wait nooope, no, fiirst. *Her arms fold on her chest and she smirks.* Are you goiiiing to put that sweater on? It's warm, I swear! Cashmere. Real thing, cause I, *in that vain princess voice with her hand on her heart again, teasing,* won't do fake. Except leather. Anyway, it'll be warmer.

  
 **Harper:** Well I couldn't make you wear it, obviously, but I would have you own it. *The difference between carnation and salmon was...well, didn't really matter did it? He moves away from the desk and sits on the bed at her request. He understood how Eliza felt. How many of his nightmares, indeed some of his waking thoughts, involved seeing his family again only to have them deny who he was? Deny him? He definitely understood.* I dont know...probably not "collect call from heaven, do you accept the charges?" That's just, not a good idea. *His lips flick briefly while he rubs the back of his neck, nodding in agreement. He looked up as she interrupted herself to tell him to put on the sweater. He looked at it again, smiling* Alright, alright. *He rolled it up to help slip it on over the shirt he had on already. Smoothing it out, he pushed his hands out of the sleeves and then asked.* What do you think? My color?

  
 **Eliza:** *She loved that he put it that way. Reminding her he wasn't going to ever control or -make- her do anything-- loved him so much for that she almost took back asking him to put the sweater on. But...oh look! He'd started already. While he adjusts, she bursts in a half chuckle, half bitterly-"too-true" tone,* Collect call from hell maybe. *Playfully adding,* Probably more believable...*to avoid pointing out that it had the benefit of honesty. She tilts her head, surveys, adding resolutely,* Yes! Oh definitely. *And she couldn't help it, she hugged him again. Partially an excuse to touch how soft the cashmere was. Pulling back, she adds with her finger tip out,* Wash caaarefully, lay flat to dry or...else it'll shrink. And then it won't fit you--oh! Reminds me. *From her 'jacket' pocket, she pulls out a little chocolate and offers to to him.*

  
 **Harper:** That's being mean to hell. *He chuckles, the sound carrying his surprise as she leaned in to hug him again. Eliza was just an enthusiastic a hugger as Nadia had been. Pulling back, he nods importantly while he recieved the directions which were probably for the best for while he had had sweaters before, he'd never washed them by himself.* If it shrinks, I can just enlarge it again though. *He took the chocolate with a softer smile and a thank you, reminded of the cookie which had been the last thing he had been given by his son, such a long time ago. He unwrapped it from the foil, asking* No nuts? I'm allergic to almonds.

  
 **Eliza:** Preach. *Hellfire and damnation (which, the vivid pictures the world has of came more a La Comedia, than ever of one saintly carpenter) could not have envisioned this. It took not only a sick heart, which the Gospels surely had in mind, but magical aid--which actually, perhaps this was why that holy book bespoke only sorcery's demons. Idiot thing. Eliza was a witch, and Harper's inventions were genius -- the purpose they were used, were all human's demons alone. Mind having wandered, she didn't realize how long (or how tightly) she had been holding on. She releases reluctant and relaxed, trying to squeeze warm irritation into her groan.* That's cheating. But yes I suppose you could. *Well, maybe she liked that she could give him a moment to be competent and in control of his own ends. Still. Cheater.* No nuts. I always think they ruin the pure chocolate anyyyway.

  
*She paused, waiting for him to enjoy before saying, twisting her fingers together in the sheets,* It...was strange buying them. I love Paris, I always have, even before I came here looking for my Dad and--well. I went to that shop this summer. They didn't recognize me...*Throat closing as a door when slammed, she coughs as if to bang her fist on the wood. Silence, then she offers a sweet word to trick the person within to unlock it,* I mean, why would they have? What was strange...was it was almost like...like I didn't recognize -it-.

  
 **Harper:** Lyndsi would agree with you. *Always so particular but Harper ate like a dog, whatever he could find. Then again, maybe he'd only learned how to eat like that since he'd been here and left all pickiness aside. Even with his allergy, he'd still eaten almonds before, when they were all he was offered. Then he'd have to cure himself before his throat closed off. Yeah, mean to hell indeed.

  
He chewed on the chocolate, savoring the rich taste while he listened to her speak. This he couldn't empathize with, at least not yet, but he could sympathize.* It changes the way you look at things, being here. I'm not surprised. Must have felt strange, like walking into another world, a dream world.   
**Eliza:** She always has good food. *Nodding in absent agreement, she rubs her thumb against the sheet back and forth. Al's mother had been introducing her to new dishes as long as she could remember. One New Years, they'd both spent half the night trying to teach Alcott the proper pronunciation of 'profiteroles'...* Not quite sure Al realizes that. Tastes good, sum of his usual compliment really. *There was no way to say that and not smile, though it felt her heart was heavy.

  
Nodding again at Harper's remark,* Yeah, kind of like that. It's just...I thought I'd hate having to come back here but it was almost...comforting. Maybe cause I was thinking about you...*she clears her throat.* Nothing felt right. Like I knew where I was, knew, *she pokes her head,* but didn't... feel like I had ever been there, didn't feel...*she pokes over the thin shirt at her chest, pauses and says quieter,* anything, really. It all felt like...everything was new, and there were all these...these people who had no idea, who -,*her voice sharpens*, who wouldn't care.

  
*Exhaling, she looks back up at him and reaches for his hand, taking it and squeezing tightly.* Fitting it would be in Paris, really. Baudelaire would be proud. Portrait of an Artist, the "derive"...all that. First time in my life I've ever felt so disconnected...no, not that--above. Above it all. Like I was worthy of more than the average passerby because I ...did what, survived? Like that's an accomplishment? But it's how it felt, and it's scary, realizing how...differently I'm thinking now.

  
But. *Eliza squeezes his hand.* I felt stronger--feel, stronger. And I thought about you and knew there was something to hold on to besides--besides Olivier and Hans, they knew me before too, liked me before I think. That's strange too. I'm not sure I...did. Spent most of my life so far feeling like I wasn't enough. You've given me the opportunity to show I am, Harper. Enough and more.

 **Harper:** *He chuckles, understanding, before he wonders briefly if that changed with the bite before realizing that's something, a small detail among many others, that he wanted to ask his son about personally. He longed for the day that would occur, and knew that it was fast approaching. Knew, but didn't feel, when in fact the last several weeks might have been the longest of his life so far. He knew Eliza felt the same, on top of everything else. Harper listened to her explanation, found himself wanting to reach for her hand to offer some sort of assurance or comfort only to find she had already grabbed it. Squeezing again similar to the force he felt squeezing around his heart to hear her explain herself. It was both very touching and very sad.* I'm only sorry the opportunity presented itself in these circumstances.

But I am glad, so honestly glad, that you've only allowed it to make you stronger. I know I couldn't do that, not for a very long time. You were always strong though, and always more than enough, that hasn't changed. Now you just see what everybody else saw, what you were hesitant to believe about yourself. That you do deserve more, and not just because you survived here. Surviving is easy compared to fighting, compared to living, which is what you're doing. That...*he nods after squeezing her hand again* that deserves everything.

 **Eliza:** I suppose...*Glancing at their hands as he squeezes them, she finds her gaze flickering up to lock on his. The fact he hasn't seen her (save three times) since she was six ceases to matter (if it ever did). They were an important three times! Harper was the only reason she was alive right now. Though she was getting sick of how often that felt true, how many she owed her life to: he gave her the potion, Hans found her, Olivier killed Red--she, wanted to be the reason she lived or died. Smile flicking up, choked with sadness, gratitude, happiness,* I just wish there was another way to fight. That wasn't so...literal. I never wanted to...hurt anyone.

 **Harper:** I know. *He sighs, passing his thumb over his ring absently as he almost always did.* I would give anything so that you wouldn't have to, or Al or Nadia. I'd give anything to keep you all away from having to hurt people to do the right thing. But you know, it won't always be like this. One day, we won't have to hurt anyone ever again. *He pursed his lips together for a moment before he admitted* Quite looking forward to that.

 **Eliza:** *She squeezes his hand tighter as he admits, though her eyes pass his to watch him rub at his ring. Softly,* Lyndsi still wears hers too you know. *Letting a moment of quiet appreciation fall she nods as Harper continues, and then her face lifts back to his.* I know.   
*Pressing painted, torn lips together, she inhales slow intentionally.* ...you've been strong too, Harper. It's...heartwrenching, but it..well it's inspiring. Honestly! *Her head jerks up; she could see he didn't believe her.* God it just--you got Al that potion didn't you? Still? That is ah--*her free hand hits the air*--mazing. I know this wasn't your first, or ten thousandth's choice but...I can help you too. It's an honor.   
*It was. A flat, brutal, real honor that she felt deep in her bones. She waits, a long moment and then perks up.* What -will- you do when this is...over? It's been...so hard, to picture something good...but thinking about...what I can do soon has...helped. *Her lips flick up, well aware of who had told her so and smiling at the memory.* For instance, *she tilts her head,* I'm going to wear sweatpants and pig out all day without make-up on and --and watch bad movies, and bitch about instant replay in Quidditch, and --oh and yell at that stupid clothes hog who always cuts me off in Barneys. *She harumphs.*

 **Harper:** *He looks up quickly with a brighter smile* Does she? *Maybe that shouldn't make him smile. That he should be more selfless and instead have wanted her to move on. He was never quite good at the selflessness part.* I do what I can, glad to be of some inspiration still. *His lips flickered momentarily as he repeated* An honor, Eliza you're going to give me a big head and then you're going to get tired of me, and I enjoy your company too much to bear that. *He chuckled, feeling equally the need to lighten up the atmosphere (no matter how near impossible that was but wasn't that routine by now?) as Eliza did with her question, and then the answer to her own question. He finds laughter and then smiles* Oh good plan, very good plan. *He smiles* I'm going to buy me a pair of sunglasses. Because sunlight is going to be near painful but I probably won't want to leave outside. So then of course, I'd have to build an igloo to love in through the winter. *He grins* I have it on good authority that igloos are supposedly quite comfortable. See if I can get all my family to live in the igloo with me. *He rubs his lips as he chuckles before he shakes his head quickly* In all seriousness *he clears his throat* I'll just probably hold on to wife and son with the strength I still have left...and not let go, ever again. *He smiles and then reaches into his pocket* I also have to give this back. *He takes out the lipstick tube he hadn't ever shown anyone before.* Lyndsi gave it to me, the last time we saw each other. I think about it sometimes, of doing something so smooth when I see her again...*he chuckles and looks down for a moment* I was never smooth! *Shakes his head* I was just honest, am honest I suppose, and I would honestly just...throw myself at her and hope she'll still want me.

  
 **Eliza:** Not possible. *Her smile flicks,* Least not with me -- if I haven't run from Al and Dev by now? -- and you know! Frankly, Hols too, it's why they're perfectly matched-- all of them together? And actually, Olivier and Hans too. *Shrugging a shoulder,* So nope. Not possible. I think we put all of you in a room and it -may- implode from the egos, and I'll be a poor innocent casualty in the corner trying to pop all your ego balloons with Nadia. *That was a fun image frankly: colorful.* I see confetti, and...strawberries and sunglasses in gag gift boxes. *Oh Eliza, honey stop talking, he wants to talk--you can see it. So she shushes, blushing a bit and finding herself giggling again.* Lyndsi and I are going to have to drag you and Al away from the forest, aren't we? I'd say Hols too but, she'll join him. You'll love her, by the way, I don't even know her that well and I know that. She's...sassy, Spanish, fuck-your-opinion save-the-world type. *Eliza wished she knew her better, honestly.

  
This reminiscence was necessary though, after the week of forgetting, intentionally and with the ease of misplacing keys. Listening, when he says "seriously though-" her face immediately softens with her own sincerity. Eyes going wider and wider, she has to clap a hand to her mouth and thanks...someone (whether or not she believed in god anymore was a question for another time) that she didn't immediately tear up easily anymore. It was just..that was just--he was literally carrying a token of her around with him always! The gold tube was rusted and looked burnt on one side, but it shone yet. Especially around her initials. Lowering her hand to her chest and holding tightly, she nods fervently. Then, with a curl in her lips,* Huh. Well, let's think. She married you. And that's before you were a soldier with those sexy-scars, *she nods encouragingly at him even if she could understand why this was hard to believe,* returning triumphant from war. *Cocking an eyebrow, she says* Really, though. I think proposing on a Quidditch field was pretty smooth you know. Now...*with a slow grin,* am I allowed to ask why you were borrowing her lipstick?

  
 **Harper:** Good point. *He couldn't say for Al or Devin or Hols, not yet, but Olivier and Hans alone- he almost scoffed.* You should get a medal because you're far from a casualty even in an ego battle. *He chuckles again at all the imagery filling his heart and lungs with a lightness previously unattainable.* Drag, yes. Oh have fun with that. *He smirks briefly and then nods* I do want to meet her, especially after having to regrow an arm she tore off. Not sure that's the first impression she wanted me to have but *he shrugs, still smiling and laughs again at Eliza's logic and analogy. A soldier with sexy scars, dear lord.* Technically I proposed in the stands, but that's a detail. *He teases before he chuckles, mouth dropping open for a moment before he brings a hand up to his chest* Hey now, it's not like that. Obviously, my lips are rosy enough without artificial help-- *he smiles* I, being a simple man, couldn't keep my hands off and I was always rubbing away her lipstick and complaining about her having to leave. *He shrugged with a guilty smile before he continued* So she had a ministry event to attend, kissed me a final time, reapplied her lipstick and put it in my pocket so she'd be with me always.

  
 **Eliza:** I wouldn't say no to a medal. *Lightly, with a tweak to her lips as she considers the pair of them--more boys to add to her list, she thinks, hand on her throat. Now she understands why Hans had done what he had...did that mean she forgave him? God... she'd ask Harper, but he was reminiscing in such a manner he had a soft smile she couldn't remember seeing before. Precious like the last hint of the sweet soprano's high G offered at the height of a ballad, tugging heart strings as if they were a guitar and she couldn't interrupt. Mrs. Brackner had that look when she asked her to call her Lyndsi too--but it was odd to try and reconcile this with the woman she was familiar with. It wasn't just Harper who had been changed with the constant longing. Still...Eliza had to believe she could come back: it was a sign of their epic love alone how parallel they seemed to be, wasn't it? Yes it was. Eliza said so. Brushing her hair back, she asks as lightly as before, smile easy,* So...she gave you it as a gag gift. *Her eyebrow pops.* As you were being -- well actually it sounds like you were both being insatiable, how typical. *Her lips flick up though as she adds,* And she is. I think that's what's most inspiring you know...you two genuinely do have an epic love.

  
 **Harper:** *He laughed, not having thought about the tube of lipstick that way but it did make sense. He nodded, agreeing with the comment for it had been so especially true at that time (he did remember what his next comment ended up being after all).* I don't know about epic but it is...true. And all-consuming. In the end isn't that what you want love to be? *He shrugged, knowing that he was getting sappy (actually that ship had sailed and speaking of ships-)* That's why you ship us right? *He laughed again, remembering their talk about the term he hadn't heard of before that day.*

  
 **Eliza:** *Beaming as he uses the term properly, she nods, her free hand rubbing over her heart. Diamond bracelet catching on the zipper, she pulls back to set it free while speaking.* One of the reasons, definitely. I mean more so now -- you know how you start reading a book and there's a dating couple and you think you're supposed to like them so you do, only turns out as it goes the story's really about the one that got away and the other guy's sort of a jerk and you ship for the girl to leave him blah blah? Moreee I hear, the more I'm shipping you two because of love, less because how much I know Al misses you guys. I mean. My mom on the other hand. I found, my Dad. And do I want them to finally get the chance to be together? Yes, of course! *Her voice is bright for a second with the want, tucking a hair back.*

  
Thing is I'm not sure...I don't know if that's what's best for them and they have to decide that for themselves, not because of me. *Voice softening,* But everything you say, everything I know about Lyndsi... honestly, Harper. Crazy, epic--you're right, not the right word. I like true. *She shakes her hair out again and cups her hands together, adding wonderously.* That kind of love never dies.   
*It was true to her, and for a moment she can't help but wonder about Rory. Under her breath,* God, Rory. My lion... *Her protector -- and he only man she'd never felt the need to save, because he was already so secure.* He's so confidant-- enough to wear salmon and drink cosmos with me, even if he prefers a beer...and he loves that I'd drink that with him too.

  
*Rubbing at her cheeks she shakes her head and adds quieter,* I hope he's...I don't know. I just...Rory is...he's one of the good ones. I hope that doesn't change. Because I couldn't stand that. *Her gaze raises and she says softer,* You'd do anything for Lyndsi, wouldn't you? But at the end of the day you're thinking how best to get her to live with you in an igloo. That. That's what I want love to be.

  
 **Harper:** *His eyebrows narrowed closer together in confusion as she continues with her analogy and he was about to ask exactly who the other-jerk-guy was supposed to be in this scenario before realizing it wasn't that literal. So he nods, understanding...ish. It was one thing to approve of something because you knew it was supposed to happen rather than seeing the proof of it yourself.*

  
I never met Claude...I do know your mother was crazy about him. And not the good kind of crazy either *he laughs* like actually, crazy. Insane. *his lips twitch* I don't know, a lot can change over the years but then again...a lot doesn't. *He shrugs again, gaining a soft smile on his lips to her hear talk of her boyfriend, chuckling at the lion descriptor. He also nods at her wishing he'd remain good, that he could definitely understand.* I agree...and I can understand why that...safety is so appealing right now but never discount passion. Pure, raw, passion added to the mix that's...*he nods, swallowing a lump* that's it, that's just it.

  
 **Eliza:** *With a high, almost in-disbelief laugh caught in her throat,* Oh do tell. Please. Mum tries to be so perfect around me and frankly, I think I started respecting her more when I realized the act...cause it was my act too. *A flutter takes her heart, her tongue flits against the back of her lips and she adds playfully,* We're born starlets.

  
*He had a point though. Her mother had her opportunity for safety...she chose runaway-bandmember French poet instead. And since they were in the same room again...was it Eliza's wishful thinking that everything was so charged?* Mum threw her purse at him. And he caught it and said at least it wasn't another chair. *She giggles.* If that's how passionate they are when they're angry... *Sucking her bottom lip and chewing on it as if it's candy, her eyes glaze over.* Only two people in the world have ever made me that angry really...Al, which would be like incest bleach...and...

  
*Trailing over the words, her gaze was distant on the window as she bites down. Hans, she'd been about to say. He who could not get through a conversation where she stabs his ego with a silver knife without mentioning she was prettier than the Mona Lisa, that she's 'full of light', or that he approves of her perfume (actually, he did so and called her independent and better than Hepburn and Marilyn too). Dancing with him had made her dizzy; even two days ago, when he leaned to kiss her forehead...The back of a curled palm ghosts across the skin there and she's startled she doesn't see the mark he'd burned in. For a moment, she had thought he'd meant to kiss her lips.

  
Eliza knew she wouldn't have stopped him. So she was...relieved he decided for them.

  
Stomach doing all kinds of weird schereazade dance steps, she pops her bottom lip free and yanks herself back forcibly. Her bright smile still in place, she drops her hand back to her lap and asks instead,* Lyndsi was a wild child, then? They both were..her and my Mum...little troublemakers. But then there you were blowing up kitchens. I suppose I'm only confused as to how a coffeehouse poet caught her up so much. 'Stead of the badboy.  
 **Harper:** *Even with his sad smile he nods, understanding that not from holding an act himself (though he did) but rather from knowing Mary and from knowing Lyndsi and the ice queen act that she could put on and well probably the one she'd been wearing for all this time if what Eliza spoke was true and she h as spell it, but. *He laughs still, shaking his head, watching her talk about who had made her so angry, unsurprised that Alcott was one of them. Brackners were infuriating people as a rule. He tilted his head as she seemed to drift off in her own thoughts for a bit and he knew instinctively that she didn't mean her boyfriend. He didn't snap her away only kept quiet while she drifted and was smiling as she came back, mmhing and nodding.* We weren't all very well-behaved, no. *He smirks and shakes his head, shrugging.* Hey, it's always the quiet ones, yeah? I was never a bad boy but...*he tilted his head* I'm pretty badass, if I do say so myself. Just a little. *He pinches his fingers together.* A tad.

  
 **Harper:** You laugh, *and he was laughing too* but you haven't had a size 8 pewter cauldron collide with your stomach. You would think I deserved it! I didn't. Maybe a whack over my head or a solid kick in the shin but not a cauldron. *He shook his head with chuckles before he nods at her statement too.* You are. You're pretty badass yourself, so really, we make a good team. *He smiles and bumps her shoulder with a smile on his lips.*

{*}

**Kevan:** *Always a fan of numbers (of strict facts, quantifiable and certain), only his wife realized the depth of his anger when he started listing them under his breath. One hour and fourteen minutes it had taken before he was notified (properly) of the identity of their arrested. Another hour and five before he had authority to peek in and certify for himself -- and yes, he was right, he was right with what he thought he noticed in thirty seconds. The boy sitting in a cell -- the twenty-one year old, with his steady stream of Spanish jokes and comments on the English's inability to dance -- he knew him.

He gave himself two days to check with the proper channels, to put things together, sitting in his study with a notebook, quill and calling - owling, writing down everything until he thought he has as much of an image of Julio's life as he was going to get now. And--perhaps it had been a few days to calm down. He couldn't let them know. Gustav wasn't supposed to know about him, after all. He'd taken care of everything, as he always did, though his brother's indiscretions had disgusted him. It was ingrained deep, scraped into his bones by their mother with her sharp-little-goose-quill: family comes first, family above all. Somehow, his brother seemed not to have gotten that message after all. But Kevan couldn't forget. So it was courtesy and respect that left him waiting -- that, and his immediate family was in a crisis after the unexpected passing of Eliza. They'd gone to the wake, of course. Sam had barely spoken or come out of his room.

His son was hurting - but that he didn't know how to fix. This on the other hand...this, now that they weren't at a funeral, this was going to get fixed right goddamn now. His brother didn't get to dodge him forever. Especially not after he'd been patient -- especially not after he'd goddamn taken care of this once before. So he was waiting in Gustav's study when his brother came in, and he flicked his wrist to shut the door behind him, words flat and sharp like knives,* What the fuck did you do, to your son?

 **Gustav:** *The ward had alerted him that there was someone else in his home, though if the wards were still intact, it had to be someone allowed to pass through, his family or the handful people he trusted. Less than a handful, to tell the truth, and the two groups didn't exactly coincide.

Reaching his study, he was nevertheless surprised to see his older brother there. He was looking as immaculate as ever in his well-tailored suit, and a hard look that never seemed to leave Kevan's face.*

It's good to see you too, Kevan. *He walked to his desk, dropped the files in his hand into a drawer, slipping his hands into his pockets.* But I have absolutely no idea what you're referring to.

 **Kevan:** *His brother was impassive on the surface as ever - but it was different to him now. He could see the tension in his jaw, and it's strangely calming to him, because it means there's some human under there that knows, was wary, was cautious. Good, Kevan thought (though how sick was it that he wanted his brother to be afraid of him?), because _at least_ there was that. There's only so much he could do, and one look at his brother and for the first (second) time in his life he had the thought: it might not be enough.* No?

*He hisses, a breath or two quietly passing his lips as he moves to take a step towards him, eyes narrow.* You know what would be nice? If, after everything, you didn't still think you were so impressive, that that bullshit would fly with me. *He took another step.* I knew then. I knew twenty-one years ago, what you'd done to his mother, and it frankly? Made me want to vomit, but as you're my brother, I didn't say, *his hand comes up, finger pointing,* one damn word. Not even when I learned she was pregnant -- no, I paid her, as if that could ever make up for it, and I tried to give that boy as much of a life as I could, and now, he's sitting in a jail cell, because I never turned you in? No. *He stops walking, eyes hard, flinty and locked on Gustav's.* No, you're going to tell me everything, and you're going to start from the beginning. Now. Or else I'm calling Shane Stuart right now and telling him that Julio Cortez is your son, which can only mean! *His shoulders shrug up, and down. Still he hasn't blinked, and he was phrasing it this way purposefully,* You're involved. With the Death Eaters resurgence. I wager more than that, actually, I wager you're fucking near the top.

 **Gustav:** *He drew himself up, standing straighter, looking his brother in the eye without letting himself flicker once. Kevan, always so precise, so intelligent. Thinking it through, Gustav shouldn't be so surprised that Kevan uncovered it so quickly. Gustav hadn't known for 17 years, and Kevan had known all along.*

21 years ago, now you're going to have to be more specific on who it was that I apparently knocked up. *He didn't flinch at the threat though it did anger him but not beyond reason. He was better than that, more calculated than that, and so he laughed.* I'm involved? Because a boy whom I've never met before got himself arrested? Do you really hate me that much? Think that low of me? Wait *he holds his finger up* Of course you do.

 **Kevan:** Hate you? *That leaves him breathless in surprise, though God knew if this was true: he should. Kevan spun from his brother for a second, looking out the window at the darkening sky, and then reaches for his forgotten, watered-down black coffee like it could do something or his emotional distress, other than turn his stomach upside down with nausea (oh good, it fit right in then).

When he looks back, his eyes narrow and he wonders how many times he can feel he's looking at his brother for the first time.* Gustav, if I had ever hated you, I wouldn't have bothered. Then or now. I wouldn't be here now. I'd have told Shane everything I found out the moment I did - you're making me a silent accomplice to god knows what, like you've done your entire life, but I'm here, aren't I? *He gestures at his own breast pocket, exhaling hard.* You're my brother. *He sets the coffee cup down, taking another step,* And that's come first, that's always come first, and apparently it's come first at the expense of a lot more, than Miss Noel's distress -- that's the first time I saw it, you know. What you were becoming. That night, when you scared her, it scared me. How could that be you? How could my little brother, mistreat someone that badly? Tell me, what should I have done? What -could- I have done?

*He takes a step forward again, a terrible knowing in his eyes, and he shakes his head,* Yes, involved. Because, I did my research. Julio Cortez, he had a good life, right up until three years ago, and this is fucking Budapest all over again, isn't it?

 **Gustav:** *His jaw clenched, anger rising as he stared in disbelief at his brother, almost scoffing outright except he didn't, because he was better than that. Better than laughing directly at his brother's lies, the same lies that he was now spewing at his son, or rather, was failing to spew at them. That's why Sam had been so desperate for a mentor, and Gustav had come in when the boy had so desperately needed it. Kevan was being an unfit father the same way he had been and always would be an unfit brother.*

You have no idea, Kevan. Absolutely no idea what you're talking about. *He raises his eyebrow* So because apparently family comes first, I'll say it to you right now: walk away. And stop caring, if it's such a burden, just *he smirks* look away.

 **Kevan:** *His eyebrows snap together in the middle of his forehead.* -God,- brother... *There's a terrible knowing in his eyes, and he shakes his head from back to forth, chin falling a bit as he thinks: what did our mother do to you? But that was too forgiving, and it seemed he'd apologized on his brother's behalf enough (too much).

So what he says is,* You did it, didn't you? *He exhales, wondering why he's not more horrified than he is simply certain. His voice bends, almost soft,* Set that wolf on my wife's nephew. Took Nadia Tudor. Held her in a cell - god, she nearly died, Gustav! She's fifteen! *He hisses, voice failing on that; they both were fifteen. Why, what the fuck justified any of this? Yet still his eyes narrow, a terribly miserable smile freezing in place over a painful-looking grimace.* I never hated you, Gustav. I'm terrified of you, brother. Is that what you wanted?

 **Gustav:** *With Kevan's last words, he snapped. It wasn't the (entirely true) accusations that set him off, it was the last question. His fury stemmed from disbelief and then continued to feed off years and layers of anger that festered and grown in the dark all this time.* What I wanted, was your respect! *He took a step forward* I was never good enough for you, I was never good enough for this family, so don't give me that bullshit about family first.

*He shook his head, teeth gritting, his hands curling and uncurling into fists at his side until he calmed again. Then he held his hands together in front of his lap with a smirk.* Too late for that, too many years too late. I don't need your approval, I take, what I want and get rid of what I don't.

*He pointed to his door* Get. out.

 **Kevan:** Respect?! *He doesn't smile, he can't smile, but he was glad -- glad to finally, finally hear the fucking truth: to know he was right as he'd known when he walked in, as he'd known when he'd seen Julio, as he'd known that summer, and in Budapest, and when he met Julio's mother and all those bloody years ago when he saw the Brackners he'd never liked and suddenly had been forced to have too much respect for -- escort Miss Noel out the door. He'd known, but he hadn't wanted to know. Now that he asked he couldn't take it back. He shakes a second, feeling like his brother punched him with that accusation, and he snaps his head from side to side, stepping closer too,* Tell me what part of this, you think is worth respecting? Which!? Beating fifteen year olds? Orchestrating werewolf attacks? Raping women barely old enough to be women at all? What part of any of it am I supposed to just fall over at and realize I was wrong all along? Because all I see is more and more reason that I was fucking right, not to respect you.

 **Gustav:** *He laughs, a sound so bitter, so harsh, he imagined it had the edge of a blunt serrated knife, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew. The image was vivid, after having done it so recently. One small knife, thrown at the lap of a young man. Cut yourself out, Gustav had told him, and I'll let you go free. The sound of the knife against flesh, that's what his laughter sounded to him in that moment.*

I don't care. Are you done?

 **Kevan:** You don't -- oh, that's great, that's -- you've always been such a terrible liar, you know that? *It put a shiver up his spine; that laugh. He'd never heard a colder sound. It reminds him neither of them could stand having clowns at their birthdays when they were little -- how he'd pretended it was because it wasn't "classy" enough, not refined enough (and honestly: men in big white make-up and puffy-red noses? what was elegant about that?). Only he'd never told their mother he'd been frightened of them either; that was less allowed than clowns (and the reason he'd insisted on unmasking one on the Montmarte when he and Ingrid were on their honeymoon, but he digressed).* No.

*He snaps, his hand curling into a fist, even with his eyes wide and spread across his face: he steps forward, forward, and then grabs his brother's left arm, muttering a spell to unveil, unsnapping the cufflink himself, gripping his wrist hard enough frankly, he was in danger of breaking it. His eyes stayed narrow and finally breaks gaze with his brother to look at the arm.* Where are they? *His question was a hiss.*

 **Gustav:** *His eyes widened only in the surprise because the pain, the pain was a constant part of his life, he enjoyed it, reveled in it. His wrist would suffer but his brother's chin, that would hurt a little more. His right fist collided with Kevan's jaw to shake him off.* Get the - fuck - out of my house!

 **Kevan:** *Honestly? He'd expected his brother to hit him before (and maybe, maybe he thought he deserved he little, because he, he could have grabbed both hands, certainly but -- ), but he hadn't expected the strength behind it. Jaw unpopped. Room spun. But his chin stays straight, his lips curling in anger and shock and even as he releases his brother's wrist -- no need anymore, he'd seen it already, that black, twisted mark-- his hand shoves up under his neck instead. And squeezes.* Feel better? Great.

*With a step, he has his brother against the side of his file-cabinet and he shakes his head.* Just - stop. Stop. *He hisses it.* I don't give a fuck, how many you have under your command, little brother, you don't tell me that. How, how could you do this? Because see, see I actually do care. I do give a fuck. About you not going to prison, about getting my nephew out of it, about ensuring you don't hurt another fifteen year old or go near another woman - yes. I do, I care.

*All at once, he lets him go, pulling back to rub the blood off his lip and then straightens his collar.* What the fuck possessed you, Gustav? Because you tell me now and for godssakes, I can fix it - let me do that. Let me make it go away again. Let me do that, and let me fix this, here, *he gestured between them hopelessly, face breaking,* just let me do that. Because otherwise? *He points at the door himself, never looking from Gustav's wild-eyes. His little brother.* I go out that door?! I'm never coming back. I'm done. With you. And all of it.

 **Gustav:** *Teeth gritted, he was surprised by how strong the grip was for a man who's entire physical exertion involved picking a glass of alcohol up. The audacity, Kevan just grabbing him and tossing him into a cabinet- he was a leader, a fucking leader, he had the power, him! Not his brother, not anybody else! He breathed out heavily and shook him off, stepping away from Kevan and rubbing at his throat. He didn't want to listen to any more of it, he wanted Kevan out, now and forever. He fixed his shirt, the cufflink, and his collar before raising his chin again, eyes darkened from a dull blue to a near black and he just repeated the same thing he had said before.* Then go. Get out. Get out!

 **Kevan:** *It was funny -- (in that it swallows whole the tiny part of his heart he didn't realize his brother still had, rips the shriveled thing as it struggled to beat through his chest and tosses it, bloody and broken and smashed, in the snow -- hilarious), he didn't until that moment realize how lost Gustav already was. He should have. All he'd just accused him of to nothing but twisted smirks and bitter laughs -- not one denial, and after all he'd done -- his telling him to get out now wasn't a surprise, and really: his brother had been right about one thing. It was too late. Much, much too late to save him. God forgive him, Kevan thinks, (and God forgive me too) and he jerks his head in half a nod.* Don't, expect me to protect you anymore - not one more fucking minute. I won't.

*And it was funny in that same was as before because, he actually didn't know if he had it in him to go to Shane and tell him all of it. Especially when there was no proof, and all he did was implicate himself too. Except for the one thing, he's reminded with his hand on the door and he spins back, his hand coming up.* But Julio? I got him away from you once, and I will do it again. I won't let your son become the monster you are, I won't. have it, Gustav.

*And he said his first name now as coldly as his brother laughed; face breaking only an instant as he thinks, he truly had no intention of seeing him again. And because his brother was right, he never had been good enough for him - he wasn't sure if it was spite or lingering guilt, or some remnant of it that makes him say,* You were my brother, once. I didn't hate you -- I loved you.

*He swallows tightly.* But now? Now, all you've done, all you're going to Hell for with such a twisted, proud smirk on your face? Now you're nothing. Noth. _ing._

*The doorframe shook with his leaving.*

{*}

**Rachelle:** *Anxiety was a curious feeling. She felt constantly surrounded by it now, since she had been thrown into the cell that night three weeks ago. Being locked inside a house, not being able to even go into the woods for a run made her stir-crazy. Tonight she felt the worst of all, she was nervous and jittery but it escaped her why it was, so she headed for the kitchens.

Rachelle loved to cook. One of the first things she did as Rachelle, after being bitten, was learn how to cook. Jacqueline had grown up with servants, meals were always served at Beauxbatons, but Rachelle didn't want anyone to do anything for her so she learned. Now, years later, she was pretty damn good if she said so herself. As a Frenchwoman, it wasn't a surprise that she preferred and excelled at desserts and pastries though she did make a bouillabaisse fit for gods.

With her hair in a bun kept up with a pair of styling chopsticks and the most comfortable pair of jeans and shirt she owned, she had headed down to the kitchen and with the cook's permission (irking woman honestly but Rachelle knew how to play nice and she'd already proven herself by baking the woman a loaf of French bread that had managed to earn a smile from the cook) began to work her magic: chocolate soufflés.

She melted the chocolate by placing it in a pot above boiling water, separated egg whites from yolk before whisking the yolk and cream in a bowl and then whisked the chocolate in after, adding flour and mixing it in as well, pinch by pinch instead of all at once. She was entranced by her own work, she always was when it came to cooking. Maybe even as much as when she was when changed at the very will of her mind.

Now folding the whites into the chocolate mixture, and then that new combination into the remaining whites perfectly, when done, Rachelle poured it all into the porcelain white ramekins. She had worried that they might not have any, but no, it seemed the Brackner manor came as well equipped as its men. Licking her finger as a bit ran down the side of the bowl, she was finishing her pouring when she heard a pair of heels walk towards the kitchen and already closed by. An attestation to how focused she was, Rachelle hadn't heard Lyndsea until she was almost already there.* Do you like soufflés?

 **Lyndsea** : *Two weeks. Almost to the day, (it would be two weeks in the morning), but it had been two weeks since Rachelle had told her it would be exactly that until she could expect Hans knocking on her door. Well, actually Lyndsi had expected Hans to knock the door _down_ but evidently, he was more of "a gentleman" than that. It was something even Alcott attested to. She didn't know how to feel about that. Let alone the fact that he looked less uncomfortable around the subject of the man every day. A man that had killed like it was nothing, had snapped his neck, had hurt him -- but now Alcott only shrugged that off. 

She knew why. The tantrums that might have ruled his childhood were gone, but her son was angry. Fire-hot and bone-deep anger, the kind that flared cold and in his case, had too literal a beast to surrender to. Everything about being a wolf was new to her, but in these last two weeks...

Was it insane that Lyndsi was happy of these emotions? It wasn't that she _enjoyed_ the hurt and anger. Yet, feeling? Complex emotions with no clear answer that fanned fire in her stomach and made her at last feel like she was doing something worth while? That she was glad of. Why be afraid of death? Be afraid of living, that was something that had been a mantra she never wanted to admit was a comfort to her -- because it was so sad, so pathetic, so _small_ to think. She wouldn't be that person anymore, the eternally drowning widow. 

No, what was more odd to her -- was that half the time she almost forgot that technically speaking Rachelle was their prisoner, on house arrest. It was about thirty seconds before she asked -- and thank heavens it was before, not after, thank heavens her mother and father had inscribed such niceties -- if the woman wanted to come shopping with her that she remembered. Instead, she asked if there was anything out of the catalog Rachelle wanted. 

She wouldn't let her go. That remained as true now as it had at the start. What also remained true was the fact that when Hans showed up - as none of the Brackners doubted (and it made her heart ache whenever she thought Rachelle might be) he would - well, she wasn't exactly going to put up much of a fight, was she? Petite skinny society lady? (At least, that's what it would look like to the Ministry, and Max laughed every time she said something on the matter pointing out it was obvious none of them knew her at all). 

Two weeks. That was how long she had to try and convince Rachelle to help her son. Whatever she had to do to get this potion for him -- she was the one who would be burdened with it, not Alcott. She would not have him join any murderous pack, would not have him listen to Hans (if she could have her way, she wouldn't have Rachelle listen to Hans either). If there must be stains on the soul to achieve his peace, Alcott was hurt enough.  

He was with Devin at the moment (and that proved her point, though she had not told either of them she knew what they were doing with those crossbows); and...well she'd been on her way to ask their chef if they had any of those "apple tarts" left. Oh, come on, she could enjoy something that wasn't _as_ proper for a _snack_...Lyndsi used to _made_ of doing that. Then she smelled something else that put all thoughts of apples from her mind. 

Chocolate. Liquid, freshly melted it looked like -- there had to be strawberries in here somewhere, she thinks as she peeks around the corner. Grinning,* Yes. ...This, looks delicious. 

 **Rachelle** : *A soft smile crept on her face, nodding along as she thought yes it very well did. Rachelle was rarely modest, very rarely, and about her desserts absolutely never. One of the things she could still do right, one of the things she was proud of still. Everything else seemed in a state of constant chaos that she could not name nor recognize. The ground might tremble and break beneath their heels but she would keep her balance as long as she could because there was no way she was going to let these soufflés cave in on themselves.* They'll taste even more so. *She finished pouring the mixture into the six containers. This was simple Rachelle math: one for her, three for each of the Brackners, one for cook and one for Jimmy. Or well she'd probably have to eat the Brackner male ones as they were not present and soufflés had to be served and eaten immediately. Their loss.

She placed the ramekins on a baking sheet and balanced them on one hand while she walked to the oven that had been preheating. Sliding them in delicately, she closed the door with her foot and then picked up the whisk and started licking the mixture as she turned to Lyndsea.* I've got some melted chocolate leftover- ah, which you've already noticed. *She winks.*

 **Lyndsi:** My mouth's already imagining. *She chuckles to herself, even as her brows furrow and she thinks: she'd been living only with Brackner men far too long, clearly. It was true though, she thinks as she alights upon the strawberry basket, these men had made up more than half her life and at least double that in her vocabulary. In the process of looking for a spoon, Lyndsi promptly decides that she couldn't wait that long and dipped the strawberry directly. Caught a second later chocolate-handed, the pink berry already between her lips, she smirks around it and nods.* ...Guilty. It's a Brackner kink, I think. *She licks the tip of her finger and then extends the basket. 

Half teasing,* Sharing strawberries is very serious business though with us, I hope you know. *Actually 'half' was generous. More like only a quarter teasing. Smiling more to herself as she reached for another berry she adds under her breath,* The day I finally had strawberries with my mother in law, Elena, *she points with the edge of the berry,* day I knew I was in. Not that I was ever good enough for her son of course, but. *She shrugs a shoulder as if to say 'what are you going to do?' and promptly eats that berry too. As she sits properly against the island, her heels tuck around each other, and she surveys Rachelle with an eyebrow cocked.* When did you learn to make soufflés? I tried...once. It was a disaster. An enjoyable disaster, delicious one really but still, that made time number four...five? Five, that this kitchen was destroyed...I think there was another reason Elena wasn't quite fond of me, really. Maybe. 

 **Rachelle:** *She smirks as well, eyebrow arching as the basket of strawberries is extended towards her. Sharing strawberries were that serious with this family? Rachelle had almost denied it on just that alone and she might have, two weeks ago. Now, well, she didn't find a reason to be that impertinent after all she did rather like the woman now. So she reaches for a strawberry, holding it by the point and dipping the wider end instead, chuckling as she shared the story about her mother-in-law.* Ah, more of a ritual then kink then. Well, both. 

*She took a generous bite, licking her lips after chewing it. Oh that really was good. Very good. She finished the rest of the strawberry and then hummed from the back of her throat before she broke out into a smile.* I taught myself. Trust me, you have to try more than once. By the time I finally got it right, my brothers' tongues had been wronged so many times they almost didn't try it. *Her smile stayed on her face even if it turned a bit sad. She missed them, maybe even Allison though her memory of the woman during the soufflés involved lacing her dessert with cyanide because it smelled of almonds. Rachelle kept that to herself though, she didn't think Lyndsea would find it as funny as she did and besides, Allison had clearly not died, poison didn't kill werewolves. Just slowed them down.*

Five times? What goes on in these kitchens? *She takes another strawberry and dips it in, appreciating every single and unique taste.*

 **Lyndsi:** *That made her chuckle, at least by now used to hearing the pack mates referred to as siblings. It was nice, she thought at the back of her mind. Lyndsi knew it wasn't the same thing, but in a way, hadn't she done exactly the same thing -- finding a family for herself when she'd lost the most important part of herself? The look that tugs across Rachelle's face -- fond remembrance, that nostalgia-based _yearn_ that was happy and sad and _wanting_ all at once -- was worn almost as often as her wedding ring. Brushing her thumb over it, she answers with the same smile,* Oh...not enough anymore. Not nearly, nearly enough.

*Tilting her head and brushing off her hands on a towel as she leaned back against the counter she said simply,* My late husband, he, *her finger pushes harder into the ring but her smile doesn't move,* used to do some of his experiments in here...at least until the third explosion, at which point my in-laws gave him another room. *She lifts her eyes from her ring now and looks back at Rachelle, an almost-almost teasing smirk on her face as she added,* I'll leave out what we were doing the other times. *She winks. As the woman had before. Licking her fingertip she looked at the sky curiously, words idle,* Oh...hey, looks like the sun's going down. I wonder if that means Al will come in... *She was used to that. Talking to herself aloud, in this big empty (no wonder she liked having guests though, honestly) house. 

 **Rachelle:** *Rachelle didn't think she had heard Lyndsea speak of her husband directly yet, well, apart from her mention during that night in the jail cell but Rachelle had been too vivid, too angry, (and admittedly too frightened) to remember many details. Lyndsea still wore her wedding ring like she had that night too, Rachelle didn't think the older woman ever took it off. That was either insanity of denial or the perseverance of love, and knowing Lyndsea even as briefly as she did, and hearing the Brackners talk about themselves and each other, it was most likely the latter. And she couldn't help it, her French heart swooned to hear her speak so happily and fondly of the man, of something that not even death or those that ate it could take away.* Oh please, I'm not your daughter, if you've got dirty details *she wiggles her eyebrows before giggling once and turning towards the window when Lyndsea did.

A pit of dread started growing in the bottom of her stomach, filling and filling as she kept staring with wide eyes outside. It had been two weeks, and this anxiety, this jittery nervousness, this was how it had felt like before, before...* Oh God. *It was a tiny, cracked, whisper as she turned away and looked at Lyndsea again as the sun kept setting, feeling her hands start to shake* What's the date today?

 **Lyndsea:** *Laughing, she concedes,* No, you're not -- just...prefer to be private about the details. Between him and I. *Then, because that was too painful (and yet at the same time it...wasn't, it was a breath of fresh air and relief to be able to mention Harper aloud and not feel like the room would instantly collapse from the grief), she adds,* I _am_ a proper Lady after all. 

*For the first time in years, she heard herself mention that as a joke, when actually...she hadn't put a toe out of line (Society wise, anyway) in almost...a decade. God, had it been that long? She swallows the ring up into her palm, thumb still caressing the band, digging the engagement stone into the pocket of her knuckle. It stunned her to silence enough that she almost missed what Rachelle asked. It was only almost because her body seemed to know not to skip it: something about her tone said to stand up, notice me, this _is important_. 

When she saw her shaking hands, she realized why in a clatter of her spoon as it drops to the marble countertop.* ...That's why he went to the forest. *And he still hadn't told her. Oh, her baby -- he still was protecting her, wasn't he? She knew, she had been reading everything she could on the subject and yet here Alcott was still not informing her when it _was_ precisely he was going into the forest to transform. Exhaling heated, she frowns, standing and trying to catch breath in her throat, and then looks at Rachelle warily,* ...I thought you--were taking the potion though? 

 **Rachelle:** *Alright, she had to remain calm, never mind the hairs on the back of her neck that were standing straight up in the air, hairs that would only grow into fur and turn white. Soon. And yet it was impossible to remain calm with her heart beating so loud it threatened to drown out every other sound in the room except maybe Lyndsea's own heartbeat not because of how loud it was, but because of how accurately aware she was becoming of it.* I-I- I haven't had wolfsbane in years! *Her bottom lip quivered violently as she struggled for breath for words* The silver potion, I took it a month ago, it's run out, mon Dieu-

*It was the fear, she told herself over and over again and she gripped the counter with her hands, her fingers leaving dents in the marble as it dug in and crushed. Giving in to the fear would only make it worse, she wouldn't fear it, she would embrace it. She had to, she had to and it was Hans' voice that instructed it. Never mind that she hadn't turned without the silver potion in so long, that she had been in control for so long and now she wasn't.

She gasped out, her eyes wide and yellow as she turned to look at Lyndsea again and she managed to rasp out in a half growl* Get out. I have to get to a room *she huffs, breathing heavily and forced her to move away from the counter* you lock it. *She kept Lyndsea's gaze, both hard and yet so unbelievably weak and fragile at the same time. She'd never gone through a full moon alone!* You barricade it, you block it, you get out of here- aih! *As she took another step away from the woman her leg had snapped in two, sending her crashing to the floor, her hair falling out of the bun she had kept it in and spilling over her shoulders. There were only a few spare traces of sunlight left coming through the window and as the moon loomed closer, the more she felt her control slipping right through her fingers.

She lifted her upper body from the floor and put the weight on her other foot, determined to get to the cellar which was closest through pants and what she soon realized, sobs.* Stay away from me! Don't touch me! *As her mouth opened to shout at Lyndsea to stay back and get away, her teeth started elongating into fangs. Such a trick, it had been such a trick only a month ago. She could do that on command, she had scared that couple in the pub with the trick and how much that had made her happy. It didn't now, as the blonde woman she was so close to calling friend despite everything looked on in horror. Rachelle wrenched herself up with a pained screamed, barreled into a corner of the wall, knocking the arrangements of pots and pans hung from a ceiling rack to the counter and floor, as nails grew longer, thicker, and sharper.

Crack, snap, crunch as bones she had broken over and over again now betrayed her, disallowing her to anticipate which one would break first and next, and into how many pieces. Hot tears now left her eyes in gushes, every drop a waterfall holding the pain and fear she was suddenly full off, as if spilling them would make room for the anger that would soon come, the rage, the instinct, the need. Gasp in, gasp out as she thrashed against her will, her throat raw with the screams and the growls. Curling her hands into fists caused her claws to dig into her flash and as she beat her hands against the floor and then her head, blood splattered. The metallic smell filled her nostrils, making her shake again, her vision blurring around the edges with red though nothing, nothing at all made sense anymore.*

 **Lyndsi** : *Their poor kitchen. Honestly. That was her first thought, as she grabbed at her chest, as rational thought proved impossible as ever. Screams, shouts -- even breath, flew away from her as equal impossibilities, leaving her just with the simple fact that she was mourning the inevitable remodel for a house that she's let stand mostly untouched for the memorial. It still wasn't even 'her' kitchen, but theirs, and she knew she didn't just mean her son and brother in law. (And yet joy, joy too, because hadn't she just said not enough happened in this kitchen anymore?) 

The next thought was one of pain. Pain, as if it was a living thing in the room with her, locking itself in her head with such deep agony. Sympathetic horror for the woman in front of her who exhales in such sobs and moans Lyndsi thinks they're as literal as the claws that were ripping open her own flesh. 

Spinning backwards at the shout to get out, she's scrambling and nearly trips -- grabbing at the counter to steady herself, grasping around the edges of it white-knuckled. Her eyes lay on a set of her silver knives and she feels sick to her stomach: no, oh holy, no she was not going to be forced to use those. Even if with no wolfsbane in years -- Rachelle'd have no control. And then she realizes: she'd have no control (a flinch grasps Lyndsi's spine and shakes it like a toddler with a new toy), and yet Rachelle was gasping at her to leave -- growling it. Leave, an instinctive urge from the woman who had meant to kidnap, to ravage, to kill -- the shout was telling her to leave to protect her. Protect, her, the woman who was technically keeping her prisoner now. Lyndsi grits his teeth, feeling a tear pearl in the corner of her eye. There was pain for the realization in terror -- in guilt, in anger, that this was what her son was going through right now too. 

That makes her spin around, shaking her head and tucking her hair back behind her ears as it fell and blurred vision already wet and heavy.* No -- Rachelle there has to be -- there has to be something...

*The toddler shakes it's new doll again and Lyndsi feels her knees lock in place to keep herself upright. Scraping tears from her eyes she spins around in startled shock as the door rips open, clean off it's hinges to fall sideways against the island. Oh, dear.* Al -- 

 **Alcott:** Get out of here, Ma! *His face was contorted, his eyes were amber, but he was otherwise...fine. Lyndsi realizes that with shock, it wasn't physical pain her son was in -- his eyes were wide with fear for her sake more than anything, his teeth -- his fangs, were grit in resolve grim, not destructive. He'd run at the speed that potion let him when Devin had asked (offhand!) if Hols was going to be helping Rachelle too -- and made him realize, if the silver potion had run out...

He told his friend to go, hadn't even looked back -- but he suspects Devin didn't listen. He suspects that Devin was waiting in the same little clearing that he and Hols had spent every month that summer to tell her what had happened when she showed. It was a slow latent thought, when his body had nearly surrendered immediately to the beastly instinct from fear as he understood: his mother was in that house. His uncle Max was on call, thank God, as was Zoe - but cook, Jimmy, Lauren, his mother -- *his mother*, they were in there...

Was this Rachelle's plan? He wondered as he sprints through leaves and branches leaving red scrapes thin in their wake on his body. Was she hoping that there would be no way to contain her when she transformed, and planning on attacking whomever got in their way? It was an hot thought, like coal that plants itself in the burrows of a pit just waiting to spark up again. Waiting for confirmation, Al realizes as he hisses with the urge - the need to transform snake up his spine. It was wondered, not believed: Rachelle had been almost...nice, the last week, pleasant (admittedly, he didn't spend any time that he could help in his own house right now). Maybe she was hoping the pack would find her on the full moon.

That wasn't going to happen, he knew, anymore than he would let her attack someone to get out. All summer he and Devin had read up together, gone over every inch of the manor to insure there was no way to track a wolf's scent back to it. There were too many risks, he'd told Devin, too many ways he could be found out. Any wolf here would be protected. It was the only thing he did to add to the remodel of the house .He wouldn't let them track his house, even back in those blissful days that he didn't know who "they" were tracking them, those secretive connections Roswell had were. That blissful days that Rory had helped lay in the wards...that Eliza had spent half the time in the pool and --

No, he couldn't think about Eliza. The ire would spark his coal to flames, and he needed to focus. The glass door he pulled open almost shattered (Ma wouldn't thank him for that); the wooden one he did not save in time. The need to turn was starting to become painful, he thinks, his body reacting in spite of himself when under the moonbeams -- in spite of that silver potion now rearing along his veins. The pain was negligible. Nothing new there. What was new, was what he heard -- the thunderous heartbeats from both women, the gasp to leave and get out, the response from his mother that there had to be something she could do. Warmth floods him with her understanding, unlike the ache in his flesh, warmth that wasn't flames, wasn't painful. Rachelle was telling her to protect herself too, he realized (and that makes more sense now, though he doesn't know why it should). She wasn't attacking anyone, and he's glad, but Al had a mouth full of dynamite tonight.*

Just get out, Ma(!), now, c'mon please -- *He shouts it, lifting his protesting mother in his arms with absurd ease and pulling her back through the broken door. Wild-eyed as he holds on to her shaking limbs with his sturdy, enflamed ones, he brings his hands up to her cheeks in the hallway. He held fast, the beast in his chest raging and railing and screaming to turn - to hurt - to bite, but it was his mother he held. His mother, who he realized had every equal urge to fight that was furiously rising in his lungs mirrored in her hard gaze. There was fear there (he could hear it in her heartbeat, like her fear was crashing cymbal and one of those monkey things that irritatingly smashed and smashed away.) It bothered her too, he thinks shocked, and he nods fast at her. Brushing his thumbs, so hot he thought he was surprised he didn't draw in ash on her cheeks. There was relief, firm in his gasp,* I'm okay. Honest, I am. I'll take care of her too, but I need you to get out of here. I need you to run, get to the fireplace, go to Gramps -- just --

 **Lyndsi:** Al... *The strength in his grasp was forcibly keeping her limbs from shaking, but he couldn't stop her whimper of breath. Her feet weren't on the ground. He had her elbows in a state that punched into her chest, her ankles were shaking, but he had her gaze locked to his. There was more strength there, she thought, more resolve in that terrifyingly wide-yellow gaze, than she'd seen in her son for years. Heart feeling like it would burst from her chest, she grabs for his own neck and presses a hard kiss to his forehead. It works, she thinks in amusement, as he clutches her harder first - and then lets her go, nose wrinkling as if he would growl "Ma..." if he wasn't certain it would be a low-throated snarl more than actual words. 

He had this though, she knew. Though she couldn't unlock fear from her heart, it was tangled up with pride so fierce she was humbled in an instant as he pulls back, mutters at her again to _Go_. Pride that burned so hot, she can't bring herself to listen until he's spun around and burst through the door towards Rachelle -- turning in the air in one, horrifically loud crack of bones. Lyndsi shakes, her blond hair shining in the moonlight as it spirals free over her back. He lands on four paws in black fur, but the look back he gives her is one heartbreakingly human - more than that, so clearly an exasperated "Ma!" written in those yellow eyes she finds herself answering aloud.* Be -careful-, Al. *As if she could give him that instruction. She was mothering a werewolf oh Lord - but she listens, and springs herself to hurl down the hall, forgoing the stilettos and pressing her ring-adorned hand over her heart to find something to hold onto.

Behind her, she hears a howl - then a snarl that makes her swivel and whimper. The thought of it - of them entangled together, she feels tears slip down her cheeks in response before she bolts through the door. Alcott... She wasn't able to stay, she knew that. It would put him in more danger, if he had to worry about protecting someone on top of himself. Her heart thuds. Pounds. Her fingers scrape through white powder, thrown into flames that turn emerald and she mutters a prayer to whoever the fuck was listening that Alcott and Rachelle both wake up all right. Then she steps into the flames.

 

 


	53. A Free Bitch, Baby

It didn't matter how many times he transformed, waking up still felt like he'd died and come back (Artemis had a thing for Jesus, didn't you know? Bitch,). Actually, to be technical it was like coming back from dying again. (Yeah, having your neck snapped still hurt, dick). There was a difference--he shifts when he was certain that Rachelle was human again. He wasn't the only medical marvel in the room. Little deaths, oh there was some term for that, he should know that--Eliza would know. He could ask Rachelle. At that, he peeks an eye open. The only difference was he shifts now with control, a smooth movement -- everything the kitchen...wasn't.

  
"Oh, holy hell," Alcott groans under his breath and decides to just lay his head back down. Rolling to his back, a dry chuckle settles in his throat until he chokes on it and beams at the hanging lights. They were still swinging over the wreckage: the burst-open flour sacks (tell the truth, he looks like a naked, bruised, ghost right now), the carved up ceramic tiles (oh look Sienna, he did take that pottery class after all), the marble decorated by grooves so deep, the grout was still under his nails. They'd broken two of the oak cask chairs, ha! Those were heirlooms from the first ship that carried Brackners their alcohol. When he was little, he'd tried to lift them up over his head and concluded they were too solid. Now they looked like a cannon hit the ship. Childhood goal succeeded, rah-rah, go him.

Was it blood or chocolate on his lips? Oh, fuck, he didn't care: it tasted like milk from Artemis' teat so he sucks it down to spite her and thank her. Sue his inner wolf if it was blood he savors now, sue his humanity if it's chocolate. Another chuckle leaves his throat as he pulls to a sitting position and cleans his fingers with swipes of his tongue like the dog he was at a water bowl.

He still didn't open his eyes. Lightheaded, the lights had disoriented him and he deserved the break. Besides, it was for Rachelle's pride that he pretends not to hear her soft crying right now. Alcott knew how that was. He knew, he understood, and he was too exhilirated with success to really care that she'd ripped him apart half the night. Stronger than him, he was more agile (that has to be thanks to Hols), and no lasting harm done anyway. He'd give her the moment for her dignity. The cuts were already mostly healed. Bruises would fade in a day. He just wanted this bloody flour off. (Ha, no pun intended...okay maybe a little intended).

He'd give her the moment...but only for a little while, because he knew too well what it was to hide in this. Hols being there had changed everything for him. It had almost become...fun, with the Wolfsbane, the hunting and the wrestling that always led to such glorious sex. So, he knew, when his eyes finally open and settle on her (she was healing slower, was that this silver potion too?). He knew, what it was Hans had done for her. What this pack went through. Oh, they were all sadistic little fuckers with major issues (parental based mostly it seemed, wasn't it always?) -- but so was he. He laughed when he shouldn't (like right this second), found pleasure from pain and blahblahblah, all that, hell his head really hurt.

She was looking back at him too, mouth open like she was going to say something, only there was nothing to say. Without shame (Casper was always naked too wasn't he?), he pulls himself across the floor and puts his hand on her shoulder.

"You, are fucking glorious, you know that?"

He squeezes. For comfort (whose he didn't know). There was nothing else to say that morning: he wanted a shower (with Hols), a bed (with Hols), and rest (he could compromise on that last one).

Well, there was nothing else to say from him or her, but Lyndsea Brackner was something else all together. She has the same parental tone for both of them when she orders them into a bed (separate, for shame, he chuckles aloud) and busies herself repairing the kitchen.

Alcott offers to help. Apparently, his destruction of the kitchen wasn't new to her: just one more thing he shares with his father. ("Bed." Lyndsea points out the newly-repaired door, and he loves her for that).

**{*}**

“You can’t do that.”

For a moment that she probably lets linger too long, Eliza just glares at Sam, smacking his hand away from her hip. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy the look on his face — the confusion, the heartbreak, the anger — but she did. It was dangerous. If he were to discover the potion he’d shoved down her throat was fake, that Harper was the reason he’d had the idea to binary-switch her morality anyway, they were both dead. Harper was right (was he ever actually wrong? geniuses, merci) when he said her act had to be absolute.

Eliza turns on her heel, relishing the way his eyes track the spinning fabric of her skirt and struts like she’s on a runway with a big-old stick up her ass. The show she presents, Sam presumes was all for him. Oh no, no, Eliza doesn’t do anything for herself any longer. Perhaps that was to spite that he’d gotten to her, to luxuriate in the Mean Slytherin Girl (™) persona she was meant to embody. That reminds her to add to her shopping list: more black eyeliner and ruby lipstick. Blonde, black and red — she saw the fantasies hadn’t gotten anymore creative since her  _la petit morte._

Or perhaps it was because Eliza had finally come to understand that there was no one who would look her in the mirror and declare her more beautiful than herself.

“Oh, Sam.” She titters. “You got what you wanted!” Hands clapping together, she wiggles in the skirt and camisole as she crossed in front of him, resuming her slow circle, a vulture to her still-dying prey.

“You saved me,” honestly, she was going to gag when he left, “and I…” she rests on his side, her eyes cast over his shoulder, just in case he could see her eyes as she leans to meet her lips near his ear, “am so grateful.”

Sam went for her waist again. Again, she slaps his hand away, letting her breathy chuckle fill his ear. His brows furrow, looking pathetically trapped between anger and excitement. Confusion wins out. Of course it did. Idiot.

“But see, here’s the thing,” she puts her hand on his neck now, “I had a visitor.”

Eliza knew as long as she stays near he’d do whatever she said. For once upon a dismal time in a faraway land where tea and crumpets were still fashionable, she’d been the same way. It was why she could stand to touch him, probably, of everything he’d done to her she was grateful for one thing. The melody haunts her chuckle. You made me that much stronger…

“Who—,”

No, he couldn’t talk. Then she’d remember him too well.

“Shh.” Eliza puts her finger on Sam’s mouth, cooing, “Shh, baby, my turn to talk.”

He stills. Pathetic.

“Victoria came to see me.” Eliza huffs, with a frown as she draws the finger down his cheek. 

Victoria had looked the same as she always did: strung out and bitchy with everything all hanging loose in her tawdry clothes. Well, perhaps she hadn’t always looked that way - and perhaps she was a little more gone now (a lot more gone, how many drugs was she  _on_?) but no - Eliza couldn’t say she cared.

“You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”

He goes to talk, and again she stops him with a single head shake, nails digging into his shoulder. It was almost too easy. How had this schoolboy ever held such a tight leash on her? Ugh. Her lips are parted and dry, and her hands are clenched so tight the skin is pulling over the knuckles, going white. 

“Oh Sam.” She whispers nearer to his mouth now, her blue eyes shadowed by demons darker than even the  _True Black_ Maybelline. (It wasn’t even a full charcoal black, but how shocking that an advertisement lies). 

“You didn’t really think you could just have us both, did you?”

Oh, the little shit. His face contorts like a sheep, like a boy caught with far worse than just his hand in the cookie jar: Sam was attempting to steal the jug (two of them) and expects her to laugh it off as childhood antics. This was the other reason she could stand to touch him. Victoria was a Stenrosa (that was a disservice to Stenrosa’s, she thinks with a sharp intake), so it was no surprise that she’d be marked to become a Death Eater herself. 

Only she wasn’t yet. In the long list of second bests, it turned out Eliza tops Victoria twice and after all her irritation with her former friend, she couldn’t care any longer. She couldn’t do anything but beam internally over it. 

“You want me, Sam?” 

Face hardening in a smirk more angry than amused, Eliza digs her nails into his shoulder abruptly. Her words were clipped, but sweet, like a poisoned candy she’s savoring beneath sharp teeth.

“Then get rid of her.” 

“I promis—”

“No.” Eliza snaps, her teeth to near his bottom lip, and she lets him think she’ll kiss that filthy, lying gap. He savored the anticipation and she savors the victory as she finishes, “I don’t mean stop seeing her.”

Eliza laughs, “You really think I care who you’re fucking? I mean, get rid of her. Vick’s a liability, your loose end. You clean it up, then maybe I’ll pay you a second glance.”

It’s laughably easy to push him away and she folds her arms on her chest, more to hide herself from view and cocks her head until he goes. He runs, like a dog for a bone he believed was a boomerang and she watches with the smirk ever widening. Too easy. See, here she was acting the perfect Death Eater after all. Eliza Simmons had been a one man kind of girl. Switch flipped, she’d want hundreds and luckily (it wasn’t luck, she was carefully honing these seductive skills) enough — there were no shortage of idiot boys waiting to chase her. 

Eliza wants Victoria gone. Look how well it works, getting the Death Eaters to trust her, getting Sam to trust her, and meanwhile depriving them of their strung-out lackey. The girl hadn’t just wronged her, in the end: if anything, she wants to mutter under her breath, “this is for Nadia” and has to content herself with the thought.

(It’s only half a lie. It was for Nadia.  

But it was for her too. The girl had replaced her in Sam’s bed. She might not desire to be there herself anymore, but the world was going to learn that Eliza Simmons Culpeper was nobody’s fucking second choice.)

“Oh, marvelous.”

Almost breaking when she hears a clap, Eliza has to jam her spine straight. Turning to see Hans with a light smirk on his lips, he pushes his hands behind his back as he cocks his head in appreciation of her. 

“You enjoyed yourself, luv?” He drags out his smile as long as she thinks is possible with an obvious chuckle at the back of his throat. The smile on her lips lifts up with acknowledgement, coy. When she flicks her gaze back to his, she’s surprised briefly. Hans was right, but his knowledge didn’t come from smarmy expectations.

(Hans doesn’t do expectations).

He knew because he understood. 

“Yeah,” Eliza says, hand on her hip. Her heels click against the marble, haunted by Hans dry, appreciative laugh. Casting her blond hair over her shoulder she adds before strutting away,

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go drown myself in the shower.”

**{*}**

**Tony:** I'm still waiting on book eight here!

 **Stefanie:** *Her mouth full of waffles (and whipped cream on her nose) and is holding her finger up.*

 **Tony:** *Smirking,* ...you know I'm hungry too.

 **Stefanie:** Oh are you? Did I manage to wear out even your big bad hybrid stamina?'

 **Tony:** *After a chuckle,* Not exactly, but you're welcome to keep trying.

 **Stefanie:** ...sorry sweetie, *smirk*, you make too delicious waffles to even--*pauses to swallow/points with the fork*--put them down. I will share though. *Twirls fork as if it's a baton with the waffle/strawberry on it.* Where were we? Arya and the Young Griff?

 **Tony:** You'll share with me my own waffles, how incredibly generous of you, cara. *He wiggles his eyebrows* I believe so, and I still think Arya would slit his throat while he slept more likely than anything else. *He leans over to pluck a strawberry coated in syrup from her plate and eat it quickly*

Stefanie: *God she did adore the way he said "cara".* Well, they were a gift from you, weren't they? *Amused as he steals the strawberry (and unable to help herself from watching him eat it), she chuckled.* Yeah, you're probably right...though I still want to see Gendry spy them together. Blue haired sellsword..well, *her lips flick* You'd do his insults better I bet.

 **Tony:** *He grins and then nods, tilting his head* I think I would make a great Gendry, actually. I'm tall, dark hair, blue eyes- if I were a little tanner I'd be perfect. I mean *he clears his throat* Too bloody low born to be kin to m'lady high. *Smirks* All I need now is a hammer and dirt all over my body.

 **Stefanie:** *He did that on purpose (she didn't ask for it or anything). Chewing on her bottom lip, slowly, she nods in agreement before she realizes she's actually finished the strawberry and clears her throat, going for more food. With her eyes still down on her plate as she strikes it with the fork,* Oh, I definitely am finding that for you, yes. *She chuckles.* I still think it's Daenerys, I'm most like though...*She looks back up, tilting her head.* Well. Apart from Visenya herself, of course. *She winks, taking another bite, then asks casually,* So what is on the agenda for today?

 **Tony:** *His smirk flicks, pleased to see her lips and eyebrows change with amused expressions even if she kept her gaze down on the plate of food and then he nods in agreement, finding himself unable to keep from picturing Stefanie wearing that one-breast dress Daenerys wore in Qarth. Hey, he was only human. Well, technicalities.* Of course *he inclines his head now importantly before chuckling and clapping his hands together* Well, I'm free as bird till the night *-he tried not to linger on why exactly that was-* on easy days such as this I usually do whatever strikes my mind- once, I volunteered as a sketch model at the art institute, that was fun. Another time I took a sculpting class- not so fun. You would think with my amazingly talented hands I could  mold something into a decent looking figure, alas, I'm average with the arts.

 **Stefanie:** *Now, it was her turn to sit amused as he pictured her and she couldn't help, but say aloud guessing,* The blue one-breasted dress? *She winks, and then nods as he continues, trying not to think why he might be busy tonight (for now anyways). With a tiny smile she asks,* Well, you would think, hands like yours...but speaking of the arts, would you be interested then in coming to my shoot? *She wiggles both eyebrows at him.*

 **Tony:** The very same. *It was no use in denying that.* What I lack for in originality I make up with blunt honesty. *He grins and then picks up his cup of caffe au lait, taking a sip and setting it down with a raised brow* An invitation to a shoot? My, my, I didn't know I was behaving -that- well. *He winks now as well.* I'd love to, but give me fair warning, is your photographer one of those possessive-of-their-models photographers?

 **Stefanie:** Well. If I'm finding a hammer and dirt for you, *she cocks an eyebrow, tapping her lip,* only sporting you find that dress for me too. I always did adore foreign fashion. *It was sinful how good this syrup was. She trails her finger through it, hmming,* Quarthian would be exciting. *Still tapping her heel on the counter she finds herself laughing honestly as she nods.* Mark is, yes. *Her tongue flicks against the tip of her finger, as she adds offhand,* Of the...men, he's shooting. *Both eyebrows wiggle as she looks him over.* More likely he'll want to shoot you too than mind. So I suppose it's more likely I'll, *her finger pops out,* be the possessive one.

 **Tony:** Sounds like a plan to me. *What an incentive, actually. Naturally, her job would be a bit easier though he doubted it would be any regular old hammer.* Should I be expecting Mjolnir then? *He wiggles his eyebrows only to laugh at her explanation, nodding graciously* Well if he flatters me by asking, I shan't refuse. *Stage whispers behind his hand* Bit of a camera whore. *He shhs, and places a finger in front of his lips*

 **Stefanie** : *Pouting pleasantly, she sets the plate down and hops off the counter, striding forward,* Why? *Her hand curls over his tee, clenching the v into her fist and leaning in,* Did you need a second one? *She kisses him hard, but just once and quick, then pulls back.* 

Oh, I'm shocked. *She laughs, even as she spins to look around her flat.* Let me just grab my makeup bag, then, *scooting past the tea-pot she still had out in a place of prominence and moving to pluck it up, she paused at the scarves rack, promptly drops the make up bag on her ottoman and holds two up.* ...which do you think...?

 **Tony:** *He smirks, meeting her in the brief kiss before taking a final sip from his cup and pouring the remainder down the sink and taking his wand out of his pocket to make the dishes start doing themselves (his old roommates always marveled at how Tony finished all the chores so quickly when it came his turn to do them). He ran his hand through his hair to fix it up and then turned, walking over to where she was with the scarve. Tony then picked one from her hands and -- slinging it around her neck -- used the scarf to pull her in for another quick kiss.* Like this one.

 **Stefanie** :  *Admiring the sight of him starting the dishes (as much as any hybrid-wizard-man would), she hmms under her breath, two scarves still dangling from her wrists.* Handy of you. *As he approached she feigns with widely batting eyes and then follows his hand as he picks, slings, and yanks -- so she, in quick succession, sees gold fabric, the olive skinned flash of his wrist, her own blue wallpaper, and then just, his lips. 

Meeting them with a bashful giggle only half put on, she melts into the kiss and doesn't breathe or break until he does. Then she just nods, eyes cast up at him as she murmurs in agreement, only to tease -- because she was Stefanie Ricard, and she was contrary at heart,*...I like the navy one better. At least, *her head cocks playfully, because she loves looking up at him when he's relaxed like this,* I did...

 **Tony:** *His lips curl into a smile against her own as she of course commented ever so innocently that she was leaning towards the blue one. Licking his lips, he plucked the navy scarf from her fingers as well and then backed up a step to hold it against the gold.* And no doubt the gold would have been preferred if I chose opposite? *He wiggled his eyebrows before pretending to think it through very hard. He took off the gold one and then put on the navy for her, moving her hair out of the way and then inspected...only to scrunch up his nose and shake his head.*

 **Stefanie** : *It was second nature to her by now to be examined, inspected, admired -- almost to an extent that she hardly noticed the last. Photographers were so picky (rightfully) on which "x" to stand on, how many degrees to tilt your head, lift your chin, which hair strans to tuck back and which to let free. It hardly left the opinion you were being appreciated. So why was it Tony's gaze laces a shiver up her spine even as she endeavors to stand still?

Oh, that was adorable, his nose scrunch. She can't help but mimic it, shaking her head the same way he did without tearing her eyes off his, saying offhand,* Just don't say it's because of my golden personality all right? *She kisses the corner of his lips, then pulls away again to pluck her ivory pea coat up, buttoning as she summons the bag back to her wrist and then her purse, keys out so she could lock behind them. When they were outside however, she just spun and then settles her arms around his neck.* Different location. *She explains with a grin, wiggling an eyebrow.* So, side-along apparition would be the -only- way... 

 **Tony:** *As she mimicked his facial expression and the shake of his head, his lips burst into a quick grin before he laughs for a quick moment.* I would never dream of being that cheesy. *Yes, actually, he could. He stepped away to grab his coat as well, fixing the collar briefly before following her outside only to grin again as she wraps her arms around her neck. His own arms come to wrap around her waist.* Obviously, but now, how necessary is the actual 'side' in side-along apparition? Would face-to-face apparition work just as well, I wonder? *He wiggles his eyebrows* Probably best not to try it out now, huh?

 **Stefanie** : *She laughs, mostly because oh yes, yes he could be, but thinking too wasn't the point of any time they were spending together anyway, was it? (Not that she was good with even that definition as it insinuated "no point" was the answer and that felt furthest from true. Oh, shut up Steffie, she thinks and lets her grin cock up as he gets equally comfortable.* Probably not best, no. *Without missing a beat, her hand slides down his neck to cup his cheek,* ...all the more reason to try it in my book. 

 **Tony** : *He hums, a sound that reverberates from the back of his throat in amusement and genuinely pleased as she suggested doing it anyways. Then he smirks, tightening the hold around her waist momentarily before replying* I like the way you think. Have at it then, madam.

 **Stefanie:** *Smirking herself, she leans forward, thumb bracing against his lips as they part for her to breathe against them,* I prefer mistress. *His breath smelt like the strawberries and there was a trace of cinnamon sugar just in the crease she wants to chase--distracting. Okay. Right, work. Mark. With the adorable boyfriend who played the prima donna jealousy act and bought him the mini-cactus for his birthday. That thought makes her focus enough (she thinks).

 With a heady exhale into his mouth she spins in his tightening grasp still, waiting until the Apparition squeezes them together for their lips to meet again. The world literally melting away as they spun, she was dizzy, firmly out of breath and almost, almost forgot to pull away from it or else they'd spin into oblivion snogging (hadn't they already been there though?).

Popping back onto another sidewalk, she tries not to gasp for breath--too--obviously as she checks that all of her, and all of him, had actually made it. Only then she realizes... their location. It was a pretty park...* ...okay, we're about, *she giggles,* a mile overshot. *Cocking an eyebrow up and staying close half just against the sudden winter's chill she nudges him with her elbow and asks playfully,* ...you over eager? 

 **Tony** : *He smirks and the complies easily* Yes, mistress. *The smirks continues on his face as he watches her concentrate and then braces himself as they begin to spin, breath being cut off almost immediately but he'd never let a little thing like oxygen deprivation stop him. The spinning sensation coupled with their mouths pressed hot against each other, that could get addictive. It was over soon enough, and breath returned to him as his lungs expanded again. He looked around and then laughs out as she says they're a mile away. Shaking his head, he raises a hand to his chest* Me?! You were the one who was driving, Miss Daisy. I was just riding shotgun. *wiggles his eyebrows*

 **Stefanie:** *Her hand on his neck still she chuckles abruptly and half-feebly pushes him away.Lord, he was stronger every day(...why didn't that scare her more?).* Apparently a little more shotgun than I'd anticipated! *Her lips quirk as she starts walking towards the pavilion, she mutters under her breath,* Merlin, I hope they have the heat there...Honestly, *she lifts her gaze over her shoulder to him again,* those little scarves and sweaters on all the Winter Wonderland spreads in magazines? Don't do anything to keep you warm. Ridiculous.

 **Tony** : Only a mile! Think of it this way, we could have been halfway to New Delhi but we aren't! *He grins as he starts following, biting back a suggestion that honestly they could apparate the mile that was left but he didn't mind walking or spending more time talking to her.* You know, I figured that was the case. Exposed to freezing temperatures for the sake of your work, Stefanie, really that's inspiring. *He smirks*

 **Stefanie** : *Still idly rubbing at her bottom lip she pauses, amused at that and scoffs out with a bright smile,* New Delhi, really? That good, huh? *She had to bite down against the fact that it...was. Thankfully, he made that simple with the next remark. Raising both eyebrows back at him, she says plainly and flat,* I take my work seriously. *As seriously as she could say that sentence. She did to an extent - but was well aware of the irony all along. Shrugging her hair back, she pauses seeing one of the coffee cart vendors in the park and then chuckles.* Ah, that's right. Chantal said the cafe con leche was better from this vendor, whatever the walk... *Without taking her eyes from her friend, she still leans closer to Tony as she continues,* That's one of the other models...didn't know she was coming today actually. *It bugged her a tiny bit, but she couldn't figure out why, so she didn't bother. Her eyes flickered to Tony's now, but anything else she was about to say disappeared at the strange look on his face.* 

 **Tony:** *He licked his lips, but his lower one and let that stand as an answer for the time being. Chuckling at her answer, he lifted his hands as a peace offering* Yes, clearly! That's what I was saying. *He really should stop digging himself further into that hole. As they walked up to a vendor, he suddenly stilled in his steps as he recognized first the name and then that hair. His lips curl and his eyebrows rise, wondering first, idly, if she had already heard them. The next thought, well, that was spoken out loud, a whisper he knew would carry.* You've got to be kidding me.

 **Stefanie:** *At that her eyebrow only arched higher. Rapid flicks to her gaze dart between the two of them - especially when she realizes despite the fact they were hardly talking loudly, Chantal had turned around. The bright grin crossing her friend (well "friend")'s lips only irritates her, and she swivels, taking a step in front of Tony, her back to Chantal now as she asks,* You know her?

 **Tony:** *Oh she did remember him then, he had been wondering for the briefest of moments when their gazes met, before Stefanie had stepped in front of him and blocked his view. Actually, he was rather glad she had because for a split second (and that had been one second too much), he had felt 17 all over again.* Oh yeah. *He paused, realized what that sounded like and then clarified.* She was a friend of my father's, met him in the 30's? 40's? I never got the stories straight.

 **Stefanie:** *'Oh yeah', well, she had said she was going to be the possessive one. Screw the fact it was...more than slightly hypocritical, especially as neither of them cared to define whatever this was, bec--hooold on. Her eyes and brows and cheeks all go wide. Then she tilts her head, mouth round, everything scrunching back together.* No- but that-- *She shakes her head, resolutely.* No but that would mean she's--

 **Chantel:** A vampire? *She says from over Stefanie's shoulder, a light smirk on her lips, but her eyes were -stuck- on Tony.* Oh, do get there a little faster, sweetie. 

 **Stefanie:** *Her back going rigid, she snaps her neck sideways to look at her, startled and furious because of it. 'I was _helping you_ -' she was about to say, before swallowing it back realizing how pathetic it sounded. (She had been, though! Chantel had only showed up a few months ago, she'd asked her for advice, it was--)...* Call me sweetie, one more time. 

 **Chantel** : Rude. *Her lips pull taut in her smirk, even as her fingernail taps against the coffee. Still she hasn't looked away from Tony, appreciative, frankly.* You've certainly grown. *And now her eyes cast down, and up, smirk flicking up higher.* ...But why the sudden past tense, hun? Was, a friend of his? 

 **Tony:** Yeah, I was about to drop that tidbit of information another way but I figured saying 'b-t-dubs, she's a vamp' just wasn't good enough. *He shrugged, his lips curling back into the smirk as he looked back to Chantel...only to be brought back to look at Stefanie as she snapped. He couldn't help it, that was more than just simply attractive. Though he did understand the anger; vampires weren't very forthcoming about their nature and once you did found out...ha, well best pray you weren't prey.* You haven't. *He replied pleasantly with a tease, after all vampires didn't age.* 

Well, the past tense is normally used when a person is no longer of this world.

 **Chantel** : Oh, agreed. *She says it immediately, tapping her fingernail still as she listened to the skyrocketing difference in Stef's heart from a few moments ago. They were subtleties--the heartbeats different rhythms from anger and lovestruck -- but that was just part of the time.* B-t-dubs is _definitely_ too small for the revelation.

 **Stefanie** : See, that would be perfect then. *Spinning around now with another step in front of Tony, this time facing Chantel, her face is hard and jawline-thin,* Why on earth should I care? Hardly the first time someone I thought I knew reveals some supernatural secret, you see -- sweetie, you don't make top five.

 **Chantel:** My, *drily, eyes flicking from holding Stefanie's steady to Tony's again,* what a sight -- not sure which of you has the more _epic_ powers of denial, but. *She shrugs a shoulder.* 

 **Stefanie** : *Taking a step forward,* You--

 **Chantel:** *Eyes snapping back to Stefanie.* You really don't want to do that, Stef. *Without moving one inch, just using a flickering glare and tapping fingernail (oh, and fine, a hair toss, but Tony had grown up _well_ ).*

 **Stefanie:** *Arching an eyebrow, and taking another step forward anyways,* I rather-

 **Chantel** : *Eyes glinting as they harden, her voice suddenly is weighed with,* I rather you take into account the fact that you're delivering a revelation to me as well, and call it bygones Stef - *her gaze flicks to Tony, a bit suspicious, a bit sad, but all locked on his own as she tries to discern.* Not every day you hear a friend you've had for ninety years is no longer with us.

 **Tony:** *Oh dear. At least he could smirk without abandon now as Stef stepped in front of him because then she couldn't see how amusing her behavior really was turning out to be. And the 'top five' comment must be one of her favorites then. He was about to point out that revealing any kind of information to Chantel no matter how trifle you thought it was, probably wasn't the smartest idea but he could hardly get a word in with these two. 

Now, had Chantel always been this attractive? Or were her pheromones working on him more than before? He thought he was immune to those...maybe just natural attraction. He ignores the denial comment (the river in Egypt, he could do better than that), licks his lips and then looks up again as the gaze returned to him but he was ready for it.* I thought you knew. *That part was sincerely truthful, if any of Remington's friends would have known, it was Chantel and her boyfriend (well, maybe boyfriend wasn't the correct term). But lying about the fact that his father was alive wouldn't have gotten him anywhere, so he was honest. And he would be honest now too.*

A hunter killed him, years ago. Olivier saw and took care of everything, he's running things now. *All factual statements that he was quite comfortable sharing-- one learned how to get around a lie when you were half raised by a human lie detector. He cast a glance to Stef, unsure of which version she had of Remington's demise before turning back to the redhead.* A model though, Chantel, well...*he slips his hands in his jacket pockets and then smirks* I feel like you took my comment to you when I was 17 to heart.

 **Chantel** : Ah. *Her painted lips forming a perfect 'oh' at that she nods absently as she thinks it made sense he would have assumed that (she should, have known). Then again, he explained why: Olivier would hardly have just picked up the phone to call them and tell them. 'Running things now,' on the other hand, made her look briefly to Stefanie, curious that there was no change in breath or heart at _that_ little tidbit. Well, that was something then - less denial: at the very least, if she knew the organization from which was born the man she was getting so protective and laughably (adorably) jealous in front of right now. Her eyes blink a few times as she looks away, jaw setting and swallowing a lump in her throat. It was gone in moments.* ...Well, my condolences. Please offer them to your brother as well - especially if he saw. *At that point, she just arched an eyebrow, a glint appearing in her eye.* 

 **Stefanie:** *They were discussing his father's death. It took her a few minute to catch up to that fact, sue her for taking the time to process that someone she thought was a friend (again) had been lying to her. Still, she decidedly paused (though the idea, that Chantel might actually be _upset_ over Remington's death was hardly a ringing endorsement). 

Still, she looked over at Tony now, realizing in almost a single glance she was missing something here too but was smart enough not to ask, in any case. Not now. Not if Chantel actually considered that bastard a friend. Why, on the other hand, the former-friend would make Tony smirk if that was the case, she couldn't fathom.* 

 **Chantel:** *Looking back,* And the hunter, now? *The back of her throat had that familiar itch as her words were laced with anger and poison and even a touch of hurt - but Tony had momentarily looked away.*

 **Stefanie:** Sure, *muttering under her breath* just keep talking about his father's death, I'm sure that isn't a touchy, sensitive subject at all--

 **Chantel:** *Tiniest bit amused as she looks back at her,* Your forte, I'm aware.

 **Stefanie:** *Her mouth dries at the comment: unsure if it was a reference to her own father's death, her ... predilection to sensitive areas that she'd just accidentally alluded to by pointing out the number of supernatural friends she apparently had...or even just was a reference to "touching", considering the looks they were giving each other - but she was sure it was an insult. Her jaw snaps shut.*

 **Chantel** : *Ah, finally. Looking back to Tony, she chuckles at that last remark, nodding absently,* Thought I'd give it a try. What can I say, Tony? You inspired me. *She winks.* 

 **Tony:** *This was one aspect that he was never able to understand: how his father had managed to get -so- many people loyal to him. Not out of fear like Gustav ran the Death Eaters, but out of respect and admiration. He never understood it, though his brother always had. No doubt one of the many reasons Olivier could never really hate their father; people did love him. Fucking bastard. He licked his lips and then nodded silently, accepting the condolences.* I will. He'll be glad to know you're in town, actually. *Would he? Probably, not, he didn't know.* You should stop by one day, you know you're always welcome. Maybe we can teach my brother the meaning of the word 'fun'. *He smirks again, not deciding if he was amusing himself or hating himself further but he was a Death Eater now, repetent of how he rejected his father throughout all these years, and embracing this lifestyle. This was Antonio D'Grey talking, not Tony.*

It's fine, Stef, I don't mind. *He looked away from Stefanie, if only there were a silent way to express his apology for acting like a first class dick at the moment, before turning back to Chantel.* You know Olivier: I didn't ask for details, and he didn't give them. I can safely say though, that hunter's in hell. *Another truth. Tony was in hell, but it was a living hell of his own making, but technicalities.

He puts a hand over his heart, tilting his head with a grin.* You flatter me, cheri. But *he chuckles and then waves away from himself and gesturing at both ladies* I've been rude, keeping you both from your shoot. What kind of gentleman am I?

 **Chantel:** A tall order, *she chuckles, though her throat is still dry and no amount of coffee was going to quench that,* but a worthy goal, certainly. *With a twitch to the corner of her lips, she lifted the cup anyway and took a swig, thinking in truth she would rather return to the vendor for another reason now. It was curious, however, to hear Tony speak -- seventeen he'd been the last time she'd seen him and clearly...a few things seemed to have changed. Or perhaps he only wanted her to think that; she'd need more time to be certain and well. Right now the only thing she could bring herself to actually _care_ about was the fact that the teenager had clearly grown into a...gorgeous specimen of a man, who smelled delectable (hybrid blood always had a certain fascination for her, certain as she was it would be sweet).* I imagine so, yes. Olivier does have remarkable talent in the area.

 **Stefanie:** *Surprise crosses her expression only for a moment as Tony looks away from her with a harder edge to his smirk, and then she stiffens, too used to this feeling to notice any shift. So after a little jerk of her head to his 'it's fine', she only responded with a smirk equal to his,* Sorry for caring, then.

 **Chantel: *** Caring?* My, my, what epic tragedy. *She said drily, still without looking away from Tony. Had she or he taken a step forward? The smirk in her lips only widens with glee with his half dismissal of his companion and decides naturally, that was quite enough for her then. So when he pulls his hands up she sips the coffee, nods and tilts her head to Stef without ever once lifting her eyes from the man.* Shamefully true darling, we mustn't keep Mark waiting. I'll be sure to stop in soon, Antonio. Pick up where your comment had left off. *She winks, though she was thinking she needed to gather a bit more information then and without waiting for a response, turns and starts stalking away.*

 **Stefanie:** Oh, Demi will take care of Mark. *She had taken a few steps away - far be it from her to be between them - and just stands with her hands in her pockets, fully intent on just walking away until she'd heard Chantel's remark and felt it would be cowardice to do so. Now she waits until the girl was far out of sight before she spins back, arching an eyebrow. Her hiss was hot,* ...Old friends? Or was that jus-*she only dared mouth 'an act'*? 

 **Tony:** *It didn't surprise Tony that Chantel could pass off as a very believable model, he had told her as much all those years ago but he hardly thought that was the reason for this career interest. What was she doing back here if she hadn't tried to get into communication with Remington? Tony supposed, the concept of time to a vampire differed and not speaking to them for a few years was nothing in the midst of decades and centuries.

She looked at him as if he were delicious (and who could really blame her?), just itching to drag fangs against sensitive skin. The thirst would have only been more prominent with the anger he had seen cross her face at the mention of his father's death. He could almost feel that same thirst himself, almost, and longed for a glass of bourbon despite the early hour.

And judging by the hard tone in Stefanie's voice as she apologized for caring, she would need a drink too or rather he would have to buy her a drink and probably several. Even as he thought of her, however, his gaze didn't falter from Chantel as she bid her adieus. Looks like he had a visit to expect soon.* Ciao, bella.

*He kept up the appearance for a bit, watching her walk away (women like that always knew when you had your gaze fixed on them, a vampire woman even more so) for a lengthy amount of time before finally turning to look at Stefanie, taking a few steps to make the distance smaller between them (when had she stepped away?).* I haven't fucked her if that's what you mean. *He mouthed 'act' afterwards.* More acquaintances than friends, really. Hell of a drinker, though.

 **Stefanie:** *An act. Wonderful. Well, it may have been an act but his gaze made it too obvious there was no need to act attracted to her. Of course, he'd have to be blind (and whatever else Tony was, he was not that) to ignore it. It screamed, stood up and smacked you in the face with her sea-shell coral skin and fire-engine hair. So, if you liked obvious, and she hadn't met a man who didn't at least appreciate it, Chantel personified lustful (and evidently, sacrilegious) satisfaction. She thought of the piece they shot once together, angels and devils -- no wonder she was thrown the halo. Stefanie tried to tell them how far from angelic she was but they didn't listen. No one ever did.

Lowering her hand from her hip and straightening as Tony took steps closer to her again, her gaze darts from his eyes to his lips and back, breath catching in her throat.* 

It had crossed my mind from the oogling, yes. *Stefanie always had been stubborn, and she loved being who she was. Looking sideways after her she feels the strong urge to ditch the shoot despite how seriously she did usually take her work (shouldn't she warn Mark he'd employed a bloodsucker? Maybe just tell him Chantel was at least a hundred and ten years old). She presses her lips together, hard, then looks back. Oh dear Lor-- he'd moved frankly too close again; even in these shoes she had to look up at him. More than anything, she spoke to get his mind off looking down her shirt, feeling irritated and not entirely sure why.* You didn't have to snap. It was mean. 

 **Tony:** *Well, he wasn't going to apologize for appreciating a beautiful, deadly woman (in the midst of being nervous to run across one of Remington's friends, knowing that if they ever did find out who killed him, Tony would be dinner.) He was especially not going to apologize because things between him and Stefanie weren't....labeled. She was at perfect liberty to 'oogle' at whomever she wanted, including psychotic werewolves, and so was he, including potentially psychotic vampires.

Though, seeing her mildly jealous really was a sight he could appreciate and certainly wasn't going to help his smirk disappear. However, quickly enough it did disappear and then his eyebrows furrowed with her irritated, pointed comment. He nodded.* I know, didn't mean to come out that way...*he sighed, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck.* It -is- a touchy subject. 

 **Stefanie:** *There's a pang in her chest as he looks away for a second and she honestly feels like she's getting whiplash. Of course it would be touchy. That was why she had cared in the first place--why did she have to snap too?! Gah, this was a never-ending cycle.* ...Well, I assumed it was. *Exhaling, she nods, her hand slipping in her back pocket and mirrors his voice.* Olivier covered it up? *She arches an eyebrow, words still soft. Without blinking, without taking her gaze from him,* ...there's only one...*Her chin lifts up.* -hunter-, I know of... that he'd do that...for.

 **Tony:** *He snorted as she assumed correctly. Let no one tell Stefanie she was one of those stereotypical dumb blondes. And while Chantel might have the red hair, he would be more scared of a temperamental Stefanie than a vengeful vampire. Clearly, his priorities were in order. He meets her gaze again, eyebrows rising before he nodded to show she was right.* Yeah. *He chewed on his bottom lip and kept watching her expression.* I can explain more later, if you want.

 **Stefanie** : *So, it was true. He had killed his father--in front of Olivier, it seemed, because the way he'd said that had been too...true. Teeth digging into her already swollen, chapped lips, she stubbornly keeps her gaze on his even as her mouth dries out. God. What -had- her life become? Was she simply not allowed to know anyone without a tragic, supernatural secret and past? There were needles in her throat and lungs that had nothing to do with the cold. Then she shakes her head side to side without blinking or looking away.Reaching again for his arm, she says simply,* If you want to explain, I'll listen. But it doesn't change anything for me, Tony. *She chuckles drily under her breath,* My lot in life, I guess, being able to understand that circumstances can define actions that don't define you. *She bites her tongue, then adds,* It's lying about it, even or rather especially because of some pathological need to protect me that I can't stand.

 **Tony:** *Was there nothing he could say that would scare this woman away? He exhaled out in surprise before he shook his head, lips curling into a brief smile. Supernatural hybrid, infiltrating the Death Eaters, who had killed one of his friends -and- his father and she seemed unwavering. He licks his drying lips and chuckles again as she made clear the one thing that _would_ piss her off apparently.* Right I just...*he licked his lips again and then shrugged, placing his hands in the pockets of his jacket and saying casually, hoped it was casually* keep thinking you'll run for the hills soon.

 **Stefanie:** *That thought sends a shiver up her spine - the breezy ease with which she had always (apparently) left before was both unsettling and freeing as she realized she refused to now. Adjusting her scarf and holding on to it with a hard clench, her smirk flicked up.* Well. I'll give you credit in regard of -number- of Earth-shattering revelations. *The laugh in her throat dries on the way out from raw heat, her breath showing in the air.* Guess I'm just....familiar with the tactic. *She furrows her brow, eyes distant over his shoulder as she muses aloud,* Running from everyone whose lives were ruined by this organization all my life just...would leave me alone. I'm so tired of being alone. *She breathes out. Then her gaze flicks back at him as she adds,* Pathetic, remember? 

 **Tony:** *He chuckles at that too, nodding slowly. He had a lot of secrets, that was true but wasn't he proving that he was willing to part with them? He had told Daniella about killing his father, he had told Claude, and now Stefanie. If he would have grown up to be the man Remington intended him to be, he wouldn't have told no one at all; would have kept it to himself rather than to place trust on other people and risk liabilities. That information in the wrong hands or spoken in the wrong company would mean his death. He should have kept quiet but seemed unable to do so. He ventured it was because of the same reason Stefanie wasn't running. Now he shakes his head, a softer smile on his lips.* Not pathetic. Human. At least, that's what I tell myself while I cry myself to sleep at night. *He wiggles his eyebrows.*

 **Stefanie:** You cry yourself to sleep at night? *Echoing playfully and bright, she remained focused on that – and on his tiny, soft smile that chased away her irritation. With a lilt to her voice she brought her hand away from her scarf again and laid it on his chest. Now she didn’t mind that he was close. (If she was honest with herself, she was a little ashamed. He wasn’t her property – wasn’t even…hers). That comes out in a strange cough as she clears her throat, looks away and then looks back, smirking determined. Patting his chest she adds,* Well see, that just draws the line then. * She winks and then pulls back, breathing heavily to herself as she tries to settle herself down again – not sure why her heart seemed to still be going so…fast.* …should I be…wary, of Chantel? If she was his friend…

 **Tony** : Like a baby. *His lips curled into an easier, kinder smirk than the one he had been offering the other woman.* Actually no, I haven't cried myself to sleep since I was 10 and- *he lifts a finger and then flicks it against her nose* I'm man enough to admit that. *Like he had said before: what he lacks for in originality, he makes up in blunt honesty. Most of the time. 

His eyes now leave Stefanie's to look over her shoulder in the direction Chantel had left though he could no longer see her. He shrugged.* If she hasn't hurt you by now, she won't unless you give her a reason. *At least, he thought that was how she operated. He didn't know precisely.* So maybe make sure the claws don't come out next time, hmm? *His eyebrows wiggle again.* Though I did enjoy it, I cannot tell a lie.

 **Stefanie:** Ten? *She tilts her head, wondering why he'd tell her that (well, "man enough" sure). Only, really, she had shared first -- and ever since she felt she had learned more about Tony than she ever knew about...

..well anyone except her own brother, and even he tried to keep her in the dark more than that. Even as he flicked her nose and she swallowed a too-girly giggle as fast as she could, there was a softness in her eyes whether he was joking or not. (He wasn't). Then she wonders why the number seemed to mean something to her. When he was ten, she would have been the same age (maybe nine), she couldn't think...oh. Her eyebrow cocked up, as she says under her breath,* ...that's when you first moved in with Olivier. *With his father, she almost said, but frankly "touchy subject"s tended to deserve more care than she'd offered before. So she adds after wrinkling her nose up in the scrunch she mimicked before,* Olivier steal your Jon Snow action figure? 

*The claws. Well, yes, fine she had been a little more...possessive but she'd been _angry_ and honestly -- was that any way to tell someone who thought they were your friend you were a vampire?! Eye-fucking the man she'd arrived with? With her nose still scrunched she exhales with more stubbornness than truth,* Honey, that wasn't anything yet. 

 **Tony:** Ding ding ding! *His finger went back up in the air as she guessed correctly, nodding with a smirk.* Congratulations, Stefanie Ricard you are our grand prize winner! *He grinned again, shaking his head at the action figure comment. Please, if Olivier had touched it, Tony would have been driven to murder 10 years earlier.

How he was able to joke about murder, the murder of his own brother, Tony wasn't quite sure, but he had the ability to turn almost everything in a joke. That's the curse of the Time Lo- oh no, wrong species.*

Well, when you do choose to put on a spectacle, please call me first, I want to be there. *He laughs just thinking about it.*

 **Stefanie: *** Nodding, she reached up and grasped his finger as it pointed to the sky, asking pointedly, as she touches the tip of the pad to her lips,* What do I win? 

 

*This had to be a new record, she thinks: making jokes about him crying himself to sleep, her model bestie actually being a (potentially) psychotic vampire, and him killing his father. Yet she couldn't stop smirking as he awarded her the imagined prize. Whatever Tony said, she thought it was a bit pathetic of both of them...but as long as it was the both of him, she didn't care. 

 

Except, speaking of spectacle...oh whoops. She swivels (releasing her finger) and exhales.* Well, you might just be there. Unless you aren't still up for this shoot. *Her hands return to her coat pocket as she tilts her head back at him, smirking small.* Certainly never was one to back down myself. *No, she tended to exacerbate the situations but sometimes? That was _exactly_ what was needed.* 

 **Tony** : Ah, well I would say I would give you Westeros, khaleesi, but I know that real queens take what is theirs, with fire and blood. So. *He clicks his tongue and tilts his head, shrugging before leaning down to press a quick but hard kiss against her lips.* You're just going to have wait and see instead.

 

*He takes his finger back with a wiggle of his eyebrows as she turned back around. Right, the photo shoot, of course. And just like Stefanie, well, he wasn't one to back down, and this was most certainly a challenge. The real challenge however would be to find a way to keep himself from salivating with these gorgeous women posing for the cameras. He stepped forward as well, both hands back in his pockets and he teases without looking sideways as he reaches her.* Not gonna throw a fit over my 'oogling' are you?

 **Stefanie:** *They kept doing that, she realized as his lips met hers again, hard and fast - sudden, unasked for (but always pertinent), as if they didn't dare lead-up. Whether that was from fear they'd lose track of time or of themselves, she didn't know...didn't know if she wanted to know. What she did know was his lips were sweet even when hard - were sinfully addictive even when soft, and she pulls back and promises with an eyebrow cocked high yet,* Fire and blood. 

 

*As she starts walking the rest of the way, she realizes she was praying at the back of her mind somewhere they were not about to come across a body drained of blood. The cliche alone would make her ill. To offset that, she mused aloud,* That ought to be the Ricard family motto really. Not sure what D'Grey should be...

*Then she finds her eyes narrowing and without looking at him she snorts, shaking her head,* No. *Sweetly yet,* Though you say that word one time around them and I won't be oogling you again. 

 **Tony:** Obviously, We Do Not Sow. *He nodded importantly, lips pursed.* That's peasant work. Damn shame all the Greyjoys are assholes though, well, a good half of them. But then again, so are we. *His smirk widened, happy to discuss this lighter topic, and you know something was wrong with the life you led if speaking of the _A Song of Ice and Fire_ series was considered a lighthearted way to pass the time.

Lips puckering to form an o as he whispered 'ooooh' under his breath at her warning.* Well, you cara, you could certainly try not to. *Smirks.* 

**{*}**

**Irene:** *Ugh, how difficult was it to find a halter cut sheath dress with a sequined belt right under the bust line? This was absolutely ridiculous. Maybe it's what she got for buying off the racks like a normal person. She didn't want to sound like a little brat but she had very specific needs to satisfy. And it was also...well, winter, so buying a dress now seemed ridiculous. And buying a dress by herself while she was supposed to be in Hogwarts, that seemed extra ridiculous. What was she doing? She couldn't keep trying to buy away get sorrows (better than trying to drink them away, a small voice told her.) Oh! She picked up a dress and held it in front of herself. Not sheath but halter and with the belt...unfortunately a size too big.* Excuse me *she patted the shoulder of a store associate as he walked by, not paying much attention as she was still half looking through the dresses* do you have this in a smaller size?

  
 **Ansel:** *Velvet floors (insulated sound) and rows of tasteful silks (tasty) were surrounded by mirrors (who could blame him the momentary indulgence?). Ansel drops the woman, licking his bottom lip while he fiddles, adjusting cuffs and collar; she slumps to the bench, recovering from oxygen deprivation (or something like that, though he could hear a shallow heartbeat). Stepping from the stall, he locks the storage behind him and slips faster than human eyes could detect to the other row of dresses. A fitting room, lovely. Oh, he was a poet today, wasn't he? Amused as he walks by and is tapped, he pauses, smirks to himself and keeps turned the other way reaching for the gown.*

Sure thing, dah-ling. *And the slips by again in an instant, to let the wind off him tickle the nape of her neck. He waits pleasantly - until her hears the little caught breath, inhales the flutter in her heart, tastes the trace of her recognition in the air - and then whips. Hand over her mouth, he pulls into the backmost fitting room (with the dress she wanted between them) and presses her to the wall.* Ah-ah. *He shakes his head with his hand raised, this time being sure to cushion her head with his own hand. Light smirk playing on his lower lip and heat in his eyes, he says in a low voice,* Don't scream. I just want to talk, cheri.

  
 **Irene:** Thank...*her brows furrow even as the rest of her body stills, breath catching, as she recognizes the voice, the dropped consonant sound, and she turns abruptly to look for him but finds a hand over her mouth instead like she had before. She refused to shut her eyes even as they moved faster than normal through the shop. Breath returning, raggedly, as he held her up against the wall, she brings a hand up to slap his face, uncaring for his superior strength.* You want to talk? Invite me out for coffee, don't -manhandle- me into a dressing room.

  
 **Ansel:** *He could have caught her wrist as it comes up, but he lets her hit him--even turns his head! Generous, he thinks internally, enjoying too much the rise out of her, the pinking flesh (he imagines, for he kept his gaze on his shoes for an extended moment, frozen in the beginning of a glare) and skipping heart. Taking his hand from the back of her neck, he presses against his cheek as if hurt, and then raises his gaze to her again.* Ah, apologies luv. *He clicks his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his lips.* I prefer more intimate gatherings.

  
 **Irene:** *Oww, fuck, oww. Did he have a face made of steel? She refused to show that it had hurt her pretty hand though so she just let it fall and was silently grateful he had taken his hand back from her neck because now it made it easier to glare at him when she didn't have to actively avoid ignoring that hand. Now she only had to avoid...everything.* You know what I prefer? Not getting a -dent- in my head. Or, alcohol poisoning. Thanks for that, are you going to apologize?

  
 **Ansel:** *There's a light in his eyes as she renders his past deeds against her, yet listens to his present command and did not call out for help. She had learned, then. Exhaling at the question, he asks only,* Why, *raising his hand to the wall near her head and leaning as he considers her,* would you accept that? I have, as I understand, given you no reason to do so. Unless I'm wrong, *His head cocks, lips curling out,* and you do trust my word?   
**Irene:** *She swallowed a lump in her throat, momentarily without a retort or comeback before she lifted her chin just barely an inch and replied.* It'd be polite. It'd show you regret harming me...*she exhales suddenly, thinking how silly and pathetic that sounded* but if you don't then let's not make fool s out of ourselves, you by lying, me by believing you. After all there's only one thing you've told me that I know is true with absolute certainty. *her eyebrow rises after some inner struggle with herself to keep composure that her heart seemed not to pay attention to.* That doesn't make your word fit for my trust though it is a start.

  
 **Ansel:** *Oh, what a look that was. He had to say, if her intention was to dishearten him, that fire was exactly the wrong response. Now satisfied she wouldn't be screaming, he slides his hand in his back coat pocket and considers after looking up,* Now, see. To regret that would mean I regretted meeting you, and well darling, *relishing the heat in her gaze, he looks back down.* neither of us are fools. *Curious,* Only one? I resent that--everything I told you was true. *And he shrugs a shoulder saying with a twitch to his lips.* It was nothing personal, luv. Now, well, *he brings his hand back up to lightly push a strand of hair back for her * I'd be lying if I said that were still true.

  
 **Irene:** I didn't realize the two were mutually exclusive. *Her response was quick and biting as if she were hoping she could repel him back at least a few inches back with the power of her voice. Didn't work. And then of course the nothing, fucking, personal that was really starting to get on her nerves at least until he admitted it wasn't anymore.* Flattered. *Her breath caught for a moment as he touched her, annoyed at that reaction.* Well, what is it, what do you want?

  
 **Ansel:** *Rubbing his thumb against the wall where he's braced he considers her retort with his usual frozen smirk.* I suppose they didn't have to be. But I'd never have been in England. *He shrugs a shoulder (the French accent a bit more pronounced with his clear distate; some cultural divides simply were mutually exclusive).* Though I must admit it has grown on me. As...you could make any place tolerable, I believe. *He chuckles under his breath at the question. Oh, Irene. It had been too long, really(he ignores his own throat hitch to focus on hers).* Not an inkling? So quick to get to business...now that's unusual for you Irene.

  
 **Irene:** Stop kissing up, Ansel, it's not your best look. *He could try to keep flattering all he wanted, it wouldn't work on her, she was still cross and he hadn't apologized. Narrowing her eyes at his assumption, she tried to stand up straighter, move away from the wall with the dress still clutched in hand, but she realized she would have an easier time dissolving into the wall behind her than the one in front of her.* You don't know me well enough to know my usuals, but fine, *forces an insincere smile* let's have some small talk. *She tilts her head* What have you been up to? Maiming and torturing?

  
 **Ansel:** *He chuckles, the sound low as if he was still determining between amusement and derision. Honestly. Here he was being indulgent, and she was ...well, actually, as he savors the little caught breaths and narrowed eyes he realizes: he didn't truly want something else from her, as all the fire proved he'd gotten to her. He was vindicated in that.* Mm. I thought we had established I know you better than you thought. *Tucking his thumb in the back of his jeans, he answers brightly.* Yet fair enough. Let's see. Torture? *He pfts,* Not my style, luv. There are much better things to prolong than suffering, *his hand rests on his chest, even as he bears over her,* just my humble opinion. *Clucks his tongue,* And sadly, the last few weeks have been unbearably boring--and *there's a flash of something hard and angry in his gaze,* an unacceptable amount of time without my sister. *With taut lips, his hand ghosts down the bated air between them and drums his fingers against the wall.* So sorry this has been postponed so often, honestly--I truly missed your..unique, company. *Idly, eyes casting down as he asks flippant,* How is Dillon?

  
 **Irene:** Well forgive me if I can't recall specific instances of our last conversation, I did have _head trauma._ *She huffs out a hot breath, indignant as she tucks out the same strand of he tucked in seconds before. No torture, that's good, but boring-- oh dear a mention of Rachelle. So before he tries to figure out the meaning of whatever the intake of breath meant, she added quickly* Yes and I've spent an unacceptable amount of time without my best friend. *she clears her throat* Problem is, unlike you with Rachelle, there's no chance of me getting her back. *Drum, drum, right against her ear, his fingers tapping against the wall. Almost maddening, until she could focus on Dillon. Handsome Dillon, sweet Dillon, the only reason she was still halfway sane after all of this.* Wonderful, as always. How's Stefanie?

  
 **Ansel:** No, I daresay I don't have a chance either. *He retorts instantly, eyes narrow. Honestly, Eliza? Not touching the fact in his mind that she was evidently very alive--now how on Earth could that be his fault? In the same low tone,* Dah-ling, head trauma? Bit dramatic, and my sister? You, *he moves a hairsbreadth closer as she shifts the stand (and makes his gaze trace over it with an exhale),* have no idea what she can do, what she's gone through and there is not a -prayer-, *his gaze flickers back to hers, promising,* that I will ever abandon her.

  
*Rachelle was not only his little sister, she was the person who let him photograph her as he let her model clothes, who he'd hunted in the Andies with. The woman who could beat him at darts, though he'd never admit that to her, and grew up here in France as he had. She was a member of the only family who had never deserted him, and damned if he'd do that to her. It was why, chiefly, that he had not given a damn about the fact that Roswell was anxious to seize Irene. His fucking problem; Ansel was done helping that man. Chao, he thinks, only cocking an eyebrow up with genuine amusement abruptly at the last remark from Irene.*

  
See, this is why, *he says idly as he pulls back with a wink,* I missed you, Irene. Not that I'm pathetic, or listened to your voicemail a dozen times to just keep hearing those oh so sweet, barbed insults -- honestly, you have a gift with that tongue of yours. Delicious.

  
*There may have been a catch in his throat but he ignores that too,asking still brightly,* Why don't you tell me? You did speak to her recently, I believe?  
 **Irene:** Not dramatic, factual. *She snapped, annoyed, as if she wasn't just telling herself that maybe she was going a bit overboard on the head injury thing. Nope, didn't matter. What did matter, what was mattering to her at the moment was the way he was talking about Rachelle. Now that, aside from being frightening in a way that made a shiver run down her spine, was actually admirable. She could understand that, very much so, and it even made her soften. For a bit, until he winked and spoke of missing her. She scoffed, licked her lip and quickly worked it back into her mouth as he mentioned her tongue, only to bite down on it as he seemed to know what she had been doing.* She seems to be okay, especially with the poison out of system. *Her eyebrows rise as she brings her shoulders up to, speaking as casually as he had to her* Glad to know she had someone looking after her that night.

  
 **Ansel:** *All right, he was momentarily quite distracted seeing (and hearing) the briefest flicks and licks of that oh so tempting tongue they'd just been disgusting. As he breathes, the scent of her flush momentarily floods his face with a look too familiar to him reflecting back from the fitting room mirror. Then it's gone, as she challenges him--idle shoulder shrug and... oh what a comment. He tuts,* I assume you're referring to someone besides her brother then? *Why was it Stef had such a hard time believing that? He almost sighs, but the truth was--he knew Stef, it was likely Irene meant fucking D'Grey (oh look, two rabbits, one claw-swipe), and it buries disgust in his throat. So he asks without blinking,* And that's supposed to mean?  
 **Irene:** I've learned not to put so much weight on brothers..*she swallows again, takes another moment to mentally curse how easily he's affecting her, and then speaks again* suppose I'll have to unlearn that at some point. *She searches his eyes for a moment, frowns as she sees, or rather doesn't see, the reaction she had been intending. Did he really not think that if she knew Stefanie had been poisoned that she didn't know he had been the one to give her the antidote .* I meant you, dumbass. You cared enough to *she tried not to sound bitter saying the next* leave your prey behind. Like you care enough to go to the ends of the earth to get Rachelle back. That's all I mean, exactly what I say. *She exhales* You should know that, if you claim to know me so well. I always mean, exactly, what I say.

  
 **Ansel:** *Her first comment makes his brow furrow - and then he forces it straight again, because he was pretty sure he didn't care. Gordon, he thinks curiously, Gordon Burns--likely the favored son, the one Daddy showered everything on to...

Ansel restrains a hiss only by speaking bright,* That's a shame luv, but I'm sure it will. It did for me. *Why the hell had he even said that aloud? No, dammit- if he was losing control, then it would be bad for them both -- and worse for her. So he says instead,* Brothers don't have to be by blood. Better they aren't.

*Clearing his throat, as he considers what she says, he pauses only long enough to wonder why she would have notices before he lifts his hand to her shoulder again, squeezing a grip too tight for comfort and too loose for a threat. It fit; her Goldilocks hair was burned behind his eyelids.* Is that all you think you are? Prey? Honey, if that were the case, you wouldn't still be standing here. *And then she wasn't, so much as he was lifting her up the wall and leaning in to add,* And that's a lie. There is, *his voice was getting softer,* something you aren't telling me, right now. I must say Irene -- *His other arm closes in closer to her head, murmuring,* I -detest- being lied too.

  
 **Irene:** *She was about to ask if he meant his real brother or the ones he'd chosen for himself, or maybe not even that, when he clarified that for her as well. Then she chastised herself because she shouldn't have wanted to ask either way. And with the squeeze on her shoulder, she was glad she hadn't asked. An exhale left her lips, bordering on disappointment before she replied simply but firmly* Then stop treating me like it. *When did her feet stop touching the ground, oh bloody hell. Lungs, not the time to stop working. Her eyes worked perfectly though, taking in every detail of face and she was stuck between the want to close her eyes and the stubbornness to keep them fixed. As Irene Burns was a creature of pride, she chose the latter.* I haven't lied to you about anything. *And that was the truth.* Squeezing me further won't change that.

  
 **Ansel:** *Breath abates in his own screwed up lips, catches on his tongue as he considers. The moment he'd seen her, slipping off the purchase for her friends (alcohol, but the bar washroom was an old hangout), he'd understood why Hans had been hesitant. The scent of those blond curls alone had written itself in bloody want deep in his throat. It was over in the same moment: he was a creature of selfish impulse and had never been capable of letting go. God, she was like him though.

  
As she stares, snipes, hisses with challenge and futile resistence in her gaze, Ansel realizes he believed her. All that fire and heat...he waits, weighs, and reconciles his belief with innate understanding.The reason was simple. Releasing her one finger at a time, he nods.* I suppose you haven't, no. *He replaces her, with abrupt care, gentle as if he was replacing a china doll on a high shelf even as he knows what she'd snap if he admitted that aloud. He had been just falling in line, he thinks bitterly, gaze searching hers as he pulls away -- hands up, palms out, and then slips them in his back pocket.

  
Exhaling in silence, hearing the torrent of snow on the sidewalk as if it was falling in the room, Ansel is still. Then he remarks brightly, without blinking,* You haven't lied, as I never did, just kept some facts...mm, *his gaze flicks,* close to the breast. *And back to her eyes. Quietly,* But you do know something, Irene. Something you think I would want to know. Something that concerns me intimately. *Oddly, he had no guess what it might be. He only arches an eyebrow, asking it lightly,* Are you going to deny that?

  
 **Irene:** *She breathed in for what seemed the first time in minutes when he pulled away from her completely. It was an odd feeling, as if some weight had lifted off her chest though it had never appeared there. It certainly made thinking a lot clearer, to the point of her realizing anew the close quarters were they were to begin with. Softening the grip of the hanger and the dress, she swallowed another lump as he continued, seeing through her hidden meaning instantly. Knew her that well didn't he? More irritation.* No, I don't deny it. *Doing so would have been futile, given that he was his own personal lie detector. She turned away from him out of necessity, looking towards the mirror and holding up the dress again.* Can we continue this chit chat with you on the other side of the door? I do want to try this on.

  
 **Ansel:** *As she spins to look away, there's a click in his jaw--his eyes screwing up as he thinks: her getting one over on him was new...and he has less the feeling that it was unwelcome, than simply uncomfortable. Convinced it would only last as long as he bothered not to get it out of her, he steadies and then flicks his gaze at her remark.* A free runway show? Ah, how I miss Paris. Of course, dahling. Just one -- *in a simple reach around, he takes the purse and plucks her cellphone out, tilting it at her with a cock of his head.*--precaution. *He winks, then slips from the curtain, folding his arms over his jacket and leaning against the wall. Utterly at leisure he adds, smirking to himself,* You know you need shoes for it.

  
 **Irene:** *Incredulous* What do you think you're- *her cellphone. She stared at it in brief confusion and then dawning realization. Of course, she should have been thinking about who to call to get her out of this, but the truth was that she hadn't. Besides, she could handle herself, that was the point.* Don't even think to look through my phone! It's password protected. *She exhaled again as he slipped out, wishing the obstacle between them was less flimsy and much more solid before she started undressing.* Well unless you want to be a darling and find me some, I'll make do with the ones I have. *The ones she was stepping out of now to get out of her jeans. Irene fought to regain her breath back to normal and it was an easier task now that he was out of the small room. The nerves however, they remained, and that made it difficult to keep quiet.* You haven't said what you think of my new hair.

  
 **Ansel:** *Flicking the tongue against the roof of his mouth as he inhales a caught chuckle,* Oh hun, you *shouldn't have said that... *He had been still holding the phone of course, but it wasn't as if there was anything he didn't already know about her friends and family that he could glean from her phone--and his number was in there when she'd let him put it in those few months back. Now he felt challenged...or at least she could think that. In reality he slipped it into his pocket and looked up again. Eyes glinting with that challenge he immediately focuses them, narrowing his gaze in around the room to see the long rack of shoes. Hm. Not an impressive selection, really, though he supposed he was more used to fitting rooms that Stefanie's model friends had populated. Ah, perhaps those. Hand out, he lets a wordless summon zoom the pair of tan pumps to rest, the other hand adjusts the top buckle on it, one with a similar silver design to her belt. Leaning sideways, he keeps his gaze forward, relaxed as he offers just the shoes through the curtain. The question makes the corner of his lips curl,* Ah, true. I suppose what I think is that you were making quite the impressive statement of independence against me and any comment I offered approving or disapproving would defeat the purpose. *He cocks his head, looking at his own reflection in the attending mirrors as he considers, maybe he'd done that right then. Huh.*

  
 **Irene:** *Please, she could believe Ansel capable of many a thing but breaking into her phone wasn't one of them. Besides, it was a matter of privacy. Text messages and pictures and videos meant only for her, of her friends, or Dillon. She would not have Ansel look through that, she wouldn't even have her closest friend look through her phone, it was her life. Turning as she hears the curtain rustle, the dress only half on, her eyebrows arch as she sees the shoes. Not half bad. She takes a step and plucks them from his grasp, setting them down while she finishes zipping up the dress and patting it down. Stepping into the shoes, she kneels down to tie the straps and then scoffs at his comment, standing and then pulling the curtain and looking at him* Don't be such an ass, I didn't cut it for you. *Or because of him, nope. She walked forward and then towards the three way mirror at the end to look at herself better. And damn him, the shoes did pull the dress together magnificently. Damn him twice.* It's not a statement of independence from you, it's a need for control of my life, of things around me. *She fixed the neckline and then turned sideways, hands on her hips. There was something a little off about this dress she couldn't put her finger on.* There's only one thing I loved more than I loved my hair, and that was how easy it was to cut it off. *Not entirely true, she loved many things and many people more than her hair, but for dramatic effect and a need to be concise, that's what it would be.* Something's not right here.

  
 **Ansel:** Ah, c'est magnifique. *Appreciative as she walks by, he looks up from the shoes to her new short bob only with an eye flick, staying relaxed on the wall. The shoes worked, though he adds aloud,* Loubitons would be better, of course, but that is always the case. *The belt worked too, and yet...he agreed, with her: something was just off. As he considers, his gaze locks to hers in the mirror. It was enough; he didn't need to move to command attention. Low,* Darling, there isn't anyone else. They'd have to go through me first -- and have, *he shrugs a shoulder as if that was a casual, off hand comment. Now he tilts his head, taking slow steps without removing his gaze, fishing from his pocket.* Hold still one moment for me, cheri. *Hands drifting up her back without touching, hovering with heat, he lets the little silver choker dangle from his fingers over her shoulder. Still looking at her in the mirror, he asks as if for permission, curious,* Yes?

  
 **Irene:** *Damn straight, c'est magnifique. The very least of compliments, the lower spectrum of compliments, but it would make do. It wasn't his compliments she wanted or needed after all; mantra, mantra, mantra.* We work with what we have. *Fixing her hair, she caught his gaze in the reflection. She believed his reflection easier, she realized, as if the mirror stripped away all false pretenses. Lies, honestly. He was the same reflection or not, and was assuring her no one else was here for her. She breathed easier but that feeling quickly gave away as he stepped closer to her again. She followed his movements with narrowed eyes once more only to have her eyebrows arch at the silver choker. That couldn't be real silver, how could he stand to hold it? Nope, she should say no.* Yes. *No, the opposite of yes, thats what she was looking for.* It'll do. *It felt odd not having to move her hair.* Tell me, if I found myself in sudden need of Chapstick would I find that in your pockets too?

  
 **Ansel:** *A brow cocked,* We do. *The way she said it had been dismissive, in a way he couldn't match. It was too true for him, a basic fact of his life such as it was, and so his tone was weighted. It reflects in the gaze he gives her, though he had yet to look away, as if her blue eyes had hooked his green (or, wait, vice versa he reminds himself). Nodding at her acquiescent derision, his lips flick in appreciation once more before he lifts the other end of the necklace and lays it to rest around her throat. If anything, he appreciated the silver for the simple fact that it strips at his skin and leaves it raw--sensitized--warm, as fingers ghost across her nape.* There. Beautiful. *He exhales, soft and resets, lingering against her collarbone. For a moment he says nothing. Then, barely moving his lips and refusing to look from her, he says,* Mm, Irene, you know I won't wait for Stefanie to tell me, don't you?

  
 **Irene:** *That was such a sad look, she realized as he agreed with her otherwise casual comment. We work with what we have...boy, if that wasn't telling of his day to day life, she didn't know what would. But it was his choice to stay with that pack, work with the death eaters. Her thoughts went to Rachelle, how she justified it too. And on cue, a song played in her head: another head aches, another heart breaks; I'm so much older that I can take. That last part especially. She was supposed to be 16, damnit, recently 16, not...whatever age one was supposed to be to deal with all of this. She exhaled again as the necklace lay against her skin, mirroring his own breath ghosting against her, looking away from him briefly just to check herself in the mirror. Perfect. Her gaze snapped back as he spoke again, and while it was silly to keep speaking to him via his reflection, in her mind, it was safer.* I know...*she licks her lips briefly and then curses herself internally. She turns around now, because she didn't deserve the safety of the mirror, however made up it was in her mind.* I want to know something first.

  
 **Ansel:** *Still as a statue, as she responds in the mirror it occurs to Ansel that her reflection hid her, locks a visage of poise the same as a flash frame behind glass. There was danger in his greying eyes, low in his hum was everpresent the unspoken threat of the beast that rared just beneath. As if beneath silver glass himself, he thinks briefly, and only allows an exhale as she turns. Oh, Irene. He nods, the only outward acceptance of her challenge, telling her to ask as his lips curl; in awe, in amusement, in want.*

  
 **Irene:** *It would have been a good idea to know what it was that she had wanted to ask. So many things running through her mind. Why had he come to see her? Why had he kept people away from her? Why did he choose to be this person who did such horrible things? So many questions she wanted the answer to. She just stared at him in silence for some long moments, focused only on his gaze and smirk upon hers before she found herself asking.* Do you want to spend the rest of your life the same way you're spending it now?

  
 **Ansel:** *The only reason that question was not a surprise, was the fact that he had no expected anything at all. How could he? Anything he might anticipate would only be challenged: it was the trouble of defining yourself by contradictions. Sooner or later, you lost track of any core self and were only defined by everyone around you. Ansel detests that thought, insulted by it's pathetic truth. Searching her gaze, Ansel waits-- only this time it was because he was genuinely thinking how to answer.* What I... want. *He murmurs slowly, gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips as his own perk, then back,*...has a history of not ending well, Irene. I suppose you could say it's dangerous for me to want anything beyond this very moment. The rest of my life isn't a consideration. *He couldn't let it be. Quietly,* Safer that way. For everyone -- and in this particular moment, safer for you. *Gaze burning into hers with that promise, he lets it lie before he growls lower,* Now. Tell me.

  
 **Irene:** *That wasn't an answer, she wanted to tell him. But in it's own way, it was. He didn't know how to want anything anymore, that's what she was hear ing. Because wanting hurt when everything you've wanted before had gone to shit. That's what she heard. Because not wanting anything meant you couldn't be disappointed. The only thing that that didn't make sense to her in any way was how that would be safer for her. So she decided to put it aside, because her safety, anything of hers, wasn't supposed to be connected to him. Well, a little cynical voice spoke in her head, that ship long sailed. Biting her lip again, she exhaled, and prayed Al and Lynn and everyone else would be able to forgive her for this.* I know where they're holding Rachelle.

  
 **Ansel:** ...and once again Irene, I find myself speechless. *Actually, that was a lie (a distortion on the truth, in any case). What was he supposed to snap-how dare she not tell him immediately?(Of course she hadn't, how dare he think she might). Still, it distorted the truth. Many words occurred to him, many more actions. It was the thought of (her) blonde lock coated in blood that stalls him enough to take a breath. Teeth gritting with the angry intake of breath, he drops his hands from her, cups his wrist behind his back, leans forward as if he could not stand being still and only asks,* Where?

  
 **Irene:** Miraculous. I'll mark the day. *She swallowed quickly upon finding his disposition changing. And of course it would, she had expected it to, which is probably why she hadn't said it earlier (fucked up as that was)- no, she hadn't said it because she didn't want to betray Al and she said it now because...because...oh bother. She stood a little taller, forced herself to and kept his gaze as she spoke, and quickly.* You'll spend 20 more seconds without knowing because I have to say first- they could have left her in a cell, left her in a prison but they got her out, they made her comfortable, they treated her well, far better than the hospitality the Death Eaters would have shown. So please, remember that when you go to her, please...*she licked her dry lips again.* Don't hurt Al, or his mother, or his uncle. The Brackner manor, that's where she is. Ansel...*more pleads on others' behalf crossed her mind but they quickly died in her throat.*

  
 **Ansel:** *Of course. Of course all she said -- that was true, they might have left her in a cell, and honestly the Aurors and Ministry would never have had the mettle or stomach for what others suffered. With an exhale, he mutters,* They also did so, to mean for us to never find her. *Alcott Brackner's house--well, the pup wasn't useless, after all. Wasn't that interesting? Whose idea would that have been? It occurs to him the poetic irony there, and perhaps that was why he half agrees to her initial demand.* ...I won't. *He twists away from her, tossing her phone onto her purse and laying them near the curtain. Spinning around, he claps together and says,* As long as they aren't foolish enough to try and deny us. I suspect they won't be, Al's smarter than he looks--so don't fret dah-ling. *He pauses at the edge of the partitioning wall, then turns back again, promising pleasantly.* There won't be, anyone else, coming after you Irene. *His eyebrow cocks, and he adds in a soft hiss, before he disappeared,* But I'll see you soon, as see. You're mine.

  
 **Irene:** *Her heart decided it was going to play an orchestra in honor of Ansel's departure. That was the first thing that popped to mind as he agreed not to hurt them only to put a condition behind it, leaving her cell phone in her purse. She was surprised, she'd thought he'd take it so she couldn't call Al to warn him. It was his last words, his last promise that left her more chill than before. And then he was gone, and so was her strength, or whatever semblance of strength she had been holding on to. She quickly moved away from the mirror and went into the dressing room again, sitting on the bench there after grabbing her purse and phone. Quickly undoing the clasp of the choker, she put that in her purse too and got out of that perfect dress and into her clothes as quick as she could. She didn't buy the dress, or the shoes. Moment she was out of that store, breathing in the cold and fresh air, she dialed and put her phone to her ear, leaning against an alley wall. Not to call Al, or Nadia, or Alisha or Trent.* Baby, I think I've done something terrible...*She exhaled as the phone kept ringing in her ear, her bottom lip quivering* Please, pick up. Please, pick up, please.

  
 ** **Dillon:**** Nice shot. *He chuckles, highfiving Rory as he sinks a bulls-eye (or okay close enough, he was calling it that); and he jots it down across in chalk. A moment before he nods to let the Hufflepuff team go, he pauses and tilts his head hearing his phone.* Ah -- hold on. *He turns, answering the phone with a smile instantly * Hey, baby. You find a dress?

  
 **Irene:** *If she closes her eyes for a moment, she could picture his smile as it probably was at this very moment. It made her calm down substantially, but her heart was still beating a million times a second.* Baby, I think I messed up, like huge, fucked up fuck-up messed up, and I have no idea what I was thinking, but if I hadn't, I, I- and that was such a perfect dress too, but I couldn't get it because of principle and it just, oh god, and Al's gonna hate me and so is Lynn but hey I've given them something to be united in, there's that! I just- *she stomps her foot on the sidewalk, once, twice, thrice. Calm, breathe.* It was Ansel. He found me.

  
 ** **Dillon:**** *Woah--he goes still in an instant trying to listen hard, focusing and relieved he could. Most couldn't when Rene spoke so quickly.* Babe, breathe...I'm sure i-- *Then he freezes. An ugly look contorts his usually handsome, pleasant face and his thumb ghosts over the place in his lips that had bled. He takes a moment to breathe and then just says,* Tell me where you are, I'm coming right now.

 {*}

“Your name is Brody?”

It was striking at her as a hammer hits a piano string—but seems to lose heart half way, leaving Eliza with disorienting vibrato. She hates this confusion. He expected her to recognize him, she could see in his eager eyes, hear it in the way he said it. Brody, spoken as if he stamped it in gold on the wall as they passed it. Even if he had, Eliza thinks looking at the already graffiti’d alleyway, his name would be lost on the wall of broken boys screaming trumped up importance in neon spray paint. So he’d fit right in then.

She takes pride in the fact she doesn’t know him: first, because she was not being tutored by her personal torturer (Red was dead already) as was customary for recruits to prove themselves strong (broken, she corrects mentally with a flick of her tongue against the roof of her mouth). Second, because it bothered his ego, and she didn’t enjoy anything else more. Eliza Culpeper specialized in breaking boys.

Shrugging at him, her hand buries deep in her pocket and closes reflexively around her wand. It was a comfort, this wand Harper had made her. New as everything else was: this was cedar and pear. He hid the latter within the wand when making it for her, after recognizing it (through some cryptic spell thing he did when measuring and weighing her) as a likely wand wood for her. Supposedly, this was because pear wands had a reputation (well earned, Harper assured her) of its owner being warmhearted and thus of never being in the possession of a Dark witch. If anyone asked, it was elm at it’s heart. No one had, though. No one had looked at her twice (Sam looked too often) since she feigned taking the potion. She knew Harper was the one who should be smug over this, as it was his potion they all trusted so implicitly, but she beamed in pride of herself as well as him. Really, though. Fooling them was only difficult if she didn’t believe with all her heart the plan Harper had been working on for five years—the plan both D’Greys and Hans were aiding—would free them all soon. She did believe it. Eliza had too. 

So here she was, gripping her wand in her leather jacket’s pocket, marveling that her eyes could stay open under the mascara and black liner weight. Tuesday night in a down and dirty area of Paris, waiting to “watch and learn”, as she’d been promised so smugly. Why was she supposed to know him though?

“Oui.” He seems to have decided not to wait further, a look of irritated, delicious disappointment crossing her lips. “Brody.”

“Brody isn’t a pureblood name,” Eliza says with a sharp arch in her voice, twisting a long hair strand around her index finger. With a cock of her head she adds, “You have fifteen seconds to convince me I should care who you are, or else I’m walking back to the boss right now. He swore I’d be tutored by the best, see.”

It works. He spills. (After snapping that Brody was his first name). And when she realizes with a rage buried deep in her gut that burns too hot for having been from another life that Eliza did know (of) him, her fingers clench white knuckled around the wand, suddenly eager to learn. 

“I volunteered to tutor you tonight,” he boasts like she should kiss those filthy (knock off) boots he wore and she wrinkles her nose, “because we’re alike after all.” 

“Alike.” The word sticks in her throat and yet she smirks all the same. Breathlessly exhaling, “oui, cheri.” Eliza wants to laugh when she sees he answered her smirk with one of his own. They would be shortly, she thinks with heat, but not for the reason he thought. 

He meant that they were from the same county in England, she think as she turns to lean against the wall and watches Brody approaching their contact. (Well, former contact, thought the man didn’t know it yet. He didn’t know he’d been marked…the irony strikes her and she wants to laugh again. She stays quiet instead as Brody boasts. This was meant to be a learning experience after all. Coolly, she observes as Brody wheedles the contact for his last bits of information—assures him as the man got nervous with a shoulder pat, offered him a cough drop. (Eliza knew he was wiser than the average assassination target for refusing that, but she only chirps, apparently bored and with a glint in her eye, “Maybe he just doesn’t know as much as you think, Brody.”

For effect, she pops her first button. Then leans off the wall, fingers still flexing around her pocketed wand. Brody laughed (both men appreciated), and then Brody was apologizing for her—inexperienced, new, don’t mind her (as if either were minding anything but her chest). It was true enough. She was new to what she was there to do now. The rage in her stomach flares. Eliza is not wary about her chance of success.

Brody meant more than just from the same county, though. He was ten years (at least) her senior, with a perpetual baby face and peach fuzz that made it obvious why it was his lot to train newbies like her. He was just always destined to be a failing trainee, wasn’t he? Eliza was almost sad. The rage wouldn’t let her be. There’s a firm smirk as she recalls—oh no, he was fired from that (she noticed he left that part out of his explanation and prayed he was ashamed). Same county, same circle of pureblood families…one in particular, they had known (knew, dammit).

It made sense now, Eliza thinks as she stops walking and stands behind Brody, gently dragging her out of her leather pocket. How Sam’s uncle had known to cast the spell to take Harper. Why, it was almost like they had known they would be able to fake his death and blame the Ministry, what a remarkable coincidence! Poor Al, Eliza thinks (the rage in her chest roars in approval even as she forgets the name and deed moments later).

It makes sense, and it was too easy. 

“Hi there.” She says brightly to the mark, hand waving and hair-twisting. He smirks at her, pays too much attention to the popped button and was hers in an instant. Patting his chest, she adds, “Don’t mind me.”

She says as she walks slow around the heels she had on sounding eerie in the moonless night for her. Of course that makes both of them look at her, but not see her - exactly as she  knew it would. They resume their little conversation, the one she already knew the end of. Brody wasn’t the first guy to misinterpret past the blond hair - but he hadn’t lied. There were similarities between them…or there were about to be. It burned her, to think even the one who once knew her best would be shocked now. It burned, but it felt good with the old adage in her mind: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. She wasn’t one to let any boy tell her what to do anymore, so when Brody told her to stop walking, he sealed his own fate. 

Oh, she stops. In that dirty alleyway, eyes darting back and forth as she draws the wand, she knows she looks suitably paranoid and frantic: breathy, heart beat scattered (those things were true, if she stopped to think what she was doing, she knew she’d break). They look away, uncaring.After all, that’s what she’s supposed to do: drop her defenses, bruise easily and fall in line. Even Olivier had jumped in to save her, Hans had — no one thought that she could handle any of this on her own.

Though honestly, he had sealed his fate that the moment she made the connection: the day that Harper had been taken, there was an Auror trainee who had jumped the gun, made them attack without benefit of a plan — made Harper have to single-handedly defend his six year old. Named Brody.

There had been.

There wasn’t now.

She didn’t use her beautiful new wand. That would be traced to her (she knew that, she learned it); but she’d stolen the contact’s when he was too busy staring at her chest, and in two words, and a flash of green light - tada, down he went. A flash of pride went through her, shot up her spine as she stood tall, watching the body crumple like a marionette cut. Gone in a rush, faster even then Red had. And at her own hand, she thinks wide-eyed, heart leaping into her throat as she catches a breath at the back of he throat. 

The scream made her twist, blood-curdling at the shout before she backhands across the mouth of the mark. That makes him stop screaming at least (should she have screamed? was that the normal response?). Blood splatters across her palm, she hit so hard.

Oh, God…oh, God —

They wanted her to learn, she thinks. Throwing the man’s wand back to him, this time she casts with her own - the new one, thinking at least she could use Harper’s wand now, though she wished she could have used it on Brody. The second man goes down as fast as the first — faster, actually (easier) — and then she’s alone in the deserted alley, pacing on clattering heels and double-checking no one came running at the scream. 

No one had.

It felt good. For a second, looking at the corpses she felt herself go breathless, felt like she should be more upset - felt like tears should gather and fall. If not for the bastards themselves, then for her own lost innocence (how bloody old was she anymore anyway? She felt centuries old in that second). But then it just felt … good, and it had been a long time since she felt pure happiness. So who said she couldn’t feel good for it, for fighting back? 

It was the same in her mind as Sam having told her she didn’t look pretty in a dress — she did, thank you, if she liked the dress then she looked gorgeous in it, because she looked like herself. This was the same thing; this was who she was now. Stronger, an undercover agent, but she wasn’t about to go torturing innocent people to get them to trust her either. There were ways around that, as she just proved.

They were there to either get the information with payment or force - but either way, Eliza had learned last year what this game was. She’d guessed when she’d told Sam: “You hit an ass you don’t like and you’re in?” The Death Eaters were worse. They’d make her torture, make her kill — but it was the same principle, she understood, and she wasn’t playing by their fucking rules anymore.

Staring at the scarlet on her hand, she looks up to the black sky again and wishes Paris’ city lights didn’t make the stars impossible to see. Guess she would just have to be one herself, she thinks, feeling like she should be lifted by Zeus and inscribed in the constellations.

Then she looks back down and calls. First the boss, because she knew he needed to be the first informed. (Rather, the handler she’s supposed to call, as Sam’s uncle was too high for her as a recruit). As the phone rings (and rings), she fills her mind with thoughts of what Harper had to live with because of Brody’s actions - and thinks she’s appropriately broken-up in time for the answer. Breathy, horrified - she couldn’t manage tears, but she speaks simply: the mark killed Brody, she killed him. 

Awe-inspiring for loyalty, they asked her first if she’d gotten the information (she pulls it out of their mark’s jacket and tucks the folder in her shirt). Then they told her to take a breath and popped off the phone; she wasn’t to touch the bodies. That made sense to her, because they had to come and double check that she wasn’t lying.

(I’m a free bitch baby, she giggles to herself cocking her head and humming the pop song under her breath. As she giggles, she bounces, clapping her hands together beneath her nose like she was praying). 

&.

She’s in the park, on the bench across the way when he shows, tapping her foot irritably and trying to remember the stories of those constellations. 

“I should have known it would be you.” She says, rubbing under her eye in case the mascara was running. Her breath seems more scattered now, the images of the men she killed seeming inscribed on her eyelids — but when she hears his little laugh, she finds herself smiling.

“Oh, I’m not here for clean-up, luv.” 

Eliza furrows her brow and looks up from the snow at him. Hans has a small smile on his lips too, a strange look in his eyes as he surveys him. It takes her a breathless heartbeat caught in his gaze to recognize pride, and another to realize what he meant. She nods at him, breathing out his name, but anything else - everything else, takes too much effort in that moment. 

As the laugh dies off she feels a tear - and then Hans thumb, brushing it off for her.

“Shh, it’s okay luv.”

Eliza wrinkles her brow, shaking her hair back. Okay!? Okay — none of this was okay, it’s ridiculously the exact opposite of okay, she wasn’t supposed to be doing any of this - this wasn’t, when had she become this? 

“I’m a murderer.” 

There’s a pause, heavy that rests in the cold air between them. Hans jaw trembles. That shocked her: why should he tremble for the fact? The knowledge and pride seems to war with sorrow — but then she thinks she must have imagined it (must be wanting someone to tell her it was wrong, that killing someone - anyone, was wrong dammit). Instead he takes her hand and mutters a spell.

The blood’s gone. 

He sits beside her, his hand reaching for her shoulder. The comfort his warm, strong grasp gives her should be shameful…but she’s too relieved too care. 

“No.” He breathes out, blue eyes locked on her.

“What do you mea—”

“You’re strong.” He says it so solidly, she realizes she believed him after the fact, after she’s smiling. “You’re good.” 

Good. Ha. 

“Good like an angel?” Venturing with a tease, she feels herself go breathless when he shakes his head.

“Good like yourself, Eliza.” Hans squeezes. Her gaze darts to his lips and then back up, like she wanted to figure out if she could guess truth from them. His gaze darts too. Hans wasn’t there alone she realized, swiveling when she hears another set of footsteps and laughing (it sounded choked, bubbly like full of emotion she didn’t want to understand), as she realizes Olivier was holding up a bottle of her favorite wine.

He looks at her as Hans had - a look of shocked understanding, pride, and says only, 

“Red okay?” 

Vintage, she sees, peering at the year. Eliza reaches - and he thinks for a second she’s taking the bottle, but she’s pulling him towards the bench instead. Now both of them were laughing too, and she feels relief - and happiness again. 

“Nope.” She says, looking between her boys. They exchange a look of confusion too, even as she squeezes Hans shoulder and Olivier’s hand, then pushes herself off of them, spins around, the skirt swiveling as she did. Her hands go to her hips and she smirks, head cocked and chin up at them both. Shine like a star, right? 

“I want a cosmo.”

**{*}**

 

 **Tony:** That's funny, I don't remember ordering a blonde. *He walked into the library of the manor to find Eliza with a drink clutched in hand. Fruity, by the color of it, but he supposed looks were deceiving he shouldn't assume but it did look like a Cosmo. He had ordered enough of them for lovely ladies over in the States (it was a favorite) that he could probably identify a Cosmo blindfolded. Best not put that boast to voice. He walked in further, heading towards his poison of choice, bourbon, and pouring himself a glass after unstoppering the decanter. Turning and swirling his drink with a simple repeated movements of his wrist, this was the first time he'd seen Eliza since the Gala in which he'd tried to 'come to rescue' from Hans only to be deemed unnecessary.* How you holding up?

 **Eliza** : *Humming happily, her voice was still sharp as she bites out,* Do I look like I'm for sale? *Speaking before looking around, she wasn't actually sure who it was (Hans was on the phone somewhere); her eyebrow cocks up. Tony.* Tony. *Good girl, she could say his name aloud. Was this her third cosmo or fourth? Still, seeing him feels like a shock to her system (how many of those could you have in one night? Cause they were worse than the alcohol frankly). Sitting up straighter and setting the glass down (martini glasses were useless, she'd already had to change her top), she hasn't blinked away from him.* I didn't know you were here...*Breathless and blushing, she folds her hands on her skirt, together.* I mean--yes, duh, should have guessed, your home too just -- ...hi. *She pauses, then says ruefully.* Think I just answered your question too, but, *bitterly smirking,* Oh, I'm holding up great! 

 **Tony:** Yes. *He replied honestly, shrugging his shoulders.* Well, more for rent. *he gestures to his face and then points to her to clarify he meant her make-up, in particular her excessive use of dark eye make-up. With that outfit and 10 pounds of make up on she looked ready for la rue St. Denis.* You look like a DE chick though, props. *He lifted his glass to her after he had filled it and leaned against the grand piano as she faltered through words after being surprised. She wasn't the first one to forget he existed, and she wouldn't be the last. He grinned and repeated her greeting.* Hi. *He took a sip and then lifted a thumbs up to her.* Great! Good to hear. Humor will get you through everything you know. Well, humor and alcohol. Cheers!

 **Eliza** : *Her mouth opened, shut, then did both again, and then she folded her arms around a pillow, hugged it to her chest and exhaled,* I am a DE chick. *It was a quick mutter, as she's toasted and wants to squirm with her discomfort at the truth, and instead smirks.* I suppose that is the point of the make up though, so. *She winks, and adds brightly on top of that,* you know that, and to cover the bruises and cuts that still have not entirely disappeared, *she snaps her fingers,* but will soon, so, yeah, cheers! *Where was her drink? Except as she looked for it, she follows his rising thumb and stills again. Biting down on her bottom lip, she remembers why she'd wanted a "re"meet with Olivier's brother and groans under her breath trying to chase the discomfort away.* ...sorry, I--oops. *She rubs hard at her forehead, elbow digging into his couch. Under her breath chuckling,* This isn't how I pictur--I wanted to...thank you. Meet you properly, and thank you. 

 **Tony:** *Ah, of course. He had forgotten about that particular need for make-up. Not the instances, after having caused himself he didn't think it would ever leave his mind, but he had assumed she would simply glamour the majority of them away. His eyebrows lifted with a tilt of his head.* Consider myself properly admonished, I apologize. *And here he was, supposedly one of those sensitive and understanding men. Pah. He looks at her again after lowering the glass from his lips.* No need to apologize, and there's no need to thank me, honestly. *His mind conjured an image of him snapping a delicate neck, a life lost because of Tony's choice to join the Death Eaters. No, she -really- didn't need to thank him.*

 **Eliza:** Oh, I j--*She wasn't trying to admonish him. Well. Anymore, even if he had just called her a prostitute (twice), because frankly she -did- look like one. And act like one.* --God--*Choking on her laugh and squeezing the bridge of her nose, she shakes her head a second to hold back tears and slaps the pillow, finishing aloud,* I can't seem to say anything anymore without attacking someone. *Eyes distant, head tilting she muses,* No wonder it's been so easy to talk to Hans -- *and looks back, eyes filled with emotion that had barricaded itself in her lungs and expression, burrowed deep and wouldn't leave. Unblinking, she just said quietly,* I suppose I get why you don't want thanks. I don't even--all I know is Olivier's told you everything, and you're helping. *She breathes out.* I don't want thanks after tonight either. It doesn't...*her eyes glass over, she pauses a moment and then whips back, in a sharper tone again after clearing her throat,* but still I owe you something, I'll--*she nods at his glass* buy you another one of that, those, whatever that is. *She flaps her hand.* 

 **Tony:** *His eyebrows lift curiously as she seems to hold herself together, literally at one point as if pressure to the bridge of her noise would transfer over to a mental stability.* Honey, I'm not made of glass and if I felt attacked, I would give any woman's bitchiness a run for their money. *Terribly sorry she had to endure Hans' company. Then again he had already proven to have a soft spot for the girl in front of him.* Well if you insist, I can't deny a woman anything. *With his eyebrows still raised, he took another drink and pushed off the piano with his shoulders to sit on the couch opposite her.* What happened tonight?

 **Eliza:** *That makes her chuckle, one of those nostagic-kinds that's filled with a longing she can't name.* Of course. Men. Reminds me of ... someone. *She turns, as he sits beside her and realizes she honestly cannot remember which lie she's supposed to tell for a moment - the amount of people that could know one thing but not the other was exhausting and she'd already learned it was best to keep her mouth shut tight. Except with Harper - and to an extent, Hans and D'Grey - but even if that didn't include Tony (which she knew it did, like she'd said, D'Grey house was his too), she realized she was answering anyway: looking at him steady, guilt in her throat as she admits,* It was my second...errand. I ... the person who was supposed to teach me, Brody, I -- well I learned all right, *there's a satisfied note in her voice as she says that, her chin lifting,* just not as he suspected I would. He was actually _boasting_ ... boasting, about having infiltrated the Aurors a decade ago...being fired because he was the _reason_ that Harper was...*She dies off there. Telling her secrets were one thing. Harper's were his. She swivels towards Tony, but her eyes cast to the floor.* I killed him. *There's dead silence. Ha. Listen to her being clever! Her eyes shut.* And the mark, because he saw. Framed the mark. I killed them and.... *Her eyes flutter back open as they search for Tony's, determined to hold his gaze as she drops slowly, word by word.* ...I liked it. 

 **Tony:** *Errand, that was a nice word for what it really was. Still, was Tony's term really any better? He called it a run, and it was a thoroughly misleading term for it; hardly any running involved. Tony listened intently as she explained, recognizing the name only from having made it his mission to learn about as many of the Death Eaters as he could, only to have his eyebrows arch anew over the information he hadn't managed to obtain on the man (then again he was nothing special to warrant a deep enough look). Infiltrating the Aurors, helping to secure Harper, he could understand why she snapped. He whistled under his breath at the revelation and took another sip before commenting.* Maybe I should be the one to buy you the drink. 

*He didn't drop his gaze though. Dear God, she couldn't be any older than 16. That just made it all the more sad.* I take it you've already been congratulated for your first kill, well kills. Pride has been expressed either silently or vocally for covering your tracks so well- framing a dead man, I'm sure some would say inspired. *He smirks for a moment before he quiets, swirling the drink in his glass.* It does feel good, that's what makes the guilt that much more unbearable, at least that's how it is for me. You like it, and you know it's wrong but damnit it just feels sooo good. Hmm?

 **Eliza** : *Her eyes had fallen after she admitted to liking it, but they lift right back up with his whistle. It feels to her as though every muscle is tensing, her heels sinking further into the carpet as she ventures shrewd and with a tiny, bitter smile,* Well, you do know your brother. *It was spoken in that kind of "i know you know" way, intentionally meant to be obvious to avoid admitting that yes: she'd been approved of...and she wanted to! Part of her wanted to. Half of her. The other half wanted to turn herself into the police, curl up in a ball and cry about her lost innocence and admit that all the men in her life had been right all along: that she couldn't handle it, that she didn't want to handle it, that she was angry that she could handle it and shouldn't have had to, dammit! 

Then she hisses, quick intake as she breaks out with,* First. *Her eyes were still glassy.* First, because of course, *she looks back at him,* it's understood and expected that it won't be my last. *She arches an eyebrow as he explains the rest and finds her throat dry for a reason that had nothing to do with the neglected cosmo. She nods, quickly,* Exactly. I'm proud. That bastard...he was the reason, that Harper was hurt, it--but then I think, who am I to decide who lives, who dies? But then I think I'm Eliza, Marielle Simmons Culpeper, and if the choice is between me and someone else telling me to kill or die? Then no, fuck that, I'm -going- to make the decision, because no one gets to hurt me anymore, no one gets that power over me, and yes, yes it did feel good! It's terrible, it's fucked up, but I can't actually remember anything ever being any -different- and I am just so sick, *she pinches her forefinger and thumb together earnestly, voice chilling for a second with her eyes over his shoulder,* of being put down, by all these ignorant men, who are just stomping around trying to prove to me they exist. Why should I care, hm? 

 **Tony:** No, he was never the reason entirely, he was the pawn, Gustav's the main reason, and we all know that already. *That doesn't mean she wasn't justified, He was sure there's a million and one wrongs committed by Brody throughout his lifetime and in a fair world he would have to pay for all of them. But they didn't live in a fair world. Murderers and rapists roamed free, in caught and unrepentant. Innocent lives were lost without being able to mourn them, some even without names. No one would remember them, no one would care- that was the world, it happened. People die, that's what they do (he takes another drink to avoid a wince as the sentence rang through his head in his father's voice), in the most gruesome of ways. But never the ones that deserved it.

The name Simmons strikes him again, if only because of being reacquainted with his old friend. Eliza would be the right age, he thinks, for the daughter Claude had lost. He was sincerely hoping it was a coincidence, he was, because if it wasn't and he- Tony was glad to snap out of his thoughts by the eerie resemblance of Eliza's words to his own when he was her age. No one gets that power over her...he could definitely understand that.* But you killed someone. And you killed them deliberately. Doesn't matter how justified it is, how right it feels or if you did the right thing by taking away someone so foul and evil from this world...you still killed someone. That rips apart the soul, and that's not just religion talking, it's truth. We could make horcruxes, just *he chuckles a moment* that's insane. One of the most evil pieces of magic in the world and we could make some if we wished, if we knew precisely how, cuz we already got the hardest part done. *He shakes his head before adding.* Some would say letting the guilt affect you will kill you, but I don't believe that. It keeps me human, knowing and feeling the weight of my actions. It's good to feel guilt, even a little bit of shame every once in a while. *He shrugs, taking another drink.* Then again, I'm a masochistic son of a dick, you probably shouldn't listen to me. *He smirks.*

 **Eliza:** *She bit down on her lip.* Gustav's the instigator, the driving force, the motivation. Brody cocked the gun for him. And he wouldn't have stopped if he failed that day, you're right. But, *she lifts a finger, not even sure why she felt it was important to argue,* I jus-- I have heard too many bloody accounts and remembrances from that horrific day from both Harper, and his son, who was fucking six years old at the time, and I also know? *Her voice arches with her brow (or was that backwards?).* That because of how the Aurors attacked, his son spent years blaming the -Aurors- for it, which probably only furthered their goal in the first place! Not to mention made us lose a Quidditch game. *She goes still hearing her own words, and settles her head back into the couch deciding she just needed to breathe...and listen. Yes. 

The mention of horcruxes surprises her and she doesn't find herself breathing for a few of his sentences -- and then she realized, she had no interest of a horcrux, and that made her smile. Actually, all of what he said had made her smile (while she winced), and finds her spine unwinding as she straightens in the couch. Startled at his end, she shakes her head quickly,* No, no! Please, don't do that- *Why not? -Because it hurt-, she thinks, as she thinks she could hear another saying nearly the same thing,* --that's..it exactly, and if it's masochistic fuck it because more people should hear it. *She bites down on her tongue. Maybe others did. She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember a single person besides Harper who weren't going to look at her and tell her how proud they were, how murder was strength and she -- just didn't know right then how to feel. She couldn't regret killing him. (Nor deny how powerful it had felt). So she thought she saw the value of a little shaming too,* Surely if more people considered willful torture and murder shameful there might actually be bloody -less- of it, right? *She bites down hard on her lip again and lays back in the couch, laying the pillow back down on her lap and never taking her eyes from him (her head was hurting). Softer,* And I don't want to make a horcrux. That makes me smile. Look, Dark Arts I genuinely couldn't use yet! Wonderful, I'm "good" after all. *She shuffles so the pillow winds up under her head. Quietly looking at him for a moment, she asks,* Who was your first? 

 **Tony:** No, not a Quidditch game! Anything but that! *He chuckles and then purses his lips before reminding himself, right, not funny. So then he went the opposite way, much more serious. Oddly enough, that seemed to work better for her, at least until he tried to build himself a safety, a fall back and she protested.* Don't do...well, I can try not to be myself if you really want but, might not work very well. *He summoned the decanter back to him to refill his glass and poured as she spoke. He found himself snorting at her other point, nodding in agreement.* You would think, right? *Truth was if it were such a logically emotional thing (because yes, emotions could be logical too at times), there'd already be less of it. It wasn't that simple, nothing ever was. Her statement of not wanting a horcrux did make him smile though and then chuckle after shaking his head.* It was just an example, I've had a lot of time to think about this. *He swirled the drink before taking another sip and exhaling appreciatively at the burn in his throat.* Mmh, Denise. I was 14, she was 17 and a -freeeeeak-! *He smirks.* I know what you mean, that's a bit of a secret though, don't know if I like you enough to tell you yet.

 **Eliza** : *After catching her breath, rubbing hard on her lip and under her eye, sucking in sadness and expelling a laugh from her throat in thirty seconds, Eliza muses aloud.* ...this is a very rollercoaster-ey conversation isn't it? *She smiles at Tony now. Continuing with hand waving through the air, as if on one of those rickety old wood contraptions of thrill-seekers, her shoulder pops up.* You're not sure you -like- me enough? I mean, that's totally fair, especially as it's the second time I've talked to you and you don't me from Eve but I guess I jus--*A breath escapes her chest and she rubs it with a hint of a smirk,* didn't realize that it was personal affection alone upon which anyone told secrets....*She trails off with a sudden softness to her face.* That's nice. That it isn't about...I mean, that you aren't keeping something because you want to manipulate me or use me or figure out how I best can benefit you or okay that may all mean the same thing but it's variations on a theme and--and it's just nice. That you care more about the person you tell, instead of the information you're telling them. That it's the...person that matters. *Her smile flicks up, appreciative even as her eyes seem haunted.* When I called them, told them they were both dead--know what they asked? If I had the info. *She points at the manilla folder on the table, eyes hard for a flash bulb of a moment.* Their man was dead. That folder meant more to them. I am so tempted to throw it in the fire. *But she lifts her eyes back to Tony and repeats,* so...thank you. Nice to know that's not true of how everyone thinks. 

 **Tony:** *Muses out loud with an amused smirk.* Rollercoaster kind of rush. Yes, I guess it is. *He  shrugged as she expressed mild surprised (and teased) at the fact he would divulge secrets on the basis of liking a person. It was just much simple to say that. Truthfully he didn't really know the criteria for gaining his trust enough to tell people of his first kill. He supposed the less people that knew, the better. And really, wasn't a matter of how often he'd converse with a person as he'd told Dani the same after only three meetings. He didn't know. Guess it depends on the situation and, yes, the person like Eliza had just said. He smiles, shrugging to accept what he wasn't sure was completely a compliment but he'd take it anyway. Then he scoffed with a snort before taking another sip. Death Eaters were so predictable sometimes.* Wouldn't blame you. *They would, and she would pay for it but Tony would applaud the destruction of information.* Glad to be of some comfort though really, a decent part of the world is like that. No manipulation, no using people, and if it is it's harmless things like convincing your boyfriend to order green peppers on the pizza because you love them but he hates them. *He shrugs with a smile before adding.* You just have shit luck, Persephone. 

 **Eliza:** *Soft,* I don't remember it. I more...recall that world exists but...*She clears her throat. Persephone...she had to think about that, but it made her smirk. Her gaze flicks back to the file. No, but they would blame her, she almost says--but then it occurs to her... She tilts her head.* How would they know they could trust that information now? *There's a pause as she thinks and cocks an eyebrow back to Tony.* Seriously though, *her hand pops up again,* I can't destroy it but they all think he killed Brody...it can be false information. Just... 

 **Tony:** Yeah, I understand that. *He nodded slowly but he was determined not to be sad. In the famous words of a famous person that he couldn't recall this moment: this too shall pass. They were working, on top of everything else, to get Eliza home and home they would get her. Whether or not she would be able to -feel- at home, well that was another issue best left thought for another time. Taking another drink and refilling his glass, he tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow as she thinks out loud.* Promising *he nods, liking that thought.* Potentially convoluted. But they only asked if you had the folder, right? *He grins, shrugging* And why would you look inside the folder obviously you're a recruit, it's not meant for your eyes, you know that, you don't give a shit, you were in this for the extortion and evil things that you're supposed to be wired to enjoy now. *He taps the folder.* I'd wipe it, leave a clever message that would mean 'fuck you'. You choose how to handle it but you're right, this information is officially questionable.

 **Eliza:** *He took her train of thought beautifully and to a conclusion she hadn't considered that made her smirk only widen, nodding along with him and chuckling at the back of her throat.* Exactly. Well. I was thinking I could change the report to lead them to the wrong warehouse but...*Her eyes lift from the folder and then back up.* What kind of clever message were you thinking? 

 **Tony:** Much easier to make something disappear than to change them, that's why memory modification spells can be broken but an obliviate that wipe the slate clean is pretty permanent unless your name is Harper Brackner. *He takes another drink after chuckling, bringing a hand up to rub his mouth as he thought.* Didn't really have one in mind, now I've got loads. Make a list, title it: Things You Suck At. One, Life in general. Two, getting reliable information. Or have the information there and then have the letters merge together to read "Ha ha" before the whole thing goes up in flames. And never doubt the efficiency of a straightforward fuck you.

 **Eliza** : *Unless your name was Harper Brackner. For a moment, Eliza forgot where she was. She had not heard his name aloud, spoken fondly in...since. Since before, which should be Before with the capital B since it stretched across two worlds.  

At least this world had the silver lining; that it wasn't sounding yearning-nostalgic, so much as good-natured ribbing on a friend. It makes her smile. And say even though it breaks her rule,* Or if it's Alcott Brackner. He's just as obnoxiously good. *Maybe less studious, but if the studies were "anything his father ever laid eyes on that one tuesday afternoon" then, he got Outstanding in every category. Shoving the thought away forcibly, she looks back up and listens.

Thank God Tony provides such wonderful distractions. With a smirk,* I like the last, but this list could be fun. Well, more so when we could be honest. Three, fashion sense. Seriously, do they own anything that isn't black? Some color would go a long way. And, you know, actual brands and there's this thing called personal hygiene they seem to ignore. *She reaches for her cosmo now, brighter.* 

Four, understanding irony, sarcasm, or any double entende -- excepting natural those of a sexual innuendo, though I'm pretty sure none of them understand female anatomy in the slightest. Makes sense --how can you describe what you've never seen?

 **Tony:** *He would take her word for it, though refrained from saying anything out loud for fear of knocking her concentration away from what was making her so happy to think about. Couldn't acknowledge it either, it was almost like an unspoken rule. With another drink, he lifted a hand to his chest in false insult and then looked down at his black shirt and dark jeans.* I'll have you know though, this *he lifted the shirt* is John Varvatos. I wasn't born in a pig farm, just my old living room. *He chuckled idly and then more heartedly as she continued with her list though he wished her last comment was true. Trying to let his smirk turn angry, he takes a sip and then adds* 5, artistic taste. Now, if even -I- can say that, you know it's a problem. Seriously, pick up a book, watch a play, listen to Ke$ha. *The last one was obviously a joke, he took another sip and then added with a hmm, finger raised* Taste in -alcohol-. Don't take anything from their kitchens *he shudders* disgusting shit.

 

 **Eliza:** *Eying the shirt (happily, but sue her, she could basically count the Galleons she could bounce off those abs from here!), she grins.* Yes, well you're Italian and dark-haired, it works for you. British boys who bleed in the sun without their little parasols? Ugh, stop trying to look like Jean Claude Van Demme. *Her french accent peaks on the name as she takes a sip and then remembers she has to stop looking at the bare skin him lifting his shirt had presented. Chuckling at that, she nods in total agreement, and then squeaked.* Kesha!? *Eyes darting around the room to look for a music player she cannot help herself from singing, hand out around the martini glass,* Wake up in the morning feeling liiike P-Diddy...

 

 **Tony:** *His smirk remained as he noticed her gaze flicker to his bare abs a few times because who didn't love to be appreciated? He let his shirt fall again with another chuckle and a drink from his glass only to have to make sure not to spit it out as she started singing. Swallowing and grinning wide, he takes his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and continues along, after adding in the background vocal of 'what up, girl?'* Grab my glasses, I'm out the door- *He stood up suddenly, putting his sunglasses on and then heading towards the portable speakers after searching for the song on his iPod*- I'm gonna hit this city. *He plugged his iPod in, fast forwarded the song to where it needed to be and hit play, moving his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, turning around on his heels with wiggling eyebrows and sauntering and dancing his way back towards Eliza and beckoning her to stand and join him with a curling finger*

 **Eliza** : *Startled that he not only knew every word, but immediately hit the proper background beat, she started giggling into her palm and missed a beat herself. Oh, very cool Eliza, she thinks watching him and continuing to sing herself hurried - it was one of those contradictions that she loves, things that were so extremely uncool they were cool after all.  More than that though, it was fun, and easy and she leaned forward, hand cutting the air as she matched to the song,* - I ain't coming back! *Her gaze travels up from crooked finger to his oh-so-blue eyes just visible beneath the Gucci (his brother and him both had that in common, she thinks, happily buzzed) and she pops off the couch. Her leather jacket she leaves behind, dropping it over the manilla and she slips the heels off too, much preferring to be barefoot now. Taking his hand and using it to spin herself around, she pops her elbows opposite her shoulders. It felt so, so good to dance. (Especially with a hot Italian, she thinks somewhere in the back of her mind, wondering how even this could feel...safe). As the song kicks up, she spins back around, singing and matching the words with him now.*

Tony: *He grinned as she stood up and took his hand. He helped her spin and twirl, lifting his glass to his his lips to finish off the drink, afterwards putting both hands up in the air and spinning before setting the empty glass on the table as the lyric ends fade at the end of 'trying ta get a little bit tiiiiipsy', ha, it was so appropriate for right at that moment. Licking his lips, he sung out as he rotated his shoulders, dancing next to Eliza* Don't stop, make it pop! *He took her hands again to spin together and keep dancing and singing.* To-night! Imma fight! *He brought up his fists and pretended to take jabs at the air.*

 **Eliza** : *Pretending to dodge one of his fists, while still swaying her hips she brought her hands up as they'd been showing her in the woods to block the next fake-jab with her forearm, and used the moment to spin around throwing both hands up in the air. Breathing officially labored, she finds herself slipping the lyrics as she catches it and tries to remember what came next anyways (God this beat was so catchy though), and slipped closer to Tony instead, dancing with one hand on his wrist loose, the other still in the air, back bumping into his chest a few times, relieved to be able to smile at the contact considering how recently anyone so close would make her breath catch. Maybe it was cause she was already out of breath from dancing and laughing (and crying, but that was forgotten). Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because he was really bloody hot and Italians were unfair, she decides, as she spins again and realizes Oli was leaning against the pillar abruptly, amusement in his wiggling eyebrows and arms folded.* There you are!

 **Olivier:** *All Hans had said was 'they found her', when this god-awful song from half a decade ago had started blasting from their library. He spun. Oh Tony. His brother sometimes, he was telling you. (Actually he never really said anything aloud, but not the point). Then he snorted to himself, realizing Hans had predictably sang the lyric 'the party don't start til I walk in' moments before his transformation, and turned back. Now his eyebrows were dancing to that sinfully catchy-beat and his head was cocked.* -Kesha-? Really?

 **Eliza:** Come danceeeee. *She gestured at them both, and when she realized she had, she added happily,* One hot Italian boy is not enough, you know.

 **Olivier** : Actually, I don't know. *Smirk flicking up, pointed.*

 **Eliza:** Pft. I'm selfish. You're both gorgeous. Sue me. *And she wiggles her fingers until he relents (after looking to his brother with a 'seriously?' written in those brooding eyebrows of his own), and let's out a triumphant giggle as she takes Olivier's hand too, now dancing in between them.* 

 **Tony:** *He raised his hand up and then threw it back down, turning his head away dramatically and then patting his chest to the sound of a heartbeat before drawing a heart on his chest with his fingers to go along with the lyrics 'you build me up, you break me down! My heart it pounds, yeah you got me!' After all, Tony never did anything half-assed and he was always willing to put on a show. Hadn't quite expected this audience though.* Oh no! It's the fun police, don't take us in! *He spoke up above the music as he kept dancing with Eliza, keeping his arms in the air and swish-swaying his hips to the beat as he sings along* -Party don't stop no! Oh whoa oh ooooooooh- whoa! This! *He gestures to himself* Is more than just 'enough', but can I say? Girl's got a big appetite. *He shrugs after winking and blowing a kiss at Eliza and turning back to his brother with eyebrows arched challengingly because it really was the fastest way to get things done with him sometimes. He claps above his head as Oli joins, taking Eliza's other hand to make her spin, which in turn would have to make Olivier spin too.

 **Eliza:** *Giggling, she pretends to catch his kiss, examine it, and then clutch it to her chest as she spins around again. And then again, as Tony kept her going, which in prompt succession made Olivier spin too and she speaks over the instrumentals in the music, looking back to Tony to add,* Oh come on, like you wouldn't -order another blonde- if you could? *Gesturing at her own long hair, she tossed it back and looked up the book shelves still swaying, even as the song reached climax.*

 **Olivier** : *He had decided, as was often the case between him and his brother he might have thought (but that was the point) -- thinking about the particulars of the evening would be of no help to anyone. Why forgetting had to include -Kesha-, he wasn't sure, but he lets himself be spun - genuine amusement in him as he chuckles and spins her right back. He says,* Actually, I can think of just such a blonde. *And considering his brother had just arched his eyebrows at him, he did the same right back, pulling his mouth down in a comically overlarge frown (a gesture his brother's face was quite adept at, really). Even as he remained swaying and popping his elbows.*

 **Eliza:** *Cocking an eyebrow back, as she still had Tony's wrist, she holds it up as she sings -- *Don't stop, make it pop --*Again, the chorus, and injects in herself,* Oh reallllly? 

 **Tony:** *His brows wiggle with a tiny smirk as he thinks to himself oh he really, really would and actually, funny that she should mention that because- oh, brother. If Olivier kept interrupting his thoughts and stealing his punchlines only to use them against him, Tony would have to do something about that, something menacing and mean. He shakes his head, a small smirk still on his lips that turns sheepish as Eliza now questions. With a finger he moves his sunglasses back up and lets that serve as an answer. For a few seconds.* Yes, reaaaaallllly, gossip girls.

 **Olivier** : *Shrugging a shoulder, he lifted his hands to his mouth saying promptly,* Oops, brother, was that supposed to be a secret? 

 **Eliza** : Shh shh, *still dancing she elbows Olivier's side (that didn't hurt, it didn't), and barely waited for the song to be over before she was reaching for her cosmo glass, promptly finishing it, still tugging on Tony's hand and then perching on the edge of the couch arm, prim and delighted.* Ohhhh come on, *she repeats, as that seemed to work, though maybe just on Oli,* anyone you dance Ke-dollar sign-sha with you have to like at least enough to spill the smut! 

 **Olivier:** *He furrows his brow, even as he summons his own bourbon back from his desk, taking a sip and saying lightly,* Yeah, come on brother, *echoing his earlier tone,* wouldn't want to have the "fun" police ruin your gossipping session.

 **Eliza:** XOXO, baby. 

 **Tony** : Keeping it a secret would imply I'm ashamed...*his brows furrow before he allows with a chortle* Or secretive. *He's pulled over to the couch as the song ends, and Tony has to tell the speakers "pause" to stop from playing Dysfunctional next. And then he accio's the decanter towards him again, decides he doesn't need the glass and pops the lid off with his mouth before using his tongue to flick it to one corner of the couch where it wouldn't break, and then took a swig. Smirking wide, he pauses to scoff and then playfully glaring at his brother before turning to Eliza again* You are a good dancer, that does deserve a detail- oh stop that pouty little face. How easy do you think I am- *he raises a finger off the decanter and towards his brother without looking away from Eliza* don't answer that.

 **Eliza:** *Watching the cap spin away from him, she swivels her actual head realizing she couldn't even move as fast as he just sent that crystal. She blinks.* You have a very talented tongue...

 **Olivier:** That's a conversation I don't want any part of. *Eyebrows and the corners of his lips raising abruptly, he pours more bourbon into his glass all at once.*

 **Eliza** : *Without even blushing she just shakes her head, beaming,* Why thank you. And you're not half bad yourself. 

 **Olivier:** *Answering the pointed finger,* Now you're just policing -my- fun, Tonio. *But he chuckles to himself and takes a remarkably large sip of the bourbon eager to down it after this particular day. Besides, judging by the state of that bottle...he had catching up to do. Glad the music was at least lower, he walked to the opposing chair, collapsing in it, nursing the glass and liquid back and forth.*

 **Eliza:** *She smirks.* About as easy as I was for sale. 

 **Olivier:** ...I seem to have missed something. 

 **Eliza** : Shush! *She waves at him, grinning.*

 **Tony:** *Eyebrows wiggling for a moment, he pretends to lick at the air, the tip of his tongue flicking against his top teeth before laughing at Olivier's comment, tilting his head in agreement. Really a topic that they shouldn't venture in; they were millions more to explore and a good half of them were less awkward.* And your definition of fun includes laughing at my expense, you should be policed. *He turned back to look at Eliza quickly, laughing once before he conceded.* Touché, Satine! *He takes another swig, aware that he should probably slow down but knowing he would never, and then remarks quite innocently.* I take it you're acquainted with Stefanie Ricard, yes?

 **Eliza:** *Oh hold on, hold on--* You've seen Moulin Rouge?! *Halleluigh! Music and decent movies--she was momentarily tempted to ask Olivier if she could just stay at his house permanently even if she did like her flat...before remembering (briefly, as she was determined to stay positive) she didn't honestly want to see what ... other things might go on in this manor. Still. Maybe Tony could come over for a movie night. He had been saying some things could say normal, right?*

 **Olivier** : *Oh, he was glad she'd said that - not (!) because he honestly didn't recognize that reference, but because he knew he'd been about to be mocked (and his brother wasn't a hypocrite at all, of course not). With an exhale, he says innocently instead,* ...are you kidding? There was a summer I swear it was all he listened to.

 **Eliza:** *She holds up her finger too, looking around at Olivier with amusement and faked admonishment.* Shh, that can't count as my detail! *Her hand swiveled to Tony without looking away from Olivier. At least until he nods and mimes shushing himself. By drinking the rest of his glass. Didn't he just pour that? Well, her own vision was fuzzy so she couldn't be bothered to--* Wait, Hans' sister? *She swivels back to Tony, eyes wide.* 

 **Tony:** Are you kidding me? *He pauses as he'd said that at the same time with his brother and then swallows a swig with a smirk on his face before he clear his throat and recites* Love? Above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen! Love is a many, splendored thing-- love lifts us up were we belong! all you need is love! *He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. Please, the better question was to ask which movies he -hadn't- seen, the list was shorter. Regarding Eliza with amusement at her reaction, he nodded.* The very same. Less psychotic, but just as temperamental, and much better looking.

 **Olivier:** *Immediately to Tonio with a tiny smirk on his lips, pressed to the rim of his glass,* Oh please don't start that again.

 **Eliza:** *Not only had Tony (and Olivier it seemed) seen Moulin Rouge, he immediately burst into the lyrics of one of her absolute -favorite- moments (though she was thirty seconds from bursting out with a "ROOOOAAaa-xaaane." Thankfully for the sake of her lungs more so than embarrassment (of things to be ashamed with today, the top of the list was already packed with literal lives, there couldn't be any shame in loving the song) -- she refrains. Mostly because she couldn't deny she had a gossiping tendency now; intuitive and caring about people meant she had a natural instinct towards it, but now with the "potion" binary...well. Now she had an excuse. But honestly, Hans sister? Stefanie had held her back when ... Eliza bites down hard on her tongue.* Just as temperamental.

 **Olivier** : *Actually, he didn't really consider Stefanie that way -- then again, he'd never spent much time with her one on one at all. He got more the impression that she was just...passionate. Hm, come to think of it, maybe this wasn't a conversation he really wanted in on either, but he was more amused by Eliza's next murmur--*

 **Eliza:** ...that's subjective.

 **Olivier:** *Cocking an eyebrow up,* Oh, Liza?

 **Eliza:** *She clears her throat. Yes, for God's sakes, yes, Hans was physically attractive - he knew it, he bloody always could hear someone's heart, how could he not know it? (Not that it was her heart mind you, that was reacting to his presence). Rubbing over her eyes to clear the image, she says instead,* Psychotic.

 **Olivier:** *Ha. He was still smirking, but at that he has to agree anyway, with the briefest flash of a small understanding smile to Tony.* Ah. I have to agree.

 **Eliza:** *Clearing her throat again, she tries to remember more about Stefanie and looks back to Tony, determined not to focus on the psychotic part (or the...the other part).* I've only met her once...she did have gorgeous taste in ball gowns. *And she'd helped mend ... his arm, she thinks, but oh Lord, things she couldn't mention. Her smile softens genuinely seeing the look on Tony's face.* So how'd it start? I mean I assume this is where the smutty details would be...*She winks.*

 **Tony:** *He snorts, lying back after taking a swig* Which part? *He had said quite a bit- psychotic, temperamental, not good looking. Olivier seemed to think along the same lines but with much more amusement than Tony possessed. He shook his head and then added dryly* Sorry, I forgot I was talking to the Hans' fanclub, both of you blinded by your lust for the man, I'm sure. *He was more than willing to move on from that subject, and a smirk crept up on his face.* You assume correctly, but I'm a gentleman I don't brag. *He winks* It started a few weeks ago. She got to France and so did I, and after that ill-fated Gala, we both needed a good, hard...how do the English say it- shag! There we go.

 **Olivier** : Lust? *One of these days, he thinks with an under-his-breath groan, his brother would get tired of that same old joke. Honestly, if Tony was to be believed, he would be married to every single person he'd ever had an honest friendship--Tony himself included! Well, if you count one of the many different childhood games they played.*

 **Eliza** : Fan club?! *Indignant, she sits up, decidedly ignoring the word "lust" and all proceeding images of hot and steamy and--ahem. Her finger comes down to whip at Tony.* You have to be kidding me. Do you -know- what I saw him do? I am not his fan. I am not blind. What I am, is...is...understanding and, *she picks up the pillow and tosses it at him, stifling a yawn,* it isn't a trait to scoff at! *She harumphs, ignoring Olivier's indignant mutter too and leans back again. This time she failed to stifle the yawn, but she relaxes (a bit pink).

 **Olivier** : *Eliza had made his smirk twist with that long-winded ramble, but he talks over her to save both her and Tony from commenting further on it.* Brother, I was remarking upon -Stefanie's- character, actually, as I happen to think she's as equally vengeful, just not as equally violent. *He shrugs a shoulder, then laughs at the way Tony started saying he wouldn't brag--proceeded to say they shagged. He was glad his brother put it that way: the Gala had presented an...interesting challenge. He wasn't surprised his brother would have needed ....release. Amused, he adds aloud,* Though evidently you also aren't one to have sex and shut up.  

 **Eliza:** *She had smirked, nodding now.* Evidently. Must have been goooood sex too. *Cocking an eyebrow, she adds innocently,* Since you still want her here...though that makes it seem more than sex. Just fyi. 

 **Tony:** *Olivier responded just as he always did- with a tired sigh for the same old comments but given that it was the honest reality, Tony simply couldn't say anything else now could he? He shrugged and then turns to an indignant Eliza, smirking at her higher pitched complaining, catching the pillow against his chest and then perching his chin on top of it, smirking, about to say something when he was interrupted by Olivier.* I never said she was violent. *She had the potential though, obviously. And yes, she could be vengeful. He shouldn't like that as much as he did.* What? Pft, this is the first time I even say it out loud, I think. -She- bragged. *He tried not to focus on the fact that it was to make someone else jealous though that seemed more poignant to him now, for some reason. Must be the bourbon.* Well fyi dear Eliza, I know that much. *He nodded* She's also a fellow Game of Thrones fan. And we're both quite content with our current arrangement, thank you very much, these details brought to you by Wild Turkey Bourbon. *He holds the decanter up.*

 **Olivier:** No, you didn't. *He agrees complacently. No, his brother said nothing of the sort: he did, because at least at present, he had never seen or known Stefanie not to back away from that brutal threshold. Which actually made...one of them, even including all those present and discussed. The fact it might always be true had about as much merit as saying vampires crave blood like a motherf--oh, he took another drink and looked at their ceiling instead.*

 **Eliza:** *Amused as Tony continued on fyi, she ignores that he stole her pillow and swivels so she could lay back on the couch, she listens absently with her feet coming up. She did try to arrange them so she didn't hit Tony, but ends up giving up with one--you'd think the couch would be bigger or something considering the size of the house! Geesh. But she smirks.* Sorry. Guess I'm used to boys being in relentless persistent denial. Boys, though, you're a -man- though. Which probably means the denial could be more persistent but....*She trails off, toes nudging him as she adds brighter,* You are a good dancer though. 

 **Olivier** : *Amused at the "persistent" ramble, he hadn't taken his eyes from his brother just on the simple fact that Wild-Turkey provided or not, he hadn't heard his brother elaborate on a girl....well, ever, aside from the bragging he claimed he didn't do (and fairly, he didn't 'brag' so much as 'state to make a point about his lack of caring that usually only proved the opposite), so even these two details were new. Then he chuckled,* Oh, is she? 

 **Eliza:** Game of Thrones?

 **Olivier:** Oh no, no. *Without rising, he pulls a throw blanket down to cover Eliza with his hand wave.* Don't ask unless you have six hours to listen, at least. No offense brother. 

 **Eliza:** Well, *Even as she snuggles into the couch,* I'm not going anywhere. *That was a sad thought though, and she just lets out a sigh.*

 **Olivier:** *Looking back to Tony,* Okay, does explain why she said she refused to go to a wedding where they were all in red...

 **Eliza:** *peeks an eye open,*...What shade red? *Pausing, and her finger comes up,* Don't say blood-red.

 **Olivier:** *He chuckled, lips twitching.* Do you know the story after all then?

 **Eliza** : *Groans and shuts both eyes, grumbling.* It was an educated guess and I wish I was less intelligent.

 **Olivier:** Don't say that...*Quieter, but he shrugs a shoulder as Eliza only chuckled. Letting silence fall for a few moments-maybe minutes, he looks back to his brother, saying much quieter,* And no, I still haven't finished book seven. 

 **Tony:** *...Why did it feel like his brother knew something he didn't? He frowned momentarily but then Eliza was prodding his thigh with her toes and he ha d to grin to keep from giggling (he kept the fact that he was ticklish as his most guarded secret, probably more than anything else).* Nope, not a fan of Egypt. And thank you! *Winks, and then he sits up when Eliza asks* You don't know about Game of Thrones? *He was going to begin but his brother once aga in cut him off. Six hours? Pah, maybe to get through the first book. He wrinkled his nose at the mention of the red wedding, shaking his head at Eliza's guess.* You don't even know, Eliza, you don't even know. *He takes a swig and then says in sing-song* I know what to get you for Christmaaaass. I'll make a Stark lover out of you yet. *Most everyone did love them, they had the most point of views, then again she might also enjoy the Tyrells-* Still? What are you waiting for, the White Walkers descend?

 **Eliza:** *She smiles sleepily at that and pops an eye back open.* Unfair. You've seen like every movie, clearly have good taste in music -

 **Olivier:** *Lips twitch,* Because of -Kesha-? *He was ignored, but he expected that had something to do with the empty vodka bottle, less so his lack of relevant point.*

 **Eliza:** \-- I have no idea what book to recommend--what am I supposed to get you? *Whatever this book was sounded...interesting, weddings and white walking things something Stark. Oh, fantasy novel probably. She liked fantasy. Though frankly she had to admit the idea of Christmas presents...makes her stomach clench. There were presents she wanted to give to people...the least of which was she though it would be a damn near star of Bethlehem worthy moment to see Harper and Lyndsi reunite. Remind her to get a camera. When had her eyes closed anyway?*

 **Olivie** r: *Still softer, as he noticed Eliza's breath was evening, he couldn't help but say pointedly,* Brother, if the White Walkers have not appeared by the end of book seven, I give up. I don't care how much I love Tyrion, okay? And I can get Daenerys from the show.


	54. [In A World So Cold]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris, France, 2023.  
> Flashback to the first week that Olivier took over the business.

**Hans** : I'm judging by the fact you're sitting in your father's chair that dismantling his business is no longer the plan so much as taking it over yourself. *whistling under his breath* That's cold, mate.

 **Olivier:** *Eye rolls, not looking up from the desk,* Oh hello, Hans. How clever of you. You would know something about that, wouldn't you?

 **Hans** : Ouch. *Chuckling under his breath and clasping his hands over his heart for a second in a playful pout.*

 **Olivier:** You'll get over it. *Still writing diligently, even as Hans walks in; he tracks his friend's feet.*

 **Hans** : You're in a mood.

 **Olivier:** *Under his breath,* Wonder why that is.

 **Hans** : I'm trying to figure that out actually. *Hands clasp behind his back, head tilting,* Last I checked, it was I who had a bit of an issue with the moon-

 **Olivier** : *At that he does laugh,eyes flick up,*

 **Hans:** So why the PMSing?

 **Olivier:** *He just looks at his friend, eyes stone cold (water can smash through rocks, break them to bits, but only after years).*

 **Hans** : *Meeting the gaze equally, after several long moments where he thinks only that it wasn't surprising an Italian was speaking only with his gestures, and then understanding crosses his face, softening it and nods just once.* Which one of you?

 **Olivier:** *The question surprising him, he's off balance enough for a moment that his expression breaks. It shouldn't do that, he mentally chides himself in a voice uncannily like his father's, then his chin lifts as he realizes what Hans actually was asking. Trying to forestall the shiver that slips up his spine as he thinks it shouldn't be that obvious he asks instead,* How'd you know?

 **Hans** : *His lips quirk.* Mate, c'mon. You were single-handedly -- well, doubly, I suppose -- poised to take this organization down. If you beat him once--

 **Olivier** : Beat, him? *His voice sharpens with a dismissive scoff and he rubs at his eyes abruptly, having to look away.* Never known you to be so delicate, Hans, just say what it is. *He leans back in the chair, elbow digging into the wood arm and vision vacant a moment.* 

 **Hans:** *After giving him a moment, his voice is soft but firm, eyes narrowed on his friends.* So it was Antonio who killed him. 

 **Olivier:** *His eyes dart back up to Hans with a sharp intake of breath--about to retort with his hot, rapid exhale when he gives up, focusing on steadying his breath. Then he nods.*

 **Hans** : *Nodding very slowly, he turns, hand coming up to rub over his lips.* Must say. *Without looking around, as he can hear the unsteady heartbeat, he continues quieter, brows furrowed together.* I'm a bit surprised.

 **Olivier:** Are you? *His face twists for a second, voice still sharp.* I'm not. I keep thinking I should be, but I'm not. Hell, it's bloody...poetic. *His hand flings away from him and hits the arm rest.*

 **Hans:** *With a low chuckle that's free of his friend's bitterness, he shakes his head,* Oh. Not that. But...correct me if I'm wrong--

 **Olivier:** Don't need that instruction, frankly. *Nose wrinkled up, shrugging a shoulder.*

 **Hans** : Tony's never killed anyone. 

 **Olivier:** *There's a flash of heat in the center of his chest with the sudden mental image he thinks is inscribed on the back of his eyelids. Long, slow, intake and then quiet,* Correction. *His index finger waves like an angry baton pointing at God, voice sharp and low,* He hadn't. 

 **Hans** : *Nods absently ignoring his friend's dramatic gesture,* Well. *Eyes riveted to his, so that even though he says 'you' he clearly means we, * You know, mate.

 **Olivier** : *What it was to take a life, he realizes with a somber-hard gaze over a curling smirk.*

 **Hans:** Let me see if I can hazard a...guess. Your father found out what you two were up to.

 **Olivier:** *Breathe. In and out. Even as under his breath he mutters almost proud, * We were in his way. 

 **Hans** : Well. *Flatly, abrupt with a smirk,* That's a death sentence. Usually.

 **Olivier** : *He heard his own question in Hans prod of a statement, as clearly as if his friend suddenly gained his (pathetically) haunted voice; 'you would kill your own sons?'* Obvious. *With a hard mutter, and then wonders why he hadn't seen the knife before it struck his chest.*

 **Hans** : Something Remington D'Grey never is, obvious, *nodding and stroking at his chin as he walks thinking,* and of course Tony's one thing but you--

 **Olivier** : *Interrupts irritated, biting at his bottom lip,* Don't say that.

 **Hans:** *Brow arch.*

 **Olivier:** *Grabbing at the edge of his chair and stands,* One thing? He's my little brother, Hans. Don't. *The index baton points angrily at him mate,* I swear to God, if one more person dismisses him as unimportant in front of me I'll-

 **Hans:** *Over him, his hand grabbing his friend's wrist and holding it firm until he stops moving,* -rip their heart out?

 **Olivier:** *Harsh laugh as he snaps, ripping his arm back,* Don't tempt me.

 **Hans** : *Lips flicking,* Easy, mate. I'm not dismissing him. In fact it seems I had underestimated him--owe him an apology for that.

 **Olivier:** Yeah. You do. *He couldn't think what else to say to that, so he just snaps his hand back down (because seriously? He doubts that Tony would want to be respected for having killed anyone, least of all from Hans but yes--yes he did).*

 **Hans** : *Lightly,* Still, doesn't diminish the point that he wouldn't kill his favored son.

 **Olivier:** Favorite son, right, course. *Scoffs. But he can't deny it, as he rubs at his throat, and he settles for a half-denial.* Depends on your definition, really.

 **Hans:** *Waits.*

 **Olivier:** *Not looking away from his desk, hand coming from his throat to rub at his lips and then jams to his hip. His voice was low, even in disbelief still. This was the opposite: he shouldn't be surprised....but he was. He honestly fucking was.* He did attack me, Hans.

 **Hans:** I surmised. *Pleasant, but soft.*

 **Olivier:** *Again, he was surprised by the intuition and turns to his friend's gaze. When their eyes meet he gets it instantly and nods while Hans states aloud.*

 **Hans** : Can't imagine another thing that would have snapped Antonio to the point of murder.

 **Olivier:** *His back teeth grit, untold waves of emotion crossing over his face, and then he just nods because of course, of course Hans was right and of course it was obvious (don't be obvious) and he was grateful--he was, it just...*

 **Hans** : *Quietly, he lifts his hand to his friend's shoulder, a bit tense himself now--on edge. He was only too aware what that angry glint in Olivier's eyes: the murder that had just raised to his throat. He squeezed hard.* Hey. You won't hate him forever.

 **Olivier:** *He lifts his chin, surprised and his eyebrows flutter. Up, down go those brooding fucking caterpillars and then he nods, saying under his breath,* I need a drink first.

 **Hans:** *He nods, amused.* Why do you think I'm here?

 **Olivier:** *Brow arching,* That you currying favor with the new boss?

 **Hans:** *Laughs, hitting his shoulder,* Nah, if I was sucking up, I know what to offer you. 

 **Olivier:** Sucking. *He presses his tongue to his teeth, rolling his eyes, but it's a dull fire in his veins now, almost so usual he didn't notice.* Nice.

 **Hans:** *Smirking, hand going to his heart again,* What can I say? The English language is ...simply limitless in it's range of humor. Or wait. *He cocks his head.* That might just be me.

 **Olivier** : *Laughing more honestly, he adds pleasantly,* Might be you're just a cazzo.

 **Hans:**   Might be. *Pulling back and going to get the door, he adds offhand,* ...speaking of new boss. *Cocking an eyebrow,* I suppose that's to protect him?

 **Olivier:** *His nose wrinkles, smirk incredulous, he nods.*

 **Hans:** *Nodding, absently and then simply: * Good.

 **Olivier:** Good? *As he's putting his jacket on, he smirks a moment,* Mate, you admitting you care?

 **Hans** : No. *He chuckled, shrugging his shoulder and flicking his collar up,* Just. Then he won't hate you forever either.

 **Oliver** : *He stills...and then he smiles, honest and small--even if just for a moment, for his throat went dry. He nods.* ...be more a girl, right now?

 **Hans** : Just for that, you're buying. 


	55. Tumbling Reservations ; Heart of My Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to be a witness, to a path that's over grown.  
> I don't want to see this house not be a home.
> 
> chars ||   
> [Zoe, Max, Laura, Ingrid, Tony, Harper, Rachelle, Hans, Alcott, Hols.]

Her feet had found their way to his flat on their own accord. A promise of a shared drink lay heavy on her thoughts as she drove through the streets, the sun at her back, with no clear destination in mind. Yet she had ended up there, and only God knew exactly why.

Most people liked to think that they were special, that they were one of a kind in some way but Zoe knew better. Zoe knew they were just a wide arrangements of reused molds but with different mixes and frosting. Her frosting happened to be completely vanilla; it was a pleasant taste, sweet on the tongue, that reminded nearly everyone of simpler days of birthday parties or Halloween cupcakes. Her baking mix was a bit more complicated, a little more bitter; an acquired taste. It was difficult for most to swallow, so they simply resorted to licking off the vanilla frosting and then discarding of the cookie after it was wiped clean. There were only a few people who knew who to fully enjoy her, wholly, with a glutton and wanton need, and it was to one of those people that she had ended up knocking on his door.

Magnus opened the door, surprised to see her, and nursing a glass of liqueur with ice. Zoe never understood that, adding ice to anything that wasn’t a cocktail. It waters it down, she wanted to protest to him immediately, it takes away the taste, but she refrained because no one really gave a damn about their alcohol that much unless your name was Brackner and she wasn’t around them presently. Though they would think it an offense.

“Hey, babygirl. This is a surpris-“

She pushed past his door and grabbed his neck to pull him into her. His lips tasted like the scotch that had been his previous companion, and so did his tongue against hers. That was one thing about men she actually loved, and preferred, their kisses were never shy. There was no tentative brush of soft lips upon soft lips and stolen gasps of breaths, catching them in the brief centimenter of air that hung between them and keeping them as if they were something secret. This was something much fiercer than that. There was nothing nice about it, soft, tender, or sweet and that was just what she needed right at that moment. 

Closing the door with a kick of her legs, she gasped as he pushed her up against it in one swift motion. He explored her mouth lavishly, taking what she gave him. And Zoe clung on to him, his wide and firm shoulders just nestled her in. Not a small woman by any standards, she nevertheless felt like a pixie with him. One of his hands, just one of them, could cover her entire face if it wished. Instead, it wrapped around her small waist, while the other traveled down her back without hesitation or pause, and upon reaching its destination gave a squeeze that rocked her against his hard chest, and another needy gasp left her mouth.

Sometimes, Zoe didn’t want to be loved. Sometimes, she just wanted to be fucked.

“No one’s more surprised than me,” she admitted to him as he smirked against her lips and then hitched her up with one arm, her long legs wrapping around his waist with ease as he walked them backwards towards the bed on the far side of the lengthy loft. She kept his lips away from her mouth while she took off her sweater and then her blouse (damn winter and all the layers it required) but as soon as they were off, they returned, kissing skin that was too pale until it was a shade of pink that looked delicious even to her. Rather than be thrown off by how pale she was however, Magnus revelled in it, on being able to mark her so easily with his tongue and his teeth, the same way that his dark brown skin drove her wild. She traced as much as she could of it with her hands, slender fingers reaching down his strong back to grip at the edges of his shirt and tug it upwards.

Zoe was under no false pretenses. Magnus was still mourning and he was still in pain over the men and women that they had lost that night at the Gala, and in a way, Zoe was too, but she also knew that he needed this as badly as she did. So when he dropped her on his bed, causing her to bounce, and grabbed her by her ankles, yanking her to him, she didn’t protest or question and neither did he. There were no second thoughts to be had because there were no first thoughts to begin with. Just want and desire set aflame.

She kept her nails short but always well taken care of. It wasn’t just a matter of hygiene, it was also a standard for work. And in a similarly practical but less formal reason, french manicures didn’t work in real life the same way they worked in porn videos. No matter how short her nails were, it didn’t stop her from digging them into the back of his shoulders as he drove into her, taking a breast in his mouth through the fabric. She clung on to him as if he were life itself, lifting her hips to meet him with every thrust. He devoured her, ravished her, and never once treated her as if she were careful or precious or like she had to be protected and for that moment, she might have loved him for it.

It was well into the night by the time she laid breathless in his bed, sharing the drink that had been the actual reason for the invitation. Just a beer, she had told him, because she needed to drive back home.

“I never pictured you as the driving kind,” Magnus admitted, briefly impressed, as he watched her stand and scour the room for the rest of her clothes.

“Oh?” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she got into her tights and then her jeans. She looked over her shoulder to see the impish grin on her face and in that moment she understood why. “Because of my last name.”

“Don’t be too hard on me darling.”

“You do know that your Deputy Auror is Abi Noel Carter, correct?”

“Yeah, and I would be very surprised if she got around by car too.”

Zoe smirked, shaking her head and then started to put on her bra. “And Shawn?”

“What about Shawn?”

“His mother’s maiden name is Noel.”

Magnus arched his eyebrows and then laughed. “Cut the bullshit.”

“I’m not lying to you baby,” she promised him with a wink before her face was completely engulfed by the amount of layers she wore, and that’s not even counting the leather jacket she had discarded by the door and didn’t even remember doing so. How Magnus managed to find her even the least bit arousing hidden under all these clothes, she didn’t know. Zoe asked him about it directly, expecting an answer derived in a joke, about how it didn’t take a man much to get going, but instead his answer was only half a joke.

“I still remember the fishnet you ended up in at the end of the Gala,” he smirked, swirling his scotch in his glass, with the ice cubes almost melted. Zoe sighed, and then laughed as she realized how ridiculous she must have looked running around half naked but it was preferable than running around in that skirt only to end up tripping and falling on her face. Still, the laugh quickly subsided because the Gala would always be much more bitter than it was enjoyable.

“Think you’ll be knocking on my door again, babygirl?”

Zoe smiled, a hint of sadness and then shrugged before she leaned in to kiss his cheek once. “The last time I had sex with a man before you was six months ago. So,” she stood tall again before chuckling and then heading towards the door to pick up her jacket off the floor, calling out behind her, “maybe in another three years!”

“You know what they say, babygirl, ‘once you go black’…”

Zoe smiled as she opened the door and then turned to look at him one more time and then added, “You want a real surprise? Head to your window and see what I drive.” She grinned and then closed the door behind her. Not two seconds afterwards, she had her cellphone to her ear and three rings later, the other line picked up.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

“Hey Bianca, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s a 10 o’clock on a Saturday night.”

“Free as a bird, huh?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Let’s go get drunk, I really need it. I just-” Zoe paused at the stairs and rubbed a hand over her face, “I think I just made a mistake.”

Zoe heard her friend turn off the telly and then sit up on a couch that made too much noise for her liking but Bianca always liked it. It has personality, she said. Zoe told her it probably also had termites and that Bianca would definitely not appreciate it when she came home in the middle of the night with a one night stand and then be forced to listen to those tired springs creak under their constant bouncing. Bianca only grinned, and whispered that was the whole point. Bianca Morales, freak.

“What did you do girl?”

“Ah, it’s really -what- but rather who?”

Bianca gasped. “Did you-“

“I fucked a man, yeah,” Zoe stopped her before her friend could make any speculations. The last thing she needed was for Bianca to get into a game of guess who.

“How is it that you, a woman who has clearly stated that she prefers women and pussy-“

“Don’t be like that, I’ve dated women with pricks before-“

“I’m not getting any, is what I’m saying.”

“Because you haven’t called him!”

“We’re not going back to this, he’s-“

“I know perfectly well what he’s going through, I just fucked his partner,” Zoe blew a strand of hair away from her face, rubbing at her face again to rub away the pink that was pooling at her cheeks. But as soon as she stepped a foot outside, it was no use, because the breeze against her face caused it to pink anew. “So that’s really no excuse.”

“Alright you cockslut, get your bony ass over here. I know you always have to get drunk after you shag a guy.”

“You take that back!”

“Which part? You being a cockslut, having a bony ass, or having a ridiculous coping mechanism?”

“My arse is not bony.”

Zoe reached her motorcycle with a smirk as Bianca laughed in her ear and then turned to look up, seeing Magnus leaning his head out of his window and wolf whistling. She waved goodbye again and then went to take her helmet out of the back only to open it and find it empty.

“Oh this is just great, some kids stole my helmet!”

“Why would they steal your helmet but not your actual bike?”

“The bike is charmed against thieving scum.”

“But the helmet isn’t? This makes no sense to me.”

“Whatever, it’s not that long a drive over to your place,” she pulled her hair into a ponytail. “And I’ll be there in a few okay? Break out the wine! Keep ice away from it.”

“What?”

“Nothing, see you in a bit.”

“Talk to you soon, slut.”

Zoe ended the call with a laugh and then stuffed the phone into her back pocket before she got on top of her bike. Starting it with a spell instead of a key, it started with a purr as it vibrated between her legs (probably the real culprit behind her sexual escapades, seriously, and Max had already made one too many jokes). She quickly eased away from the curb and into downtown traffic.

She eased her way in and out between the cars, the motions as easy to her, as natural to her, as it was to press her lips against another’s, probably more natural now that she thought about it. Honks beeped once and twice in little warnings for other cars and herself, but she paid no attention to it, so used she was to the roads. Because, of course, not only did she have to be a lesbian, as her mother had one sobbed in dismay when she was younger, she’s also trying to get killed with that piece of muggle filth getting her to places in more than five times the time it would take to apparate anywhere. Zoe’s mother, despite her good intentions in the beginning, had never understood her daughter. And after a while, she had given up. Zoe was already 35 after all, as dear Elena had so quickly reminded her.

Zoe was suddenly launched out of her thoughts as the car in front of her came to an abrupt stop. Zoe had to swerve onto the other lane to avoid driving into the mini coupe. She had raised her right hand to flick off the woman now behind her with obnoxious pink hair when she heard a horn blare, louder than she’d ever heard one before. Zoe heard the noise of brake gears being fully applies but just a second too late, she heard rubber tires skid across the gravel and asphalt, and then she saw nothing but two great white lights flood her vision as she turned her head before the truck collided with her.

She didn’t remember the sound of metal hitting metal, how it sounded like thunder, and she didn’t remember flying through the air, with limbs sprayed around her as if she were nothing more than a marionette with her strings cut off. Zoe didn’t remember hitting the ground with a sickening crack, and she didn’t remember skipping across the pavement like a rock thrown expertly with a flick of a wrist against the surface of a calm lake. She only remembered laying on her stomach, blood pouring from her mouth and her leg twisted under her body and watching cars come screeching to a halt, hearing the startled yells, for someone to call for the ambulance.

Zoe just remembered thinking she was going to kill the bitch that wrecked her bike before the world went dark.

{*}

 

“Max.” 

“Not funny.” 

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth, a tumbler filled with the brandy Max had kept locked away until he realized his fifteen year old nephew was more than old enough to cast Alohomora. And that his fifteen year old nephew was more than desperate enough to need a drink. 

“Do you see me laughing?” 

“Lyndsea, there’s no reason for her to be at the hospital tonight; we have the same schedule, and we’re on shift tomorrow. Whatever pratical joke you think—,” 

“Max…” 

“No,” and he thinks he puts the tumbler down. He barely hears as it smashes to the ground. The amber liquid that had burned his throat was nothing compared to the fire that burns now in his gut. Fury and anger leap past his denial; both instantly melting into wretched terror that wrecks his countenance. 

“If I get to that room and she’s on staff or something —,” 

“Uncle Max.” 

Fuck, he hadn’t even known Alcott was there. 

“Not even you and her would joke about this.”

You and her. It was a simple enough statement, but as his wide-eyed gaze flicks to his nephew he’s stalled, breathless at the fact. Him and Zoe, the pair of them made as coupled off as salt and pepper. (She was the salt, the sweeter taste and he the bitter. She’d argue they both were spices and he’d point out it was a good thing the colors of food weren’t like wedding dresses, or else neither of them could ever be a white food. And he’d think he was clever, until Zoe pointed out there weren’t many white foods). The dialogue in his mind was quick — less than thirty seconds, less thought and more simply known; how it would go. He was breathess, though it had taken no effort.

What had taken considerable effort was crossing the room without breaking anything else. 

Lyndsea had taken care of the glass, and Alcott was throwing a jacket — saying something about how he’d stay with Rachelle; how she might not need or require a babysitter by law but thought he should and later Max would realize that Alcott was staying out of the way for their sake — again, their, not “his uncle”, not even that time “him and Zoe” but a unit, one — and he’d be grateful and sorrowful. Right now, all he hears is buzzing. There’s red fuzzy edges to his vision, and he’s throwing his jacket on hard enough that he nearly misses his shoulder when his sister-in-law’s hand stops him from spinning on his heel. 

Fuck, right, there was no apparating in the manor. 

No, wait, Brackners could — no one else could, but he was a Brackner, he damn well could apparate, so why was she stopping him? The little hand, manicured and in a vice grip on his shoulder made him angrier with the sudden thought he hadn’t felt her nails in a year and hadn’t ever -wanted- to feel them again. Zoe had been right. Of course she’d been right, she was right about everything, no—no, she is, right about everything and would be right about everything long after he was buried. It was a fact.

“Lynds,” he hisses and is abruptly shocked to realize how cold and desperate his voice was. It stills him. His shoulders and throat and lungs are all shaking, shaking with his terror. How could he be that cold, when he was burning up? When his veins weren’t housing blood so much as liquid nitrogen? 

“Let go, I have to —,” 

“Max, I know.” She says steadily, though she’s white as a sheet, and he realizes the look in her eye —  recognizes it, knows he’s mirroring it. Terror and love and hurt and anger and… a strange absence, like she had just missed the last stair on the way up. It was how she looked for weeks when his brother had —

No, he couldn’t think about that now.

Harper’s wife had changed though, and now he realizes he’s grateful for the nails biting into his arms because of what it represented. Strength. An understanding and a determination that this wasn’t happening again — and that he was relieved for.

“Breathe.” 

Her words weren’t a request, and they anger him even as he obeys. What was fucking breathing going to do to help Zoe? What, was he supposed to think that if he just stood there and gasped and sucked in oxygen until his lungs filled to bursting, exploded and then sucked in more and more, that he was going to somehow gain enough life and breath to give it to Zoe too? Would that work? Should he try it? He’d try anything.

“Max, she’s going to be fine. Okay? You know it, I know it, and she’ll know it— she’s going to be fine, and she’s going to smack you if you hurt yourself on her behalf.” 

Lyndsea speaks in a steadying voice, and it draws him back to the present, realizes she’s finished zipping his jacket the rest of the way up and buttoned it for him, where he’d missed the buttons. He’d be grateful later. Right now all that means is one simple thought: he could go to Zoe. 

“Wait—,” she’d startled as he tried to pull back and he smacks her hand away; guilt could come later too, it was Zoe, Zoe he had to get to.

“I’m not fucking waiting!” Max didn’t see his nephew until Alcott had his arms locked around his. Then he cursed the fact he was a wolf, because dear Lord was the boy strong - he could work out for years and would never have that luxury. Why he was there, Max couldn’t figure out — until he realizes it was a knee-jerk jolt when his mother was hit, even though it was barely anything, even though Lyndsea was just standing still, breathing hard and looking teary-eyed herself.

“Hey!” Al looked him straight on and nods, “Look, I’m just saying, you hit any of the Healers, they’ll throw your ass in jail and you’ll be the last to know she’s all right and what exactly do you think Zoe’s going to do when she finds out you couldn’t visit her cause you’re stuck in a jail cell?”

That, makes him still. It was an image he could cling to. He had a lot of those, images of Zoe; images of them, memories and imaginings and yes, yes even a few fantasies that he dare not ever admit to (except when they were both drinking or sharing twins or okay — on new moons, when in the Tanah Gajah club in Bali (while they were drinking and sharing twins preferably, but he wasn’t that picky). Her blonde hair and her vivid-wide eyes that were shaped and puffed like the most adorable kitten you ever met hiding the fact they were actually a tiger; her tight-fit outfits and her bouncing shirts; her cut-throat insults, witty remarks that could be cruder than his and sweeter in that virtue of honesty … they made up half his thoughts at least, and he knew it, and how had he never quite realized that before when it was such a basic fact of his life? 

Tears were pearling in the corners of his eyes, but he stalls and nods, letting Alcott release him. His nephew pats his shoulder, and he realizes the haunted look in his eyes — what it had cost Alcott to promise that, when Eliza…

No, he could not think about that either. 

Lyndsea was taking his arm again and he blinks at it, blinks at her, and she only shakes her head. 

“No.” She says it primly, in that matronly ice-queen tone he loved and despised. But he needed it. God, he needed it desperately and the one she knew he’d listen to, especially because she made….well a modicum of sense with her next thought.

 “Max, I’m coming with you. You try and apparate yourself right now and we’ll find you splinched in three parts all over the northeast. Just hold tight. I’ll get you to her. I promise.” 

The last promise nearly makes him crumple against her as Lyndsea secures a grip to turn, collapse under the weight of how-damn-much he needed that to be true. But he couldn’t, not yet. All he can manage is a breathless nod while he throws tears away and chokes, his throat raw. 

“I want to see her.” 

His voice breaks stating the obvious, but it’s all he can manage before the world is whisked away and the colorful, vintage tapestries and woodwork melt to walls painted a virgin white.

{*}

In times of great struggle, there were always a group of people who believed that one of the key aspects in getting through the difficult time was to act and behave as if it weren’t occurring to begin with. Ingrid Roswell appeared to be of a similar disposition and her planned luncheon for the members of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and guests, was going off without a hitch. The opportunity presented itself almost too perfectly for one Laura Spencer to miss. She might have taken any number of actions to secure some form of invitation but instead she simply called upon her cousin Candice and as Laura expected, the Deputy Chief of Staff had garnered an invitation that she would not be able to use. Laura most graciously offered to go in her stead, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her cousin but which had been momentarily ignored for more pressing matters, like national security. Please don’t kill anyone, Candice had instructed in a tease that had managed an honest smile from Laura’s lips before she promised to be on her best behavior.

Laura was a woman of her word.

“Still don’t understand why you couldn’t have brought Jen.”

Eamon Brennan was both known by wizards and muggles alike in the United States. The sole heir to a weapons manufactoring company that was the United States’ Army biggest client and star Seeker for the American National Quidditch team, Eamon had spent the majority of his teenage years and half of his twenties in a state of perpetual inebriety before realizing the company his adoptive father ran also provided mobsters and international terrorists groups with weapons. Upon that revelation, Eamon had stepped up and he was also famously known for his alter-ego Saggitarius: the masked vigilante with an agenda that seemed a mile long when she had been sent to assess him as a potential threat. And yet in all these years, there was nothing Eamon disliked more than attending any kind of wealthy function, but he did know how to behave himself accordingly and charm his way into further invite lists.

“He’s told you not to call him that, darling,” Laura commented simply despite the smile threatening to make her painted and plump lips spread apart. “And because, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Like he’d deny you anything,” Eamon smirked. “Like anyone would ever deny you anything in the world.”

“And yet I had to twist your ear to get you to concede.”

“Bit literal on that actually,” Eamon raised a hand to scratch his left ear absently and then straightened his tie before handing the butler at the door the invitation he managed to make appear in his hand with a simple flourish. They walked through without a backwards glance, the perfect example of poise that could only be achieved through gruesome and rigorous training of your body. The wizarding country club in which this event was being held had been reserved in its entirety instead of a simple room, yet the majority of the guests were already congregated around the entrance to the largest hall. As she and her companion approached, Laura caught the words of a pair of older guests (which seemed to make up half of the invitees) as they seemed locked in a verbal spar that would never end.

“I was just speaking to Elena of your speedy recovery, Dalma.”

“Oh were you? How incredibly unlike you to care, Benjamin.”

“I knew you were going to pull through, you know.”

“And here I was thinking you were hoping for the opposite.”

“Undoubtedly, yet I know that evil is not so easily erased from this world.”

“Much unlike your hair. If I were you, my dear, I’d invest in hats.”

They passed by the dueling pair, Eamon unable to hide his amusement as a chuckle of entertainment and appreciation exited from his mouth. Laura turned her head to look at him in false reproach yet he remained determinedly undeterred from showing his amusement as he accepted the mixed fruit juice offered by a passing waiter, grabbing a glass for her as well. Clinking the glasses together, now it was Laura who was unable to hide her chuckle as she inspected the juice for poison with a quick non-verbal spell. More habit than actually fearing for her life, Laura afterwards lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, her eyes trailing around the room as she took in the surroundings and people immediately. Her friend did the same next to her, yet subtlety had never been his forte, nor did he ever wish it to be.

“So what’s the plan, boss?”

“Mingle,” she replied easily, moving a strand of blond hair away from her eyes. “And notice I said mingle, not flirt.”

“It’s the same thing with me, I mean really.”

If Laura weren’t absolutely sure despite his complaints and his stubborn refusal to adhere to her most simple of requests that he wouldn’t fail her or let her down, she would have begun regretting ever inviting him along to begin with. Yet, Laura knew Eamon’s m.o. rather well: pressured into anything, and he resisted. If he found no personal interest for himself, there was no way of hoping to inspire an interest into the man himself. Proudly stubborn, Eamon was a man borne out of passion, and it was with that very passion he led his life. Such was the case for many in their line of work. Cold as they might appear, she did not know of a single agent (for lack of another term at the moment), that did not care. Those that didn’t care tended to venture into the paths of hired guns or hitmen and they were so much more than that. She was much more than that, now.

“Don’t insult anyone and don’t get snippy. They’re going to tell you’re American in a heartbeat, and they won’t let you live it down.”

“That’s the English for you.”

“Don’t leave my side until after lunch is served and the mingling begins anew.”

“Anything else, mommy? Threaten to spank me if I don’t behave?”

Laura rolled her eyes as he pushed his cheek out with his tongue while he popped his eyebrows up. She didn’t bother to grace that comment with a response, merely turned away from him to introduce herself to an approaching couple. Laura already knew of Carter and Isadora Noel for her information gathering was extensive. Isadora was Nadia Tudor’s aunt, pureblood in everything but actual birth but very few knew of that particular piece of knowledge. Carter proved himself an avid Quidditch fan which caught Eamon’s attention more effectively than any other light topic they had been discussing. Over the course of a few short minutes, Carter and Isadora (mostly Isadora) had managed to introduced them to half of the room before they entered the hall and were seated for the luncheon. Ingrid Roswell stood at the front of the room as the waiters when everyone was seated and delivered a speech with a clarity, an ease, and a confidence few possessed for public speaking.

Eamon leaned in a few minutes after when they were in the middle of their lunch to question, “Think she uses that same voice when playing dominatrix?” He took a poignant bite of his meal with a smug look on his face while Laura resisted the urge to roll her eyes again knowing he was deliberately trying to annoy her. It was his priority, ‘a quest which he took very seriously’ in order to prove ‘the ice in her heart could be melted’. Sometimes Laura did feel like the man’s mother, or older sister, but she refused to use the latter term. She was no one’s sister any longer.

The time passed by with idle conversation and gossip over the potential resignation of the current Headmaster, too many scandals under his belt and the Minister himself wanted him gone though Dalma Stuart had assured them all that the Minister, her son, had no such hold over Hogwarts and it remained a politically impartial and indepedent institution. Benjamin Brackner had then proclaimed, loudly and without shame that if that were the honest truth, he would eat his own shorts. Eamon snorted to keep booming laughter at bay and leaned in to comment that he approved of this Brackner geezer. Laura found herself wishing he had said that a little louder as she would have enjoyed an altercation involving Eamon despite her warnings for him to stay out of trouble.

Finally, as people finished their lunch and began to stand to take drinks in different rooms and halls, they were able to approach Ingrid for introductions. Eamon didn’t understand why they had to, as she was the host, but Laura knew that because technically they were the strangers in a room full of people who have been acquainted for years and they were also here using another’s invitation. They had to make the first move, or Ingrid would feel insulted. Laura knew this the same way she knew she couldn’t simply bump into the woman in the bathroom and speak to her there, and not just because Ingrid was certainly a woman who prided herself in appearing above fault or reproach and would never dare to use a public lavatory. It was a skill, not a gift which assumed it had been given to her and that she had never worked at it, to be able to read people and she did it exceptionally well. So while Eamon held on to his pride, as immobile as a giant boulder (metaphorically, as he walked with her nonetheless), Laura was fluid, willing to play the part of any role necessary to get what she wanted. Pride was not a luxury she could afford.

“Mrs. Roswell, thank you so much for welcoming us today, you must think us so rude.”

“Not at all, Candice did mention she would be sending you in her stead, I’m sorry I fear I did not get your name, Ms…?” She extended her hand, allowing for them to shake it. Laura took it with a smile before she introduced herself to the woman who already knew their names.

“Laura Spencer, and this is my good friend, Eamon Brennan.” Eamon extended his hand too though did not reach for Ingrid’s until after Laura had sent a mental prod at his mental wall. He took her hand with a charming smile that did not betray how irked he was with both the situation and her. Eamon really was very good at this.

“How do you do?” Eamon offered with a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Ingrid expressed and if Laura didn’t know any better she would have thought the woman spoke honestly instead of in ordinary pleasantries. “You’ve certainly made friends quickly.”

“Well,” Eamon began with a grin that gave cause for Laura to be wary, “the English are just so hospitable. Please don’t let them know I’m actually not pureblooded.”

Oh, Eamon.

“Neither are half of them dear, a little more than half I believe,” Ingrid expressed with a smile without missing a beat. “When it comes to the safety and education of our children, there’s no requirements.”

“No, just at charity events, I suppose.”

“We were very close to meeting once before, Mrs. Roswell,” Laura interjected quickly and was grateful when the other woman turned slightly on her heels to face Laura more directly. 

“Oh?”

“Yes, in Budapest.”

And that was when the penny dropped, whether it landed on heads or tails was of no consequence. The comment was so surprising that the woman’s intricately calculated front seemed to melt away as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped for a few spare moments before catching herself and standing straighter. Laura felt it, the tension between the two, and knew the woman was two steps away from either declaring she had never been to Budapest or that she had no idea what Laura was referring to and about to excuse herself. Seeing that it was imperative that Laura leave first for this to work, she quickly smiled before she continued.

“Either way, it was a pleasure meeting you now. We won’t keep you from your guests.” Eamon never missed a cue and the pair of them nodded amiably before moving away from her and out of the room towards the main room.

“You’re never going to tell me what happened in Budapest, are you?” Eamon asked as Laura opened her small purse and took out her compact to reapply her lipstick. Popping her lips without a sound, she clicked the compact shut to reveal his waiting expression to which she answered only with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s classified.”

“My ass.” Laura shook her head as he finished the fruit juice without a care to another couple passing by, now whispering about the lack of tact of Americans. And they had been doing so well too. Ah well, it was hardly likely that Laura would ever see these people ever again save the one she was anxious to speak with. Laura’s life kept her constantly traveling which made putting down roots anywhere problematic. The only relationship she was able to maintain successfully was with Candice and that was because both of them were constantly busy to sustain healthy relationships outside of work and it was once in a while when they got together for a drink or for karaoke that kept their relationship alive. At times, Laura would find herself wishing she could settle down but only for the briefest of moments because the thought was too foreign for her, and she dedicated her life to a more fulfilling purpose. The day she settled down was the day she had managed to atone for all her mistakes or took her final resting place.

When the luncheon was dying down and people were taking their leave after more conversation and promises to keep in touch, Eamon had made several promises of that regard, Laura coaxed her friend away from a conversation to head towards the door when she was sure they were being watched by Ingrid. They exited the clubhouse after donning their coats and were moving towards the point where they could safely apparate when she heard a voice behind.

“Ms. Spencer, wait.”

Right on schedule.

Laura turned around, slipping her arm free of Eamon’s and turning to look as the woman approached them, her arms crossed in front of her chest even while wearing her coat. Laura in turn barely felt the cold, but she had been born and had been raised in the Russian winter; she had been reborn in the icy bowels of darkness. Most people didn’t realize that hell actually burned cold.

“Yes, Mrs. Roswell?”

“I should like to speak with you,” she admitted, and Laura noticed that her gaze faltered and dropped to the ground for a second before she added, “alone, if you please.”

Laura had no need to turn to face Eamon to ask him silently to take his leave. He only leaned in to kiss her cheek and then whispered, “You owe me the play-by-play.” Offering no promises, she nevertheless expressed that she would see him soon. With a few more steps, Eamon was able to disapparate with a simple pop, and the two women were left alone and now in need of privacy. With a non-verbal spell, Laura put up a few standard security spells so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Now, Ms. Spencer-“

“Ingrid, I’m going to be quite forward and I’m going to be quite clear,” Laura interrupted her immediately. As the dark-haired woman raises her eyebrows taken aback, Laura only arches her eyebrows in return. She had spent an afternoon full of pleasantries because it was necessary and yet right now, it was unnecessary and unwanted. Rather than spare the woman her sensibilities, delicate or not, Laura would cut to the chase.

“Several years in Budapest, you took the blame for your brother-in-law’s indiscretion against the Hungarian government. I’m well aware all such instances were covered up with some help and besides a permanent expulsion from the country, you suffered no repercussion. You didn’t turn him in, you questioned him of his involvement and he assured you it was all a mistake, but you’ve always wondered.” Laura spoke all of this factually despite the fact that a good half of it was more inference and clever guesswork  than anything else. She seemed to be spot on in everything, because Ingrid did nothing but grow angrier.

“Your doubts are correct, Ingrid.”

“Who are you?” she questioned with a biting snap. “Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this?”

“A woman who knows Gustav a lot better than you do, Ingrid, and thank God you don’t. But you can no longer remain ignorant of this information.”

“Excuse me-“

Laura couldn’t bother to care if she felt insulted or if she felt her privacy had been invaded. Desperate people did desperate things and this whole situation had made her very desperate. This was informing a civilian of confidential information; she could lose her security clearance, her standing, and her job. On top of it all, she could very well be prosecuted and yet, she could not remain quiet.

“Gustav is responsible for the attacks at the school involving Nadia Tudor and your nephew Devin Stuart, as he is responsible for the massacre at the Gala.”

“That,” Ingrid breathed out furiously, her breath showing in the air, “is ridiculous.”

“You know what’s ridiculous, ma’am? The fact that this monster has been abducting teenagers for going on two decades now and he remains safely under the Ministry’s and your family’s protection. That I know where he is all this time and yet I can’t get to him. That your husband knows of his involvement with the Death Eaters, and has chosen to keep this information from those in a position to move against the man.”

Laura breathed out to regain herself. This was so important to her, and her emotions were getting the best of her. That man, that worm, so close to being in her grasp and yet always slipping away, for years evading her and for years continuing his twisted game. More lives were being lost now, he was taking lengthier strides across Europe, preparing himself to strike.

“I tell you true, Ingrid, if he is not stopped now, the Gala is going to seem like a walk in the park.”

“You’re mad!”

Yes, Laura thought, yes she was but that didn’t mean she wasn’t correct. “Ingrid, listen to me-“

“No, Ms. Spencer, you listen to me,” the woman took a step closer and raised a finger in front of her face. The intimidating stance didn’t phase Laura in the slightest. Laura was trained to fight beasts, monsters, evil itself and before that, she was trained to destroy good and devour saints. There were very little things that instilled fear or wariness in her anymore, and yet Laura was not hesitant to admit that Gustav getting a steadier foothold in England was one of those specific instances. 

“You have no right to come here and spew lies about me or my family,” Ingrid finished. “And I suggest you take your leave, quickly.”

“Budapest is not a lie, and you know it. You also know that your son was questioned for his actions by the Aurors for his actions at the Gala and you provided an alibi for right up until he was knocked out while knowing very well there were more than several minutes unaccounted for.” Now Laura moved forward, her voice dropping. “I understand protecting your family, but at what cost?”

“My son has done nothing-“

“Your son, is very well on his way to becoming exactly like his uncle.” Laura saw the woman’s hand twitch and with the need and desire to strike her across the face. Yet Ingrid still had the knowledge that they were in public plaguing her mind. She would never do anything that would jeopardize her appearance and her standing. It was a fortunate decision as well, for Laura had a grip well practiced in choking life, and wrists were fragile.

“You are the Minister’s first cousin. He will listen to you, he will listen to your husband. Tell him.”

“Ms. Spencer, quite simply, I don’t trust you. I’ve never met you before, and you have no proof. I will not act on the ramblings of a madwoman.”

“Proof isn’t as necessary in matters of terrorism, more than reasonable doubt and there is more than that already.”

Laura could see that she was getting through to the woman, little by little, but she also knew that she would never concede at once or so fast. People like her needed time to process information; they couldn’t make on-the-fly decisions when the consequences would be severe, unless of course it involved floral arrangements and after-dinner cocktails.

“Who are you, Ms. Spencer?”

“I’m not anyone,” she answered honestly, shaking her head. It was true. Research the name Laura Spencer and there were no official documents: no birth certificates, no death certificate, no identification number or anything of the sort. Information on her traveled by word-of-mouth and it always traveled under different aliases. The world thought they were dozens of her, all different versions of her but ultimately the same person. “I’m just someone that’s trying to do the right thing. I can’t go to your government myself,” she was still one of the most wanted people across Europe, under a different alias, with a slightly different appearance in each country, but it was still a liability. More than that, she did not have authority to hand over jurisdiction to a particular government; spies always thought they could handle things themselves. Normally, she agreed but not for this.

“Ingrid, please, I beseech you.”

The woman swallowed hard and spent a few moments in silence before setting her jaw stubbornly. “Leave this property, Ms. Spencer,” Ingrid spoke her name now with doubt over if that was her real name to begin with (the funny thing was that it wasn’t), “And if I ever see you near me or my family again, I won’t hesitate to find a cell for you instead for stalking.” And without waiting for Laura to respond, Ingrid turned on her heels and returned up the paved path towards the clubhouse. Laura watched her with eyes that did not blink or water against the chill and breeze. Once the woman had disappeared behind glass doors, Laura undid the spells with a simple counter-charm and turned to walk forward. They were running out of time, and they were running out of options and each was more desperate than the last. Yet Laura knew that she would try everything and anything necessary to bring this man to justice and to crumble the Death Eaters until they were a pile of unrecognizable rubble. She had to, there was no other alternative, there was no other choice. She had to destroy the organization she had helped create and destroy the people she had helped save if it came down to it. Laura could only foolishly hope, and she had always been good at that, that when the time came, they knew which side to choose. 

With a pop she disapparated and knew straight to what she was headed towards: Russian vodka.

{*}

**Tony:** Give it to me straight doc, am I going to live?

 **Harper:** You know, I’m not actually a doctor.

 **Tony:** I know, I’m trying to wrap my mind around that. *Picking up different vials and bottles and examining them with interest* Most geniuses have a Ph.D.

 **Harper:** Most pretentious douchebags have Ph.D.’s *he takes the vials Tony picks up and places them back- God, it was like picking up after a little kid only much less adorable.* All they do is sit around on their asses writing papers.

 **Tony:** You wrote some papers. *He picks up a folder, leafs through it by licking the tip of his finger and browsing. Scribbles, blank pages, gibberish- encryption techniques.* Tried to read one of them, got lost.

 **Harper:** *Takes the folder back and snaps it shut with an eye roll and places it back on his desk* I dictated a few papers, yes.

 **Tony:** And who actually wrote them out?

 **Harper:** Magic quill most of the time. Sometimes, my wife, when I would be working on three things simultaneously and barely had time for anything else.

 **Tony:** *He ‘ahhed’ in silence, nodding his head.* Cool, cool, cool. *He hops to the left and then falls backwards on his chair* So were you able to find anything?

 **Harper:** Yes, and if you would stop bouncing around like a 4 year old, *his eyebrow arches* I’d let you know.

 **Tony:** *responds back with his own eyebrow raise* You don’t want to get into this battle, Harper. *Gestures to his eyebrows* I’ll win.

 **Harper:** I’m not trying to compete with you, Tony. I’m trying to tell you what I’ve found out about your genes, and you are deflecting.

 **Tony:** *scoffs* I’m not!

 **Harper:** You had a 10 minute conversation with my mirror.

 **Tony:** You make it sound like your mirror doesn’t talk back!

 **Harper:** You’re doing it again.

 **Tony:** Doing what?

 **Harper:** Deflecting. *Leans against his desk with a brief smirk* What could be so bad that you don’t already know?

 **Tony:** The fact that I might grow fangs someday? And become allergic to the sun?

 **Harper:** You won’t. *He shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest.* If anything like that was going to happen, it would have occurred during puberty and maturity, much like your bloodlust.

 **Tony:** Yeah, that damned thing. Do you know how hard it was to overcome zits -and- a thirst for blood?

 **Harper:** Can’t say I do, no.

 **Tony:** Traumatic. Wouldn’t let myself near a girl for a full year.

 **Harper:** *Snorts, lips flicking into an amused smile despite himself* Must have been rough.

 **Tony:** I went through a lot of tissues.

 **Harper:** *shakes his head* Can I keep explaining or not?

 **Tony:** *He motioned with his hands as a small “please!” and then put them behind the back of his head*

 **Harper:** That bloodlust? It’s not mental. It’s physiological.

 **Tony:** Come again?

 **Harper:** *He leans off the desk and then walks around it* When I took blood and tissue sample from you last time-

 **Tony:** Yeah, most but me dinner first by the way-

 **Harper:** *Ignoring that* I conducted some experiments and I realized your body doesn’t just want the blood, it needs it.

 **Tony:** Needs it?

 **Harper:** Not at the level of a normal vampire of course, and you could do without a single drop of it ever but you could also sustain yourself entirely on blood if you wished.

 **Tony:** Entirely?

 **Harper:** It’s fascinating, but yes. Your organs have the ability to extract all they need from blood or food. *he nods with some enthusiasm* It’s marvelous.

 **Tony:** It’s fucking creepy.

 **Harper:** You’re a hybrid undercover Death Eater who drinks blood. *eyebrows arch* And you’re creeped out.

 **Tony:** I like -food-, thank you very much.

 **Harper:** You also like blood, it’s biological.

 **Tony:** You’re biological.

 **Harper:** *eye rolls* You’re also 12.

 **Tony:** -You’re- 12.

 **Harper:** As it is, it’s simply another of your deflection techniques so it’s best just to ignore it.

 **Tony:** Someone read a psychology textbook for fun!

 **Harper:** Shall I keep going or do you want to continue to express your immaturity in hopes that it’ll grant you some vague sense of amused pride in yourself?

 **Tony:** Sure, just cut down the word lengths for me, Harpi.

 **Harper:** *he shakes his head* Don’t.

 **Tony:** Use sentence fragments? Cuz you just did.

 **Harper:** You are two seconds away from being shrunk down and returned to your brother vis a vie, flying test tube.

 **Tony:** …We should try that later.

 **Harper:** *He rolls his eyes, grabbing a folder out of his drawer and walking back around*

 **Tony:** Oh please, like that doesn’t sound fun to you? Flying around in a glass plane! Little 2 inch versions of us!

 **Harper:** How *he starts, eyebrows raised* have the death eaters not killed you yet?

 **Tony:** I give them sexual favors.

 **Harper:** *snorts* I wouldn’t be surprised.

 **Tony:** That hurts me, Harper. *He puts his hands over his heart* Really hurts.

 **Harper:** You’ll live.

 **Tony:** Will I, Harper? Will I, -really-? I might die tomorrow, do you really want the last thing we say to each other to be vague insults?

 **Harper:** They’re not that vague.

 **Tony:** *pouts* I don’t know if my heart can take much more.

 **Harper:** You’re pretty sturdy, I know, I checked.

 **Tony:** This is true, I’ll carry memories of that physical exam forever. You’re very good with your hands, Harper.

 **Harper:** *He exhales, looking up at the ceiling, counting to ten and then looking back to Tony, slapping the folder on his chest*

 **Tony:** *He takes the folder with a smirk, opening it and then browsing again. And what a miracle, it wasn’t written in pig Latin! (Though, he actually knew pig Latin).* What’s this?

 **Harper:** It’s my findings on you and Olivier’s hybrid state.

 **Tony:** I feel like a Digimon, *repeats* hybrid state.

 **Harper:** So now you can leave.

 **Tony:** Oh come on! I’m not gonna understand half this mumbo jumbo!

 **Harper:** I included some drawings and connect the dots for you in the back.

 **Tony:** Ha-ha.

 **Harper:** You’re the one who refuses to listen like a good little hybrid.

 **Tony:** If this is you being condescending, I gotta say, I’m proud, Harper.

 **Harper:** So you want me to continue to verbally abuse you?

 **Tony:** At least it’ll be something I’m used to. *He smirks, shrugging as he closes the folder* I’ll give this to my brother, but I much rather receive it orally.

 **Harper:** You’re a walking and talking sexual innuendo, Antonio.

 **Tony:** Hmm, yeah, most of the time. *He grins* Seriously, come on, I’m all ears. Start with the blood thing again.

 **Harper:** I figured that’s what you’d want to know more about. *He nods* The “bloodlust”.

 **Tony:** Wait wait wait, don’t put invisible air quotes around that word.

 **Harper:** I only use it for lack of a better word.

 **Tony:** It’s -exactly- what that word says.

 **Harper:** Bloodlust means an uncontrollable desire to kill not to drink blood.

 **Tony:** Okay fancy pants, technicalities aside?

 **Harper:** I would suggest adding it to your diet.

 **Tony:** You’ve got to be shitting me.

 **Harper:** I’m not. *he shakes his head* Your body needs it to be in optimal condition, that’s why you’ve buffed up.

 **Tony:** Silly me for thinking its just the steroids.

 **Harper:** And you said you don’t actually feel the desire to rip into people until you see or taste the blood, right?

 **Tony:** Yes.

 **Harper:** Because -you’ve- taught your body that’s the only way it’s gonna get what it wants, by maiming, so it drives you to do more. There’s also of course the fact you do enjoy it-

 **Tony:** The killing? *eyebrows arched*

 **Harper:** Yes. The thing is, without knowing how exactly it was that you and Olivier were conceived-

 **Tony:** Probably the missionary-

 **Harper:** I don’t know if that comes from your father being a vampire or simply him being who he was.

 **Tony:** Psycho killer, Remington D’Grey. Vampire. Difference?

 **Harper:** Of course. Either way, I can’t be sure but vampires do feel the need for blood as a desire, as thirst, as lust. So, desensualize the blood.

 **Tony:** Not sure if that’s a word. 

 **Harper:** But “Bom diggity” is?

 **Tony:** Touché.

 **Harper:** For vampires, and for you, drinking blood is a very sensual, very intimate process. From the moment they start the hunt, right until the moment they exsanguinate the body.

 **Tony:** I had no idea there was a fancy word for sucking someone dry.

 **Harper:** So make it less sensual. Drink blood from a bag, or a sippy cup.

 **Tony:** *snorts* A sippy cup?

 **Harper:** I could think of nothing less sexy.

 **Tony:** And how is this going to help, exactly?

 **Harper:** Taking the blood daily, indirectly from the source, as an average part of your routine will sate your body faster and should give you more control.

 **Tony:** Key word there being should.

 **Harper:** I never claimed to be an expert.

 **Tony:** What if I choose just not to take it at all? After all of this is over, go back to my sobriety?

 **Harper:** *He shakes his head* Wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a part of who you are-

 **Tony:** It’s. disgusting.

 **Harper:** I’m not judging you here, why are you judging yourself for the way you were born?

 **Tony:** Because I control it! I have controlled it before.

 **Harper:** Your body wants it, it needs it, because it’s trying to get you into that prime condition you’re supposed to be in as a hybrid. So give your body what it wants without it letting take control of you.

 **Tony:** Giving in and drinking blood is already letting it take control.

 **Harper:** Listen, I’m not saying it’s not fucked up. I’m just saying, if you want to be able to not have to run away from a papercut, you better control it because the way you had wasn’t working.

 **Tony:** It was until I drank again. Once I can go cold turkey, it’ll be fine.

 **Harper:** When does cold turkey ever work for long term? You’ve got to ween yourself -on- it, and then ween yourself off it little by little.

 **Tony:** This is so fucking annoying *rubs his face with a groan* So drink blood.

 **Harper:** Yes.

 **Tony:** Until my body is satisfied.

 **Harper:** Until it stops controlling your life.

 **Tony:** It does not-

 **Harper:** *Pricks his thumb with a chopping knife and then shows it to him, watching him still then stiffen.* Tell me what’s going on through your mind.

 **Tony:** *He swallows on a suddenly dry throat, mouth locked tight as he exhales through his nose* Anger.

 **Harper:** Continue.

 **Tony:** *teeth gritted* Because you’re a stupid bitch.

 **Harper:** Aggression.

 **Tony:** *snaps* Get that out of my face!

 **Harper:** Calm down.

 **Tony:** I’ll fucking calm down as soon as you take your hand away from me, before I rip you a new one.

 **Harper:** Tony, you’re holding my wrist.

 **Tony:** *He huffs out, eyes traveling down from the man’s thumb to his wrist and then suddenly letting it go*

 **Harper:** *He takes his hand back and then heals the little wound* That was a drop.

 **Tony:** You crazy son of a bitch. *exhales, standing up, shaking his head.*

 **Harper:** That was a drop *he licked his thumb* and you nearly tore my hand off.

 **Tony:** I get it! *He huffs, chest rising up and done* Point made. Drama queen.

 **Harper:** Well that and I also wanted to see your reaction. Pupils dilated, body stiffened and then poised itself almost like a snake about to strike.

 **Tony:** Yeah, cuz I’m a fucking freak of nature.

 **Harper:** Because you’re part vampire and that’s how they hunt. You’ve never taught yourself another way to get the blood, so get it another way.

 **Tony:** *He exhales in disbelief, shaking his head and then turning back to Harper* You fucking pricked your thumb for an experiment?

 **Harper:** *He shrugs, stuffing his hands down his pockets.* I had to know.

 **Tony:** You’re, insane.

 **Harper:** That doesn’t have anything to do with this, Antonio.

 **Tony:** Do you have a death wish? Hmm? Do you -want- me to kill you?

 **Harper:** I’d like to see you try.

 **Tony:** *He smirks, stepping back and shaking his head again. He couldn’t deny a small feeling of pride mixed in with everything else as he mutters again* You’re insane.

 **Harper:** And you’re agitated. Skittish.

 **Tony:** That’s because I’ve grown to hate your face in the last 5.3 seconds.

 **Harper:** Glad to see your sense of humor isn’t affected by this. *He takes his hand out and motions to the chair again* Sit down, Tony.

 **Tony:** Do you have liquor?

 **Harper:** One thing you should really cut down on.

 **Tony:** I’ll have an easier time drinking blood.

 **Harper:** Do both. 

 **Tony:** Anything else you want me to do your majesty? Polish your armor, clean your boots, kiss your hand?

 **Harper:** I don’t have any liquor, Tony.

 **Tony:** Too bad, I have no reason to stay here anymore. *He grabs the folder from the chair.*

 **Harper:** *He shakes his head, pursing his lips together but he stays where he’s standing and watches Tony walk away, stopping him when he reaches the door.* When we first met you said you were going to help me.

 **Tony:** Did I? *He lifts his eyebrows, turning to look at Harper* I just remember offering you a little catholic boy.

 **Harper:** I want to help you too. Now, I can see you’re sensitive about this-

 **Tony:** *scoffs*

 **Harper:** So take the folder, read it through, think about it. You’re going to live a much easier life when you stop lamenting over things out of your control and focus on gaining control of the ones you can.

 **Tony:** You speak from experience. *It wasn’t a question.*

 **Harper:** *he swallows and then nods slowly* Yes.

 **Tony:** So tell me, how’s that working out for you?

 **Harper:** I’m not lying in bed feeling sorry for myself.

 **Tony:** Well, neither am I.

 **Harper:** And neither do I make sarcastic and witty little comments designed to constantly remind me of the mental and physical state I’m in.

 **Tony:** *He scoffs again, shaking his head* Sure. You can’t lie to me, Harper.

 **Harper:** I’m not saying it works all the time, but it does most of the time. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, it doesn’t get anything done.

 **Tony:** I’m getting things done. *He narrowed his eyes* Liking what I see in the mirror at the end of the day wasn’t part of the deal. 

 **Harper:** You’re talking to the walking, talking, Picasso painting here, Tony. I’m not a fan of mirrors either, talking or not. But if you keep tearing yourself a new one instead of letting yourself heal, of course it’s gonna keep hurting.

 **Tony:** Said the torture victim.

 **Harper:** *He stills for a few seconds before exhaling, his thumb brushing over his ring* I stopped thinking myself a victim some time ago. Maybe you should do the same.

 **Tony:** Okay so clearly you read -more- than one psychology textbook for fun.

 **Harper:** *His lips flick with the chuckle he kept inside and then shook his head before turning away from Tony* Goodbye, Antonio.

 **Tony:** *He watches Harper walk back to behind his desk and then just quickly exits out of the room, opening the folder again. Reaching the back page, he has to smirk and laugh out loud.* Son of a bitch. *Connect the dots drawing. Harper Brackner thought he was so clever.* 

{*}

**Rachelle:** She couldn't help but to overhear. It was a rare occasion to have all three Brackners in one room Rachelle had soon learned from her time spent with them and yet according to Jimmy not as less often as even weeks before. It seemed it had taken more tragedies to bring a family together after a previous tragedy had ransacked it.

The same proved true this night. In their previous tryst, years ago, the man had managed to bring up the woman's name. He had not been drinking alone, but his friend had already found company for the night and Rachelle never met her. Even still, she'd been here three weeks; she'd heard plenty. 

With a plop, Lyndsea and Max were off to the hospital no doubt after Alcott had told them he would stay with her. She walked into the room afterwards, her steps quiet. "I don't need a babysitter, you know. You could have gone with them...Max sounded a mess."

 

 **Alcott:** It was odd to think he didn't even flinch. He expected her there, as he was perfectly capable of hearing even without that silver potion in his veins: the inability to freely turn did not take away any of his wolf qualities (did not take away the wolf in him, he reasons, and doesn't flinch at that either). Lifting a hand to rub a flat palm over his face, he turns. 

"Yeah, well," he adds after slapping his thigh as he smirks ruefully and shrugs a shoulder at her, "I'm pretty sure Aunt Zoe's the only woman he's ever truly loved." 

Ironic, he thinks with a flick to the corner of his lips, as of the three women in this house including her she was also the only one he'd never been with. He barely restrains an eye roll. Tilting his head at her, he adds, teasing, "That's cool to say with you, right?" 

Well, whatever tryst the pair'd had -- clearly it hadn't started up again, so Alcott figures it was all right to joke about these things. Fidgeting with the loop on his belt, his words were softer. "So, I know if it were me. I'd want to be alone with Hols right now. Well that, and I'd rather stay out of Ma's way -- you've seen her in action," he winks, "so you get it. Besides." He jerks with his chin, "I'm not babysitting, you owe me a rematch at pool -- come on." 

His personal billiards table was in the addendum near the pool...and closest to the woods.

 

 **Rachelle:** "Funny how that works," she commented with a brief smile, shaking her head. Men, really. Granted, she didn't know much about love to comment on it. People she thought she loved and loved her back had a tendency of betraying her in the worst way. But that was behind her.

She raised her eyebrows and then laughed once, "Yeah, it's okay. I'll get over my crippling heartbreak," she placed a hand over her chest and then smirked, before she nodded once again, understanding or rather, she'd have to take his word for it, except for the comment on Lyndsea, that she did know personally. 

"I do know. The words "tiny but mighty" have never made more sense." She let her arms fall from in front of her chest and then grinned at the rematch comment, "Bring it on then, pup." She wiggled her eyebrows after emphasizing the p sounds.

 

 **Alcott:** "I'm laughing on the uh - inside." He smirks, with his eyebrows both wiggling but really, he didn't pretend to understand his uncle (or even himself, on these matters). As they walk, he chuckles and nods absently, "Yeah -- and you know, if she can intimidate -us-," he cocks his head looking sideways at Rachelle as if to indicate their shared wolf gene with his hand pretending to be claws, "really I pity the person who tries to cross her."

He pretends that hadn't been him for nine years (give or take) at this point and points at the door before they get there to open it. It was simply too cool that it did that. He still had a year and a half until he could actually "use" magic but hey, this was their house. And if the Ministry couldn't figure out he was transforming into a wolf once a month, was an autonomous gestural alohomora such a big deal?  

Alcott doesn't fucking think so. Scoffing, "Oh ho, see how it is -- well. If this -pup-," he points at himself moving across the room and pouring them both a drink first before reaching for his cue (and chalk), "can manage to beat you -on- the full moon itself.."

 

 **Rachelle:** She wouldn't have described it as being intimidated by the woman as much as watching others be intimidated by her and having an appreciation for her prowess all while wearing the latest winter collection from Oscar De La Renta. Yet, saying that all out loud was a mouthful and to argue on the basis of a simple word was not worth it and it would be a disservice to the woman. And just because Lyndsea was not here did not mean she would not feel the slight all the way at the hospital.

Impressed with Alcott's non-verbal and wandless magic to open the door, neat trick at the very least, she walks into the room to grab the cue she had dubbed temporarily her own and then take the drink Alcott poured with a scoff of her own.

"Pining me down twice hardly counts as beating me, I always managed to push you back. And if you're about to say you were holding back," she points at him with the hand that was holding the glass, "I'm calling another rematch to be settled later on." 

 **Alcott:** "Yeah?" He asks, his smirk only lifting and eyebrows wiggling away at her with honest light amusement, despite the dark topic. It was strange, yet since Rachelle living there -- and his mother having seen the transformation now -- it seemed more...comfortable. Normal. All right maybe not so strange, but then again -- if Hans hadn't repeatedly _lied_ to him...

Actually he didn't give a fuck about the lying, he gave a fuck that the man put Devin in the hospital. 

Brushing the cue down with the chalk he finishes his thought, "You got it, sweetheart." He winks, gesturing with the top of the cue and setting the chalk down. Adding offhand,  "Though I still made you the Wolfsbane too, for the record, it'll be finished in a week." Which was perfectly coinciding with the week they'd need it, naturally. 

As he uses the cue as a mini baton to pull the triangle up and arrange the colored and striped balls properly, he hears himself ask after the fact. "Rachelle. Was Hans serious?" His eyebrows pop up. "About wanting to help me, I mean." He bites down on his lip, "Cause I mean - he hurt, my friends, Dev nearly *died*." That word stuck in his throat: he didn't want to think about who *had*. "That's not...helping me, that's fucking me over and lying about it except that potion, that worked, and it -- I don't get it." 

 **Rachelle:** Wolfsbane. She hadn't taken that potion ever since the silver one had passed her lips. And wolfsbane didn't help with anything except keep your mind when you transformed. Kept her mind with the Death Eaters and with the pack meant attack on purpose, with full knowledge of what you were doing, and thrive on the hunt. A part of her still longed for it too. But last full moon, if Alcott hadn't remembered, Rachelle might have killed Lyndsea. 

She had gone to bed like the woman had ordered but she hadn't fallen asleep or rested; her mind had run rampant for days, and maybe it still had. Every single person she'd hurt had ran through her mind, because if it weren't for Al, Lyndsea would have been added to the list. The worst part was imagining her brothers and sisters, her pack, and what they would say if they could see her like this, and heard her doubts. Surely, they would think she was going soft...maybe she had. It was easy to get softer here, to let her edges blunt instead of sharpen to the dagger they'd always been accustomed to. Life here, even as a prisoner, was comfortable, it was simple. You know, save the whole turning into a werewolf in the kitchen. And not being able to run outside. She did love to run. 

And when Alcott brought up the fact that they'd need it for the next full moon, the twist at her stomach at spending another away from her pack was not as stinging as it might have been. It still hurt, she still felt she belonged with them, but neither was the anxiety boiling over and threatening to consume her as it had done when she had first gotten here, when she had told them all unabashedly that Hans would be knocking on that door a week ago to come get her.

She chalks up her cue as well, dabs a little on the space between her thumb and index finger and takes a drink. Setting the glass down, her movement stills altogether to hear Alcott bring up Hans. She licks her lip, chasing the leftover taste of the alcohol off them and then nods slowly. She could see why Alcott wouldn't believe Hans, but she knew Hans better than she knew anyone. That wasn't to say others did not know him better, but of the people in her life, he was the one she most knew and understood.

Hans had hurt Devin on the orders of the Death Eaters, and he was never particularly fond of the fact it was all for the sake of some teenage grudge match. But, he still did it, like Rachelle would still have done it. It was deep in the bones they broke over and over, that desire to hunt. They satisfied their need and got things done for the Death Eaters at the same time, in turn they kept supplying them with the silver potion.

"He was truthful, yes. We know what it's like, being newly bitten. I was never on my own, I always had my brothers with me but Hans was, he dealt with it by himself. Spent months without the wolfsbane and then years without the silver potion. And we also know what it's like not to belong, why we travel in packs. He offered you help and he was sincere...you offered him an autograph." She smirks now, wiggling her eyebrows again. "Pretty sure I teased him relentlessly about that, and it was also the moment I became an Alcott Brackner fan." She raised her glass in his direction before taking another sip and setting it down again.

"He offered the potion, we both know that helps, but he also offered a pack, a chance to be with people who understand and live with what you're going through, a family. Yeah, we're fucked up, we're all fucked up, but at least we're not alone. And after how the world treated all of us, well, we just give as good as we got. There's no use in trying to deny what we are. We're not people who turn into wolves. We are the wolves. That's why I remembered last full moon clearly even if I couldn't control myself during it. In the end, I embraced the wolf before it devoured me because that's what Hans taught me to do. He taught me many things...

You might have taken his offer too, you know. If you didn't already have a pack here." She chuckled and then took another sip with a sigh. "Granted, you're the only wolf in it, but you've got a pack. And alphas never get along."

 **Alcott:** He listened. That simple thought, that he was honest to God listening to her, was one that twists up his smirk. Only for a moment cause he didn't you know, want her to think he was mocking her: he wasn't. He was mocking himself. Alcott (Fucking) Brackner (the "fucking" was silent, but understood by all to be there), attentive and asking if he was wrong? 

Then again everything in his life had been turned upside down  in the last year and then shunted sideways, where it proceeded to twist up, do the Electric Slide, and all around get down tonight. Lynn was his friend, Hols his girlfriend, he transformed into a wolf once a month, survived having his neck snapped, was presently playing pool with a woman who Devin nearly killed (to protect his sister) ... and then there were the less amusing ones. Eliza. God, Eliza.  

Maybe it was in her stead he was asking about Hans. She'd yelled at him (Eliza always yelled at him, and she was always right too, it was an irritating habit of hers) not to trust him, and then -- yet. There was a moment that last day, in the hospital, when she told him that no one was what they seemed, least of all him. It was something he was holding on to; Eliza's last words to him were a constant reminder that she saw good in him where no-one else did (and that he should extend the courtesy to others, please and thank you, or I'm stealing your flask). 

Funny how often she'd done that, threaten to take his flask; she never had. Stolen every other bottle, yes, but the flask...not once. He knew why that was. (It was his father's). He just thought it was funny. Eliza had liked contradictions as much as he did.

Or maybe he was asking about Hans because he wanted to believe, pathetically, that there was a method to the madness (Dillon and Irene had been over that morning, you could tell, oiivey). Maybe he just wanted to think that yes, someone else had cared for a few fucking seconds about him. Someone understood. 

Then again, Rachelle did. Rachelle, who he knew now had been tormented and hurt until she begged for this curse of his willingly -- anyone who could do that, knew the suffering as much as the delight, and still here she was laughing. And frankly, anyone who went through that, he was pretty sure constituted as "worse than the Imperius curse" and if Imperius was grounds for getting off, he didn't see why Rachelle should shoulder the blame.

Fucking Ministry.

Abruptly, he laughed and felt his eyebrows pop up, tongue flicking over the corner of his lips and a smug little smirk wholly Brackner passes over his face. "Oh yeah? I can give you an autograph too you know, it's no problem."

Dropping the cue against the table, he muses aloud. "Yeah, I guess. Hey, you know -- " His index finger points as his others flex around the pool cue, " -- not the only animal though, Hols could kick both our asses, frankly. Also, watch for the Kracken. *He smirks, idly remembering.* Irene's pretty terrifying with just her *purse*, don't want to think what she'd be as a wolf honestly. And Sienna, ha, you haven't met her I don't think? Hans did though, apparently, so maybe I'm mistaken.  

Also, see the thing is I was still tempted by his offer, if I'm being honest -- just not sure why he thought I'd ever call someone brother who hurt my friends. That's just -- doesn't he realize there's got to be a better way there? This potion could help so many people but...Rachelle, he saved you, I get that - he just, he also tried to *break* me. That's more than...a little fucked up, and yet I still believe you that he thought he was helping. Cause I mean, you're right. They're like my family. They have been almost my entire life -- might look like I've got a pack here now but truth is...Ma and I...well." He wrinkles his nose up, and says flatly, "You're not the only one Uncle Max slept with in the house."

But he just shrugs his shoulder cause frankly he couldn't care anymore. 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he smirks wider and adds as he gestures she should get the break, "Ah, well, I have no trouble agreeing there, I was always an animal. And can't denyyy," his smirk widens, "quite enjoy the animal side with Hols too. You can break."

Moving away from the table, he tilts his head and shrugs, adding aloud. 

"I don't know, it's just...seems to me there's got to be a better way. In any case, Rachelle." He smiles for a second - a brief, flash of one anyway, looking at her, "I _was_  the only wolf in it. Gotta say, I like the sound of alpha." 

 **Hans:** At leisure, "I wouldn't get to used to it, mate, but inspiring speech nonetheless."

He appeared to be alone, but he knew both Rachelle and Alcott would be well aware of the proximity of the rest of the pack: Ansel was in the front hall, Allison the second floor, the rest scouring the grounds for latent security. There's a light smirk playing on his lips, for he knew they should have heard him coming, but had clearly been far too intent on - evidently, psychoanalyzing his soul. Ah, Olivier mate, I feel you, he thinks with amusement.

Amusement that he couldn't keep honestly on his face for Alcott had tensed - but he only heard that, his eyes were filled with Rachelle, his sister, and his smile was too soft to be bitter; the relief in his throat palpable as he adds only, 

"Hello, sister."

 

 **Rachelle:** "I'm not surprised in the least you choose to comment on that first," she admitted with a shake of her head but with a hint of a fondness. Sue her, she didn't know the boy well but after a full of night of wrestling, biting, scratching, and howling at each other, there was bound to be some familiarity. Not much, but enough.

But then he spoke of his friends, his pack for lack of a better name, and her tiny smile remained. Yes, Hols seemed quite formidable. And she had met Irene briefly and even that was enough for Rachelle to appreciate her moxie. Sienna, she had not met personally but yes she was aware of Hans' meetings with the girl. Now that would be a show she would be willing to see, the girl confronting him after everything that happened. Would she believe Hans genuinely enjoyed her company? She supposed it didn't matter any longer.

Alcott continued, unable to realize Hans' train of thought and Rachelle was stunned to discover she was faltering as well. She took another sip of her drink, nodded immediately with that fact, that one simple and yet enormously complex fact that was the one thing she was most sure of in this world. 

"Ooh, hit that right on the nail, I did. I am too good." She was about to say that clearly she didn't blame Lyndsea for her husband was dead and Max a gorgeous specimen but she'd spare Alcott a further reason to picture it. Mustn't be pleasant.

She chuckled and then smirked as he admitted enjoying giving in to his animalistic nature especially with his girlfriend present, and who wouldn't? It was such a freeing experience! She grabbed the cue ball and moved to the end of the pool table, placing it at her favored position as he said there had to be a better way. Maybe there was...but this way worked too. 

Bending over the table and lining herself up, she pulled the cue back and struck the ball with a resounding crack! and again another as the cue ball made contact with the rest. The sound accompanied her small laugh at not being the only wolf here anymore, and the beginnings of him liking the title, of course, but then the interruption caused her to turn on her heels to look at her brother.

The world seemed to start back up again. She had to strain to hear, to smell, without the silver potion but she did now: Ansel, Allison, Zachary, Melissa- all here. Her first thought was 'thank God, finally'. Her second was 'thank God Lyndsea and Max were away'.

The smile she had on at Alcott's comment only brightened as she continued to look at Hans, her eyes widening and threatening to water. A million thoughts ran through her mind at that moment but she quickly shushed then all and in less than a blink was in front of him, arms wrapped around his neck and hugging him tightly. His scent was familiar to her, home to her, as were the ones currently in the hall and the second floor and the grounds. Her pack, her family. 

"About time, mon frere," she managed to choke out on a throat raw and dry with emotion but she stubbornly refused to cry, of assault him with the endless wave of thoughts plaguing her mind. How she was sorry, how she knew she had let him down and let them all down, how happy she was they were, how horrifying it had been on the full moon without them, how Alcott and Lyndsea had helped her but each thought only became heavier and heavier until her tongue couldn't lift any of them into words. 

She pulled back before Hans had the chance to protest, he always did even if in jest, but she wasn't entirely sure she could stand it at that moment. "You've no idea how much I've missed you."

 **Hans:** He caught her. Easily, one arm lifting around her waist, expecting (hoping?) for the embrace that would knock normal men flat. (Admittedly, he could see the appeal of that too). Squeezing, he ignores the pup -- ignores everything (the irony of this being the location, for one thing), just for a moment. 

"Actually," he chuckles drily in honest happiness as he frees just one hand to tap at his ear, "I have an inkling, favori." 

He did; when she was in his arms it was only the years spent learning mastery that left him free from the compunction to break out at once with apologies. Certainly, he had not been expecting that Rachelle would be simply laughing and playing at billiards (winning, he surmises easily); but, then. Alcott had always had such potential. Nice to see that was not utterly spent.

"I know, I know..." He laughs under his breath. Letting her go, but not before he'd cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead, he doesn't look away from her even as he now speaks to Alcott, words light, "I believe I have you to thank for the difficulty, don't I?"

There's a glint in his eyes, his voice hardens on the word 'difficulty', but when he looks to Alcott he sees only the expression mirrored back at him and breaks into a smirk. 

 **Alcott:** Hand clenching and unclenching in a fist and his side, he grits both teeth together - irritated to have that discovered. Still, a smirk flicks up anyway because he was Alcott Brackner and however fast his heart was suddenly pounding,  

"Glad you approve." It was wry, as after all: Hans believed everyone was just oh so desperate for his approval, didn't he?  

"How did you get in?" He could hear them now -- smell them, even, the rest of the pack in the house -- how had he not noticed that before? The scent burns each at the back of his throat. Whatever he had just wanted to ask, whatever good will he might have been favoring -- in an instant he was certain it was more for Rachelle than for any of them. 

 **Hans:** His hand still curling over Rachelle's shoulder, he keeps looking at the pup anyway, breath hot in his throat as he considers him. Ah, of course. His brows furrow and flicker, 

"Apologies mate, in that department I have a bit of -- insider information. Apart from naturally, your genius little additions. " Oh sue him his little joke, "Keep anyone from tracking you back after a midnight excursion, I take it? Shielding a werewolf's scent even from her own pack -- I must say it's inspiring, the lengths you were going." His eyes harden once more, and he murmurs under his breath to Rachelle even knowing Alcott would still hear, "Did they lay a finger on you?" 

Just one, that really was all it would take.

 **Alcott:** He just takes a step forward, not deterred or intimidated in the slightest whatever his current lack of potion. Anger had flashed through his veins at the thought "insider information" -- they were his father's wards, dammit (but they hadn't helped nine years ago either, had they?).  

"Actually, we've been helping her, mate, so why don't you ease up and tell me, how the hell you found--?" His eyes narrow as he thinks for a flash how glad he was his mother wasn't here - his uncle...and then seems to realize, and he hisses. "You're the reason Zoe's in Mungos, aren't you?" 

"Lure everyone away from the house," he reasons, so that it's not a question.

 **Hans** : "Sorry?" He cocks an eyebrow up, genuinely curious. Zoe Noel, he took it. Ah. Face contorting with momentary disgust and his nose wrinkling, he flicks both smirk and gaze up. Nope, that hadn't been him, but he could wager a guess who had.  

He releases Rachelle, stepping closer to Alcott.  

"Now, why would I wish to lure everyone away from the house and deprive my family of their vengeance if so desired?" 

 **Alcott:** "I don't know." He slaps at his thigh, taking a step forward again too, shoulder shrugging as he tilts his head at him, "Maybe the same reason you went after my friends in the first place." 

 **Hans:** Aha. The moment he mentioned the potion (and that listening to, and general sniffs alerted him to the fact that Rachelle was un-maimed), his irritation melts into black-hearted amusement as his face screws up. He tilts his head as Alcott stops in front of him. Without blinking, he grasps his hands behind his back and responds, "I suppose that was true."

 **Alcott:** Repeating, his words were still hot, "Rachelle's fine. In fact, I was going to use this game here," he gestures at the pool table, "to ask her where you might be, so I could come tell you."

 **Hans:** Brows popping up, he searches the man's gaze for a second and then nods. "Huh. Telling the truth. How about that."

 **Alcott:** "I'm not the liar among us." He hisses it. "But vengeance? My family is off limits. You got a problem, you take it up with me." He jams at his chest, looking evenly at Hans. Heated, "Understand?"  

 **Hans:** Amusing. Curious. And why, wouldn't Harper be proud. He tilts his head, "Brave of you. But your little blonde friend beat you to that particular punch."  

 **Alcott:** His little blonde friend? He inhaled sharply, about to snap before he realized -- he didn't mean Eliza (he couldn't) which left...likely, Irene. He blinks. But that, he'd let her explain: fuck if he was going to take Hans word for anything, let alone over the word of his best friend.

"Anything for that little silver potion, right? You don't care who you have to hurt to get it."

 **Hans:** Oh, the poor boy had no idea. "The silver potion...ah, right." 

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out two vials of the self-same potion. The first he tosses to Rachelle, the second he extends to Alcott with an obvious smirk at the underlying irony. 

 **Alcott:** Distracted by the sudden whipping potion through the air, he's well aware that his mouth went taut, his eyes had momentarily changed color and his heart skips a few beats. All that for the hint of memory, the scent of it? 

He regards it warily, unblinking and unmoving.

 **Hans:** Laughing under his breath, "Go on." It's a little whisper that he adds, "Free of charge, mate."

 **Alcott:** Half a second later he has the vial in his hand. He didn't even remember moving. Inhaling sharply, he lifts his gaze back to Hans and at that, couldn't help but retort, "Yeah, give my compliments to the chef." 

 **Hans:** He really had to stop doing that, it was just too good -- too goddamn good. Squeezing at his hand, he responds to the initial inquiry, "For the record's sake, I ought to mention the particular arrangement have changed in light of present, new-found information." 

 **Alcott:** "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you."

 **Hans** : "Why Alcott, you flatter me. To think, I thought I had lost your good opinion forever." 

 **Alcott:** "There's a catch." He snaps it, taking his step forward so they were breathing the same air. "There always is with you." 

 **Hans:** A red glint flashes through his eyes, but he holds the golden-amber gaze of Alcott easily anyway, as he adds in a low murmur, "The potion's yours. I told you, Alcott. I'm a man of my word."

 **Alcott:** That...was strange. There was something in Hans gaze, something fluttering in the man's heartbeat and throat that told him (he thinks) that Hans was being perfectly serious. Alcott searches his gaze. Palming the vial as his hand has started to sweat, he slips it into his pocket (he was not going to drink it again in front of Hans, or rather, anyone, if he had a reaction anything like that first time). Biting at the tip of his tongue sharply, he mutters to avoid an "ah" as fangs sliced over the tip. Then he just asks, because he couldn't help it. 

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?"

 **Hans:** Clever pup, he thinks and shrugs a shoulder as his smirk widens. "Alcott, the total tonnage of what I know that you don't, would stun a team of oxen in it's tracks."

 **Alcott:** He exhales hot, eyes narrow and hard, flinty with apprehension and grinds his teeth together, still sucking down the blood in his mouth. He won't say another word, but he looks at Rachelle warily.  

 **Rachelle** : It was such a relief to hear him say so, and to hear the truth behind his words. Rachelle had been frightened over what his reaction would be; if he would think any less of her for being captured so easily, for not carrying out the simple task that had been assigned to her, that she had willingly and eagerly volunteered for because back then, it was all a game to her. 

Back then. What did that mean for her now? To Rachelle, it seemed like there were no longer two stages of her life. Now, there were three: before the torture, after being bitten, and now, after having spent so much time away from the pack.

A kiss at her forehead seemed to wash all present doubts away from the moment, as her smile continued as bright and relieved as it had when she first laid eyes on him and dropped the cue to embrace him. Now as he spoke to Alcott directly, she was reminded of him again. She wanted to let Hans know immediately that Alcott and his family had helped her, not harmed her. So when he asked the simple question, after sparing a brief wonder of what he meant by insider information, she replied (and not bereft of her usual wit), "Discounting Max's ravishment a few years back, no, they've not." The Aurors on the other hand, they were quite rude and prone to manhandling her. She also thought it best not to remind her brother Devin Stuart's impressive knife-wielding abilities at this point either. 

Rachelle moved sideways as Hans released her, unsurprised to realize her teasing comment of alphas not liking each other was much more accurate than she initially realized. But as Alcott reasoned out the cause of Zoe's accident, wrongly, Rachelle frowned with the knowledge that the presence of two more wizards wouldn't have stopped Hans and the pack from entering. But again, she was ultimately grateful they weren't here otherwise it might have more easily turned into a fight and the pack was less willing to hurt one of their own even if they weren't part of the pack. Even if Alcott challenged Hans at every instant he could, even when he hadn't known Hans was here and listening in.

The word 'vengeance' made her jaw clench as she felt doubt claw at her mind once more. She didn't want...vengeance, not on Alcott's family, she wanted to go home. Rachelle almost said it out loud before she realized how ridiculous that would have sounded, and also because a part of her could not help but to indulge and enjoy in the sight before her; sue her. Now she finally understood Hans and Ansel's enjoyment of her and Allison's little "spats".

As Alcott revealed his plan, her brows couldn't help but furrow. She searched his gaze, listened to his heart the same way Hans was doing no doubt but not for the same reason. When she arrived here, she was under no false pretenses that they were all simply hoping to extract information on the Death Eaters from her. Hell, whatever she could say on the Death Eaters alone without putting the pack at risk she willingly parted with. It wasn't much, but it was something. But after the full moon, she thought...well, that was silly to think. She almost hit herself. She was a prisoner here, after all, and maybe she believed that Alcott would have gone to Hans for her sake, but that wasn't the most important reason, not the real reason. Oh, clever, clever little Brackners, playing her like a finely tuned violin until she sang the song they wanted to hear. Ironic really, as Rachelle was no amateur at doing the same. 

Shaking her head briefly and licking her lips, she looked up again as Hans mentioned a little blonde friend and Rachelle immediately thought of Irene. Had she done as Rachelle had asked? Told Ansel where she was? The girl seemed so sure of herself, of keeping her silence, unless Ansel had gotten it out of her somehow...she exhaled, about to reach for her drink again when she sees a little vial being tossed her way.

Salvation in a bottle, that should be its advertising campaign. Her mouth dropped in anticipation as she unstoppered it quickly and put it to her lips. It trickled through her body, freezing everything in its path. Ice spread to veins and muscles and bone, freezing her in place as well. She remained abnormally still, eyes closed as she reveled in the sensation, in the strength returned to her that pulled at ligaments like growing pains. The wolf inside came alive again, snarling inside her chest and with a deep inhale she let the beast breathe and knew she was one again. The control was back, she felt it, and fuck how she had missed it. 

Rachelle raised her hands to her eye level and extended each nail individually right before it turned into a claw. An elated grin adorned her face as she turned them back to nails once more, feeling she could bounce through the ceiling (except she couldn't, because that would set off the Auror wards). "Still tastes like a rotting sailor's seed," she commented easily enough before reaching for her actual drink again and downing that as well to wash down the taste.

Truthfully, Rachelle was glad that Hans had brought a vial for Alcott as well and she if he hadn't, she would have offered her own, scheming little pup or no, knowing more was available for her back in the headquarters.

More verbal fights for domination, ah, wonderful. One step closer and they would be occupying the same space, actually maybe even just half a step. But Hans spoke the truth, he was a man of his word, and she nodded along with that.

And then she had to scoff and chuckle, because you always got both with Hans: truthful gentleman and clever-mouthed dry-wit prat. Lord, how many English slang terms was she destined to depart with?

"Oxen. Very nice," she had missed him though, oh so much. Finally meeting Alcott's gaze, whatever minor irritation that had just arisen (and really it was mostly at her own stupidity) was gone. She spoke, but it wasn't him her words were directed to.

"He helped me go through the full moon without the potions, brother. His mother got me out of the dirty cell the Aurors stuffed me in, and for their own purposes or not, they did help me. And frankly, I'm rather tired of England so the sooner we can leave, the better." She exhaled as she placed the empty glass down for the final time. 

"The Aurors' got a ton of wards on to keep from leaving, though," her gaze was fixed on Alcott's as she took a few steps forward. "You don't know how grateful I am...and you won't," she added quickly, a flicker of a smirk on her lips, "as I will hardly reveal it. I have managed to sustain some form of dignity in all of this, after all." Even after being handcuffed by and stabbed by teenagers, dragged and tossed into a cell, revealed her scars to Lyndsea, made a prisoner in her home, and crying her way through a transformation and then again the morning after, she still regained some sense of pride. And what a dangerous thing that was to have in this world, pride.

"Will you help me one more time?"

 **Hans:** At the first remark his lips had flicked, licking the bottom one as he thinks: oh ho, good for her. Though she said a few years ago...(he pondered idly if he recalled a Max--he didn't, but the pair of them on the town? Frankly the names of hers just became a blur. He was too busy in awe of her, he supposes.)

Rachelle was younger than his blood-relations, so it had never been a surprise to him how protective he could get. Yet watching her perform...now, that was almost better than their hunt itself. She was a born starlet, his little sis, and ravishing herself. 

He didn't understand why she didn't hate him; why she wasn't angry with him for leaving her, for being distracted enough that she'd been taken. Hans didn't understand, was waiting for it -- and yet, he didn't comment on it. He couldn't. He was too busy smiling over it--and watching her, watching her perform as she returns to speaking to Alcott. 

He wouldn't say another word to the boy himself--not yet. His comment had been too good to waste, he thinks with a little smirk and frankly? He would say more if it weren't for the fact that Al would not believe him. Besides. He wouldn't want to deprive them of the moment! He'd have the popcorn ready.

"I was feeling provincial," He says with his customary smirk instead to Rachelle, stepping back and returning to a relaxed pose. He still hasn't blinked away from Alcott.

 **Alcott** : Oxen. Seriously!? (Ouch.) Eyes narrow, they soften almost immediately as she approaches him and he looks to Rachelle instead. Her eyes were the same as they'd been when the transformation occurred for a minute and he sees it--he sees in her gaze the wolf he'd gotten to know quite well. Contrary as ever, it calms Al. He assumes it must be because it reminds him of what they had shared...what was impossible to overlook and why he'd wanted genuinely to help her return to her family. 

Wouldn't he want her to do the same for him if the situations were reversed? Family above all, he thinks, hand going for the flask in his pocket.

Aloud he only cocks an eyebrow, nodding very slowly, "What do you need?"

 **Rachelle:** Oh, of course he was. Her brother, the provincial and concerned gentleman. The man who had helped her get out of those dungeons alive, much like Lyndsea had gotten her out of jail and Alcott had kept her in check during the full moon. It seemed she would always be cursed to be a damsel-in-distress, needing to be rescued. 

Swallowing bitter bile to the back of her throat, Rachelle's eyes didn't leave Alcott as she talked to only him. For all the talk of him never knowing how grateful she was, she also knew her eyes were like two big television screens that could broadcast all of her feelings if she so desire. And given how anxious she had been and still was, and ready to leave, she felt her emotions slipping out of her with every word asking for his help.

As he started nodding slowly, so did she with a small smile before she gave further voice to her desire. "I need you to take off the Ministry's wards, I know you can...then we'll go, no retribution for what was done to me, no hunting them down." She heard Allison's scoff from here, could practically taste the displeasure of every single one of her pack members and she had to fight off a feeling of shame from rising up into her cheeks and tinting her red. They all were beginning to hate her, her fears were coming true.

They had known a Rachelle that would have ripped the throat out of Devin's body with only her nails, and were now wondering what she had become. She felt oddly insecure and unworthy as they judged her. Except maybe Hans. She turned to him, so that when she asked, "Please?", it would be to both that she spoke to.

Hearing one particular comment from Zachary all the way out on the grounds, what would she ever do without this potion?, she gritted her teeth and stood up straighter. Maybe she wasn't willing to hurt Alcott's friends but once their disappointment turned to words, Rachelle moved on the defensive. "And if any of them try, I'll crush their balls and windpipe with the point of my favorite blood-repelling  Jimmy Choo's. Done it before, Zachary, as frankly, I'm not really sure you should be allowed to reproduce."

 A brief smirk passed her face, knowing she needed to save face with the pack.

 **Hans:** When Rachelle turns to him, he tilts his head more in curiosity than anything. Oh, he could hear and practically taste the disapproval in their brothers and sisters, but he ignored it. Their approval didn't matter to him; his mattered to *them.* He'd convince himself of that if it killed him. (It might one day, but that day was not today). How curious. He had once described Rachelle to Alcott as volatile as Mt. Vesuvius, and though it had been mostly in jest -- she'd smacked him later over it for it's ring of truth. 

Now she asks him to insure no harm came to those who stole her from her life and he thinks he should be taken aback - but he wasn't. Not truly. It was the second time he'd found her, after all, the second time he'd come to find her when she fought tooth and nail to hold on to herself even knowing the frivolity of it -- when men had taken her and tried so desperately to make her theirs. He'd been murderous then himself, yet now he didn't seem to be? 

(And her _face_ , the way she had looked at him, those little moments before she caught herself. It tore at his heart and he hated it: hates that she thinks he's disappointed.)

He nods to her. His heart felt strange. Not heavy but damp. Filled with an incomprehensible sea-soaked lightness, as though stuffed with wetted cotton. It was this house, Harper's house -- he thinks, and honestly he wanted to be gone, to get gone, to run and run and run; not to hide but to explode in fur and bone, tooth and claw, find a place of body and not of mind. 

He looks her over, having the need to make it right, to restore what could be saved and repair what was broken. Quite refreshing, he smirks to himself. And then he only smirks wider at her last remark, humming idly under his breath, "There's my girl." 

 **Alcott:** He decides it was in everyone's best interest if for the moment, he acts as if there was a brick wall where Hans was. A fucking dick of a brick wall.

Some might say there wasn't much of a choice here (cowards would); that he was one person against a pack that had already shown itself to be murderous. The truth was though, he wasn't just one wolf (he was Alcott Fucking Brackner, yes, yes) -- the wards that kept Rachelle bound could have half the Ministry there in a moment. A silver bullet might as well have buried in his stomach for the thought that his house could become once again a battleground. At least this time he'd be inviting the Aurors themselves. He wouldn't probably have too much time to mind even, seeing as how likely it was Hans would kill him. 

That wasn't the real choice though. As Rachelle bore her eyes into his asking honestly and earnest, Alcott finds himself smiling. He's graceless about it, cannot even properly lie and really didn't give a fuck right then: the choice wasn't between dying and living, it wasn't even would-he-help or -wouldn't-he-help. Nope. The question was easier (and a thousand times more complicated than that).   

Legal was a word that no longer had meaning to him. He wouldn't let Hans kill him (he'd kill him first), and Alcott did not make decisions based upon if he was being fucking compassionate and merciful or not; he did not care for the Ministry's definitions of innocent and guilty. 

(They came for his father, they came for his friends, they tried to break him down piece-by-piece and there was no way to repay that debt.) There was no such thing as a black and white person, and they were narrow-minded about who could be forgiven and saved. Besides, he started this when he snuck into the forest to transform and attempted murder. (God, he wished he'd succeeded). It was his fault. If they were going to make a list of "People Who Made Stupid Decisions, Became Wolves and Tried To Kill People," his would be a shiny autograph at the top.

The question was whether or not Rachelle deserved to be freed. Safe. Alive. And the answer Alcott knew for him (he'd laugh if he could find the breath, that the question was even being asked of *him*), was a megaphone of a "yes", and not just because she swore not to hurt his friends (See, he didn't believe her that, or rather didn't believe that Hans wouldn't, but it wasn't a big deal or anything because they had him and Hols to protect them). 

"Well then. In the hopes that I can watch that, if necessary..." Alcott smirks. 

Slowly, he pulls his wand out, even as he looks at Rachelle and nods. For a few minutes, he mutters under his breath, and doesn't look away from her -- doesn't listen to anyone else in the manor, though he could hear them too. 

He didn't lower the wards (that would be too obvious and would alert the Ministry the same); nope, he just counter-spelled them and set a new bypass (or was that technically trickier and more impressive of him? ha, well then, he could give the Ministry that autograph too). 

"You can go, just." He lifts his chin. "I expect that to remain true even the next time we see each other which --," he looks at Hans only for a second again, "you can tell your friends, it'll be soon." 

 **Hans:** Friends? Ah, of course, the pup meant the Death Eaters...these little ironies just got more and more amusing. 

"Our mutual friends are already well aware of that, Al. In fact, I daresay they planned it."

 **Alcott:** "Yeah, I know that." Alcott snapped, thinking about the total-tonnage-he-didn't-know again and irritation in his voice. He folds his arms on his chest. He did know. "They planted it where I was certain to look and where only I could."

 **Hans:** Eyes alight, he nods briefly. "Touché, pup." 

And what would Alcott say when he knew the truth? (What would he say if he knew he was helping Olivier, and that in that matter were on the same side?) Not his problem right now. Now he takes a step backwards and holds his hand up behind him, gesturing at the door, "After you, sister." 

 **Alcott:** He watches for a moment, and then hears himself call out.  

"You know, Rachelle." Alcott still hasn't blinked. "Devin would apologize. In fact, he wanted to, I just didn't think him being in the house was the best idea." He glances sideways to the dick-wall for a moment, then looks back, and adds, "Good luck getting fucking Lynn Rivers to apologize though...headaches."

 **Rachelle:** She couldn't deny being pleased to hear Hans' words of endeared approval, especially as she half-feared he would simply reject the promise she was making to Alcott. If he had, there was not much she could do; he was alpha of the pack. That's just how it worked. Relief ran through her instead as his silence spoke in acquiescence and only Alcott was standing in the way of himself. Another decision, removed from her hands. That was also why she was desperate to get out of here. She wanted to feel in control again and while she had in it regards to her wolf, she didn't feel it in any other aspect of herself right then.

She beamed in honest happiness as Alcott agreed and started undoing the spells that were keeping him prisoner. Nodding more slowly as Alcott said he expected that to be true when they next met, she hesitated only because she knew if they attacked, her pack would attack back. And to an extent, so would she. Allowing the Stuarts to get away with snatching and stabbing her wasn't equivalent to her not fighting back if they came at her again. She wasn't one to act like a bitch in heat and just take it lying down. 

Put the men were having their macho stand-offs again. She only shook her head at both of them again and with a grateful smile, spoke to Alcott. "Thanks, that's two I owe you." Maybe more of one. Keeping the pack away from Lynn and Devin would count as being even on one of those. 

She walked towards the door and then turned again as Alcott spoke up, her lips twisting in a small smirk. "I don't want an apology, I'd have done the same thing. Besides," she placed a hand on her brother's shoulder, "Hans hurt Devin, Lynn hurt me. I say we're square. Don't want to see her face ever again though, and I'm sure the feeling's mutual." She raised her hand to wave her fingers in goodbye to Al and was about to skip away when she turned back.

"Tell your mother thank you from me as well." Much more she wanted to say but frankly she couldn't bear saying it out loud for all her pack to hear so she nodded again and stepped through the door, barreling her way into Ansel's arms for a hug and after she even managed a smile and a kiss on the cheek for her sister Allison, who proceeded to ruin the moment by rolling her eyes, wiping her cheek and tossing Rachelle her bag. Rachelle didn't even care, she was just happy to be back with the people she belonged.

 

 **Ansel:** Hans hurt Devin, Lynn hurt her -- that might be square, but he didn't care. Even, wasn't the goal. Maybe that was because he was consistently second -- in command, in love, in family, in everything -- but he knew well enough how the game worked. Only one could be on top: 'even' didn't exist. The pup seemed to guess that if his one caveat had mattered at all -- he got that this was hardly the end. He knew they'd fight. Of course, he was presuming they'd fight for the Death Eaters. Ha. Their arrangement with Roswell was being upended even as they stood there, not that anyone but he and Allison knew it. (And Hans of course, he'd instigated it, he'd sworn his precious word on it to help Angel and the D'Greys -- a bad taste was in his mouth). Ansel had never wanted to fight for them in the first place (Hans did that to him too, Stefanie was right, damn her). But of course! Angel's potion...

Well, didn't matter now. Few days, week at most, Roswell'd be dead. The Death Eaters no more (fucking about time). It left Ansel uneasy yet. The game was changing, shifting in front of his eyes, so if Alcott had asked him, the pack were never going to fight on the Death Eater's behalf again. He didn't though. No one ever did.

(That wasn't true, he realized dimly, Irene had asked, Irene cared what he wanted to do and he still didn't know, but he knew now it had nothing to do with being "even.") 

The door in front of him was opening, and Ansel pulls off the wall  *just* in time to catch Rachelle, and a huge, wide smirk brightens his shadowed face in true happiness. "Oomph, cheri -- claws away." He winks at her, pulling back to let the rest of the pack greet her too. Zachary, for all his mutters, kissed her cheek -- Melissa hugged her tight. For a moment, just a moment, Ansel felt at peace to see his family united again. He fell to stand beside Hans watching, chuckling to himself. There were remarks of teasing for Allison already on his lips as he fixed the black lapel of his shirt and unfolds his arms, setting them loosely behind him in the loops of his dark-wash. 

Hans promptly was daring her to run (Ansel loves them for that), and so he says, "I'll get the bag, cheri." She deserved to transform (she deserves to run, he knew how he loved to run). And he could see Hans wanted to go with her, so he stays behind the thirty seconds the rest of the pack was transforming. Relief hadn't truly reached him until Rachelle had opened the door. 

It was open still, and he could see Alcott watching too. His chin came up as if in challenge as he saw Ansel look back at him. Oh, delightful.

 **Alcott** : "Ansel, right?" He says it lightly enough, eyebrow arching. When Ansel nods, his eyebrows might as well have snapped together as he swallows the urge to leap at him (he hadn't taken the potion, Ansel would destroy him right now).

And yet, he spoke without caring, certain in his own abilities. "You get out of my house too." 

 **Ansel:** The smirk on his lips twists, but he nods again, both hands up as in surrender. "Oi, I can take a hint. Sure I'll see you again soon, pup."  

His hand comes down, slaps at his thigh as he looks back over his shoulder, adding with dark amusement and light in his eyes before he goes. 

"Be sure to give Irene my best."

{*}

 

It had been quite the journey for her. She might have just apparated to the spot, that would have been far quicker and far less troublesome but no, Hols had chosen to go on foot, or rather, on paws. She felt more at peace with herself when she slipped into the skin of her animagus form and ran through the woods. Tonight, she did just that, but continued and continued and continued, traveling through trees and countryside during the cover of nightfall until she arrived.

Graveyards were not for the faint of heart, especially not at night, but Hols walked on across the field of graves with ease, claws from her paws digging into the earth through the snow under her but taking care not to disturb it too much. The moon on top of her helped light the way down the carefully carved tombstones, her eyes, especially made for hunting in the dark, held no strain by the lack of light. Finally reaching her destination after hours of focusing on nothing but the journey ahead, Hols stopped in front of the tombstone of her friend and changed back.

Sitting down, Hols searched her pockets for the shrunken bottle of alcohol and with a wave of her wand returned it back to its normal size. It was only after she had opened the bottle, taken out the shot glasses and poured two of them did Hols look up at the tombstone, reading the name Eliza Marielle Simmons. She leaned up and put one shot glass in front of the marble headstone and then raised her own and threw it back with ease, as if she were swallowing water.

“I know,” Hols began, as if she were having a conversation with the blonde herself instead of with just her headstone, “I’m the last one of the crew you expected to come here.” Hols tried not to think of the fact that she was actually sitting on top of her, because she wasn’t. The body might be down there, but that didn’t mean anything. It was just an empty shell now, not their friend, just the container she had been stored in. Hols wasn’t sure exactly where Eliza was, but it wasn’t buried. You couldn’t just extinguish a person from existence so easily; they lived on.

“Surprised myself too, a little,” she admitted as she poured herself another shot. “We never got to talk much, you know. Except for when I came to you for advice on Al. Suppose that’s my fault, actually, I’m a bitch.” Hols had an inkling that this was when Eliza would interrupt and try and say she wasn’t a bitch that maybe she was just a little forceful, but that it didn’t make her a bitch at all. She would certainly not let Hols take the full blame for their limited interactions. Or maybe she would, that was the sad point though, that out of all of them she was the one that knew Eliza the least.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, I hope you know. Belle’s always told me that I have such a deeply ingrained distaste for other women. Unless you’re one of my sisters, or Lynn. That I have very little patience for other women. And that’s true too, I guess, to a point. I also have very little patience for men as well, so I guess we should just widen that category and say I have very little patience for humans.”

She sighed and threw the other drink back, licking her lips before she continued, “I know exactly why that is, of course. My impatience for and my distrust of most people…I’m trying to change you know. Allow more people into my life again, like I’m doing with Al and Nick even. I’m just sorry that I didn’t make a better effort to get to know you too. I was afraid, actually and no, don’t make me repeat that, I’ll only admit it once.” She chuckles and rubs the back of her neck as the wind picks up and leaves goosebumps on her skin. “And the reason I was…that, is that I was worried that you’d see how much of an insecure bitch I actually am, and that with you being best friends with Sienna you would just…I don’t know, disapprove.

Silly now, absolutely stupid, when I think about it as Al himself thought I was a bitch long before anyone had to tell him. But if he listens to anyone, it’s you. I’d also never seen a friendship so close as the one you and Al have, and I didn’t know what to make of that. Just little insecure me, I guess. Figures. The first time in years I’ve doubted myself and everything I’m doing almost constantly and it’s about a guy.” Hols scoffs and then chuckles again, shaking her head incredulous.

“Not that he’s just any guy, he’s so much more than that…but still, Holly Rae fucking Graft losing her cool about romance. Ugh, just that word, romance,” she shudders and then smiles, “I hate it. I didn’t even want it, you know. I mean, people say that all the time but I genuinely didn’t even…think about it. I’m so comfortable by myself, I mean, I didn’t even think twice about traveling around the globe and leaving everyone behind for a bit because yeah I’ll miss them but I won’t need them as much as they’ll need me- is that a horrible thing to say? Actually, yeah, it is, but it’s the truth.

And then Alcott fucking Brackner of all people, making me hesitate for the first time in years. About everything. It’s horrible. And wonderful. I hate it, and I love it. It’s so disgusting,” she laughs and takes another shot, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. “Anyways, that’s not the point…well, it is actually. I care about him so much Eliza…and I don’t know what to do now.”

How silly, that her throat was closing up even though she was in a private conversation…well, not even a conversation; Eliza didn’t answer back. But Hols hoped that wherever she was, that she was listening in.

“God, do you have any idea what a mess your death left us in? Alcott, Devin, Rory, Sienna, Irene, even Nadia who doesn’t remember you yet…such a mess. And I have no idea how to help them, or how to help Al. Because every time I try to help I just, I get it wrong. Except for helping him turn, anything else I’ve done to help, even with everyone else, it just doesn’t work out.

Zoe’s in the hospital too, she got into an accident but fuck if I believe in coincidence anymore and Al’s hunting down these Death Eaters for you and for his father because they stole the research and Al and the Brackner family keep taking hit after hit- I just want to help.” She scrunched her eyes and wiped her face, exhaling with a heavy breath and following the trail of white her breath left behind when it met the cold air.

“You would know what to do. And am I stupid for coming here and asking for help and thinking that somehow I’m just going to get an epiphany on how to solve all of this? That’s you’re going to give me a sign from wherever you are? Maybe I am stupid, but I’m also running out of options and when I realized I wanted to ask for your help and I couldn’t anymore I just…” her sentence drifted off into silence as she wiped at her wet eyes and held her head in her hands. She stayed like that, in silence and hunched over for a long time. The wind was unrelenting and the snow melted where she sat but Hols didn’t make a move to sit up.

“We all miss you, Liza. You made us all better people, you and Nadia that’s what you do. You have this innate ability to see the good in everybody and you make people want to be better just by walking into the room. That’s what we need now more than ever and you’re not here.” The wind howled as it breezed by her ear making a shiver run down her spine again, but even still she didn’t move, just kept talking. “And what’s sad is that I don’t think you ever realized that. Or if you did, that you never believed it- how special you are and how much you mean to everyone.

I’m asking for a miracle here. That’s essentially what I’m asking for because you can’t be dead. Out of all the people- you can’t be dead, you just can’t. Your friends need you, Alcott needs you. He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose you forever too. He won’t survive it, you’re the most important woman in his life, he relies on you so much, you can’t damn well leave him now, not like this.” She buried her face in her hands again and then chided herself. Such bad form to say such a thing, when she knew that Eliza would never leave him or any of her friends by choice. Yet the alcohol mixed with all the sorrow and stress she had undergone these past several weeks were all weighing on her.

“So that’s what I want, a miracle. Come back, Eliza. Come back and keep these boys in shape because I don’t know how to do it, nobody does, and frankly no one ever will because you wore so fantastically unique shoes that no one would be able to fill. So, do what you need to do to get your ass back here, but do it soon.” She nodded, stern, and then stood up, brushing the snow and ice off her and picking up her shot glass and the bottle. After another quick shot, she shrunk them down, stuffed them in her pockets and then picked up the shot glass she had poured in Eliza’s honor and stubbornly put it on top of the headstone without drinking it. Her hand lingered on the stone before she wiped her eyes again and turned on the spot.


	56. [Brother's Job Description]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January, 2012. D'Grey Mansion. The rolling hills just outside of Paris, France. A nine year old Tonio has just moved in with his big brother -- and father, Remington D'Grey.

**Olivier:** *Whenever he rose before the sun, he could be guaranteed two things: Dad was sleeping or en route to, and that meant half the maids were already up and about preparing. So he'd gotten food first, when he asked (he was still sure to say grazi, though they always assured him he didn't have to, because he liked being polite). Of course he was also getting food (by which he meant chocolate) because he wasn't...entirely sure Tonio would let him in and he wasn't against bribes. Dad was asleep though, so...

Only a few weeks--maybe it had been a month--had passed since his brother came to live with them. Well. Olivier knew Tony wasn't happy with it and he felt bad about that because...he was, he was honestly really happy that he wouldn't have to waaait another three months until he saw his brother. Family should be together anyway, he thought, quoting nonna to himself in Italian under his breath. And true his mother hadn't come too but...

...well that wasn't new and he was in double digits now and his brother -was- with him and he was going to make it all right again for Tony, he was, because that was what big brothers did (and because he wanted to).

Knocking once, gently against the wood frame, he asks the door,* ...Tonio?  You awake? *The sun wasn't, but since that meant Dad was asleep he had thought it his best opportunity to talk to his brother privately. Screwing up his bottom lip he added,* I have chocolate.

 **Tony:** *He still hadn't gotten used to his room. When Tony first came into the huge house in France and was shown his room, he had been in shock at how big it was. His old bedroom was smaller, way smaller, but he had never spent much time in it before. He went to bed and once he got up and got changed (he changed by himself of course, he wasn't 5 anymore) and didn't step foot in it again until nighttime. He was either out in the yard, or at school, or out in the street playing with the other boys from the neighborhood. Sometimes he would help his mom with her vegetable garden out back.

Here though, the first few days Tony didn't even want to get out of his room. He wouldn't have, if his father hadn't come by and told him to get out. He had been scared, and that hadn't gone away yet. It was such a big house, it was easy to get lost and easy to wind up in places he shouldn't have been. That's what had made his father angry, as Tony peeked in through a door he thought was the game room only to see a flash of red and hear a shout before he was pushed back and told to keep out.

 _It's called a lock, helloo, use it._ Tony wished he had, he wasn't too sure what he saw just that he didn't like it. There was nothing he liked about this house, not the lack of TV or video games, or how no one seemed to laugh, and he most definitely did not like having a tutor instead of going to school.

The knock on the door and the voice behind it reminded him there was one thing he did like.

Tony folded the letter he was writing up and put it inside one of the books and stuffed it back in place in the shelf before he hurried to the door and opened it a smidge, just enough to be able to peek.  Then he lowered his voice and ask.* Whoooo daresss disturb my slumbeeeerrr?

 **Olivier:** *As his brother's eyes appeared peeking around the wood, he smiled honestly, happy to be right he hadn't woken him. Knowing these kind of habits was important, he thinks, though he wasn't sure why--just that it was, the why would come later (Dad promised), and he liked being good at it.

Only then Tony asked in a low whisper something that made his brows furrow and he tilts his head, not understanding.* Oh no no-sorry I didn't mean to--.

*He pauses, then realizes this was probably from a movie. As many as they'd watched together at Nonna's didn't really cut it - at least not when his little brother seemed to have the whole world of them memorized. Grinning sheepishly, he rubs his cheek and asks,* ...I'm doing it again, aren't I? 

 **Tony:** *Oh, brother. He really could be quite clueless sometimes but after summers of teasing him about it, Tony now realized exactly why that was. There was no televisions in here! No cable, no internet, nothing. So then, no wonder his brother was good at everything else (school, he meant school mostly).

Tony had always wanted a big brother and he had been 5 when he realized he did have one. Met him in a church, and they spent the summers together and wrote to each other in between. Olivier's letters always came in parchment, with a wax seal and fancy ink. Tony wrote them in a pen he had stolen from the library once on printer paper. Oli might not be the coolest of big brothers, but he was his.* 

You really need some Netflix in your life, Oli. *He opens the door further to let him come in, eager about those chocolates. He puts his hand out as a 'halt' after Oli was through the doors.* Goodies inspection first! *Grins* Hand them over.

 **Olivier:** That's the online movie thing right? *It wouldn't work in the manor then -- very limited muggle technology did. He did have a true record player and vinyls, it was his Christmas gift two years ago and still one of his prized possessions. Still, he tilts his head as he considers,* Maybe at the library?

 *It wasn't like they were barred in--long as they finished lessons...he was eager to explore Paris with his brother. Even though Dad made sense when he said he should let Tony get used to the house first; from what he got at their summers' at Nonnas...it was a very different life now and he supposed he'd be a bad big brother if he pushed too fast.*

 Th--*his relief was cut short by the hand to his chest and he laughs, nodding and bringing up the bag from his pocket. Gold-foiled and still warm from the oven even. Grinning at his brother he adds,* All yours. I have another bag. 

 **Tony:** Yep-uh! *He nods, pleased his brother remembered (well of course he did, he did have some pretty awesome memory) and then brightened at the idea of  a public place, not in this big and scary house.* Probably, I have ma...my, account. So we could still use it...I think. *He wasn't sure because it wasn't -his- account, it was his mom's and Tony wasn't sure if she still had it or if she had changed the password. She hadn't told him anything, she hadn't even said goodbye, just written it. He guessed he was still a little mad, even if he missed her a lot. A lot, a lot but he couldn't think of that now.*

Really? *He grinned, taking the bag and opening it up. He never had homemade chocolate (his mom made great spaghetti but the cake she had made for his birthday he ended up using as a brick to break the stupid neighbor's car window. But, to be fair, the stupid neighbor deserved it.)* Sweeet! *He popped a chocolate in his mouth, his face a picture of delight.* Delizioso! Inspection passed. *He grinned.* What's up?

 **Olivier:** *He had turned around as the door closed, curious because he hadn't been in the room for any lengthy period of time yet-- he was curious what his brother had. He'd always had the strangest games but...they were guaranteed to be fun. Now he was glad he'd done that because his head was turned towards a bookshelf when Tony stumbled over 'my', and Oli knew it was probably just wishful thinking he was about to say "Ma's"...but he did. He wants to ask for more--what her favorite movie had been, what the password was and if there was meaning there, what she...looked like.

But Tony...he only had a letter or something (Olivier couldn't be surprised by that, and honestly at least Tony had that); he didn't want to make his brother upset by reminding him now. He swallows hard a torrent of questions (slams his hand over his mouth for a moment before spinning back and nodding, brighter). Sounds like a plan to me. *He was glad his brother liked the chocolates (it worked!, he thinks joyfully), and then chuckles softer at the question. Shrugging a shoulder he answers sardonic,* The ceiling. 

 **Tony:** Oh haha! *He wags a finger at Oli with his mouth still half full of delicious chocolate (it was French but whatever, so was he, half or something like that). He swallows first before he grins.* Big brother's all smooth now, huh? If we want to be technical *he looks up* the ceiling -fan-....hey. *He puts the bag of chocolates on a nearby table and kept looking at the ceiling and then at the bed and just grinned wider.* Want to see which one of us can touch the ceiling first?

*He didn't wait for an answer before he jumped up on the bed and started bouncing on it.* I'll even give you a head start! *He scrunched down a little* Get it? A head? Cuz I'm a head shorter now? Well, not literally, I suppose that would make breathing a little difficult. Can you imagine not having a head? How would we talk?

 **Olivier:** *Chuckling and hoping he didn't look too (entirely, completely) pleased at the compliment he adds, still cheeky,* Well, I have to have -some- things to teach you. Big brother job description. *He nods, firm to himself even as he blinks as Tony starts examining the bed...ceiling...fan. And then blinks as quick as a flash, Tonio was jumping on his bed. Amused and startled, he half squeaked (oh no he did not--his voice was changing, shut up),* Pardon--oi! Ruuude to cheaaat...*he pauses at the remark as he scrambles up and starts jumping, arms stretched like he was flying and then considers sideways,* ....you, not talking? Nope-uh. *The Headless Huntsmen were funny though. That was...all he'd let himself think at the moment, but he looks back to the ceiling and adds abruptly,* You know I bet if I tossed you, you could touch.

 **Tony** : Make sure to spread those out then, don't want you running out of things to teach me the first year. We've got all the time in the world! *That had started as a joke, meant to say Oli didn't have many things at all (that was a lie) but by the end, Tony spoke honestly. They did have all the time now.*

Inconceivable! *That was a movie quite too, from the Princess Bride (his mother had -made- him, he swore) but even if Oli didn't know, at least he might be impressed with Tony's language right then.* Toss me? *He considers it, judging the distance and then nodding.* Yeah, I might! But then I'll toss you, so you can touch it too. You'd know what'd be cooler? If we covered our hands in paint and left handprints! And nobody would know until they looked up! *He laughs* They could stay there for years without being noticed!

 **Olivier** : *It was too hard to see while mid-bounce what Tony looked like when he said that so Olivier decided he'd take it as a compliment naturally. And still paused bouncing to look at him and nods, as if trying to suss oir whether or not Tony really was happy about that -- he sounded it but sometimes when Dad sounded happy...

No, he nods to himself, grinning wide and then to his brother.* Inconceivable! And yeah, we do. Good thing there's so muuuch then. You're uh--glad? *That slipped out and he didn't know how to take it back except to quickly resume jumping and then nods in rapid agreement to his counter questions.* Yes, absolutely let's-- you have any paint in here?

 **Tony** : Duh, I'm glad. *About having the time with his brother, about everything else...not so much. But, he wouldn't say that obviously, he wasn't a brat no matter what Mrs. Idris from next door (or rather from next door before) thought. He would much rather learn whatever Oli had to teach than that nasty tutor or whatever his father kept hinting towards one day he might learn. "If you prove yourself", now that was just silly. Why should anyone prove themselves anything to learn? Didn't sound like something Tony was eager to know about anyways.*

Course I do! *He jumped over to the edge of his bed and then jumped off, tried to touch his toes in the air, failed, but landed safely enough, after stumbling to steps but he just used it as momentum to hop over to his cabinets. Grabbing the tubes of paint of every color he had, he brought them over to the table and set them out and then looked around for some paper where they could pour it on.* Ha, there we goooo *some parchment would do nicely.* It's supposed to be for lessons but shh, don't tell. What color do you want?

 **Olivier** : *It made his smile widen honestly to hear that, since when Tony first arrived he hadn't been able to say anything while he was with Dad and--well of course it would be different. It had just occurred to him how terrifying their father could be, especially when he was personally showing someone - anyone, things in the manor: he had to appear that way or they could lose the house, his job, maybe his life. So he'd been...anxious, when Dad'd shown his brother around, but...of course he should have realized Tonio was his son too, it would be different. Just like it was with him. 

Still, he was glad to hear that because: see, this could be fun! Liiike ir was right now. Of course, it was Tony making it more fun but that was always how his brother was; he always had the best ideas (well, best was a relative term, but so was "trouble-making"!) As his brother leaped, he grabs the bedpost himself to steady and half exclaims 'careful' when he almost falls over. Only to vault over with the post himself, and scramble after, chuckling,* Blue. And I won't-- I can keep a secret, you know. We may need to buy new paint though. Unle--*he brightens,* do you know the charm for refilling things? Because I do, and I could teach you thaaat.

 **Tony:** Got it! *He grabbed the tube of blue paint and unscrewed the cap before squeezing a ton of it on the parchment. Then he grabbed the orange paint and squeezed it onto the other side of parchment for him. He looked up in surprise* Really? I'd love to learn! Haven't really gotten a chance to try out my new wand, well, first wand. *That was one of the first things he'd gotten once he came here. A man came in and took his arm measurements and they spent nearly half an hour trying to find the perfect wand.*

Okay since you're gonna toss me up, I'll paint my hands first! *Then he stuffed his hands in, spreading the paint over his hands and the parchment until his hands were covered in it. Lifting them, he wiggled his fingers in his brother's direction, pretending he was going to mark him too before running towards the bed again and jumping on it.* Okay! Lets do this thing! 

 **Olivier:** *Nodding in rapid, earnest agreement to both, he looks through the different blues trying to pick both his favorite and what would look best on the wood. Maybe he could practice that permanent sticking charm too while they were at it. Then the prints would be there forever and he had to admit he liked that-- the idea of forever alone was usually enough to make him shiver. 

Surprised Tony hadn't had a wand before he looks up, beaming.* Yeah 'course, wai--there's lots more exciting spells than that than.... *He pauses. Tilts his head, considers.* Maybe not the best idea to teach you how to blow things up though. *Teasing, he scoots back in surprise as orange-sticky grabs for his nose, ('oi!') wonders if his brother knows he chose complimentary colors (probably not), and then laughs, following.* All right--*hopping up (and taking a few times because he couldn't help it), and getting behind his brother, he looks at the ceiling for the best place.* Reaaady?

 **Tony:** *This was very true, though what he meant was a less harmful version of a blow up spell, ergo a baby one but he felt it silly to explain his logic now, so he let it pass with a laugh.* Well I don't want to  blow up the computer though! *That was silly. Okay, he readied himself, bouncing on every number and then really pushing off on three to help his brother toss him up. Turned out he didn't need to.* Whoa! *He shouted, as he launched towards the ceiling. It was a good thing his hands had been stretched out otherwise he would have made a mark with his head instead. His hands touching the ceiling pushed him back towards the bed, Tony falling on his butt when he couldn't catch himself.*....how did...*he laughed, making sure to keep his hands in the air, to not stain the sheets. At least he'd left the handprints.* When did you get so strong?! 

 **Olivier:** *Falling backwards with the force of his own throw and to avoid his brother landing on him, he blinks. Woah. As his brother started laughing, he did too, more sheepish and proud than amused. He squints at the orange hand prints on the ceiling, says happily,* Success!  *then looks back to Tony. His mouth was wide open in a little 'oh', shaking head back and forth, before he said,* I...have no...idea. *Course on the word 'idea' he actually got one, and blinks again. Dad was strong. Really strong. Maybe he got it from him. Did that mean Tony...?* Hey, okay. *Bounding off the bed, across the room, into the adjoining wash, ran a towel in warm water, balled it up and then whipped it to his brother so he could wash his hands.* You try throwing me next. I think...maybe you might be that strong too. 

 **Tony** : *He rolled off the bed, a pretty amazing thing to do without getting any paint on the sheets!, and then caught the towel and started cleaning off his hands while he looked up at his handiwork with a prideful beam before looking at his brother in surprise.* Me? That strong too? *He couldn't know, he never tried it...and he most certainly didn't eat all his vegetables (unless it was asparagus, asparagus was good, so were tomatoes but they were technically a fruit).* You think this is a ...jean-etic thing? *he tilted his head.*

 **Olivier:** *While he's meticulously opening the blue tube and spreading paint with he index finger, he chuckles and edits aloud,* Genetic. *A shoulder shrugs,* Well maybe...I don't know, but...Dad's super strong. So why not? *He sets the tube on top of the parchment, making a pinch of his fingers to try and adjust to the messiness. Looking up at the print again, as if still considering, then he nods again.* Worth a shot anyway.

 **Tony** : Eh, *waves his hand dismissively* tomato, to-mah-to. *Shrugs and then considers that. Mom had explained that in the letter as well, that father was n't entirely human, and he could do things that most couldn't. She'd advised Tony to be careful but that seemed silly. His father wasn't very nice but well, he was his father right? And he wanted him here...Tony just didn't understand why mom couldn't have come too.* Right, definitely worth a shot! *He sets the towel down and goes on top of the bed again after snickering behind his hand at how carefully Oli handled the paint on his hands. Waiting until hits the towel down and goes on top of the bed again after snickering behind his hand at how carefully Oli handled the paint on his hands. Waiting until his brother was on the bed as well, this time he did rub his hands together. He could do this, how hard could it be?* Ready, Freddy, spaghetti?

 **Olivier:** *He blinks.* It's not "to-mah-to"? *Honestly, Italian was so much easier to pronounce. And prettier too, he could appreciate that as a guy couldn't he? Ignoring the snickering (well he rolled his eyes at it) he runs back, hops back up and wiggles his fingers to flatten his palm while he nods.* Count off then!

 **Tony** : It's either, that's the point. No matter how you say it, it's the same thing. *He nods before he agrees* Though to-mah-to is obviously the better choice. *He nods again, having to stop himself from bouncing before he counts off* One, two, and three! *He tossed Oli up at the count of three with all his strength (he thought that's how it worked) only to fall back again, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.*

 **Olivier:** *Decidedly trying to swallow his _-woah!-_ this time as he's shot like a rocket and barely manages to keep his hands straight, he manages...half ways. Not so much touching as slamming his hands into the ceiling, smacking wood and marble, he was surprised it didn't hurt. He swivels his legs beneath him so he lands sitting crossed(bounces another few times on his butt) and keeps his hands over his head. Then he beams.* You did it too! Unless, *he narrows his eyes at his trouble making brother,* you did some spell...

 **Tony:** Alright! *He flexes his arms* Hulk smash! *He pounds his fists together with a fake roar and then laughs before he scoffs, rolling off the bed and looking up at the ceiling.* Yeah, I did a spell without saying it aloud or a wand. I mean I'm good *he buffs his knuckles against his shirt and then grins* But not that good. Not yet. *He shrugs and then goes back to looking at the ceiling* Voila! Our masterpiece!

 **Olivier** : *So excited was he that he knew the reference he promptly matched the 'hulk smash!' with his own and...got two blue handprints on his own t-shirt. He blinks, groaning and laughing at the same time, and follows his brother to the floor to avoid any more damage.* ...okay say a wooord and I'm painting your sheets too, all right? *Except he was still laughing too. Curious, he looks sideways as his exhales soften and die off before he asks,* How strong do you think we really might be?

 **Tony:** *He laughed immediately, holding his stomach and pointing (mostly for show) and the held his hands up in surrender while biting on his lips to keep from further laughter.* Not the sheets! Anything but that! *He ends up snorting to cover up more laughter and then takes the towel and runs into the wash to rinse out as much orange paint as he could and then comes back, offering it with a wide grin.* I don't know...we should find out! See what things we can lift.

 **Olivier:** *Gratefully accepting the towel (and rubbing it off his shirt as...much as possible), he still was sure to point out,* And pillowcase. *With a sharp point, non-deterred by his brother's jest. Cleaning spells he hasn't learned at all yet. He nods brighter then,* We should! I wonder if there's anything else too...you don't think we're going to start needing a potion to go outside do you? 

 **Tony** : You fiend! You monster! *He snickers again and then shrugs going over to roll up the parchment with paint and then tossed it in his waste bin. He looked back around at the last question, a little alarmed.* I don't think so...that would suck. I like outside. *He rubbed the back of his head with a little frown before shrugging and snapping out of it, grabbing another chocolate out of the bag and eating it* So, the spell! The refilling one?

 **Olivier:** *That flicks his smile wicked in appreciation, and he chuckles.* Monster?! Well, what do you call laughing at your brother for something you caused? *Rubbing at his face too, in case there was blue paint there. Then he stands, lowering the towel, hearing alarm.* It would...*Curiously lifting his chin, realizing,* ...Tonio, how much do you know about what Dad is? *Of course before he finished the thought, he chuckles at the question and clears his throat.* Right--gett your wand? 

 **Tony:** Uhhh, little brother job description! That's what! *He nodded importantly, grinning cheekily until the smile started fading little by little. Thoughts went out to the letter from his mother he had hidden, or the things Nonna had told him. It was obvious to him that their father wasn't normal but he didn't think there'd be a term for what he was.* Oh, er *he paused before answering and nodded quickly to go get the wand from his drawer, returning again.* So he is...something else then though?

 **Olivier:** ...touché. *The pointed finger fell and he decides just to let his brother get that one considering..what he was about to say. His eyes went wider. Oh. Well, he supposes he hadn't exactly...ever talked about it no. Biting on his lip, he nods.* Yeah. He's...well. A... vampire. 

 **Tony:** A vampire. *He repeated slowly as if he were still processing like a loading bar at only 89% percent and inching its way to being completed. A vampire? Like Dracula? Or Nosferatu? With the fangs and the turning into a bat and the blood drinking? 100% completion.* ...Am I being punk'ed right now? You serious?

 **Olivier:** *He sets the towel down, finding the orange tube cap--anything he could to give his brother a few moments. Brows furrowing,* Punk'd? ...Okay, I can safely say no because...no clue what that is. *He turns back to look at him, nodding once - a jerk of his head like he was trying to disprove it even as he agreed.* Yeah, seriously. I...well put it together eventually. Potion or else no sun. Sleeps most of the morning. And uh. *He taps the side of his lips, not sure how to say it.*

 **Tony:** *He would have made a comment about Oli having literally no form of amusement in this house but he was a little bit too busy by the fact that their father was a vampire. He scratched his head with the tip of his wand, frowning.* But, but, he's not like a bad vampire is he? He doesn't hurt people, does he?

 **Olivier** : *That question might well have been a pillow in his face, the amount of eye-twitching-blinking-hair-ruffling and blowing-out he did. Honestly, he didn't know how to answer. Mostly because it was definitely at least...three questions to him. Rubbing at the back of his neck with the towel again, he said,* ...I think he's just a vampire. He's not...bad, because of it. 

 **Tony:** *Tony felt like he was being tip toed around and while he wasn't exactly a stranger to that, he didn't think his brother would end up tip-toeing too! He exhaled, frowning still.* Well...there's good vampires too, I guess...can he eat garlic? Does he have a reflection? I haven't noticed, does he sleep in a coffin? That'd be weird...maybe pretty cool. And creepy. He's creepy, actually. I think he's creepy, is that bad?

 **Olivier:** *He nods, a tiny smile flicking across his lips as he feels like he's breathing out in relief,* He can eat garlic, yeah, or if it's not garlic than well... whatever substitute he got you can't tell the difference. *Man, it would suck not to be able to have garlic. They were Italian! The sauce and spices and food--par for the course (far as he could tell Dad still ate it all too). He blinks again at the last question.* Nah. Or rather, I think he wants everybody to think he's creepy. It's dangerous for him otherwise. Which means it's dangerous for us too. *He chuckles, adding,* And no coffin, no. *He was avoiding the blood drinking, though, that part...well he oddly felt like he knew from movies he'd watched with Tonio it was supposed to be creepy but...for some reason didn't feel that way to him.* He hasn't really ever explained it--I kind of figured out after we watched that Dracula...which by the way still does not hold up to the book at all. 

 **Tony:** *He couldn't imagine life without garlic...it would be a very sad one he imagined. The next explanation though that struck a little weird.* Dangerous? Maybe for his social life. *Dangerous, that was really silly. Why would it be dangerous to appear something other than creepy? No coffin that was good.* The book- pft ain't nobody got time for that. *Another reference, oh but he -had- shown his brother the YouTube video for that.* Well actually...have  a lot of time now. I mean, we -really- have no chores? 

 **Olivier** : Not just for...well that too. *He changes mid-sentence, remembering now that whole idea of not overwhelming his brother with too much information and...and he didn't want to scare him. Not more. He chuckled abruptly at the question, nodding.* Yeah. I didn't even know what a chore was until Nonna had me clear the table...we have the whole staff. It'd take their jobs away really. Time for what?

 **Tony:** Right...well, wouldn't want to put them out of work. *He nods, scratching his head with his wand again, remembering he still had it in hand.* To read! *He grins* But got to be honest, don't really like reading very much. So I guess more time to learn more spells! Still teaching me right?

 **Olivier** : *He chuckles, a fast and short sound like he was reminding himself a real world.* Reading's great, you know. Takes a little more effort than those videos but you get to see whatever you want. *To that he wiggles an eyebrow. Tonio's world had always been one of bright, exotic painting to him. So, his stories were sure to be equally so, right?* Yeah, course. If...you didn't have another question. *He waits to tell him the incantation, wanting to be certain he wasn't leaving his brother without information he had to find on his own.* 

 **Tony:** Are you kidding? Do you know how much effort I put into watching videos? You know how much I gotta do to watch a new episode of the walking dead? *He counts them off on his fingers* Okay I have to wait until it premieres in America, then I have to go find a torrent because any watch online sites are crap, then I have to make sure it's a real download, then I have to wait for it to download, then I have to unzip the files, then I have to save the actual video file, delete all the extra ones, including the torrent file just in case Big Brother's watching, not you I mean, and then I have to double click to play. That's a -lot- of effort. *He nods importantly and then he swings the wand around idly before he pauses at that. Did he have another question? Well...he supposed he did.* Well...I mean what does dad do? Mother's a nurse and sometimes he says he's working when really he's just...writing at a desk.

 **Olivier:** *Okay. He had recieved top mark aptitude tests as a baby, followed by completing primary education requirements by the time he was six; he read three years above his level, and he could already summon wandlessly. Why was it he could barely follow his brother words? He got that the point was sarcasm, though, so he rolled his eyes anyways as he adds importantly,* Oh I'm so sorry for any offense little brother. *Nods, he stands again and then stills at that. First, for the unrequested information, that he can't help but ask after,* ...she's a nurse? *He got an instant image of white clothes and red lipstick, and delicious soup he might have had if he was sick. Trying to scour that image, he rubs at his throat and then nods.* Yeah he's uh--well. He owns a company. Well, many, he just puts...them together. The vineyard for one.

 **Tony:** *He nods once, placated. Damn straight- people in the shows said that a lot, so he thought it would work.* Yeah, she is...*He didn't know what else  to say, it was pretty straightforward so he just let it stand and then cleared his throat before nodding importantly as if he understood.* Gotcha, yeah, rolling in the big bucks...by putting businesses together. Yeah. Cool.

 **Olivier:** *Failing unconcerned with, he manages to at least make it as if he barely passing cared as he adds on a rough throat,* Just didn't know. *Nodding, something passes through his eyes, and he brings the towel up again as if rubbing away the blue paint still. It scrapes over his eyes. Then he feels his lips flicking as Tony attempts to understand, and nods.* Yeah. Like a merchant, really. *As important sounding as a politician on stump speech, Oli adds with a brighter smile,* I'll run it one day. 

 **Tony:** You didn't ask. *He shrugged but it seemed like such a low blow response that he was eager to move away from it. Though the other subject wasn't much better, to tell you the truth. Businesses like a merchant.* You? *He tilts his head as if inspecting his brother and then nods* Yeah I see it, in a suit and sitting around and being creepy. You shouldn't be creepy though, seriously. Social suicide.

 **Olivier** : She never asked about me. *He says without thought (which really, he was ten now, he shouldn't just snap like that; especially at his little brother). Especially as he didn't know that (wasn't sure he wanted to) for certain, so after a restrained half-wince where he throws the towel back on the table, he adds quickly aloud,* Doesn't matter, never mind, *clears his throat as he's inspected and then laughs.* Do you know how many friends Dad has? Wait til the Christmas party, seriously. *He hops up on the table, swinging his legs beneath him and then adds,* No complaints on the suit but, do you really think I could be creepy?

 **Tony:** *...That was a pretty good point too. It sucked and he couldn't keep a wince away from his face a moment but it was true. Tony wouldn't even have known he had a brother if Nonna hadn't brought them together. His mom was always good at keeping secrets though, Tony just didn't think he was one of them.* A Christmas party?...With like people drinking and wearing Santa hats? Or like fancy Cinderella ball party? *He shook his head and then whistled* I think so. It's the eyebrows.

 **Olivie** r: ...the latter. *He chuckles because he wants to forget what they had been talking about, and because the image of Dad in a Santa hat was...* I seriously want to see Dad put a Santa hat on though now. *Phew. He whistles under his breath, genuinely amused.* Anyone whose anyone in France comes, prettyyy much. And foreign business partners too--I mentioned Hans? Well, it's Lawrence if around his Dad but. 

 **Tony** : I'll let you try that one by yourself, if you don't mind. *Tony might be well versed in doing stupid things but trying to put a Santa hat on their father's head might just take the cake on stupid. Besides, he barely knew the man. Maybe after they spent more time together, maybe. But if he already wasn't a Santa hat wearing guy...what did that say?* Yeah you've mentioned Hans *he spoke it as if he had a hair ball stuck in his throat* Seriously, I'd stick with Lawrence if I were him. Hans, I have a hans, I have two hans! *waves his hands in front of him*

 **Olivier** : Oh n--oh yeah no don't just--...wonderful image. *He tried to restrain a shudder at the thought of trying to convince his Dad to do that - kept his face from fear for Tony's sake and kept smirking all along. Easier when he started making fun of Hans, even though Tony'd never met him. Grinning wide, he adds,* It's Gerrrrman. Well. They'reee Austrian, but...*he shrugs and hops off the table.* What's wrong with my eyebrows anyway?

 **Tony:** You brought it upon yourself, mister. *And no laugh out of Olivier at the thought of it. He was starting to realize this was a no laughing manor. Haha, no laughing manor, like matter, that was good. He shrugged* Nothing, just thought they were caterpillars that crawled on your face first time I saw you.

 **Olivier** : Oiii. *He protests, half laughing, half indignant. It was the downside of being Italian he thought (and there were no true downsides): the extra hair. Still, he whacks playfully at his brother's shoulder and thinks how he'd felt that day when Nonna had informed him they were meeting someone in the church...telling them after who exactly they were. It had left him speechless, frankly, under the weight of comprehending he had a little brother that Nonna didn't want him to tell Dad about...and he hadn't for years, but then Dad found his letter and-- well; it figured Tony would have been thinking like that when they met. Sheepish,* See and here I was thinking how glad I was I had a brother. *Nudging his side with his shoulder he adds,* Ah--the incantation is--*For a few seconds he just focuses on telling him what to do, fetching his own wand from his back pocket.*


	57. Marked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {nadia, chantel, olivier, eliza, daniella, irene, gordon, reid, justin, alisha, trent, tony}

**Gordon:** Irene? *His earpiece had beeped to signal the oncoming call and a brief look at the mobile on his desk let him know it was his sister trying to get in communication. With a brief tap to the screen he had answered but his ‘hello?’ had gone unanswered.* Rene?

 **Irene** : *She sat on a felled trunk in the forbidden forest, away from the wards that kept her from making calls. Problem was, this was probably left her at the mercy of some nasty creatures but Justin was right (damn him), she couldn’t keep sneaking out of here when she pleased. So, at least she was only breaking one rule by being in the forest. She exhaled, cradling her head in her hand* Hi, Gordon.

 **Gordon** : *Her voice was soft and a little hesitant, traits he didn’t normally associate with his sister at least not anymore. He stopped digging through papers and leaned back in his seat, brows furrowing* You alright? Last time we talked there was…a lot, happening.

 **Irene** : *She snorted, tilting her head and nodding with a bitter chuckle as she flipped her hair out of her face.* Yeah, that’s one way to put it. *She licked her lips and then exhaled.* I got a haircut though!

 **Gordon:** *He chuckled despite the concern that kept him worrying and with a smile ask* Send me a picture later.

 **Irene:** *She smiles genuinely at that and then agrees.* Okay, I’ll try not to let the flash attract any acromantulas.

 **Gordon:** Any what?

 **Irene:** Giant spiders.

 **Gordon** : Yeah, please don’t do that.

 **Irene:** I brought my broomstick anyways. *She tapped on the handle as it laid on her lap.* For a quick getaway if necessary.

 **Gordon:** A broomstick?

 **Irene:** Yeah.

 **Gordon:** *he grins* You’re a witch with an owl and a flying broomstick?

 **Irene:** *She giggles, realizing how that must sound like to a muggle and then flicks a strand of hair back again- ugh, this was one of the cons with short hair, it just refused to stay behind the ear. She had to store like half a million bobby pins in her hair for backup* I know how it sounds, but I promise I don’t have warts and boils on a long and crooked nose.

 **Gordon** : I don’t know, *He shrugs, spinning his chair and lifting his feet off the ground to place them on top of the desk.* I mean, your nose is a little off.

 **Irene** : *She glares at him, or his voice rather, and then scoffs* shut up. Liar.

 **Gordon** : *He laughs once and smiles a little easier to hear Rene laughing on the other end of the line. He lets it fall into a silence for a little more and then asks* What’s wrong now?

 **Irene:** Nothing supernatural if that’s what you mean. No werewolves or vampires after me *well* and it’s been as…normal as it can be, now I suppose. *She rubs her forehead* I’m just having a teenage depressed moment.

 **Gordon** : *Depression was a trigger word for his family. His mother had more bad days than good anymore. He sat up, brows furrowing* Teenage depressed moment?

 **Irene** : God, no, not like mom Gordon. *Her shoulders slumped down, kicking at the ground with her flats. It felt odd to be in them.* At least, don’t think so. I’m not even drinking. Even I know drinking alone in the forbidden forest, prooobably not the best idea.

 **Gordon:** *He agrees easily* Probably, especially with a name like that.

 **Irene** : *She smiles and then exhales.* I just feel, sad.

 **Gordon:** From what I can recall there’s a lot of reasons for you to be sad. It’s okay to be sad.

 **Irene:** Irene Burns is a fucking ray of sunshine around here, okay? So it’s not very okay.

 **Gordon** : Bottling it up is probably the reason you called me to begin with.

 **Irene:** I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk to anymore…*she exhales* it’s like no one has time for me, which is so untrue but I can’t help the way I feel right?

 **Gordon** : *he nods* Rig-

 **Irene:** I mean Alisha and I made up and Trent is so relieved as if Reid and Justin but they weren’t at the Gala, you know? They didn’t see what I did, they didn’t feel that….horror and fear.

 **Gordon:** *He passes a hand through his short hair, loosening his tie from around his neck and then exhaled* And your other friends?

 **Irene:** Nadia still doesn’t remember me so it’s like she’s getting to know me all over again. She used to know me better than anyone else. Besides *she shrugs* she’s seen a lot worse, been through a lot worse. Her battle scars are hot though.

 **Gordon** : Rene you’re getting just a little off topic, here.

 **Irene:** Right, yeah, sorry it’s just everyone’s got their own damage right now.

 **Gordon:** Sounds like a good time to stay close then?

 **Irene: I** know right? I just want to shrink them all and store them in the safety of my bosom. They would be safe and warm there.

 **Gordon:** *He groans under his breath and shakes his head before reprimanding* Rene.

 **Irene:** What?

 **Gordon** : I’m your brother, gross.

 **Irene:** No, I suppose that’s not a thing to discuss.

 **Gordon** : *He chuckles and then asks* What about your boyfriend?

 **Irene:** *She smiles* Dillon’s the most amazing and understanding and perfect guy, ever.

 **Gordon:** …I sense a big but coming on.

 **Irene:** It’s a sizable, Kardashian but, not an elephant but.

 **Gordon:** So what is it?

 **Irene** : *She sighs and then leans off the trunk to reach into her back pocket* I feel guilty.

 **Gordon** : Guilty? *He frowns* I am confused.

 **Irene:** I should have thrown this necklace at his face. *She dangles a silver choker in front of her face and then purses her lips.*

 **Gordon** : Now I’m even more confused, what did he do?

 **Irene** : No, not Dillon, I just…*she pursed her lips and then exhaled* Never mind.

 **Gordon:** Irene.

 **Irene:** No, no, no, it’s fine.

 **Gordon:** This is clearly something you don’t feel comfortable to speaking to anybody about but you need to get out anyways. Who else are you gonna tell?

 **Irene:** Without being immediately judged? Uncomfortable company.

 **Gordon** : Tell me.

 **Irene** : There’s this werewolf-

 **Gordon** : I thought you said-

 **Irene:** I know what I said. But there is, there’s this werewolf and we used to be friends. At least, I used to be his friend and he pretended to be mine.

 **Gordon:** Don’t like where this is headed.

 **Irene:** He’s the one I cursed out that night you found me.

 **Gordon** : Oh, the one who’s number you threatened to delete?

 **Irene** : I’ll get to that eventually.

 **Gordon:** Hmm.

 **Irene:** He hurt me, Gordon. Like, dent-in-my-head-concussion-alcohol-poisoning hurt.

 **Gordon** : He _what_?

 **Irene** : Babe I really appreciate your newfound protectiveness over me *she did, it made her smile* but he’s a werewolf.

 **Gordon:** I can get a couple of guys from my old boxing gym-

 **Irene:** What part of werewolf do you not understand?

 **Gordon:** The part where that gives him any right to lay a hand on you.

 **Irene:** Yeah, I know right? *She mumbled as she swings the choker to and fro.* He’s affiliated with this magical terrorist group.

 **Gordon:** The more I hear the less I like.

 **Irene:** *She couldn’t tell Gordon that the Death Eaters were after her for some reason though, he’d have a heart attack and she’d never hear the end of it. So instead she said* And I hadn’t seen him since the Gala when he showed up one day while I was shopping.

 **Gordon** : Unbelievable.

 **Irene:** Not really-

 **Gordon:** During any of this time Irene do you actually have -class-?

 **Irene: *** Not having expected that at all, she ended up laughing louder than she had wanted to in the forest and ends up shushing herself by biting on her bottom lip.* I do!

 **Gordon:** Oh, Irene. *He shakes his head, manages a smile nonetheless and then continues* keep going.

 **Irene** : He didn’t even apologize for hurting me.

 **Gordon:** You forgave him anyways.

 **Irene:** I- I didn’t!

 **Gordon:** Irene, I’m starting to realize where you got that necklace you wanted to throw at someone’s face.

 **Irene:** *She pursed her lips* He’s got good taste.

 **Gordon:** Irene.

 **Irene:** Though I did not! Buy the shoes he picked out or the dress I wanted because it looked family because it was supposed to be for Dillon, damnit, date night dress and then Ansel had to go ruin it.

 **Gordon:** Why did you keep the necklace then?

 **Irene:** In case I ever need to use a tracking spell. *she nodded*

 **Gordon:** Tracking spell?

 **Irene:** Yep.

 **Gordon:** Uh huh. If it were just that you wouldn’t feel guilty. You said you were feeling guilty.

 **Irene:** The fact you’re a lawyer and remember all these things is annoying.

 **Gordon:** Ireneeeee.

 **Irene** : I just miss the Ansel I met that one day at the bar okay? *She exhales and then mutters quietly* He was my friend. That means something to me, it might not mean much to regular people who drop and add friends faster than they can snap but it does to me.

 **Gordon** : It sounds like he was lying to you, Irene.

 **Irene** : Duh.

 **Gordon:** Best thing to do is to move on.

 **Irene:** *Yeah, obviously she knew that too. But look how well that worked out! She didn’t even wind up mad at him for more than 10 minutes at that store. She was not an angry person by default! Though damn was it coming so much more naturally recently*

 **Gordon:** *He bites his lip, shaking his head* Don’t tell me you fell for that guy.

 **Irene:** No, that’s not it, Gordon. Yes, he’s attractive but no, I don’t want to drop my panties for him and I never did. I’m in love with Dillon, I couldn’t -stop- talking about him to Ansel half the time it was embarrassing. *She rubs at her forehead* I just wish I was strong enough to be that bitch everyone claims me to be, that title I wear proudly, and just forget he ever existed and write him off as I’m too good for him.

 **Gordon:** You are.

 **Irene** : You’re my brother, you’re supposed to say things like that.

 **Gordon:** Because they’re true. You’re a good person Irene he, doesn’t sound like it.

 **Irene:** He was once.

 **Gordon** : Doesn’t mean you have to keep his necklace.

 **Irene** : it’s so pretttyyyyy. More choker than necklace.

 **Gordon** : Starting to realize why you feel guilty then.

 **Irene:** Well that and he doesn’t have a concept of personal space he adheres to. Except the lack of one, I mean. *She shakes her head.* This sucks major ass.

 **Gordon** : It sounds like it…you should tell your boyfriend a little more of this, frankly. If he’s oh-so-understanding and oh-so-perfect, then why don’t you?

 **Irene:** I suppose you’re right…Dillon wouldn’t ever forgive Ansel though. He hurt him too. The werewolves all did.

 **Gordon:** For a good reason too, Irene. Abusive dicks tend to keep being abusive dicks throughout their life.

 **Irene** : Yeah, just look at daddy. *false brightly* 

 **Gordon** : *He frowns, sighing, and getting his glasses off his face to squeeze the bridge of his nose with his fingers* Hey, that’s not-

 **Irene:** Yeah, thought so. *She rolled her eyes and then shook her head* Whatever, I have to head back it’s getting dark.

 **Gordon:** Irene, wait.

 **Irene** : No, it’s fine, I’m sure you’re busy! I’ll just *she rubs at her eyes quickly* I’ll call you some other time! I’ll send a pic of my hair when I can.

 **Gordon** : Irene-

 **Irene** : *She hangs up, muttering more than a few curses at herself as she drops the phone in her purse and then looks at the choker again. Evil thing, she really should chuck it. She just drops it in her purse again too before hopping back on her broom and heading back to the grounds.*

{*}

**Daniella:** *Laying back in the bed, enjoying the view of his abs as he's getting dressed, towel around his waist, off hand,* So wait, how old was he?

 **Olivier:** Hm? *Distractedly, looking over his shoulder and failing to keep his gaze on her eyes for a moment.*

 **Daniella:** *Her lips flick up,* Tony. How old was he when he found out?

 **Olivier:** *Curiously, with his eyebrows furrowing together, he realizes abruptly what she meant.* Oh, you mean - 

 **Daniella:** *She nods, shuffling the sheet with her ankle.*

 **Olivier:** \- about Dad?

 **Daniella:** *She wasn't really sure if she could ever get used to hearing Remington D'Grey referred to casually, as "Dad" like that, so she just nods again.*

 **Olivier:** Ten. *He turned back, because he'd seen the look flashing through her eyes and he -- well he needed to get dressed after all, so he pulls the towel off his shoulders and tosses it so the hook pulls out and catches it. Still light,* Yeah, ten..first month he was living here I realized he didn't actually know - just little tidbits from Nonna about it, so I told him.

 **Daniella:** *Amused, trying to picture this.* I assume with all sensitivity that comes with such a close, *she's pulling around,* brotherhood.

 **Olivier:** *He blinks, looking around with a tiny smirk on his lips.* Pretty sure I just said Dad's a vampire.

 **Daniella:** I was being sarcastic, baby.

 **Olivier:** *He laughs and points to the ceiling,* Ah, were you? Sorry, see I didn't catch that --

 **Daniella:** *As her feet hit the floor, she gestures with her hand telling him to laugh-it-up, the other reaching for the brush on his nightstand she'd left there before they'd both gotten in the shower.* Well actually I suppose it wasn't sarcasm, you are close, and brothers are never really sensitive -- sisters either, siblings really, honestly. *She chuckles, brushing her hair.* 

 **Olivier:** *Snapping his fingers so the little drawer of ties pulls out, props up and displays, he surveys the assortment even as he responds to her.* Well I can't speak to the latter, but brothers, I take offense - we're always quite sensitive. 

 **Daniella:**...from hitting each other? 

 **Olivier:** *He just smirks, plucking the tie up and laying it against the shirt to check.*

 **Daniella:** So how'd that go, anyway? Dad's a vampire? *Seeing tension arise in those gorgeous shoulders she adds lighter, standing up,* He say "cool!" because of all those vampire movies? 

 **Olivier:** *He'd stiffened for a second, but relaxes as she continues. Smile softening as he casts it over his shoulder and moves to pull the tie on, he shakes his head.* Nah, because even at ten my brother only watched the _real_ vampire movies, so he knew what they actually _were_. No sparkly christians.

 **Daniella:** *Stifling a chuckle by tapping her bottom lip as she considers,* I'm pretty sure the Christians were Anne Rice and --

 **Olivier:** Oh, yup, I just combined the idiotic representations. *He winks at her. Then holds up the tie, asking for her opinion silently.*

 **Daniella:** *After wrinkling her nose up and tossing her hair over her shoulder to fluff it out, she adds,* Hey. I liked Anne Rice. 

 **Olivier:** Well, I liked _Interview with a Vampire._ *He chuckles at the "mmm nope" expression she'd given him (Daniella had a hundred thousand faces, he had learned quickly, each expression was unique, a personal gift if she chose to share it).*

 **Daniella:** Well, who didn't like that movie?

 **Olivier:** *Cocking an eyebrow up at her as he pulls the shirt on and starts buttoning it up,* Well, sure, but Christianity actually --

 **Daniella:** Oh dear Lord, don't. *She claps her hands together quickly, shaking her head back and forth rapidly, chewing on her bottom lip in sheepish amusement.* I'm sorry. I forgot. Italian. Rome. Literally was reunited with your brother in the church of St....I forget which one, but it was a big one.

 **Olivier:** *Reaching the top button, he'd been surveying her even as his chin tilts towards the shirt, and realizes he'd buttoned the wrong hole. Fixing it, he chuckles but doesn't say anything because he realized...yes, he might be a little biased on this subject being from Rome.*

 **Daniella:** Besides. *She laughs, hands going to her hips.* Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Alejandro Banderas as vampires? I'm good.

 **Olivier:** *That makes him look back up (and well, so did the fact she was walking back towards him, and he was already feeling the immediate need to take her dress back off again). He tilts his head.* Actually, I have to say, I think I prefer your _Vampire Diaries._

 **Daniella:** *Brightly, her hands coming up to take his tie for him and shaking her head.* That's just because you have a crush on Elijah.

 **Olivier:** No, it's because Katerina Petrova exists. *Smiling down, even as his words were indignant.*

 **Daniella:** *She chuckles as she fixes the tie and casts her gaze back up to him.* Oh. Well, true. Interview with a Vamp does kind of only have whats her name as the perpetual child.

 **Olivier:** Where as, *he nods and then stifles another chuckle as she hits him and tells him to stop moving or it wouldn't be straight,* Caroline, Katherine, Bonnie, oo -- _Rebekah_ you know --

 **Daniella:** *Rolling her eyes,* You are such. *She tightens the tie up.* A _man_.

 **Olivier:** *He wiggles both eyebrows.* 

 **Daniella:** I'll have you know I actually watch for plot.

 **Olivier:** *Laughing abruptly, his hands drop to circle around her waist, yanking her into him and shaking his head so his nose brushes against hers, breath strikes her lips.* Sure you do.

 **Daniella:** *After letting out a satisfied gasp that was more for show, she smirks,* As much as you do. *She meets the kiss and lets her eyes shut.* 

 

{*}

 

 **Eliza:** ...and who, *With short steps, she enters the library behind,* pray tell, are you? *Head cocking to the side, the posture screams wary attitude -- caution that equals automatic dislike. In contrast too amused so as to deepen her dislike, the woman spins and smiles.* 

 **Chantel:** Ah. *Clapping her hands and twisting her fingers together, her gaze casts up and down the girl.* Could ask you the same question, honey. *Her eyes linger on the straight-as-sticks blonde hair. Hm. Her information had made it clear Olivier's girl was black-haired. Unless that was already over or--well, D'Grey was like his father, likely there was more than one. The thought makes her smirk, in memory of being one of the single exceptions when it came to Remington's...appetites.* 

 **Eliza:** Oh honey. * Her arms fold on her chest through a scoff. A twitch in her jaw tightens her smile in the manner that adds the word of "seriously?" behind her response.* Please, do give me a reason -- it's been a dreadful dull day. 

 **Chantel:** *She spoke French well, but the girl was no native to the tongue. Delightful, this attitude--on one thing they could agree, today had been shamefully remiss of suitable entertainment. Playing the demure, her eyes cast as she says,* Terribly sorry, I did neglect my introduction, Miss...

 **Eliza:** Culpeper. *The cracks at the air like a whip might. Sweetly behind baited breath, as she takes another step forward,* And your continued neglect is neither amusing nor welcome.

 **Chantel:** Culpeper. *Recognition crossed her face with genuine amusement and abrupt, if conditional, respect.* Chantel, and I apologize for the lack of amusement that seems to be ailing you.

 **Eliza** : *She rolls her eyes, but a smirk is crossing her lips now too.* Oh, I didn't say I wasn't enjoying myself, Chantel. *With another step forward, her arms still folded on her chest,* It's just that I have very little tolerance for intruders.

 **Chantel:** *Lips flick up,* I think you'll find I'm neither intruder nor...*her eyes narrow for a moment,* here for your amusement. You, on the other hand--*The girl was still approaching. Up turns her smirk again,* I wouldn't advise advancing further, Miss Culpeper. *Drumming her fingernails as if swatting away flies on her forearms with claws, her eyebrow cocks up,* But of a  claustrophobic, see, and you don't want to make me nervous.

 **Eliza:** Oh, heavens. *She laughs, a hand going up,* You really think you're intimidating, don't you? *She takes one more step, then her hand goes to her hip.* Well, I shouldn't want to aggravate your mental illness dear but tell me, *eying the drumming nails,* Wolf?

 **Chantel:** *If the little girl wasn't being so amusing, she honestly--* Oh, gross. *Her tongue sticks out, and she shakes her head.* Do I look like a sired bitch to you?

 **Eliza:** Answering honestly would be impolite. *Calmly, tilting her head, even as a shiver  snakes up her spine as she guesses,* Vampire, then.

 **Chantel:** *The snort of dismissal dies in her throat with a slowly raised chin and eyebrow.* Gold star, hun. *Now, she takes another step back towards her, enjoying the racketing sound of her heart as it upticks with her approach.* And-*Now she was behind the girl, brow only going higher as she realized the girl didn't blink. She just spun around with a tsk,* -- if this is the new D'Grey's security--

 **Eliza** : Honestly. *She scoffs, hand still on her hips as she looks up at her,* You don't need to go showing off the little tricks you gain devouring people, *she leans over and pata Chantel's arm,* Seen it all, sweetie. You aren't the only ones with those little tricks up your sleeves. And also, *she pulls her arm back,* Really, that move can't be good for your claustrophobia.

 **Chantel:** *Olivier owed her, she thinks with narrowed eyes--and her hand snaps out to catch the girl's wrist anyway.* Sweetheart--

 **Eliza:** *Oww. Yup, her wrist was a second from being broken. With her other hand, she smacked the woman hard, too quickly to feel the burn in her palm as her chin bone cut her. On the other hand (literally, ha!), her diamond had cut her cheek. Yanking back, she breathed out hard, shaking her head,* Don't you-

 **Olivier:** Ladies, please. *All right, he might have taken a moment to interrupt (sue him for enjoying two fierce chicas arguing). He had his arms behind his back, hand clasped around his wrist, but now he half skips down the parlor stairs into the room, saying idly, light,* I only just got this carpet cleaned.  

{*}

**Nadia** : Okay, so let’s see if I can get it right this time. *She adjusted in her seat at the Three Broomsticks, rubbing her hands together and then started pointing at each person accordingly.* Irene, Alisha, Trent and I are all in Hufflepuff and we are the original group.

 **Trent:** My Charlie’s Angels I call you. *He grins*

 **Alisha:** Shh, don’t interrupt her! *Prods his leg with her foot under the table and then gestures for Nadia to keep going.*

 **Nadia:** *Smiles and then nods before she continues* Irene and Justin used to go out.

Irene: *scoffs* There wasn’t much of going anywhere-

 **Justin:** Except to the moon and back, metaphorically.

 **Irene:** *Snorts* …*she shrugs, not denying but not confirming it either.*

 **Alisha:** Will you just let her finish?

 **Nadia:** *She smiles again, licking her lips and then pointing at Justin* After he tried to ask me out.

 **Justin:** *grins* You let me down gently.

 **Nadia:** I imagined. *chuckles* And now you’re going out-

 **Justin:** It’s been one date-

 **Reid:** *Seeing Alisha’s expression* Mate, the next interruption-

 **Alisha:** Will end with my sneakers up someone’s ass, so.

 **Nadia: *** Over top of anybody who might intrude* One date with Irene’s current boyfriend Dillon’s little sister Ari. *She waited for the nod of confirmation and then continued with a brighter smile.* And Justin and Reid are best friends. Reid and Alisha are going out. And Trent-

 **Trent:** Devastatingly single.

 **Irene:** But majorly crushing on Enrrrrique. *She rolled the r with a gusto and smirked.*

 **Reid** : Oh *he puts his hand over his chest, licking his lips* say it again, please.

 **Alisha:** Hey! *She pokes his side with her elbow but this doesn’t stop Irene.*

 **Irene** : *Wiggles her eyebrows as she embellishes after biting her bottom lip for effect* Hmm, Enrrrriique.

 **Reid:** *smirks* She’s going for it!

 **Justin** : *groaning* Someone stop her-

 **Irene** : *She fakes a moan* Oh! Enrrri- *she ends up laughing into Trent’s hand as he covers it up with the palm of his hand, rubbing some of her lip gloss off, and Reid leaning over to place his other arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze-hug.*

 **Trent:** Shush your little whore mouth! *He rubs at his red cheeks with his left hand and wiping the other on his jeans while everyone’s in laughter.*

 **Nadia:** *She brings the butterbeer down from her lips and places her own hand over her mouth as she giggles and then beams* Who’s Al’s cousin! Who’s dating Hols.

 **Alisha:** Ding ding ding! *She raises her butterbeer bottle to Nadia’s and clinks them together* Correct! Mr. Announcer, sir! *She turns to Justin* Tell our contestant what she’s won!

 **Justin:** *He clears his throat and then raises his bottle and acts as if it’s a microphone* Miss Nadia Tudor, for answering all questions correctly, gets a brand new car!

 **Irene:** *Pretends to be the audience of the game show and claps her hands together, cheering*

 **Justin:** She’s also won an all-expense-paid trip to Bora Bora for her and one luuuucky guest!

 **All:** *In unison* Devin.

 **Nadia** : *She grins and then shrugs her shoulders ‘innocently’* Bora Bora sounds fun actually. *Takes a sip of her butterbeer and dips a chip in ketchup before she takes a bite* Might have to go there this summer. Have I already been?

 **Irene:** *She shakes her head* Not that I know! During the summers your family and the Stuart family all go down to their house in Hawaii.

 **Nadia:** Oh, I’ve seen the pictures! *she nodded, a bit sad that she couldn’t recall it from her memory but she wasn’t here to be sad so she hastily took another bite*

 **Reid:** You know what we should do? *With an arm still around both Alisha and Irene* Plan another road trip.

 **Irene:** *squeals!* Road trip!

 **Trent** : *He grins, nodding along with the idea* I’m totally up for it.

 **Alisha** : *As she sees the confusion in Nadia’s eyes.* Well, while you were in Hawaii with your family and Dev’s-

 **Irene:** And Alcott, Dev’s boyfriend.

 **Nadia:** I have noticed they’re quite *she crosses her fingers together to signify close, and then giggles*

 **Alisha:** *she glares at them for silence and then continues* All of us *gestures to all of them at the table* we went on a road trip in the U.S.! We started out in New York and then we made our merry way across the entirety and vastness of that country to the West Coast, in California! We met up with Nick, actually.

 **Trent:** I actually recorded a -lot- of it. *He grins* It was a lot of fun, except for the fact that only Reid knew how to drive.

 **Reid:** Yeah, the rest of you don’t know how to drive for -shit-.

 **Justin:** Hey! I think I did pretty okay.

 **Irene:** *She scoffs and turns to him, eyebrows arching before she reminds him* You drove us on the wrong side of the road!

 **Justin** : No, no, -they’re- the ones that are wrong.

 **Alisha:** We almost ran into a truck! I was so scared.

 **Trent** : Fucking almost pissed myself, actually.

 **Nadia:** *She just kept listening and laughing as they continued but she didn’t feel as bad as before because fortunately these weren’t memories she was supposed to recognize so she could genuinely enjoy them.* What happened next?

 **Irene:** I had to lunge over him and drive off the road!

 **Justin:** To be fair! *He added quickly amidst the laughter and any other comments his friends were trying their best to input* To be fair! We were like in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana or something like that, and-

 **Reid:** He hit a raccoon. *he smirks*

 **Justin:** I did not! I swear to God man, you made that shit up. Alisha made us look for that raccoon-

 **Trent:** We spent almost an -hour!- Because we just couldn’t leave the poor raccoon!

 **Nadia:** *laughs* Hols would have been proud.

 **Irene:** Thing is, raccoons are nocturnal! Like owls and shadow cats.

 **Alisha:** Shadow cats?

 **Irene:** *waves this away* So why would a raccoon be out in the middle of fucking nowhere in broad daylight?

 **Justin** : Exactly! *He slaps his hand down on the table and then points at Reid* So this fucker made it up, I know. And he knew that if he admitted he was, Alisha would kick his ass.

 **Reid:** Hey! I resent that!

 **Alisha:** *Raises her eyebrows*

 **Reid** : …you know I’d never lie to you baby.

 **Alisha:** Uh huh *she pinches his cheek, taps his nose and then leans in to kiss him once* Liar. That was a lie right then. *She smirks and then goes to kiss him again, and again, lingering.*

 **Justin** : *He shakes his head and then adds to Nadia* Yeah, they do that.

 **Irene:** A lot. *She beams* I’m so proud of them. Keep waiting for them to ask me to join.

 **Reid:** You know, I -have-. *He stuck his cheek out with his tongue and then winked at Irene.*

 **Alisha:** Yeah and I keep saying, no way. *she picks up a chip and then uses it to point at Irene* You know who would also object? Your boyfriend. *pops it in her mouth with a raise of her eyebrows*

 **Nadia:** Fair point. *she giggles again.*

 **Irene** : I’ve been warming him up to the threesome idea though. *she nods*

 **Nadia:** Oh dear.

 **Alisha:** Besides, I’ve seen your tits enough times to last me a lifetime.

 **Trent:** Ditto, not *He adds quickly, seeing Irene’s mouth drops* that they’re not well-formed and nicely proportional, I just personally-

 **Irene** : Love cock. Got it. Even still!

 **Reid:** Wait, let me get this straight. *He paused and then looked around the whole table and then lifted his eyebrows* I’m the only one here who hasn’t seen them?

 **Irene:** *Looks around too: Nadia had even if she didn’t remember- oh the sleepover! But that had been an accident. Still. Alisha yes, Trent yes, Justin yes. Her smile turned impish and apologetic as she looked at Reid again.*

 **Nadia** : *She laughs as Reid groans and throws his head back in theatric despair and then shakes her head*

 **Justin:** *pats his mate’s shoulder* It’s okay, you’ll get over it.

 **Alisha:** Yeah, you better get over it. *elbows him* Besides, look on the bright side of this. *She smirks* No one here’s seen mine except you.

 **Reid** : *He smirks, pulling her closer to him* I do like that.

 **Justin** : *He snorts, turning to look at Irene* Really? Not once?

 **Irene:** *She sighs* Alisha’s quite private, yes. She only recently started changing in front of us. Guess who’s to blame! Or rather, who to thank. *She pokes her big bear*

 **Reid:** *Laughs out once, smirking still.* Still, Rene, when’s my favorite blonde going to grace me with a view?

 **Alisha** : Never.

 **Irene:** Maybe one day during the summer my top will fall off at the beach cause the waves will be so rough, or maybe not babe, I just don’t know. *She teases with a wink and then owws as Alisha kicks her shin*

 **Nadia:** I vote for a change of topic because we’re not going to talk about my breasts.

 **Irene:** They are-

 **Trent:** *covers her mouth again* Not a valid point of conversation! Switch it up.

 **Irene:** *pulls his hand away and rolls her eyes* Fine! I know just what to talk about. *Smirks.*

 **Justin** : I think I have an idea of where this is going, actually.

 **Irene:** *She leans closer to the table, her voice dropping low* Victoria getting arrested.

 **Trent:** Oh, my God. Did you see how _crazy_ she looked?

 **Irene:** *She nods enthusiastically* I know! She looked like an actual skeleton, literally.

 **Reid** : She can’t have _literally_ have looked like a skeleton, Irene, otherwise she’d just be bones.

 **Irene:** No, but she was! Okay, I was there when the Aurors came for her-

 **Nadia:** *She bit her lip, feeling Alisha’s eyes bore into her and then gradually the rest of the group each looked at her, as if they expected her to say something* …What?

 **Reid:** Babe, she was arrested for kidnapping _you_.

 **Nadia:** *She nods* I know but-

 **Irene:** And you hate that flat-chest-no-brain-one-friend-two-faced-thrice-damned skank!

 **Justin** : *amused* I do believe she just counted up with her insults.

 **Trent:** *Counts it off too, one, two, and three- huh. How about that, that was quite clever-*

 **Nadia:** *shakes her head slowly* I don’t -remember- her kidnapping me, and I don’t remember hating her.

 **Alisha** : I mean…hate is a pretty strong word.

Irene: No, it’s a pretty correct one too, especially for Nadia. Take me *she motions to herself before her hands on top of the table* for instance. I throw the word hate around a lot. I hate the color puce, I hate people who wear sneakers with skirts unless they’re Converse, and I hate politics. I hated Justin a good part of the summer!

 **Justin** : *He nods* She did.

 **Irene:** But, if I _really_ hated him, or all these things the hate just wouldn’t dissipate away or come at a fancy, no. It would endure, and grow, and fester and turn nasty.

 **Nadia** : *She shivers a little, knowing very well the feeling of that description- she knew just one like that that she hated with all her might.* Are you saying I hated Victoria like that?

 **Irene:** Hate! Present tense. You just…don’t remember, yet.

 **Reid:** She really was a low class bitch to you, though.

 **Trent:** Ah, not sure it’s okay to call any woman a bitch even ones who were arrested-

 **Alisha** : Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!

 **Irene:** Cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt!

 **Nadia:** Can you not? *Softly, shaking her head* I don’t know why she got arrested if I didn’t remember and turn her in. New information was found by the Aurors I bet.

 **Justin** : Found…*he shrugs* Or turned in.

 **Reid:** Just like a white man to have the conspiracy theory running around.

 **Justin** : It’s not that, it’s…well the Aurors didn’t have anything solid to have the arrest -before- so what changed?

 **Nadia** : *She shrugged, unable to answer the question.*

 **Reid:** Maybe they just overlooked something before, I don’t know mate.

 **Irene:** As much as it physically pains me to admit Justin’s right-

 **Justin** : *he snorts, shaking his head*

 **Irene:** Seriously thinking someone must have turned her in- and I know just who!

 **Trent** : If you say Sam Ro-

 **Irene:** Sam Roswell.

 **Nadia:** *She shivers now, knowing Irene is probably right but knowing she has to make sure she doesn’t show anything or gets cornered about it.* Dev and Hols have been filling me in about him-

 **Alisha:** _He's_ a cunt. *she nods* And a bitch, with dicks-for-brains.

 **Irene:** Ooh, I like that one! *High fives her*

 **Justin:** *He snorts, jaw twitching and then shrugs* Well, I certainly don’t like him.

 **Reid:** *Explains to Nadia* He attacked Justin last year.

 **Alisha:** Can’t prove it of course. *She rolls his eyes* And let’s not even talk about the things he’s said about Trent, _to_ Trent-

 **Trent:** Okay, you said it, let’s not go there.

 **Nadia:** *She nods, understanding, remembering what happened from being filled in by Hols- the hell that was last year, their ‘dark ages’. Misnomer, really. If any age was dark, it was surely this one.*

 **Irene** : And the _shit_ that he did to Eliza- in fact, I say we go and kick his arse.

 **Reid:** Baby girl *he pulls her back to sit down and shakes his head* Not that I’m usually one to interrupt you from a good ass-kicking-

 **Irene:** Except for now.

 **Reid:** -not the brightest of ideas.

 **Justin:** He’s ri-

 **Nadia:** *She speaks with him too* He’s right, Irene. We don’t want to make things worse. *She purses her lips and then exhales* Haven’t we gone through enough?

Irene: -He- hasn’t gone through enough. But after I jam a needle up his dickhole, stick a cement block in his anus, flood his ears with honey and pour ants in them, maybe then he’ll have suffered a good…*she claps her hands together* 10%

 **Justin:** Damn.

 **Irene:** I know. Quite high, huh? 8% then.

 **Alisha** : Hey, not so loud now. *She shakes her head.* The trainees could hear you.

 **Nadia:** My bodyguards? *She shakes her and looks over her shoulder at one man sitting by the bar and another leaning in the back of the pub, keeping an eye on the entire place. Nadia looks back to her friends.* I don’t think so.

 **Trent** : Either way, we shouldn’t talk about it anymore. This is supposed to be a happy reunion!

 **Justin:** *He smiles and nods* Right. First Hogsmeade weekend they let us have since the attack, finally getting to see you again *squeezes Nadia’s shoulder*

 **Irene:** You all should have just snuck out like I’ve been-

 **Alisha:** *squeaks!* You said you’ve been with Dillon!

 **Irene:** …Ah, oops. Well! Technically, that is true, 90% of the time-

 **Reid:** I’m so proud of how well you’ve learned percentages with me *he teases, hoping to get Alisha’s mind off the situation. Not working.*

 **Alisha:** *Sternly* You -promised- me you weren’t going to lie to me anymore.

 **Irene:** I haven’t lied!

 **Trent:** Rene baby, maybe it’s best just to fess up.

 **Irene:** *She huffs*

 **Reid** : It’ll just be a lesser punishment if you admit to it now. Maybe a light spanking- I’ll help! *He smirks*

 **Nadia:** *She shakes her head at all of them, lifting her butter beer to her lips, but a simple look outside the frosted windows was enough to choke the remaining breath out of her with an icy grip, her blood froze in place and her heart stopped in the one moment that seemed like an eternity. And then it was over with a strangled whisper.* Rhys. 

{*}

**Chantel:** *Her thumb was rubbing the blood from a shallow cut on her cheek down to her lips; as she saw Olivier (she'd heard his entrance, or else this little girl would be on the floor), she brightens to him,* Why, Oli, we're just having a bit of fun. It's been a dreadfully unentertaining day. *Her tongue flicks against the tip of her thumb, and then she seems 'to remember', pointing it skyways and then holds her hand up to Olivier.* 

 **Eliza** : *Just finished cleaning. The maid that found her in a guest room (man that shriek was still ringing in her hungover ears) and cook with the great cure for such a thing had said similar in passing. There was also a hole in one of the parlor walls that made Oli smirk when he looked at it. She decided before she didn't to know, but...perhaps it wasn't the worst idea to ask. Just not now. Exhaling, eyes flicking from the offered hand to Olivier, her retort dies in her dry throat.*

 **Olivier:** *It was a lie to think that for a moment he wasn't tempted. Of course he was, of course Chantel knew that, of course it was why she wasn't healing even her cut. His gaze moves from her bloodied thumb to her cheek in an instant. Then he looked at Eliza -- unable to look at her eyes as he realizes her hand was cut too. He stills. In, and out. Then he looks back up at Eliza, gesturing with his own palm,* I can heal that, if you want, **Eliza.** *His expression softens at her relief and nod--at least until he looks back to Chantel, irritated by the temptation. Even if she was by her standards being polite, even if sharing such sips (or more, his stomach twists as want disguised as hot breath scratches his mouth) had once been customary between them.* Thank you, but I'm all right. *That was a different time, his gaze says to her. One where Dad was alive and still able to convince me I wasn't hurting anyone with indulgence (one that would never have included my brother). He shakes his head a fraction of an inch, letting Eliza refuse his offer and heal the cut herself without taking his gaze from Chantel. The triumph in Eliza's voice was enough.* Tony said you were back in town. Apologies, *he nods at her complacent,* for the delay since you arrived--I was otherwise detained. Can I get you a drink?

 **Chantel:** *Mouth now around her thumb, she sucks in to avoid a loud laugh at the last remark, unable to help herself from flicking a predatory glance to Miss Culpeper's lovely neck.* That'd be wonderful, sweetheart. *After drinking in Eliza's indignant shudder, she tilts her head to Olivier instead.* Bourbon? You know the brand?

 **Olivier:** *He'd taken half a step forward when she looked at Eliza (cursing himself mentally for phrasing the question that way; old habits, he supposed). Then he chuckles, pulling away and moving to pour them all.* Naturally. Eliza?

 **Eliza:** Oh, no thanks hon. *Her head still hurt from last night, for multiple reasons. Rubbing absently at her palm, she flounces to sit at the stool with her arm cocked on the counter. Sweetly,* I'm not desperate enough to drink before noon quite yet.

 **Olivier** : *He snorts, decidedly ignoring that it was technically a slight against him too (he needed that alcohol, Chantel still was bleeding).* Eliza.

 **Eliza:** *After a tiny, sheepish smirk she shrugs a shoulder.* I will apologize for something I don't regret though, so, *she lays her hand on her heart as she looks at Chantel.* I am so sorry, cheri.

 **Olivier:** *Oh, seven hells. Taking the drink for himself and "sipping," he looks between them and decides rapidly,* Eliza--I think our mutual friend just arrives. *Tilting his head, as if listening for one of his mental alarms, even though no one was there, he nods.* Can you go let him in?

 **Chantel:** Mutual friend? *As if she didn't know that was a ruse--honestly, Miss Culpeper had better count her lucky stars that Olivier was there. Just as he once had to, for the protection that came with being Rem's son. Remington had gotten her out of a difficult predicament eons and ages ago--she owed him loyalty, and Chantel always paid her debts.* I apologize, I should have called ahead. 

 **Olivier:** *Waving off, as a brief lift to his eyebrows over the glass had made Eliza hop up again. With a small smile,* Oh, you know you're always welcome, Chantel.

 **Eliza:** *Ugh. Hans, she presumed (if Olivier wasn't just trying to get her out of the room). Fine, fine! She wouldn't stay where she wasn't wanted. Still, she hadn't walked out by the time that Chantel said,--*

 **Chantel:** I'm glad to hear it. I just wanted to ensure you received my personal condolences for your father--as I know...*And her head tilts, because this was why she had not called ahead, she wanted to listen to Olivier's heart as she had to Antonio's when she said,* Antonio is not the most...reliable informant, when it comes to Rem.

 **Olivier:** *Without missing a beat,* I rely on my brother for much more than information, Chantel. *Taking a step forward, though he's not lowered the glass or shifted stance or breath,* And I'd have thought you're aware that no matter how...mm, *he takes a sip,* fucked up, a family situation becomes? At the end of the day, D'Greys stick together. *There's a glint in his eye, not looking away from Chantel. Then he adds lighter,* But I'm sure no offense was meant. 

 **Chantel:** Of course not, *her voice trills even as she continues to search his gaze. Offense? A childish concept of judgment; she had no time for such immature games, when there were such better ways to play for all of eternity. That did not mean she believed him. Oh, at face value, of course--Olivier had always been loyal to his father and to his brother, even when it seemed contradictory. Yet it was face value alone, because Olivier had heard the unspoken question--why, wouldn't Tony have been glad of his death?--but he hadn't answered it.

Chantel smiles,* I simply had to....know. Rem...*She licks at the cut near her lip and turns, touching two fingers to it as if in remembrance,* ...he was a dear friend.

 **Olivier** : *Eliza had stilled at the door. It's the first thing that he does allow to bother him, for her overhearing anything about this (for anyone overhearing anything about this) was not practical, not helpful--not allowed, dammit. They had enough delicate and sticky situations presently, adding in vengeful friends of his father's poking into what he had continued to keep locked away was the exact antithesis of "needed." So he turns to the door, saying flatly,* Eliza, please don't keep him waiting. 

 **Eliza:** *Right, because she was born yesterday. (Two weeks ago, but who was counting?). There was something more fucked up going on than a family situation --even more so than a vampire offering her own blood as if she, Eliza, were a suitable equivalent to a martini. Then again, did anything get more fucked up than family business? She turns briefly to look at Olivier, wonder and ache in her eyes. His father was dead? How has she never asked about his parents? Even when Hans dropped the bombshell, that he was a human-vampire hybrid...she hadn't asked for more. Why should she, part of her thinks, why should she show interest in other's lives? Selfishness had become a mantra, the most basic trait she lived with constantly now to oppose the former Eliza. Then she looks at Olivier's face and realizes again why she hadn't asked him further questions. This topic hurt him. Deeply. Retort that that she wasn't a fucking doorwoman dying on her lips, she exhales softer,* Sorry, you're right. 

 **Olivier:** *He waits, until he is certain that Eliza is gone, and then speaks as if to the photograph on the shelf of himself with his father instead of to Chantel directly.* A dear friend, a dear father...*he licks at his lips to steady himself before saying honestly,* a tremendously influential man.

*There's a dim flicker of the thought-- he no longer could say great without it being a lie. Influential, respected, feared? Yes, all three. Great? That implied goodness...goodness his father never had. And a great father? Olivier almost laughed. Dear to him yes, because he had no choice, he was the only father he ever had. Not great. Not even remotely appropriate. He wonders briefly if Chantel said "dear" for similar reasons--then doubts it. Remington D'Grey had been a -good- man to have consider you a friend.

He turns back to her, small smile on his lips and then says simply,* Chantel, you've insulted my brother, you've heard my eulogy, I am sorry if you are hurt -- now may we please, *he licks his bottom lip,* cease this pretense?

 **Chantel:** *She had been listening to his heart curiously with those words, thinking that at least she could be certain it was not Olivier who had killed him. (The thought had been Rem's once, years ago, an odd statement of pride: that if anyone ever could kill him, it would be his son). Now she stiffens, honestly and for the 

 first time since arriving actually was surprised enough to feel put on the wrong foot.* Pretense? Olivier--

 **Olivier** : Please, don't. *He shakes his head, tone abruptly his father's again. His eyes were narrow as he beholds her.* I am sure, that this news upset you--as I just said, I am sorry for that. Please do not make me talk more of him, for it is a singularly saddening and maddening  topic to me. You know, you were here enough when he tutored me. Often personally involved, I recall well--fondly, even. So first? *He lifts his chin, gaze flicking to her cheek. He waits a moment to ensure he had not a single hesitation in his breath or tone as he finishes the thought.* Please, heal yourself. I do not currently require another reason to want to rip your throat out.

 **Chantel:** *Taking a step forward herself, she pauses only at the last. After a scoff and a little twirl of her lips, she adds brightly,* Oh, Olivier, there you are. I was almost concerned for what that barbie may have done to you. *Waving her hand to heal the scrape, chase away the blood and licking her index finger again, she finishes the thought.* I apologize, sincerely, you're right--I do know why this topic would be...difficult. *With another step forward,* I see you're doing him proud, though. *For a moment they just search each other's gaze, heated and curious alike. Then she says softer, certain,* I loved him too, Olivier.

 **Olivier:** *That seemed to be the one thing he hadn't prepared himself to hear he thinks: compliments, comparisons and condolences -- yes. Threats, suspicions, insults against his brother--even more so. Another person honestly declaring to love his father? His throat dries, his heart skips. That was not a thought he'd had since foolish daydreams of a seven year old thinking his mother might show up with Tony and have some epic movie reunion. Ha. Even at seven, Tony already had been changing his mind on things he realized--movies were one of the first.

Chantel meant it well though, so he took it that way, nodding and then deciding to offer peace and ask at the same time.* Yes,  well Chantel, he would be proud of you as well. Using his memory as an excuse to come here. *Cocking both eyebrows up, he tilts his head in a jerk,* Twisted, but he would. 

 **Chantel:** *Twisted, he said? Well, perhaps, and perhaps she mirrors the twist in her lips. Still she says,* An excuse?

 **Olivier** : He's back. Isn't he? *Flatly, his shoulders lift hands from pockets and setting his glass down. He never looks away from the shorter woman, not caring for her superior strength and age a whit. Smirking wide at her genuine moment of confusion, he speaks through curling lips.* Marcus Ellwood has returned to England, and he's keeping his eye on France through you and your--is he husband again, or is there another cover?

 **Chantel:** *The moment he said Marcus' name, she has to catch her breath. Wonderful, and she means it genuinely, to have someone honestly match her steps. There was a reason those memories with Olivier and Rem were fond to recall for her as well: she loathes unintelligent men. A genuine smile of appreciation on her lips, she breathes out and has her hands land gently on her hips.* Oh Olivier, always such interest in my sex life.

 **Olivier** : *Laughs out once,* You make it even more obvious when you dodge the question. *Triumphant wiggle to his eyebrow now he scoffs out and turns, hand slapping at his thigh.* I wondered before, as it seemed an odd coincidence to me for his name to arise in conjunction with a certain pink-haired--

 **Chantel:** Whore. *Pleasantly, even as she wrinkles her nose in distaste. Whether it was distaste only for the woman or for the fact Olivier not only seemed to know Marcus was residing in England but also was connected to Gina--well, who said Chantel could not multitask? Her maker would never have sired her had she not been intelligent herself.*

 **Olivier** : Ah, *tongue in the corner of his lips as he turns back, chuckling without honest amusement,* so he -is- fucking with her too, then?

 **Chantel:** Why, Olivier, such sudden vulgarity. *It only made her smirk widen.*

 **Olivier:** *He ignores that except to twist his lips up.* I only wonder how I had never considered it before--I suppose, *he answers his own question with an eye roll,* because the English do have such a lengthy history of screwing themselves without any aid-

 **Chantel:** *She clucks her tongue in agreement, saying proudly,* Hardly required any encouragement at all.

 **Olivier:** *A shiver traces up his spine, chill trickling down his back as if ice was melting. Breath arrests. He glances back over his shoulder to his desk, to the photograph and shakes his head to himself, stiffer. Then he looks back.* It's been a hundred and twenty-five years, Chantel. Quite the long game for revenge on a man dead fifty years, after all.

 **Chantel:** *She shrugs her shoulder, non-deterred. If anything, she thought the length was only more proof of her sire's  particular brilliance.* 

 **Olivier:** *He watches her a moment, as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger and then another cold shock seems to take him. Eyes narrowing,* My father. Was he a part of the scheme?

 **Chantel:** *Tuts,* Poor marks, Olivier, you should know by now that Marcus doesn't tell any one person everything. *She tosses her hair over her shoulder, a smirk on her lips.*

 **Olivier:** Ah, *he looks back, pointed,* I make the mistake of assuming you're important to him, then. *Rubbing at the back of his neck he thinks bitterly, and he did know that. Who else had taught his father as well as Dad then taught him? Yet Chantel didn't know, or wouldn't tell him--so he sees only benefits in continuing on flatly,* I only wondered how that fucking hunter could ever have gotten so close to him.

 **Chantel:** *And once again, she was genuinely taken aback and turned towards him, tapping a stiletto on the ground. Her face clouds for a second and she says softer,* Marcus didn't order Rem killed, Olivier. I can promise that much.

 **Olivier:** *That much and nothing else, he hears instead--and he believes her, so there's no need to feign relief in his heartbeat or breath. Marcus hadn't, of course, he knew already who had: he was there, and once the three of them were in that room, it was in all honesty the best possible outcome that had occurred in the end. He believes more importantly that Chantel knew nothing else, at least presently, though Olivier is still certain she was fetching something from the manor for Marcus upon hearing of his father's death. Rubbing over his lips, he nods and looks back, smirk in place.* What is it, then?

 **Chantel:** *Her chin arches, eyebrow cocked and this time she only smirks with understanding he matched her again. Oh, this day had turned wonderfully entertaining after all.* You know what it is, D'Grey.

 **Olivier:** *The abrupt use of his surname makes his eyebrows pop. He searches her gaze and then shuts his eyes spinning around and heading to the desk, nodding absently.* I do.

 **Chantel:** It was his first, after all. *Calmly, turning so her skirt swirls around her knee caps. There's a little light in her eyes.* Rem used it well, I see, but now...

Olivier: Si. *He says flat. Used it well? Olivier thought that also, though he knew sometimes Tonio disagreed.*

 **Olivier:** *With a tiny chuckle as he fetched the key (relocks the desk with the spells) and then gestures, 'after you', he speaks honestly,* You would never have found it on your own, you know.

 **Chantel:** *Finishing her glass in one long swig, she sets it beside his and promptly struts ahead. There's high amusement in her voice as she trills,* Oh, I have my ways, Olivier.

 **Olivier:** *He echoes her laugh as he responds with a head tilt, licking at his bottom lip as she walks in front of him.* I suppose you do, Chantel. *She laughs again, and he echoes that too--but his amusement is all at Marcus' expense when he says aloud,* Honestly though, you could have simply asked. You are always welcome and naturally, Marcus is as well. 

 

{*}

 

To Nadia it was like someone had suddenly clicked the play button to start the fast-paced action movie they were all destined to be in. The windows blasted inside, showering them all with glass and wooden splinters, screams of surprise and fear sounded echoed through the pub and in the streets. Lowering the arms that had taken the brunt of the glass, Nadia quickly looked around to her friends, breathing heavily as she feared the worst but apart from a few scratches, they were okay, for now. They all stood, reaching for each other, grabbing sleeves and hands, gripping their wands in hands, as they struggled to process what had just happened. Nadia didn’t need that long.

“Head back to the castle!” she insisted over the explosions of spells throughout the entire main street, and the screams of the frightened. Nadia heard a worried shout for her name, but she ran out of the pub who’s second story was on fire. Someone jumped through the window mid-scream and landed on the ground with a sickening crack that cut off all sound from the person completely but Nadia kept walking forward.

Feeling a hand wrap around her wrist, she turned, a hex halfway past her lips before she noticed it was one of the trainees, yelling at her that she had to get Nadia to safety. Nadia was priority he insisted, he had already called for backup but they had to get her back; Nadia slapped him and took back her arm with her a sharp tug. Her lungs struggled to compete with the cold winter wind, with the explosions as she screamed, “I’m not leaving and you shouldn’t either!” She ducked a spell and then fired off another as she stood, hair billowing behind her shoulder. “Help here! Help now!” And then she left the trainee as he turned and blocked a spell before returning. The duel was almost beautiful in the colors that held nothing but death and suffering, and in the synchronized steps each took as they stepped closer and closer. Nadia tore her gaze away, not wanting to see how it ended, but prayed that the trainee’s last memory won’t be of a 15 year old girl screaming at you to fight.

{*} 

“Nadia!” Irene screamed for her friend, fear spreading through her body like wildfire as if the gash down her cheek was making her more vulnerable to everything else. Hearing the wooden planks of the ceiling start to creak, she squeaked and looked upwards, before taking Trent’s hand, the closest, and shouting. “Come on! We have to follow her, we have to get out of here!” What did that pixie little jalapeño think she was doing?! Running off to take care of all of this by herself like Catwoman?! Had she not already given Irene enough nightmares? Nightmares that were making themselves all too real again. It was like the Gala all over again: the screams, the chaos, the heart-stopping fear that made every single part of your body run cold and any kind of movement as difficult and monumental as lifting a boulder. 

Irene’s breath came in uneven pants as she was squished in the crowd trying to fight their way out of the establishment to apparate away, those who could. With a protesting gasp, she was pulled into Trent’s chest and saw with glassy eyes as a piece of burning wood fell on the spot she had been previously standing in. With no time to look around at Trent, she merely squeezed his hand hard as her chest struggled for breath. Steeling herself, she bashed through the mob of people, dragging Trent along with her until they finally tasted the icy sharpness of the outside air. Her head snapped around as she tried to look for Nadia but couldn’t see her anymore, neither could she see the rest of her friends. 

“Do you see them?!” Spinning on her heel towards Trent, her eyes widened as she saw a figure in black over Trent’s shoulder, and she pushed them out of the way just in time, the spell managing to just graze her as Trent fell on the snow. Gasping in sudden pain, she brought a hand to her side and came away with blood on a hand that was already starting to go numb from the cold.  Looking up, teeth gritted, she stepped forward once with an aimed spell and then another, blood flowing and staining her clothing and the snow-clad ground as she screamed, “This. sweater. is. Vivienne! Westwood!” Her final spell made contact with her target, sending them flying back into a burning building, pained howling reaching her ears. Her anger dissipated as easily as it had arrived, her mouth dropping almost obscenely. 

“Oh God,” she whispered as Trent grabbed her shoulders and started moving her again.

“We can’t stay here, Irene! Let’s go!”

Her gaze didn’t pull away from the flaying body inside of the burning building, even as she begged herself to look anywhere else. “Oh God.” 

{*}

Blood ran from a cut above his eye and dripped into it, threatening to blind him if he didn’t wipe it consistently. Licking it off his lips as it trickled down his cheek, he gritted his teeth as Reid stared down at their enemy. They were cornered, easy targets in the eyes of the Death Eaters. Reid’s mind ran wild for a split second with what they might do to them. As they ran, losing their friends, Reid had seen the Death Eaters swarm in, grab people by their ankles and drop them from 100 feet in the air, leaving bodies looking more like jigsaw puzzles on the cobbled street of the once cheerful and peaceful village. A woman protecting her young sons had been grabbed by her hair before having her throat slit with a knife, her blood spilling on the children before they had taken them too, choking them. That’s how Reid had gotten the deep cut; he had barreled into the man, a thought of a spell cast aside as he pounded his big fists into soft flesh and heard crunch under his strength.

Alisha and Justin always beside him, they had pulled him away after casting protego’s around them all and keeping more Death Eaters away from them. But as they kept running down the streets looking for Irene, Trent, and Nadia, the more attention they drew: not stranded casters, easily picked off. Damn straight they weren’t easily picked off. Reid only breathed harshly, knowing only a few minutes of the madness had passed and yet he felt as if he had been in the trenches for months. Now with his back pressed against Alisha’s and Justin’s as they were closed in, they kept their eyes fixed on the wands pointed at them and waited for any sudden movements.

“Baby, just in case,” he began under his breath as they drew nearer.

“Don’t you dare,” Alisha hissed next to him. He didn’t need to look at her to know that her head was shaking insistently, that her jaw had clenched so tight that it twitched in place.

“Why do you always got to fight me, woman?”

“Because you’re about to say something cliché like ‘if we don’t make it out of this alive, I want you to know that I love you.’ You know how much I hate clichés.” 

He smirked even as he struggled for breath and blinked away a drop of blood that was trying to drip into his eye. “No, I was going to say. Just in case I don’t get a chance to say it, there was no raccoon.”

“I fucking knew it,” Justin’s voice rang out instead, ragged and heavy after a blow to his head left his blonde hair caked and matted with blood that oozed out slowly.

“And I love you man,” Reid added quickly.

“Tell her that, fucker.”

Reid smirks, licks his lips before he adds easily, “She knows.” 

He heard the smile on her face as she answered him, “I know.”

Vibrant flashes of green spells started flying.

{*}

Wand clenched tight, she blocked out the screams as she had learned to do in the cells, concentrated on looking around but she knew that she didn’t have to look for long. Almost as if he read her mind, Rhys was in front of her as she turned around. Expecting it, Nadia pulled her fist back and aimed it at his face, bringing her knee up in a quick motion. He took her hand and twisted it painfully, but he wasn’t able to dodge her knee. He groaned painfully and dropped to his knees. A backhanded hit across his mouth sprayed blood on her face, but that didn’t stop her; neither did his disgusting hands reaching for her throat.

 She tilted her mouth at the last moment and bit down on his fingers as hard as she could, and as he screamed she felt a balloon inflate in her chest. He pulled his hand back with a crack and came away with a fewer fingers than he had started out with. Spitting out the severed digit, Nadia’s eyes watered as she aimed a hex that he had used on her before, felt the same balloon expand with his angry growl. “How does it feel, fucker, huh?! How does it-” his leg came out quickly to sweep under her own, and she fell with a crash on the ground, hands stopping her fall. She gasped as he grabbed a handful of hair and then brought her head against the cobblestones hard, making Nadia’s vision erupt in a sudden white flash as she kicked out, feeling her foot make contact. As he yanked her hair again to flip her onto her back, she grabbed the knife hidden in her boots and brought it with a yell to his neck as his hand finally found her throat. Struggling for breath, the balloon suddenly popped as air rushed back into her lungs. Before she was able to sit up properly she felt a hands grab her shoulders and move her quickly into one of the alleyways, the whole thing a blur to her.

 When she opened her eyes again it was to blink at a set of deep blue eyes underneath furrowed eyebrows and a mouth painted as red as hers must have been, the hands holding her against a wall tightly, the grip hurting her a little. He lifted a finger to his lips and shushed before the bloodied mouth curled upwards in a forced smirk. Delirious, she felt a sudden wave of familiarity and asked, “D’Grey?”

 

 “One of them anyways.”

 


	58. Daddy's Little Primadonna Girl

 

 

## TERROR IN ENGLISH HAMLET OF HOGSMEADE - 7 Dead, 23 Injured

 

Stefanie saw the headline on her balcony, the paper clenched between suddenly white knuckles. Apparently idly scrolling through contacts - past Tony, past Hans - while her eyes scanned the sepia-toned article, her phone rests on her knee. Her tea cup rests in pieces on the ground. What would she ask? Were you there? Are you hurt? Did you hurt someone? Did you bite a child? Did you take Irene?  
  
She stares at Ansel's name for five minutes, then turns her phone off.

 

 

{*}

Lynn hates the Ministry. Not the people at it, obviously -- but the building and the institution's dumb rules, and it was all right because at least 85% of what she hated Dad hated too. So only one in five times did he not agree with her. (Wait, was that 80%? Okay, Lynn also hates fractions).  
  
Unfortunately this was probably one of those one in five times he'd agree entirely. Actually it was probably his call, to literally have the agents frog march her into his office while he was off actually getting information. It took them bloody two hours to tell her that Irene and Reid were both in the hospital and another fifteen minutes to add they'd "likely be okay." It was probably this reason that she burst into a rant about being told pertinent information in a timely manner.  
  
The paper the next day given to her by Dad before it was actually released didn't cut it.  
  
(But she appreciates his joke.)

 

 

{*}

Alcott got the morning paper when arrives hand-delivered by his mother. Stalking down the hospital hall in her ridiculously tall heels, saying she knew he didn't have a subscription in that way mother's tell you to eat your vegetables.  
  
He wasn't going to read it simply as he was spending half his energy trying to plan what to tell Reid. (He'd seen him when he came in...and he recognized that bite). His mother looks at him staring and says simply, "turn to page two." Like he didn't know what this was going to say? It wouldn't tell him when Irene would wake. It wouldn't tell him who specifically attacked or where they were now or why. All night in the hospital and he still didn't know the answer to the first one -- he'd be in the room, but Dillon had asked for a moment alone. Those were the only real questions he has.  
  
Well, at least: they were the only questions be had until Ma's eyebrows make that point and he turns to page two. Triumphant, she gets up to visit Zoe, and mutters she'd pick up coffee for Max too (no way he'd left her side).

When he sees page two, he's glad he looked. Buried in the article was the "curious" fact that "recently escaped Gala-suspect Rachelle DeLamarliere was not spotted at the scene," which evidently was heightening some activists protests that she was "arrested without proof, is in fact no Death Eater, and had been a victim of mindless werewolf prejudice." Al suspects the last was a quote supplied by his mother.  
  
(And he smiles.)

 

 

{*}

The paper was rolled in a sharp beak that actually poked at Daniella for balling it up and playing (ahem-winning) rubbish bin basketball without reading it. Even though she paid! Why would she have to read the article, when she had been there herself? She only saw it because she got up to get her and Tony coffee. He was -- well he HAD been still asleep, damn that laundry buzzer was loud. Scampering from the marble island she sat on to the washer, she calls back to him, harried, "Desolé, cheri!," and then rolls her eyes. Hey, at least she'd gotten the bloodstains out.  
  
Tony had called her fuh-reek for approaching when she found him. Yelled to stay back with abrupt aggression, then pleaded with her instead. Circling two fallen bodies with blood still dripping from his mouth and eyes wild -- he'd looked like a vulture. Daniella ignored him after a breath, pulled his wrist into her hand, seized and side-apparated them both while he was still pleading, for she knew she stood no chance against the aggression. Just as she knew she wouldn't let him actually kill them.  
  
Releasing him at once and replacing a bottle of Jack in his hand, Daniella had to admit: she'd never seen a man drink a whole bottle in one go like that. It was impressive. Her voice was light as she told him so, and his eyebrows wiggled as she told him to take his clothes off but otherwise, he seemed a bit afraid to open his mouth until he was changed, she'd helped scrub the blood off his cheeks, and cloth and garments both had left the room. The drink did the trick: he was out like a light soon after. Daniella on the other hand, spent the night on Olivier's couch again, wrapped in a throw blanket and one of his sweaters for comfort, rereading Dracula. (Sue her).  
  
He probably would call her freak now too when she hands him the shirt she was ironing (like she was letting Varvatos go to waste like that). Daniella didn't care, just as she'd only smiled and nodded at his soft 'grazie' as she closed the door. She couldn't sleep anyways: just in case withdrawal struck and he awoke. It wasn't fear, at least, not for herself. She was quite comfortable. Sure, he might awake blood-crazy and attack--but  he also might awaken in cold-sweats, shakes and fevers-and she was more worried for his sake, more pained for hoping he not have to deal with that. So she stays up, cleans the clothes, gets them coffee and gets rid of the newspaper that might have reminded him -- fuh-reek or not.  
  
(He wasn't the first addict Dani spent a night with).  

 

**{*}**

Alisha’s steps echoed off the linoleum floors in the white hallway, but they never reached her ears. The hospital staff moved around her at quick speeds, hauling people into rooms on gurneys and beds. The bruised and battered had been pouring in at an increasing speed from the attack, leaving for a messy and crowded emergency room for the past few hours. Some, the Healers were able to help in time, and others didn’t make it. Luckily for her, all her friends were in the former category. Trent, Justin, and she had walked away with injuries no greater than a concussion, burns, a few deep cuts, but nothing worse. Irene had been skimmed by a nasty curse that if it would have hit her directly, would have systematically shut down every one of her organs. As of this moment, it was only her liver at risk, but the Healers were keeping that in check with some potions until they could find a counter-curse. Irene was supposed to take them every half an hour, because the decaying rate or-  
  
Bloody hell, Alisha had no clue. She had never been good at any kind of magic that wasn’t offensive or defensive combat, and healing was definitely neither of those. All that Alisha knew, all that was important to her was that her best friend, as long as she kept taking those potions and didn’t try to stand like they’d instructed her to do, would be safe.  
  
But Reid…  
  
That’s who she was going to see. The Healers fixed up his wounds but there was nothing they could do about a werewolf bite. There was no cure.  
  
Alisha was used to having many thoughts at the same time. She was a creature of whimsy and spontaneity and she could never sit still. And her despite her hyperactive nature, she was finding herself overwhelmed with all the thoughts that were going through her head. What would Reid’s parents think about this? His father was a Muggleborn wizard, but his mother and his little siblings they were all muggles. Would Hogwarts allow him back in? The Healers were required to report this to the school and to the Ministry. This would change Reid’s entire life. Who would hire him now when the prejudice about werewolves was still so high, when it was only getting worse thanks to the werewolf attacks at Hogwarts and the Charity Gala?  
  
How was he supposed to spend the rest of his life like this? Alisha was scared for him, not -of- him and never of him.  
  
With a heavy heart that threatened to cause an eruption from within her chest and paint the eerie white walls with the angry scarlet color of her rage, she lifted a hand and opened the door to his room. Alisha had taken stairs, or maybe the elevator, to reach the floor where he was being held, and had not noticed her ascend. Her feet just knew where to go, and her hand was reaching out for her boyfriend as soon as she had reached his bedside.  
  
Reid had always been a deep sleeper. She used to joke that even an earthquake caused by his snores wouldn’t be able to wake him up, and Reid had told her that he was sure to ‘stir’ under her hands. She had blushed redder than a tomato that day and now the thought only threatened a smirk for a moment before surprise colored her cheeks instead. A simple touch to the back of his hand had him opening his eyes and looking at her.  
  
“Let me guess,” he began lazily as he started to sit up. Alisha tried to push him back down but failed. He was already leaning up and continuing. “You’re here to hand in your letter of resignation.”  
  
That was able to shock Alisha into forgetting about pushing him back down, and forgetting about being gentle. With a mouth open in a gaping ‘o’, she gasped out whatever little air remained in her lungs as she looked back into his eyes and lurched forward to whack him. Her hands closed into fists and her teeth clenched together as she brought them down on his chest and arms in the sudden anger and desperation that had been bubbling up since the end of the attack when she had to run to Reid’s side after sending yet another werewolf yowling; when she had to place her hands over Reid’s stomach to keep his guts in while Justin tried to fix him up; when everything around her burned to ash and ruins; when she wasn’t sure Reid would make it.  
  
Hot tears pricked at her eyes as she kept hitting him. “You. Insensitive. Moronic. Boorish. Stupid. Idiotic. Brain-dead. Jackass!” She yelled at him as her tears fell on her cheeks and on his arms, huffing as Reid caught hold of her wrists with ease to stop her through a wince, and managed to keep smirking.  
  
“Hi again baby,” he murmured, using her wrists to pull him towards her. Alisha noticed that her huffs had turned into sobs and quickly tried to compose herself. Wiping at her eyes in surprise and then shame, she shook her head.  
  
“Oh God, Reid, I didn’t mean that-“  
  
“I just had to get that look off your face,” he explained, causing Alisha to pause and pull away to look at him better. Her eyes narrowed.  
  
“Never mind, I mean it. _Letter of resignation?!_ ,” she repeated incredulously, “From what? Being your girlfriend?! Do you honestly think that little of me, that I would come into your hospital room, after I saw you almost die, to break up with you just because you’re a…you’re a,” her words lost their edge and their certainty the more she continued on with that sentence until she was stuck in a mumble.  
  
Reid swallowed, and nodded, before instead saying, “I’m alive, Alisha.” Alisha nodded her head energetically, leaning back into him and then deciding to fuck it, before getting on the small hospital bed with him. She didn’t take up too much space to begin with.  
  
Careful not to irritate the bandages she had only to cover up some soothing ointments, and to avoid the side where he had been bitten (ravaged was the more accurate term), Alisha sat with him, half on his lap. She felt him breathe easier, and was glad to know her physical presence was still working, because it was all she could offer.  
  
“The others?”  
  
“All healed up,” she answered after a few moments of undisturbed silence. “Nadia didn’t even have to get hospitalized. And apparently she bit someone’s finger off.”  
  
Reid laughed and then immediately winced, hiding a groan from her unsuccessfully. Alisha only nuzzled in closer as he remarked something about the wrath of Spanish women. She filled him on the health status of the rest of them, and promised to find a way to let him visit Irene, making him smile when she revealed that Irene had made the same request of her.  
  
“Isha?” He asked again in a voice too soft for her to be familiar with.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
She saw the apple in his throat bob up and down as he swallowed before he finally admitted something she was even less familiar with. “I’m scared.”  
  
Alisha wrapped her arms around him, kissing his shoulder before leaning her head against it.  
  
“I’ve got you, baby,” she promised her hunk of a boyfriend; her boyfriend the insensitive, moronic, ass (summarized) who before today could bench-press twice her weight without a breaking a sweat, and now who knew what would happen; a guy who was always too stubborn to admit needing help or being afraid; the man she loved who had tears in his eyes as he thought of the horror that awaited him.  
  
But she wouldn’t let him go through it alone.  
  
“I’ve got you.”

 

{*}

**Eliza:**  “How about this?” She holds her hands up, strutting into her kitchen and spinning around.

 ** **Olivier:****  Surveying up and down, with his hand tapping somewhat irritably (he was jittery for a reason he didn’t really want to think about) against her counter top, his brows furrow. “I’m beginning to understand the comment on being for sale.”

 **Eliza:** “Perfect.” Her hand lays on her hip.

 ** **Olivier:**  **Quietly chuckling, his nose wrinkles with a snort of bitter appreciation, and then he extends the cup of coffee, “Eliza.”

 **Eliza:**  “No, no, cheri. Or rather,” she claps her hands together,” nop-uh. No sympathy. Oh, what a chore it is to go out and be oogled at and dance with your drop-dead, ha! aren’t I clever, Italian, sexy-ass brother.”

 ** **Olivier:**  **…His eyebrow arches, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips. Sure. She was leaving out the part where she and his brother were live bait, but if she truly had peace with it, he wouldn’t take that from her. After a sip, he says, “…well, that’s one description, yes.”

 **Eliza** : “He’d be proud.” Of that she was certain.

 ** **Olivier:****  His head tilts in agreement. Then he can’t help, “Oogled?”

 **Eliza:**  “You know.” She promptly looks down him slowly in exaggeration and amusement, before popping up and repeating, “Oogled.”

 ** **Olivier:****  His eyebrows vanish into his hairline before he finds himself laughing through an honest smirk. “Well, Tony will enjoy that, yes.”

 **Eliza:** “You just enjoyed it too, don’t lie to me.” With a wink, she takes a sip of the coffee. “This is really good, by the way.” Setting the mug against her heart, she cocks her head. There’s a knowing smile on her lips as she adds, “Daniella teach you?” 

 ** **Olivier:****  Do I look that incapable of making my own coffee?

 **Eliza** : Giggling, and settling down against the counter, she draws out the word, “Weeeelllll….”

 **Olivier** : Relenting with sheepish amusement, “All right yes, she helped teach me how to add the chocolate. But I’ll have you know,” He points at his chest, “I’m an excellent chef. Italian roots demand it.” 

 **Eliza:** After taking another sip, her smile widens honestly with recognition and empathy. “I used to say that about fashion. Why it was I shopped so often - because of my French roots. And why I’m such a romantic.”

 ** **Olivier:****  Curiously, lifting his chin, “So you actually are french?” Culpeper was an English pureblood name after all and, well sure Simmons was fairly common but…

 **Eliza:** “My dad is.” She pauses, the moment that she said it, remember what it was she had just learned from Chantel about his own father and then exhales. After casting a glance behind her to the veranda, she gestures with her cup, silently. She knew with Olivier there, the amount of different ward-shifts was more than enough to make her safe to talk but it still felt better…to be outside.

 ** **Olivier:****  Brow answering her silent offer with his usual flair, he nods as frankly, he had been expecting it. All the questions on ‘so vampire for a father?’, ‘you were offered blood?’, ‘he’s dead?’…Olivier wasn’t ever used to the questions but, he wasn’t going to deny she had a right to certain information. Following her out, she manages to surprise him after all. 

 **Eliza:**  “Do you mind,” she leans against the little column, and looks at the Eiffel Tower before she looks back, “…if I ask about your mother?” 

 ** **Olivier:**  **Taken aback, he lifts his chin as he surveys her with a suddenly scratchy, dry throat. If anything, what surprises him the most was the look in her eye when she asked with soft words and gentle breath. Olivier was a man who was only too used to using sympathy (genuine or not), but this…this was something deeper. Inhaling, his eyes search hers, the blue suddenly striking from the sunlight and thumb caressing the corners of his mug as if it was a woman. It wasn’t sympathy or pity. It was…understanding. 

 **Eliza:**  Quiet, with a small smirk, “You thought I was going to ask about your father, didn’t I?”

 **Olivier** : At that, his own small smirk appears, and he nods, fingers ceasing their motion around the ceramic at once. His shoulder shrugs.

 **Eliza** : Of course he would think that. But to be frank, Eliza thinks, she didn’t think she cared to hear more about this Remington D’Grey vampire-and-murderer that somehow had two kids even though that wasn’t .. possible, and who was oh, also very dead. She was sorry for him for losing his father, of course. She didn’t think she could take any active defense. Olivier’s mother, on the other hand, that she could do more than distantly sympathize with. A small smile floats across her lips, “Well, you’ve got to be tired of talking about him.”

 ** **Olivier:****  He chuckles, “Ah, well. I’d be lying, Eliza, if I said that wasn’t true — but then I’d also be lying if…well, I could tell you a lot more about my father than I can…” His throat goes dry again. 

 **Eliza** : After giving him a moment, she waits - and then he nods at her once. It was a silent allowance on his part but, for Eliza and her mind, it was a bright flashing green light, go team go waving flag. “It’s just - well, no one’s talked about your mother at all and well, I thought, maybe, if —”

 **Olivier** : Immediately, “She isn’t dead, Eliza. I simply never knew her.” 

 **Eliza:**  See. She knew it. Merci, of course she knew it, she recognized the look on his face from one she’d worn in the mirror god…way too often. She inhales, about to say she knew what that was when abruptly, she paused.

 ** **Olivier:****  Seeing her face shift, he suddenly chuckles, and guesses, “Tony.” 

 **Eliza:**  She nods. “I thought he was younger.” 

 ** **Olivier:****  “He is,” with an exhale, but only says quite candidly and blunt to chase away that look of confusion on her face, “by eleven months. My father didn’t know she was pregnant with him. 

 **Eliza:**  She let’s out a breathless, “ah” and takes another sip of the coffee. Her eyes were round, focused on him. 

 **Olivier** : “So, I guess I am lying,” he laughs, slapping at his thigh, “knew her for about five, maybe even all the way to six months, not entirely sure when she suspected she was pregnant and ran— well.” He laughs again, though this one doesn’t meet his eyes anymore than he meets hers. “I don’t know anything, of course.” Okay, he had to take a breath. The smarmy look in his eyebrows and lips wasn’t calming jitters at all, anymore than the coffee (and his was Irish).

 **Eliza:**  After giving him a moment, she only says, “I didn’t know anything either.”

 ** **Olivier:****  He blinks at her.

 **Eliza:**  “Oh, not Mum, she raised me — my father, I mean.”

 ** **Olivier:**  **Now he gets her empathy. It was genuine, as fully meant to help him as it was yearning for another connection of her own, and his smirk softens, deciding for a moment just to listen. That seemed to be steadying his heart. 

 **Eliza:**  “See,” she chuckles the same way he had and leans against the railing, “he’s…muggleborn.”

 ** **Olivier:****  He nods through saying pointedly, “Simmons.”

 **Eliza:** “Right,” with another bare chuckle, “exactly, Simmons, not Culpeper. Though gotta say.” She sets the coffee down on the railing and grips it herself, eyes flickering over Olivier’s shoulder to the Eiffel again, “Never have I appreciated having that name more than right now.”

 ** **Olivier:****  He smirks. That, oh, that he knows in his heart, that he understands completely. She guessed, too, as she says,

 **Eliza:**  “Well, you must get that, you introduced yourself as D’Grey—didn’t know your first name until…”

 **Olivier** : “Hey.” He chuckles. That was half because he didn’t want her to have to remember what she was about to. “You should feel special, most still don’t know what it is.” 

 **Eliza:**  “Can count on one hand, huh?” She chuckles just once and then rubs at her forehead, leaning back against the railing until the white-painted wood digs into her back. “Anyway. He was muggleborn. Grew up being told he just didn’t want me but…”

 ** **Olivier:**  **His eyes cloud and he frowns, grateful she’s still looking away from him at that.

 **Eliza:**  “..well, I both believed it and…didn’t want to. Why wouldn’t he want to..know me?” She clears her throat. “Turns out,” she looks back at him, surprised to realize that Olivier is a statue again, even his mug frozen in hand,” …he fought to stay with me, but, Mum convinced him to leave. She was going to be disowned, he didn’t have a job, guess they didn’t want me to…”

 **Olivier** : Abruptly, “They wanted to give you your best chance.” 

 **Eliza:** She snorts under her breath, gaze flickering down to her shoes. “Yeah, that’s worked well, hasn’t it?” 

 ** **Olivier:**  **To that, he can’t think of anything to say. The jitters were coming back too; the itching in his throat, the scattered breath and jerking, unreliable heartbeat.

 **Eliza:** She looks up again slowly, realizing something was going on and took a slow step forward, “Oli?” 

 ** **Olivier:**  **He grits his back teeth and shakes his head, pushing her arm away as she reaches for him. “Don’t, it’s fine.” 

 **Eliza:**  She had a guess. Instead she just stops walking, nods to show she gets it, and asks as abruptly as his statement had been, “So Tony didn’t grow up with you?”

 ** **Olivier:****  His face tightened at the question and he exhales, taking a few steps forward now to lean against the column she had previously occupied, a hand slipping into his back pocket. “He did…and didn’t.” 

 **Eliza:** She seems to guess that he’s not honestly looking for comment. More…looking for a way to explain whatever it was that had him hunching into marble, avoiding her gaze. When he meets it again, after she thinks half a dozen birds have passed by and struck their invisible barrier, she only nods at him encouragingly.

 ** **Olivier:****  “My — our, nonna, she stayed in touch with our mother. Well, more…knew where they were, because she helped them get away.”

 **Eliza:** With obvious surprise, “You have a grandmother? So is she..”

 ** **Olivier:****  Chuckling once, he shakes his head as he realizes, “Oh — no, no, she’s..well, technically our great grandniece.” 

 **Eliza** : “…Ah.”

 ** **Olivier:**  **The corner of his lips twitch, but he continues anyway, “And as the only living connection for our father to his dear sister…at least, I presume that’s what it was, see, turns out I didn’t know my father as well as I thought,” he takes a sip, wishing it was stronger, he could barely taste the alcohol, he finishes, “She could…well, not boss him around but..”

 **Eliza:**  *Demand things.”

 ** **Olivier:**  **“In Italian. It’s quite the sight really.”

 **Eliza:**  The look he had on was one of fond nostalgia, so she decides not to point out that it wasn’t technically a sight that could happen again — Olivier had enough pain over this, she thinks. Well, and why wouldn’t he, if he saw it happen? So instead, she just said, “I’d love to meet this woman.” 

 ** **Olivier:**  **Surprised, he turns his head back to her, eyebrows arching. His smile stays soft, “Yeah?”

 **Eliza:**  She nods, smile mirroring his. 

 ** **Olivier:**  **Toasting her with the mug, he takes another sip and sets it down again, hand still rummaging in his back pocket, around his wallet as if searching for something in it. Then continues, “As you wish, Eliza.”

 **Eliza:** Brightening, “You watched Princess Bride too? I have to say, Tony has the best knowledge of movies just —”

 ** **Olivier:**  **Breaking into laughter, he nods, shrugging. “It’s cause of Netflix. We used to go watch it in the public library. Well,” he smirks, “until we were…unceremoniously thrown out for repeatedly being too loud. He was, obviously,” he lays his hand over his heart, “But then my brother always could get me to do most anything.” 

 **Eliza:**  You, had a Netflix account?

 ** **Olivier:****  “He did, for a while.” He shrugs a shoulder, running his hand around the rim of the glass and realizing, slowly, “I don’t actually know why it stopped working…probably Dad.” Olivier’s eyes cloud over again and then he looks back to Eliza saying softer, “Right, I was telling you—”

 **Eliza:** When he trails off, she decides to provide, “How you guys started living together.”

 ** **Olivier:****  He nods, and his lips quirk up, happy she put it that way. Even if it was laughably pathetic of him that he couldn’t seem to get the words out. He supposes it’s because he’s not used to talking about it — Tony knew everything already, as did Hans, even Daniella now was told the gist, and from his brother himself. “Nonna, she would have me come visit her for the summer holidays and Christmas — well, not Christmas day, rather, the Epiphany.”

 **Eliza:**  “The…epiphany?”

 ** **Olivier:**  **He chuckles. “Day the three wisemen actually made it to baby Jesus, twelve days after he was born. Well,” he clucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth with obvious amusement for the story, “so it goes.”

 **Eliza:** She blinks.

 ** **Olivier:**  **Waving that off, “Tony’d visit her too, during those times…well, he visited her a lot more regularly than that, usually she’d hide him and our mother both whenever I came as, naturally,” his smirk twists, “Dad dropped me off.”

 **Eliza:**  A sharp little exhale leaves her nose as she presses her lips together tightly, and nods at him.

 **Olivier** : “Eventually — I was six, he was five — one summer, she just…decided it was time to introduce us. Told us who we were, told us not to tell anyone about the other — which,” he slaps his thigh again, “I didn’t, for…a few years.”

 **Eliz** a: She takes a step closer to him, face crumpling with sympathy now as she thought she might know what was coming, but she didn’t voice a word. 

 ** **Olivier:****  Following her steps with his eyes, he kept talking almost under compulsion to do so now, “After a few…he was nine, well actually, we both were.” Lifting the back of his hand to his lips, he rubs hard over it, “It was January, week I’d gotten home…first letter from him. So I hadn’t yet turned ten, few days until then.” He’s not looking at her now - not really looking at anything, “I don’t really..know why. See I’d always been…so careful, so careful to hide his letters and just…this one I just left on the desk.” 

 **Eliza:**  She bites down on her bottom lip, but has a look that says she understands again and he doesn’t really know what to do with that so, he just keeps talking. 

 ** **Olivier:****  Evidently, after all, he and his brother did share a few traits. (Maybe he had put more alcohol in this coffee than he thought, but with Chantel showing up…) He clears his throat, “Dad found it. Asked me who it was I was writing too..could have told him anything, but uh, he was a bit of a human lie detector, so…” That was an excuse and he knew it. Lips twisting further, “Never really seen Dad look..like that before either, when he learned he had another son just…” 

He whistles, looking down as he mutters more to himself than to her, though he knew Eliza was listening to every word. “Not sure I ever told him either — well, Tony wouldn’t believe it, especially now. Aha. Especially,” his voice is thick with resentment and guilt as he laughs again, rubbing his lips and perking his chin with his index finger, “now.”

 **Eliza:** She speaks soft, “What did he look like?”

 ** **Olivier:**  **He had to take a minute to think how to describe it as after all…Remington D’Grey was not an emotional man by design, and she’d never met him. At least, on the surface, and no one really believed him save a few like Chantel now when he pointed out he’d been different internally. 

Then he flicks his gaze back to her, “Happy.”

 **Eliza:**  Taken aback, certain he’d been about to say cold, or detached, or most likely: angry, she just blinks.

 ** **Olivier:****  Ah, see, now he’s managed to surprise her too. And he’d wound up talking about his father and brother after all - how did that happen? She wanted to know about his mother. The thing was, he didn’t know what he could say there - he was getting to it, yes, but honestly, how did he talk extensively about someone he’d never met who’d forsaken them both? Why was she still such a topic of fascination to him after all this goddamn time? 

He tilts his head, looking back to Eliza and just keeps his smile sad, soft, “Oh…he was angry too, but Dad didn’t…he didn’t really get angry, or upset. He just…got, even.” 

 **Eliza:** There was a sudden chill in a tone that had been so warm, and it snakes a shiver up her spine slowly, like a snake that decided to slither threw each individual vertebrae. 

 **Olivier** : He looks away, seeing her fear, and licks the top of his mouth as he continues, “So he…fetched Tonio personally. He was at school. Got away. Kicked one of the guards I think, I don’t know - ran, got home….but. All he found was a letter from our mother, her things were all gone.” 

 **Eliza:** She waits a long moment as Olivier just looks at her, and she realizes his voice was deadpan just so his face didn’t have to be. Lifting her hand again, this time he didn’t push it away, so she settles it on his forearm and squeezes.

 ** **Olivier:****  He follows his gaze down to her arm and just stares. For a moment that extends as another bird smacks into the invisible barrier and causes them both to giggle, he just stays still. Then he chuckles, shaking his arm as if he couldn’t decide between tossing her off and pulling her closer. 

“So, there you go. That’s why I can’t really tell you anything about my mother. You could ask Tony, but,” Olivier shrugs, “don’t know how much he knows either. 

 **Eliza:** She snorts at the first remark and then finds her brows furrowing, asking in confusion, “You’ve never asked him?” 

 ** **Olivier:****  He shakes his head very slowly, lips still strained in a smirk. “Nope. Not that I can recall. I think I did once, when he first came, because … well that must be why I know she was, might still be, a nurse?  But,” he shrugs and now he does shake her hand off, “that’s all I got. Least until recently.”

 **Eliza:**  Her eyebrow pops up, “What happened recently?”

 ** **Olivier:****  “Well. I..know my brother.” He hopes that sounds off hand, hopes it sounds like it was just Tony, “I knew he’d have looked for her after he left home…both times. With uh. *He looks down, fingering at his own ring now and mutters under his breath,” with Dad gone, I figured it was — safe, *ruefully, and his gaze flicks back to Eliza’s,* to ask if he ever found her. 

 **Eliza:**  Oh, Olivier wanted to find her too. She knew, and not just from his expression (which read more puppy-dog than even Hans looks at times), but because she knew no matter what she’d said at times, she had always wanted to find her father too. There was some part of this story she was missing, she realized, the way he said “safe” and the bitterness in his laugh at the idea of his father ever being happy about Tony’s existence — but, she didn’t want to know yet. Instead she rubs over her chest and says softly, “It’s all right you know. If you wanted to — want, to, look. I found my Dad last summer. 

 ** **Olivier:****  His gaze flickers between her eyes and he stills.

 **Eliza:** Under her breath, “At first it was worse. Worse, because…it meant he was actually always alive and well and just…hadn’t come after me.” She bites her tongue, then says — quite candid! —, “I guess that’s why of all the people I’ve thought about reuniting with, or watching reunite for that matter, Harper and Lyndsi — I want a camera.” She smirks, but it fades off as she says quietly, “I haven’t really pictured seeing him again. I mean it’s ironic, isn’t it? Sixteen years I wondered if he was dead, alive…all there was about him to know and then I get…six months, of a chance, and…now he thinks I’m dead. Life has a bloody sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

 ** **Olivier:****  He snorts out in a chuckle that pushes his tongue between his teeth.

 **Eliza:** “Oh, right.” Sheepish, watching his expression and taking another step forward, “bloody. Sorry. Probably should find a new adjective.”

 ** **Olivier:****  Amused that that was her interjection, he shrugs a shoulder and smirks, still turning over what she’d said. After a long moment he finally says, “Yes. He did find her. Once. She’s uh,” he laughs, and this time it was honest, “married, actually. With,” he pops up a faked peace sign, “two more kids.” 

 **Eliza:**  Her eyes widen, but her smile goes wider. “So you have two— are they boys or—”

 **Olivier** : “Sisters, yeah. Well, half sisters.” That was funny; most things in his life seemed to be done in halves, didn’t they? Half human, half vampire; half Italian, half french; half pureblood finery, half addiction to Netflix. He shrugs a shoulder. “Doesn’t really matter, I mean with all … this going on..”

 **Eliza:** “I get it.” She says it softly, though she can hear the want and ache in his voice. Once again, she won’t comment on it. Instead she says with a flick of her hair, “What’s her name?” 

 ** **Olivier:****  His brows do their furrowing thing again.

 **Eliza:** “You’re brows are doing that brooding thing again.”

 ** **Olivier:****  And now as he cocks sassy instead on purpose, shaking his head and saying pointedly, “Belle.” 

 **Eliza:**  “As in —” 

 ** **Olivier:****  “If you think Tony hasn’t made the joke about Beauty and the Beast at least half a dozen times—” 

 **Eliza:**  “Damn!” She snaps her fingers. “Why must he be so quick on the uptake? When he’s not even here? That’s quite a talent.” 

 ** **Olivier:****  “Well,” his head cocks, arms now folding across his chest as he says simply, “he did have about twenty-three years longer to come up with it than you did so really, maybe not so quick—”

 **Eliza:** “Oh, now you’re being ruuuude.” She giggles, happier and leans back. 

 ** **Olivier:**  **“Why’d you ask for her name?” After a moment of silence.

 **Eliza:**  She shrugs. “I pretty much kept my Dad’s name as a talisman: Claude.  I practically had it branded across my chest. He probably wouldn’t have liked that thought. Little girl, and what not. Or oh wait, that’s what he’s supposed to do. Reality is as ever, much more twisted.” 

 ** **Olivier:****  The moment she said the name it triggers something in his memory and by the time she ended the sentence, he was certain. “Claude…Simmons?”

 **Eliza:**  Her brows and mouth flicker tighter before she nods softly, “Yeah.” There was something in his gaze that made her stall, all sureness gone for her hesitantly, syllable-heavy words as she continues, “…why, sound familiar?” 

 ** **Olivier:**  **Oh, heavens. He forces his brows to unfurrow and thinks, he should talk to Tony first — judging by the look on her face, anyway. Claude Simmons. His brother’s old sponsor, he’d bet money, because there were no coincidences in this damn game anymore, and hadn’t been his whole life. 

Actually, as he looked back up, all he finds he really wants to tell Eliza (but he had to be sure, he had to be right), is that if it was the same person, then…Claude was a good guy. Not his own favorite person (the man was judgmental about vampires but well, not without good reason), but a good guy nonetheless. Anyone who looked out for his brother tended to score well for him. And it sounds like Eliza’s hurting more over this (or did he know that because of how he thought about Belle?). 

There was too much suspicion in her gaze. So he chuckles, shakes his head and said quickly, “You were talking about talismans?” Eliza nods. After a few moments, Olivier has his jacket off, the linen sleeve unbuttoned, pushed up, and he tilts so she could see the rose tattoo that blooms across his shoulder and just barely down his back. 

He smirks, and Eliza smiles at him encouragingly, deciding not to say anything else on that matter. As he pulls the shirtsleeve back down, he hears himself ask, “You uh — you know that if you aren’t comfortable with tonight, we can find another way to —” 

 **Eliza:**  Abruptly, “I’m all right with it, Oli.”

 ** **Olivier:****  The quick answer and quick intake of breath gave her away, but so did her straightening back. All right? Ha, none of them were all right. But broken and defeated? None of them were that either. He tilts his head and then says softly, “I know you can handle it, Eliza. It’s just…you don’t have to pretend with me.”

 **Eliza:**  That line sticks any response she might have had in her throat, and she brightens in a softer smile, reaching to pull him into a tight hug too. 

{*}

Can you believe this life? That's the question Alcott wants to ask. He rests outside a hospital room as if his mother isn't in the process of suing it. He rests as if he hadn't relied on Dev's dad to get him through the door, in a way he could not -- could never again -- rely on his own, some part of him whispers. Hand jerking over his face, he cleans sweat and knows some part of him wishes it was blood.  
  
He meant to go in. He really did. Reid was a werewolf now -- this boy he barely knew beyond an encounter with Dev that was less than favorable and Rene. That less-than-favorable incident though -- Reid had a big mouth. Al could appreciate that. And he was a werewolf, against his will. Hey. At least he was bitten defending someone he cared about.   
  
(Unlike say, being drunk off your ass, stoned, and stupidly, stupidly nostalgic.)   
  
So he wants to go in, and he would go in. But Alisha was in there, and well, he was a little too busy laughing to himself over a letter of resignation. That was good, yeah, that was truly funny. Maybe he could help this guy. There's this twist in his stomach at the thought. If he helped him, he knew it was step one to stepping himself up as alpha. An alpha, like he told Hans he liked the sound of. Yeah, in the abstract. He knew he had a dominant streak, it just...well it just came more frequently from wanting to tell everyone to fuck off. You can't lead by deciding not to care about the world.   
  
(He cares.)  
  
See the thing about it is that Alcott didn't really want to be a leader. Leaders had people they were responsible for. He didn't want that. And besides, if he was the one that had to make the decisions, he generally made the wrong one. He usually decided to fuck the world like that was his right. It was more fun that way, and he didn't owe the world dick.   
  
Why should he dictate anyone's life for them, anyway? It should be about them having freedom anyway, and he means that. Freedom to do what they want, not what they're told, but what is he supposed to do?   
  
(Eliza, tell me.)  
  
Stand there and let someone he might be able to help suffer? There were other wolves out there, Eliza - Alcott aches - other wolves that could use that silver potion...if only Hans told the truth. He's like me, he understands... So he's supposed to now, what, leave Reid open to seduction, let people be in danger from an unchecked wolf, and hope he wasn't blindly ignorant (like Al had been)?  
  
Fine, he could tell Reid that he knew how to make Wolfsbane. Tricky little bugger of a potion, but it wasn't that hard to get (when your life depended on it). And yeah he could tell him he could get him chains and the sedative, right that too, he could be there when he turned and tell him -- fuck he didn't know what to tell him. Bullshit answers weren't going to help - he knew that better than most - and as he'd been through it once, he knew more than anything what helped him was knowing he didn't have to do it alone.   
  
And there it was: "I got you," whispered as clearly as if she'd licked it into his ear instead and Alcott deliberately turned from the door to walk further away, tried to drown his hearing on heart monitors and babies crying. I got you. A small inkling of how much Alisha cared and Alcott finds himself praying - something he -never- does - that Alisha wasn't lying. Because otherwise, he just wasn't sure how anyone could survive this transformation.  
  
(Hols hadn't lied.)   
  
He started to take a sip from the flask in his jacket. Fuck being in the hospital. A nurse had passed by, but no one saw it. The movement was smooth and short, and hey, look at him. Any pretty young acolyte looking his way wasn't looking what he was holding. The silver rim was on his lips. Sometimes alcohol could help, just like fire cauterizes wounds and staunches blood flow. Maybe that was why a wolf's body was so hot. This world, man, irony and shit -- he tells himself that about to swig his personal Advil. The words match the alcohol for him --  it's an anesthetic.   
  
Life wasn't really screwing him over though, he thinks, was it? The mouth of the silver hits his lips, but he doesn't swallow. If he wanted to screw it back, he just screwed himself in the long run. He -was- in control, he -was- dominant, and well that meant it wasn't some divinity fucking him. And ow, was that painful - he could suddenly really tell where it hurt, how much, and he wasn't sure why that helped him (why that pain did him a lot of good), but he caps the flask.   
  
He turns back to Reid's room. The acolyte tries to stop him but it doesn't take long to sort. He's Alcott Brackner. He'll wait, he says, but he only waits until he's sure he doesn't hear them snogging or something else he won't want to interrupt -- this really couldn't wait, considering it would hit the registry and press soon. A small smirk is on his lips as ever as he half opens the door. He knocks, brisk.   
  
"Hey, mate. Sorry, don't meant to interrupt. Just -- mind if I come in? I want to talk to you about something."   
  
Something, yeah, right sure. Alcott feels like laughing, so he does, because he can and so he must. It sounded light.  
  


{*}

 ** **Olivier:**** "So," Unbuttoning the sleeves on his shirt and rolling them up as he speaks, he has his gaze pinned on Harper's. "My brother says you have a death wish." 

When he'd started speaking, after knocking on the door and being let in, he was smirking brightly: because he was feeling better, much better, about bloody nearly everything. Things were falling in place; once Ansel had acquired the moon glitter, they'd be set. His hand falls into his back pocket and he shuts the door behind him.* I also hear that I actually should be partaking in uh - a more...red, diet? *Predictably his hand was already out of his pocket again, so he folds his arms on his chest and leans against the desk, smirking up.* Been a few years since I was told that, but, maybe you'll get through to him better than I ever did. 

 **Harper:** "He really does cut to the chase, doesn't he?" The first time Olivier had told Harper he had a brother, he expected another, probably less friendlier version (ha!) of the man but no, instead he had met Antonio. Quick to blunt words, it reminded Harper of when he'd said the opposite about Olivier. That instead of being outright with his knowledge, he picked one detailed to be the starting point, and then started spiraling until it finally reached the center point. Unsure of whether that really was true, Harper could have misread him after all, he instead focused on the present conversation.

With a chuckle at the words he uses to describe what he and Tony talked about before, Harper's lips flicked before he shrugged. "I did. Think of it as a...protein shake, to substitute a meal. I did give him some information written as well."

 **Olivier** : That makes him laugh, honest and full. "Tact never was his strong suit. At least. That's what he wants you to believe." 

He was too well aware of his brother's abilities to wheedle information (out of him) or manipulate a situation with genuine affection -- it was a talent inescapable growing up where they did. Especially when you spent the better part of three years running away, then nearly bested their father's business (and did in a different way, in the end, best the man himself). 

"I saw the folder. And the connect-the-dots drawing." His lips twitch up, but at that thought he tilts his head and tries to keep his tongue between his teeth or else he'd just be childishly sticking his tongue out in distaste. "...Protein shake. Yeah. For the record," His hand came up because he was Italian and goddammit, he was expressive and passionate, "That would be another difference between us. I wouldn't say I'm skittish about this. At least not if the person's willing."

He smirks, but honestly, he was more curious to just see what Harper's reaction would be. If he had to guess, he'd think mostly scientific for the differences in how their methods (not that he'd ever had a conversation with Tony on it for more than ten minutes that didn't end up in an argument). Still, it was ...a blunt way (oh, ha!), to put that he'd drank straight from the vein (...oh, too many times).

 **Harper** : "I thought that might amuse him," he shrugged with a brief smirk before taking his hands out of his pockets and leaning away from the desk. In their first thing meeting, Antonio had expressed a want to get him to laugh, and he never ceased to do so in their second and third meeting as well. The drawing was more of a proof that he had a sense of humor still, than anything else. Maybe now the younger man would ease up on the jokes...or not, maybe they'd only get worse.

"I was wondering," he expressed genuinely, with a nod. Truthfully, he had already made that assumption based on what little he did know about Olivier. "And would you say that your continued drinking of blood has given you more control than if you hadn't?"

 ** **Olivier:** ** "Tickled me, anyway." Oh, and look at him being all coy about that: he wasn't supposed to, of course, allude to the fact that his brother was ticklish. Obviously, Harper was allowed to know Tony's blood-type (O, they both were, which made sense, universal donor and all), height (even weight), that he was a hybrid vampire-human -- but ticklish? Nope. Olivier could hear the extra syllable in his American-accented word even now. 

The question makes him chuckle, nose wrinkling as he thought about it -- as of course he wants to immediately say "yes," just because he was stubborn. "Eventually." He honestly wasn't trying to deflect the question, just...puzzle out something that had been going back and forth in his brain since he was fifteen years old. "I suppose it's a bit hypocritical of me to judge him on what...I likely as not, caused. The uh- moment I discovered the...tendency, lust, ability? Same moment he did, and it..." He licks his bottom lip, "...wasn't pretty." 

 **Harper:** He nodded, making mental notes to himself so that he could write all of this down later. He would have done so now but as he had told Antonio when he was here, Harper wasn't a doctor and he didn't pretend to be one either especially not a psychologist despite a certain hybrid's opinion. Harper just knew things, and inferred others, that was basically the gist of it.

"I take it that's an understatement," he replied easily enough without surprise. Newly turned vampires, those who had been left on their own by an uncaring maker or turned accidentally didn't actually know the lust until after they had fed, it was instinct. How much of that instinct transferred over to the brothers as half-vampires?

"I told Antonio that he's associated drinking blood with maiming and killing, whether consciously or subconsciously, and that it might be possible for him to gain more control for him to drink blood without having to hurt someone to get it but his problems with control are more severe than yours, I expect.

 ** **Olivier:** ** "Been told I have a talent at that." He smirks, because about half-way through his own words he realized the double entendre and couldn't help himself. "Understatement, that is." 

Though yeah, he'd had a talent at maiming and violence since ... well, since he was born, he presumed, or was Harper going to tell him otherwise? Was that talent genetic from his father or learned from him? Both, likely as not, but as Harper continued, he only exhaled through his nose sharply. Yeah, it probably wasn't subconscious at all. Then he nods, slowly. "I can stop. He...well, can't, without outside interference. The more I have though, the more I...want." 

The biggest difference, he thinks, was that to him it was not a disgusting habit. Logic told him it was wrong, for it's use of people. By contrary, every nerve in his body and particularly, the buds in his mouth of taste, savor it. 

Curiosity notwithstanding, he smirks and adds, "I like this, by the way. So candid!" He gestures at Harper, "Talking about it like I'm addicted to chocolate. Refreshing, mate. I get so tired of the doom-and-gloom." 

 **Harper:** He snorted, amused even as he realized he had almost laughed at the thought of Olivier having a talent for torturing people. Yes, he expected so. Maybe he would have hated the man for the same in any other circumstances but they were in a mutually beneficial relationship and Harper's hate was all but entirely consumed by and focused on one single man.

He nodded as Olivier continued, brows furrowing over the last comment. The more he had, the more he wanted. That in itself couldn't be simply physiological. The body craved but once the craving was met, it would cede until it was necessary again. "Interesting," he replied genuinely, rubbing his mouth with his hand and letting it linger as he thought it through. Now he moved to back behind his desk, grabbing the samples, grabbing a few slides so he could look at them again under the microscope.

He looks back up and, with a half smirk, shrugs again. "Truthfully I'd be more concerned if it was a chocolate addiction, that's entirely psychological, your craving for blood isn't. But now I suspect I should say it isn't, entirely." He paused for a moment and then asked, "You said the more you have, the more you want. Do you happen to have an estimate of the most you've ever drank in one sitting?"

 ** **Olivier:** ** As Harper moves to a microscope, he can actually feel his brows and face and eyes all furrowing up with a brood at the question and just chuckles once on a dry throat. Rubbing at his throat (and then his eyebrows to flatten them, lest he give Dani a reason to call him Stefan again, or Eliza to warn him about wrinkles), he follows the man to the desk. He just didn't want to stay...motionless as he admitted it.

"Well, not scientifically measured, no." Didn't that mean he could just not answer the question all together? With a small smirk crossing his lips he sighs thinking, shame was something debilitating. (And he wouldn't think about the fact that it was Dad's voice in his mind reminding him it was natural: that every vampire went through it, worse even.) He wouldn't let himself be cowed by the shame, so he just quirks his lips up and says it wryly instead, "But there's uh, six quarts in one body? So." 

He slaps his thigh and slides his hand back into his pocket as he admits, "Six quarts then. Give or take."

Clearing his throat and looking at the wall behind Harper at one of the many photographs of his family, as he sees the manor in the background he's reminded abruptly of what he'd actually wanted to tell the man. It wasn't a deflection, it wasn't. "Also. I'm... not sure if you already know this, but you might -- Hans has freed Rachelle."

He cocks an eyebrow, adding candidly, "Actually, from what he told me, Alcott was just as much responsible for that." He looks back at Harper, small smirk written in his lips, "Seems she was staying at your house." 

 **Harper:** He nodded, a bit surprised and impressed. He had expected the question to be answered in bodies, not on quarts. Then again, Olivier had done both. Still, it was not many who knew the amount of blood in a single human body. Harper set the thought aside as he continued to contemplate, now speaking out loud but mostly to himself. 

"A newborn vampire is physically sated at around 20 quarts, yet the scent of it alone even right after feeding is enough to cause them to strike again."

It was how Harper sorted through his thoughts, by speaking them aloud, a fact more true with his constant solitude. The silence could grow to become unbearable. "Control grows through time and prolonged exposure and yet with a half vampire..." he trailed off in his thoughts only to be pulled from them at Olivier's information.

Harper didn't know Rachelle personally save for a few spare meetings, so he did not know precisely how to feel about her return. If it got Hans to focus on getting the ingredient he required, then good. And then there was the matter that Alcott and Lyndsi had been harboring her for the Aurors. Now, that was interesting. 

Did he believe his family well-meaning enough to offer someone help when they needed it? Yes, but not to someone who had or rather had been working to wrong and harm them, werewolf or not. Not without potentially achieving something in return, or did he not know them as well as he hoped? All he was certain of was that the Aurors wouldn't have released Rachelle to them unless Lyndsi had spoken up about it. He could imagine her striding up to whoever was on charge and stating the demands she expected to be met, post-haste.

But for what purpose? Did they work to turn Rachelle against her pack or gain her trust? And Alcott had help release her? Yes, well, the Aurors would have put up all kind of security wards, and Hans wouldn't have managed to get Rachelle out of there without knowing what those spells were exactly and how to counter them . Harper already had a potential list of spells they might have used and if he could've made quick work of them, his son could too. Especially given that a few of them were of his own making, commissioned by the Ministry of Magic and kept utmost secret from anyone else, save of course anyone who could read his extensive files.

Realizing he had been silent, he clears his throat and looks down at the slides again, placing one under the microscope while he spoke, "Sure beats a dirty cell. I expect Hans was courteous?"

 ** **Olivier:** ** How interesting. Harper did not seem to even react upon the information that it meant he'd drained someone perfectly dry. He supposed he hadn't expected anything (Why was it then his ears had burned with latent shame? He brushes his hand against the tips of them.) But then, no of course he wouldn't have -- the scientific demeanor was as much a deflection as any number of endless eighties movies references and spontaneous pop song karaoke. Maybe even more so. 

After everything, that Gustav would have put Harper through, the information of one more stranger's death couldn't be expected to bother the man in truth. And yet. Olivier's throat goes dry and he looks away, rubbing his tongue insistently against the roof of his mouth as if to force wetness back down his stubbornly scratchy gullet with sandpaper and stubbornness. The man had not been a stranger to him, but then, hadn't Harper's little folder pointed that out? Olivier hadn't known him before he was dead but once he was... well. To say he was unfamiliar with someone he'd consumed was...discourteous to them both, he thought.

A small smile creeps on the edges of his lips as he hears Harper's question-statement (drily spoken), and he looks back, putting the matter from his mind for now to nod. When Hans had informed him of "the young Brackner's apparent change of heart," he'd only rolled his eyes and been about three seconds from pointing out that it was likely Alcott was going to use this when Hans responded, "of course, he does seem to have trouble reading a calendar; my birthdate was not yesterday." 

There's a dry chuckle at the back of his throat as he flicks his smirk up and nods, "Oh, a perfect gentlemen, I'm sure." Meeting Harper's gaze again he said simply, "Harper. From what I can gather," and what he could gather was usually quite a lot (he was well aware it was the same for the man too; it was why they were working together so well), "Alcott seems to have renewed interest in the pack itself. Or, so he says." 

He cocks his head, his eyebrow lifting and adds nonchalant, "Which is to say what I believe is that he might genuinely like Rachelle -- which I have no trouble believing, as I do as well -- and absolutely, desire this potion," he nods to Harper's cauldron, "but that above all." And he says it brightly, clapping his hands together. "He wants passage here. 

He told me two weeks ago Nadia was remembering, even mentioned you - not that he knows that." Olivier quiets for a moment and then adds under his breath, "Which means, it's time you tell me what this plan of yours you have had for five years entails as it's next step in detail because as you can see, I've," he lays his hand on his chest as if over his heart, "done my part. The pack, my brother -- Eliza too, though that I had not anticipated -- we're in place. And if Alcott is anywhere near as brilliant as you, I would wager he's here within forty-eight hours." 

 **Harper:** He wanted passage here and Nadia had started remembering two weeks ago. Started, but she couldn't have remembered all, not if they weren't here yet. The operative word here being yet, for Olivier was right; Alcott was close to coming here. A force in his chest seemed to swell and want to soar yet he kept it tightly tethered to the ground for right now. There was already enough anticipation, and Olivier was asking for the next stage.

"I didn't just hide Nadia's memories away from her, I hid information. Clues to this location and how to get inside. Alcott will come and he will not be alone." Yet not with Aurors, if his instinct was right and Harper would prefer it that way if only because then this would become their operation, and it would be too hazardous for all of them involved.

"Nadia will remember everything, who I am especially but she knows it's important that neither Alcott or Lyndsea be told that I am alive, not yet. What she will know is who to contact after Alcott and his friends uncover the location of these headquarters. She'll make sure that Selene Stenrosa gets the information, Alcott might inform her, or else Lyndsea would, yet I cannot take the risk. My sister-in-law is a spy, you might already know of her if you've done the research, she was in Budapest.

Nadia will also go to my trusted friend, Brandin Faye. He's smart, not as smart as I am but no one is, and he's discreet. She'll tell him what I need him to do, and that's lock Gustav out of his home. Because when the attacks begin, and if we don't get to him fast enough, Gustav will flee and he's got out-of-the-country port keys in his home. I know, I made them. He's also got the best security wards there are, again, of my own making. But Gustav put a gag spell on me, I cannot say the spells or counter spells, so let's see how fast Brandin can get through them." Alcott could have taken care of it as well but he didn't want his son distracted further. 

"She'll go to Shane Stuart as well, and reveal the location of all the Death Eater safe houses they managed to get in England, and just that. Some who manage to escape from here will know France is no longer safe, and they'll flee to England. As it is, there are at least two Death Eaters stationed at each of these safe houses always, and it'll give the Aurors something to do, plus, they'll need the good press, I've been reading the Prophet, Eliza gets it to me." Chris could thank him later. He'd also told Nadia to hide, but that was probably not going to happen. He hoped it did, because if Gustav slipped through their fingers, she'd be one of the first he'd go after. She might be able to contact Selene and inform Brandin without being overheard, but Gustav had spies in the Ministry. It wasn't guaranteed she'd get to Shane without notice. Even then, the difficult part was when it got here. 

"In the potions that I made for the Death Eaters not to experience pain, I added a non-reagent substance, designed to linger in the human body. With a flick of my wand and the right spell, that substance turns poison, and it begins to eat at a person's organs. Those who have ingested it longer, it'll work more quickly but then of course there's also the fact that some don't take it, including Gustav himself." Masochistic bastard, he continued.

"I tried to make this as minimally volatile as I could, but it's going to come down to a fight. And even with Alcott and who he brings, and Selene with her chosen few, and it will only be a few, we're outnumbered. I do know it's imperative that the pack do not fight." He raised his eyebrows now as he looked at Olivier.

 **Olivier** : At first, he just listened. Absorbing rapid information was a talent long nurtured, and he had to admit, was one best served by plans that were of the "more conspiratorial the better" nature. He spares only one moment when Harper finishes to smirk in appreciation of the depth and level (and perhaps one moment to admit to himself that he'd -known- it and see, wasn't he right to think that Harper was a better ally than foe?). And only one moment more to nod in amused acknowledgement: yes, he was well aware of Selene, as much as he was of Jensen, Laura, her partner Jeyne were.

"Impressive." It was spoken with a chuckle, arms slipping from his pockets to fold over his chest as he continued to survey Harper. The one word compliment sufficed: they had much more important things to focus on. If anything, he thought it would be an insult both to Harper's intelligence if he let himself be distracted and take more time trying to make the man feel better than bringing this fucking organization crashing down. A serious insult. He'd let Lyndsea compliment him.

"All right, so." His hand comes down to slap at his thigh as he relays, "minor points: I'll need a list of those you know for certain to not have drank your potion, and to know how to cast the spell myself. Brandin Faye," he pauses as he realizes and spares a brief chuckle," ...ah, my uh-- girlfriend's uncle, small world, isn't it? I'll insure he's informed first - he'll need the most time." 

Nodding absently to himself he continues, "As for outnumbered." He waves a hand, "There are a few here I've known since I was nine years old, Harper: they'll jump ship when the waters get rough." Hm. He was spending too much time with Eliza, he thinks amused, to forestall the thought that he had every intention of using those men himself. "And speaking of my girlfriend. She's ensnared two of them with a scheme of her making already -- if you, and I can clear out the headquarters with whomever Alcott brings, Hans and Eliza have a place covered she'll have lured a few too -- and, Daniella and my brother will be poised to alert la policia," he tries to hide his distaste but is pretty sure he failed, but whatever, "and ah - divide and conquer." 

"Don't worry about the pack. Hans will have that in hand." He lifts and shrugs a shoulder, and adds under his breath, "at least until Gustav is dead." 

And then slips his hand back into his back pocket as he surveys him for a moment. "The police will just make the Death Eaters scatter with confusion but hey, they provided a great distraction for us here. I did promise you the shot at Gustav yourself." Olivier smirks, his eyebrows cocking up and tongue flicking over his top lip and the roof of his mouth as he considers.

His expression softens, almost sombers except - he couldn't forestall his own anxious desire to simply begin now, except they needed Alcott to be able, to get into the headquarters. Still, he endeavors to keep his voice more serious as he adds.

"You're right though - it will still be a fight. So, Harper. I also promised to help keep your family safe," even if it turned out he was literally luring his son there, Olivier's mouth quirks up. "If this goes badly. Is there anything, you want me to tell them from you?"

Oddly enough, he thinks it's one of the most sincere questions he's ever asked -- certainly in this wretched headquarters, as he actually cared in the end if Harper's family knew. "Besides all it is, that you've done for them?"

 **Harper:** Yes, he knew it was impressive and he really didn't need to be told of that. He wasn't looking for compliments, he was looking for concerns. Harper had gone over the plan over and over in his mind but an outside perspective tended to bring up things previously unnoticed.

"Easy enough," he took out a piece of parchment, and then set his pen to start writing out the list from memory. He couldn't trust nearly anything to writing anymore and he expected Olivier to destroy it upon memorization.

It wasn't news to Harper that Olivier had a girlfriend, Antonio had made a comment, he made many comments about everything Harper noticed, but for her to be related to Brandin was news. Niece. If Harper remembered correctly, he had quite a number of them from Ryan, Abi had twins, one was a girl, Parker had a girl too but she was a little too young. He casts the thought from his mind, it had been immediate and he couldn't help it, and nodded. He agreed, Brandin would need the longer time. 

As for those who would jump ship? That left him less certain. But as far as he was concerned, they would be Olivier's problem. Harper had one thing in mind above all and that was to kill Gustav. So if they had plans of their own making, as long as they didn't interfere with his (oh, he remembered a young Daniella), more power to them.

Glad to know the pack wouldn't be a problem, at least until they realized the fact that Harper would not continue to make them potions save the few permanent ones he promised, Harper pursed his lips and nodded again, rubbing the back of his neck, a small smirk appearing on it nonetheless for a few moments.

He didn't like thinking that something could go wrong, but Harper knew there was every possibility that it could. And that it would only endanger whoever his son trusted to bring here, but he could dwell on that. They would chose themselves whether to come here or not.

What would he want to tell his family, if everything went to hell (more than it already was)?

"They're firm believers in shooting the messenger, Olivier, are you sure you want to risk it?" It was only half a joke. He swallowed something in the back of his throat and just said, "Just that I never stopped thinking about them, not once. But you won't have to, Olivier, I'll tell them myself. After I take Gustav's head."

 

 

 

{*}

**Eliza** : You, are too pleased by this arrangement. *Adjusting the hooker-large silver hoop as she checks the mirror, she rolls her eyes with a frustrated exhale.* God- how is anyone supposed to check their make-up with these bloody, *her hands flap up as another neon light flashes over her face - this one red, the last gold,* flashes making you blind? Hm? Honestly. *Spinning away from the mirror and declaring herself perfect, she had moved to pull her skirt down (well: "down" to the middle of her upper thigh, way above her knee) when Tony has her wrist instead. Staring at it, she inhales. Rolls her eyes. Then cocks her head, tongue pressed in the crease of her lips and says brightly, in full character,* Let me guess. You're going to say if I'm pulling the skirt down, might as well go all the way off.

 **Tony:** I do not find it troublesome in the slightest, no. *He admitted with a genuine smirk, shrugging his shoulders as really even if he wasn't such a practiced actor out of necessity, it still wouldn't be the least bit difficult to pretend to be dating Eliza even if she did look even more on sale now than before, not that it wasn't enjoyable. Catching her wrist with a gentle ease as she pulled down her skirt and catching her gaze after, his smirk lifting at her comment -- Tony chuckles throatily, playing in the intimacy purposefully as he leaned in to whisper* Oh you know me so well, amore. *Grins and winks, taking his hand back.* Tug any lower however and it'll fall by itself. Not that I'd object to the view.

 **Eliza:** *As heated Italian strikes her lips she thinks, all right, there were ...many, worse assignments there could have been. She didn't have to feign catching her breath, or the flicking gaze to his lips. Of course they were uniquely suited to this task, and if she just ignored the fact they were there to seduce someone away from their life? Well, it might even be enjoyable. Laughing out with an incredulous scoff,* Oh, wow. Really? *Lifting the recently free hand she lays it on his chest, taps her thumb against his collarbone and shakes her head,* Like you wouldn't go crazy sharing the view? But then, *her gaze darts around behind him, even though they were still away from the dance floor, as these bathrooms made gender-specifying signs irrelevant,* I suppose that is why we're here. *She winks as she cocks her head back to him, adding,* At least buy me a drink first.

 **Tony:** You'd be surprised how sharing I can be when the occasion calls for it. *He grins meaning only it as half a joke before bringing a hand up to disentangle a lock of hair from her hoop earrings, testing out the familiarity, and how natural she could react. Tony was still wary for her sake, wary of what playing this particular part required from her but it was clear she thought herself capable and that's what counted. If she didn't doubt herself, he wouldn't do the same to her.* I thought you were the one that owed me one. *He reminded her easily in a tease again, moving to step next to her instead of in front as they prepared to exit the bathroom.* Cosmo then?

 **Eliza** : *As his fingers toyed with a straight, blond strand Eliza feels her breath catch again as her gaze darts to the mirror beside them. The flashing lights were good now, she thinks, the neon hides the momentary flutter in them before she forces them to narrow hard, playful. It wasn't Tony - frankly, if anyone had seen it would just look like a girl being seduced - but she still was a bit...wary around people in general. Crowded club atmosphere...she'd not wanted to go to the bathroom to check her make-up. Still. It lasts only a moment. Had this been someone else, perhaps it wouldn't, but ... well there was some things people did that couldn't help but make you trust them, and dancing to Kesha was one of them. She smirks as she pushes his hand away,* Aha, if I did owe you one, I think coming -here- already more than paid up, cheri. *As he forces her to move her gaze sideways she trails her fingers down his chest, forearm, and tugs on his wrist, already moving forward, the music so loud that an inch away and she couldn't even hear her heels clacking on the marble. Back straight (so as to puff out her chest,) she looks back with,* Make it a double. And bourbon for you?

 **Tony** : *This would probably be the only assignment that Tony would enjoy, or rather, the only one that he'd enjoy that wasn't sick and twisted. Well, compared to the others-- oh alright, there was still a wrong aspect in all of this especially if he let himself think too much but he wouldn't allow it from himself. Besides, given his life, there were only twisted things in it to take amusement and pleasure from. No room for normalcy here.

Following with a grin as her hand took the scenic route and wandered to his wrist, and answered, after taking a step closer to cut through the pounding music* At a nightclub? Oh no, I'm having vodka. *They exited the bathroom a second after, Tony slipping the attendant an extra 20 with a wink for allowing them use in the  bathroom in private, and headed towards the bar, navigating through the sweaty and frenzied dancers.*

 **Eliza:** *Ah, of course. Beats so loud they seemed to smack her in the face shake through the neon-flashes. The record- scratchy offbeat was making it easy to forget there was any world but this--Tony's attractiveness made that easier too. As he was navigating, she kept her eyes peeled for the mark, only pausing to slap a hand from groping at her, using the momentum to spin into Tony instead. As they hit the bar, she smirked up at him under the dusky shadowed eyes and adds,* Recognize the song, cheri? At the...*she pulls her fingers up to undo the top button on his shirt,* Riveria? *Why couldn't they have fake sexy memories? Get through the evening together.*

 **Tony:** *Catching her with hands at her waist, he takes her smirk and gaze in stride, and resists the temptation to laugh at how his back had hit the bar as she leaned into him. Smirk rising with her imagined scenario for them at the famous Vegas hotel, for surely they would not have heard a song like this had she been speaking of the French or Italian Riviera. He licked his lips with his nod as she unbuttoned while his fingers dug into fabric, thumbs rubbing circles almost idly except for the fact it was of course purposeful. His throat hummed his appreciation at the fake memory* You mean on the rooftop of the Riviera, of course I do. *He leans to sing the lyrics in her ear, lips brushing against it, though it was really an excuse to search for the mark -- ah, found it. In the same whisper, he informs her,* Two o'clock. 

 **Eliza:** *Her breath catches as he does the same to her waist, and she feels a heated flush rise to her cheeks. Mmhing aloud as he leans in, she smirks near his lips,* The roof....? You may need to hmm...*She turns her lips away from him, gaze faux demure as she looks down,* remind me. *She tilts her head sideways as he necks near her ear, as if to whisper lyrics and instead tells her the pertinent information. After letting him spin her, so to keep their glances not obvious, she adds in a heated exhale she murmurs,* I see her.

 **Tony:** *He spins her in a smooth movement, lifting her just the slightest bit to help her almost glide on her toes, though how any woman managed to walk let alone glide in those heels was beyond him and possibly the laws of physics. He pulls away from her neck as Eliza sees the mark, but only to lean forward, consequently pressing them closer together, to order their drinks in French.* Vodka tonic and a Cosmo for the lady, make it a double. *He returns his gaze to Eliza, voice still humming even if they discussed business.* She looking over here?

 **Eliza** : *Startled (and smirking) as they spin together, she lets him press them closer together while he orders, her gaze still surveying the crowd "casually" so that she could keep an eye on the mark. At the question, she smirks.* A few casual glances. *It was as 'casual' as her own answers. With a chuckl e, she pulls her gaze back to Tony's, letting him order, resting her hand around his neck, and adding faked-casually,* You were saying about sharing? Because...must admit, *voice purposefully a bit louder,* there are a few girls here that...*With a deliberate pause, she looks and then murmurs under her breath,* I'm not adverse to...persay.

 **Tony:** A good sign. *He murmurs with a smirk of his own more at the fact that it was working without them having to do more than some innocent petting (this was pretty innocent for him at least.) But he and Eliza were chosen for a reason; they were the walking, talking, and breathing manifestations of the mark's desire. Even the ugliest people in the world, both inside and out, knew that he and Eliza were without a doubt the most good-looking people there.(They were also one of the few who the woman wouldn't recognize, but details.)* Just 'not adverse', mi amore? *He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a tut and moves one hand from her waist to trace the side of her face with the back of his palm.* I'll just have to inspire more enthusiasm out of you. Like I did on our visit to Versailles. *He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows in amusement, knowing they were probably going to laugh about it later.*

 **Eliza:** Yeah. *Tiniest bit under her breath,* Lets get her to come here to us. *Shivering under the trace of his hand in that good, addictive way, she cast a quick gaze sideways, turned smirking at the mark and then nods against his neck, her nose brushing his cheek as she pulls back. Giggling,* Versailles, oh now you're going to make me blush. *Her own hand comes up to nudge at his shoulder as if playfully pushing him away, even as she kept him close withhis hand on her waist. Clucking her tongue as she cocks her head, as his hand lingers,* Well, then. I dare you. 

 **Tony** : That's the plan, *he reveals with a guilty, smug grin as he said it after she said he'd make her blush but it could very well be taken for what they discussed previously. It was the best hunters that lured prey in, not went chasing after it. His mind jumped from animals to the difference between vampires and werewolves for a split moment before he snapped out of it.

Only his shoulder moved away as she pushed it, and not for very long as he returned,this time with his body a little more turned instead of directly in front of Eliza to show off what she was wearing to glances that were more than casual. At her challenge his tracing hand turned to cup neck and cheek, thumb brushing against her jaw as he leaned in, nose brushing against hers, lips ghosting across her own but never touching as he kept his gaze locked on hers. Portrayed to pass off as a tease (and it really felt like a tease too lord almighty give him strength), he was honestly more concerned with how she felt about it when a clink beside them announced the first expected arrival.* Drinks are here. *He smirked.*

 **Eliza:** *The momentary glint in his eye was dark, so she couldn't blame it on the flashing neon. It makes her realize that his remark was double encoded; a way of thinking that she feels now she always understood. It makes her smirk, a flash of pride in her throat to know he approved of the method. She wasgood at this. Making men (in this case a woman, and she had to admit she was curious what the difference would be), chase after her clacking heels. Witha warm exhale as he leans in she mutters against his smirk, focusing on making it a gasp through her rounded lips, teasing,* Antonio... *His mouth was hot. Sour, she imagines those multi-colored gummy sour patch kids (if they were filled with bourbon). Was it so bad to enjoy being good at it? Even now Tony was turning his body to better display hers, thumb burying hot circles her bare skin. They were making her a star. The difference, she felt, laid in the fact that she was entirely in control now. Tony's super strength wouldn't stop her from using AK if it came to that (not that it would). Chuckling drily, she can admit to herself barely, the drinks arrival was a reminder that he wasn't actually her boyfriend. 

(She felt strangely empty. Did she have one of those anymore? No, Eliza Culpeper did not. Could she have one?) ...Eliza chews on her lip as she reaches for the cosmopolitan, lifts, eyes cast back at Tony with lips poised on the sugared rim.* And you call me a tease, ma cheri. *She takes a sip.* Now, go on. *Her eyes dart over his shoulder as if skittish, genuinely insuring the mark was watching and listening. Offhand,* Tell me...a fantasy. That *there's a giggle in her throat, as she looks back* doesn't involve any winter is coming pick-up. 

 **Tony:** "Ah," he chuckles, "and here I was about to ask you to play Lyanna to my Rhaegar. *He takes a sip of his glass, leaning over her purposefully, hand rubbing idly on the fabric at her hip. Lightly,* Would it be completely cliche of me to answer...*he lifts his eyes to hers,* you, with another woman, cara? 

 **Eliza:** *As he leans over her, Eliza sucks in a heated breath and mutters out,* Seven hells. *It wasn't playacted at all, but she was trying not to think about that: it makes it easier to enjoy the moment. Tony was young, attractive, hot, wealthy, and on her side. Why shouldn't she indulge a teeny bit? Chuckling at the answer, she brings her hand up to ghost around his neck, humming as she rubs back and forth,* Mm...cliche, perhaps, but go on...

 **Tony:** *He had to stifle a laugh at her Westerosi curse by biting on his bottom lip and then taking another sip of his vodka tonic and placing it back on the counter all without taking his eyes off her own. Returning to his narrative, he licked his lips* I'd press against her back, trace each curve and kiss the hollow of her neck *he dipped his head slowly, hot breath striking her skin before his lips closed around the pale flesh after her murmured* Make eye contact. *Not that she needed the instruction, Eliza for her younger age already seemed so good at this. After a flick of his tongue, he pulled back and kept speaking* and you'd watch, knowing how that felt, how every single nerve would spark a fire, a heat that would pool between her thighs...and yours. So that when my wandering and attentive hands finally reach her, and she pushes so desperately against them for the friction, you won't be able to resist pressing against her chest to reach my lips over her shoulder.

 **Eliza:** *The images he was giving her were actually more distracting than the violet strobe half blinding them. It probably had something to do with the fact she was breathless when he sucks on her neck. When he gave her the instruction she already had done, she inhales in a sharp chuckle and pokes at his side, the juncture of skin between waist and hip bone (it wasn't an excuse to touch him there, really). Eyes hooded, she keeps her narrow gaze stuck on the woman, acting to pass off her irritation as if he'd muttered something especially dirty and personal before kissing her. Waiting until he pulls back, she looks away from the woman as Eliza mimics his words -- lifting by his arm around her waist to press her chest into his, taking his neck with her hand, leaning to move her lips, press them just, to his and lingering in the kiss until the last, possible, moment--before she flicks her gaze back to the woman, rears back and murmurs instead,* Amore, *drumming her fingers on the base of his neck,* I believe we have an audience. 

 **Tony:** *The chuckle against her neck as she pokes him was only half in genuine amusement at her mode of reprimand because the other half was because that had tickled. Good thing he hadn't told her to give the mark her best pleasure-'o' face, otherwise the tickling poke might had been more of a hurtful prod. So without having to whisper an instruction, she followed the details of his fantasy without another warm body in between them, and leaned in for a kiss. Neither soft not sweet, the kiss was nevertheless precise and slow; an exhibition of their mouths, what they were capable of. They were selling themselves and they were very good at it. He smirked at her as she pulled back, thinking idly the italian word 'amore' fell effortlessly from her lips, and he approved.* All the world's a stage, I suppose. *He turned, not having expected the mark to have been so close. He smirked again, pretended to be a little obvious after all it's been Eliza's gaze that had been the most direct bait.* Sorry, if you want to get to the bar-

 **Jade:** *She lifts her glass with the drink in simple response, her gaze unable to keep flicking from between the two of them as it had since she had seen them. She held out her free hand and introduced herself without a shame.* I'm Jade.

 **Eliza** : *The abrupt Shakespeare puts a furrow in her brow nothing else had yet, but she hopes it passed off as a brief jealous flicker. It was jealousy after all: jealousy of the fact that the woman they were meeting did not have to scramble trying to forget what little detail it was that had just made her think of her old life, the old her. Yet, she shouldn't think that through either--focus on the resentment, lest her heart get in the way of selling the mission, which served none of them. 

Her thumb rests on her own lips now, sucking idly on the lingering, delicious taste of Tony's lips. It had been way too long since she did that, she thinks, kissed someone and wondering at the odd fact she didn't feel anything in her stomach. Well, anything but physical excitement, because god damn. She tilts her head with a smirk, surveying the proffered hand, but not taking it yet.* Eliza. *Her gaze flicks back to Tony, no shame or regret in her smile even as she "apologizes",* Confession, cheri, I might..have been unable to keep my eyes off of her. 

 **Tony:** *Before Jade began to feel insulted by Eliza not taking her hand, he took it gently, lifting it to his lips and brushing a soft kiss against the knuckles which he couldn't help but to notice were quite protruding and a little rough from use. Hardened, as they were all. They had that much in common at least.* Antonio.

 **Jade:** Pleasure. *Well, if she had her way it would only mean a matter of time especially considering Antonio's fantasy. She could make  that happen for them, she need only let them know that.* I noticed.

 **Tony:** Oh, amore, you little minx. *He pulled her close again, biting his bottom lipas he looked at her, marveling at her naughtiness or rather thats how he was passing it off. He looked back to Jade.* Should I be apologizing...

 **Jade:** Yes, you should. *She nodded slowly, bringing the glass to her lips as an excuse to flick her gaze down, look at Eliza from head to toe. Letting the glass  drop with a lick of her lips, she finishes* For stopping. That was...quite the story. I couldn't help but to overhear, if anything I should be the one apologizing. *Oh, but she wouldn't. Eliza had looked directly at her when she'd ask her boyfriend to give her a fantasy, after all.*

 **Eliza:** *He squeezes her close to him as he calls her minx and Eliza thinks only that the feigned possessive astonishment--that, seemed to twist her stomach up in pleasure and...fire, at least until the awe appears in his gaze.* You love me anyways. *It was tart, like a forgone fact, long acknowledged and her eyes wander with apparent delight, fueled by triumph more than anything else.* Mhm, *she nods in agreement eyes not leaving Jade('s figure) even as s he speaks to Tony,* I agree, stopped far too soon. *Her head tilts as if with dawning comprehension, but she would not ask Jade. She had to ask them. Eagerness would get them caught rather than success. So instead, she looks fondly back at Tony, teasing and wrapping her hand on a fist on his shirt as if to hang on for dear life,* I know though, isn't he great? You should hear the one about the nobleman's daughter. *She winks at Jade.*

 **Tony:** *It only made it that much easier that Jade was so absent of inhibitions, just like they were briefed before they had come here. She was half doing  the job for them, but even if she wasn't, they'd have gotten the job done. Not to root their own horn, but he and Eliza made quite the hot fake-couple. Tilting his head in admittance of that fake fact, he turns back and then laughs once pretending to be flattered and then smirking with interest. He was a man, with a threesome fantasy (as almost all did though it hadn't been just a fantasy for him since he was 17- man, that had been some party) and though it had not occurred to him it could still be a reality, now he had another face to assign the fantasy and his imagination would be reeling.*

 **Jade** : *She was pleased to find her gaze was not alone in wandering. Eliza seemed as appreciative of her as much as Antonio, a good sign, even as the woman seemed quite possessive if the fist around his shirt, that made it ride up to reveal the beginning of a perfect v of taut skin just waiting to be followed, said anything.* I would love that.

 **Tony:** *He smirked now, licking his lip as he stared at hers before, with his act, he commented* Another time, then.

 **Jade:** And why, tell me... *she began taking another step closer to the couple, her head tilted* would we have to wait that long?

 **Eliza:** *She would love that too. If it was a crime to say that, to say she'd wholeheartedly enjoy keeping this fake-couple act up long enough that she could hear him keep going in that sinful vibrato that leaves no doubt in her mind why Italians invented soulful romantic opera, she was a criminal. Well. Actually, she was. Technicality, as she preferred undercover agent. (Like Miss Congeniality! ...Tony had been at her flat before they left for a while). She had let herself sway with the music as subsequent utterly-no-need-to-pretend-attraction eye-fucking ensued, playing her fingers against olive skin and using the motion to check exits, security guards and any interested parties. Oh, she also counts at least three couples having sex on the dance floor. Then Jade approached and she had no need to feign surprise: that...had happened quickly. She wants to whistle, that was how good they were. Instead she smirks, deliberating and then casting a glance up at Tony.* ...we do have that hotel room all night... *They did. She just wouldn't think about what was meant to happen when they arrived. Easy to make a person vanish from a hotel they were never at, a room that has no record of them. Even easier when the hotel chain is owned by a corporation that is owned by an equity-something or other that is owned by one Olivier Auguste D'Grey. And Tony too.*

 **Tony:** *My, she really was as assertive as they had described her out to be. He thought he was beginning to understand why this had been a task to bring her back to the Death Eaters and not simply to kill her for being a deserter like they did with the Night's Watch. Yes, there would be some pain involved...however he found he could not think about that, otherwise he would tell the woman to run while she still could but not before remarking how stupid she was for remaining in France. Or maybe she thought that they thought she would never be so stupid- it didn't matter. She had been found. His smirk turns from confused and wary to giddy and excited, a fantasy come true.* In that case, there's no need for me to continue the story...*he licks his lips* we can make our own ending.

 **Jade** : *Tearing her eyes away from Eliza as Antonio spoke, both of them agreeing to her proposition (and she was surprised that besides being suddenly startled she hadn't scared then off), she smirks too, finishing her drink in one swig.* Perfect. Shall we?

 **Tony:** *Definitely, assertive. He nodded after a glance to Eliza, finishing his drink as well and placing the glass on the bar. With an arm still around Eliza's waist, he tilted his head towards an exit and started walking.*

 **Eliza:** *With an amused and appreciative murmur to the quick agreement, she pretends only to roll her eyes exasperated when she adds,* It better end more  than once. *And then promptly throwing back the rest of the cosmo, she gasps, smacks her lips together and leans over to take Jade's hand now, lacing her fingers as she tugs (and is tugged, mm, there he went with the possessive, attractive little squeezes) to start moving them out together. Now living purely in thar moment so as to avoid thought, she teases Jade (well, more Tony really) as she says sweetly,* Oh look how eager you made him... *She ducks around a guy, apologizing a la perdoname before she sighs, saying pointedly,* ...okay. Third guy I nearly trip over. You drive, amore. 

 **Tony:** That went without saying, amore. *He promised about their fake future tryst, though he would be lying if he said he wouldn't consider it now. That was the danger of play-acting, he supposed. And Jade really was a stunner.*

 **Jade:** *He really was excited, it elicited a laugh from her as she held onto Eliza's hand -soft yet not as soft as she'd expected them to be- working their way through the crowd of hot bodies seeking release with whatever friction  they could obtain. She laughs again as a maneuver presses her against Eliza, her lips turning into a smirk* How far's the hotel?

 **Tony:** *As he reaches the side door guarded by some bouncers, he passes through it with a backwards glance as they're all outside and now he reaches to pull Jade against him as well, her gasp making his smirk easier* We don't have to wait that long. *He takes his keys out of his pocket* Car's only a half block away, we can make the drive over very, enjoyable. *He smirks only when he raises his gaze and sees someone at the end of the alley, he freezes completely.*

 **Eliza** : *She'd let out an all-too honest squeak abruptly when pushed against Jade. Effectively sandwiched for a hot moment between her and Tony, she's glad for the startled moment, as honestly: it made the gasp sound excited when she was...nearly the exact opposite? Oh, the woman was attractive, Lord knew Tony was (and a hell of a kisser) but in that moment the loss of control made her tense, made her want to...well. Maybe that was why as they step into the back (how had this woman ever escapes in the first place, when here she was in the alleyway with them ten minutes after meeting?), she was drawing her wand out with tense, deliberate movements. Well, that and...they weren't alone.

Oh, hell. Okay, well no big deal, Eliza thinks first, hand on her wand. The man at the end had seen them about as well as she could make him out -- a simple stunner and Obliviate could take care of the witness if he made himself a bother. Tony wasn't lying, the car was right there, hotel not far beyond. Only as she has her wand, Eliza was seized with a need to cast abruptly at Jade instead, intending on knocking her out. She was sober in an instant. The image took too goddamn long to process -- clearly for them both, because it was one that just didn't bloody make sense to her. 

First, there was Tony's freeze. Frankly, that saved him from her casting against him too. Nothing personal, but if this was... (but it couldn't be, it couldn't be, dammit!) Second, there were two other men on the ground already, (both breathing, but not near consciousness in the slightest). Security guards (but for what side?). He had a gun, she realized, in his hand -- but now loose at his side (he wasn't supposed to even know how to hold one of those, that's what he said that summer...)...

There's a clack of her heels that echoes as she steps forward in that dank and dirty alleyway. She can't breathe. It wasn't a surprise (at least!) that it was so difficult to breathe, that it was so chilly...she's glad for the flush of shame that snakes up her back, as it's at least warm. Desperately wanting to cover herself, she pulls the skinny arms of her not-a-sweater up as she stares. There's tears in her eyes, but she thinks, she's too shocked (too confused) to spill them. Her gaze stays locked on the dark shadowy ones that had replaced those she knew to be filled with warmth. (Did she know that, though? Did she know anything?)* 

_"...Dad?"_

 

 

 

{*}

**Olivier:** "How can you be okay with this?"

Daniella looks at him like she's insulted and pushes him away, sits up and plants her feet on the ground as she brushes her hand off on her own jeans. Aside from that, she was only wearing  her bra. At least, until she gets up, grabs his leather jacket, shoves it around her shoulders as if she's cold and stalks over to the bar. Why had he opened his mouth again? Olivier knew there was something deeply wrong with him (wasn't there always?) for enjoying the expression, but God. When she was irritated and wearing his clothes, she just looked so fucking sexy. Sue him. It wouldn't matter, the judge was his already.

 **Daniella:** She doesn't speak (though she did roll her eyes), until she had her hand around a glass, the other pulling at a cap. "Aren't you getting tired of asking me that question, baby?" 

 **Olivier:** The question takes him aback. Surveying her as she pours, he thinks -- huh, they might have to replace that for Tony -- and then abruptly, what she thought he was asking. "Dani, I didn't mean -- us, " was there an us? he needed bourbon himself for that conversation, "I meant -- "

 **Daniella:** Us. Well, there was a loaded word. Her eyebrows pop into her hair for a second and she decides to just cut that off. "Look, Stef told me." Her lips were poised over the rim of the glass. "You drink, you get stronger."

 **Olivier:** Those words were spoken so bluntly, they take whatever he was about to say away. Or maybe that was the fact that she was standing, drinking his bourbon, in his leather and her lace, playing with a stiletto knife between her fingertips. His throat went dry. Honestly, he was having a hard time focusing his gaze: don't ask him to choose which was most appealing, the buffet itself looked delicious, and his hunger was ravenous. He'd never been one to choose.

 **Daniella:** Oops. She must have actually pricked her finger without realizing it, judging by the dark gleam in his gaze. On the other hand, it might be just her. A quick glance to her finger - nope, no blood - confirms. Yup. Just her. She smirks, and looks up - throat catching fervent breath as in the two seconds she'd looked away, he seemed to have crossed the room. 

Which made her point! A dark-pencilled brow rising, she cocks both chin and lips at him. "Damn, Oli. Faster already. You know, Stef also mentioned greater stamina -- 

 **Olivier:** Breathing in heavily (from indulgence, not attempt at restraint that would surely fail), he keeps one hand at his side, bringing one up to toy with a strand of hair that was falling over her face. There's danger in his chuckle, but it was abruptly honest. "You know, I don't *really* want to think about that considering it's my brother she's talking about." 

 **Daniella:** One of these days this boy would stop giving her these openings (she hopes not), but it wasn't today. "Why, afraid Tony'll show you up?" 

 **Olivier:** He decides a scoff and quick, stolen kiss answers her enough. Swiping his tongue over her lip to clean the bourbon he pulls back as abruptly as he leaned in, hand gripping her cheek and holding her still before she distracts him (again). "I didn't mean that either. I meant -- what Tony, and I, and Hans are doing."

 **Daniella:** Unfair. He was stronger, Lord - she would congratulate herself on having thought to bring the knife except for the eerie thought that she hadn't cut herself yet (but then, he made the point for her: she knew damn well what that bastard Roswell had them -do- ... it wasn't that hard to figure out. She supposes there's probably something wrong with her for being more upset at the thought that Olivier drank from someone who wasn't her than the idea of him drinking human blood. Oh well. Daniella never liked vanilla.)

 "Oh, you mean the daring, undercover bravado to take the country back from murderous, torturing, rapists? Gee. I wonder why I don't have a problem with this." 

 **Olivier:** "As much as I like that description." The smirk dancing on the edges of his lips doesn't just dance away as he brings his other hand up. Back of his palm trailing along sensitive, pinking skin under the open flap of his jacket, the fingers on her cheek brush up to her forehead. He breathes out, eyes following his hand. There's momentary sadness in his gaze as he doesn't meet her eyes. All he could think was what being undercover had required -- what they had to... do, and it was close to making him bite his tongue in anger, except Daniella's warm skin chased away at least that particular urge.

 **Daniella:** No, it wasn't. Letting out an exhale her gaze drops to follow his hand trailing up and down her stomach, those light little flicks of his fingers sufficiently distracting enough that she lifts her hands to his shoulders and pushes him away. "I know that. Both my parents were Death Eaters, remember?

 **Olivier:** She'd moved past him, her shoulder bumping his and he decides that maybe, for a moment, not looking around would be better. At least more productive (to getting the conversation done, not that he believed that was the only worthy goal of the moment). He tilts his head, gaze on the bottle of bourbon sitting on the counter and licks at his top lip, letting both hands fall. "It's just...you've never asked."

 **Daniella:** "Asked what?" She doesn't spin around either, and this time it wasn't purposeful. She didn't, because she couldn't, because she knew very well (too well) "asked what". She zips his jacket up to cover her heart at the thought (well, they were in the middle of his living room, his brother -was- going to be due home).

 **Olivier:** "Daniella."

 **Daniella:** Just that, just her name, like he was chiding a ten year old and she sighs, closing her eyes. It was half in irritation at her own sound, frankly. "I don't need to ask, I know."

 **Olivier:** He turns, head looking over his shoulder, surveying her. 

 **Daniella:** As was customary, Olivier's eyebrows answered her, she realizes as she opens her eyes. Heavens. A quick flick of a smirk passes and then answers soft - unable to keep anything but serious sobriety (ignore the drink) with her words. "If you've ever tortured someone?"

 **Olivier:** His head straightens, fingers lifting to swipe over his mouth in a rough, hasty swipe. And then he realized he was just going to have to say it himself because she wasn't going to ask anymore than he wants to ask her. (And he didn't, he didn't know why he'd opened his mouth, it was just when he saw that knife and realized what she was about to offer --)* If I liked it. 

 **Daniella:** Her head comes up quickly, but otherwise her face didn't change. (He owes her for that, she thinks, breath quickening in a manner wholly unnecessary). "Liked... torturing someone?" 

The look in his eyes was answer enough. Daniella bites down on her tongue hard, surveying him. There was agitation in his fingers as they drum and drum away at his thigh, his shirt was fluttering from the open flaps he didn't think to close no matter where they were (like he couldn't bring himself to care); there was heat in his exhale and sorrow in him too (shame, she thinks, judging by the fact that he kept looking away and then looking back like he was too stubborn not to face her and too guilty all at once). 

Then Daniella just shakes her head, a fraction of an inch, "No, I haven't asked that."

 **Olivier:** Wrong-footed, he watches her finish the drink in one long gulp (her throat revolved, distracts him again, goddamn her). His brows furrow(goddamn them too), but now he doesn't look away from her.

 **Daniella:** "I'll ask," she lowers the glass after a harsh gasp that rings in his ears, "if you swear to me, that you're going to tell the truth." 

 **Olivier:** "You think I'd lie to you about something I asked you to...ask me?" 

 **Daniella:** "Baby, considering the subject I think we shouldn't act like you're incapable of manipulation thus so I can give you the answer you want to hear."

 **Olivier:** Again he was taken aback, but at least this time it was because he was smirking. Daniella anticipating (even if at this moment wrongly) those manipulative talents he'd nurtured his entire life was...he had to admit, he enjoyed that. (It really was a good thing the judge was his in the end, he was being sued a lot). 

 **Daniella:** When he nods at her acquiescing, she smiles for a second, setting down the glass. It was empty anyway. At least now it wasn't broken. The knife she slips into her pocket, and she folds her arms on her chest, looks him square in the eye and asks, "Do you want to?"

 **Olivier:** Just as she could anticipate him, he had realized already her initial question was a trick. So now, when she asks that instead, his expression doesn't shift (though his head tilts as he considers her, because he can't help but see the striking resemblance in her pose down to the leather-jacket -- to when Tony had asked him the very same question.) Tony hadn't asked again, and...his brother, he wouldn't ever manipulate him into asking anything. For two reasons: one, he wouldn't do that to his brother and two, his brother knew him too damn well for it to ever work. 

Apparently, he wasn't the only one now. Olivier cocks an eyebrow. "Want to?" 

 **Daniella:** "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Olivier," she says as her hands unfold far before her face will. It was..necessary, because if she honestly thought through the fact that she had asked whether or not he wanted to torture anyone and he hadn't responded immediately with 'fuck no', she knew she'd break. ...Him. Likely, break him.

 **Olivier:** "I'm not playing dumb, Dani." He says it quietly, eyes piercing hers. "I'm trying to understand your distinction." 

 **Daniella:** Her eyes widen, bottom lip sucking into her mouth and she waits before she exhales (she was pleased he caught it, what did that say about her?), "Between liking and wanting to do something?"

 **Olivier:** He just nods, mouth half open and he thinks: she looked like what he'd imagine a Fury to look like. (Tony's persistent habit of calling Eliza 'Persephone' clearly was affecting him, but he has to wonder whether or not Hans new nickname among the thousands was "Hades"). Yet, honestly; the black hair, the fierce look, the disheveled curls, silk and leather...a muse and a destructive force. It fits her. "You're asking me if -- personal affection for something or not --"

 **Daniella:** "Affection?" She asks quickly, voice sharpening on the word. 

 **Olivier:** "I was just being -- " Hearing the breathy 'oh-god-no' in her voice shouldn't make him smile, but he can't help it. "...eloquent."

 **Daniella:** "Well." Her hand falls to her hip. "We're discussing acts that include burning and ripping skin off innocent people, so maybe be a little less worried about the delicacy of your language for it, and a little more worried that I still haven't heard you deny either, Olivier D'Grey."

 **Olivier:** "I don't want to."

It came out of him so quickly, it drove them both to utter silence. Part of him finds the humor in the irony of their mutual surprise (and in the fact that...shouldn't that have been the answer she wanted?), but most of him is too busy thinking that his father would have been the most surprised to think about anything else.

 **Daniella:** So forceful were his words suddenly that she knew...she believed him. The repeated 'you don't?' would make her sound like a teenager again, so instead she just smiles at him until he'll break the silence instead.

 **Olivier:** He breathes out. In, and out. "No, Dani, I don't want to." 

 **Daniella:** "I believe you." She takes a step closer to him.

 **Olivier:** Looking over her shoulder, as she steps closer he looks abruptly back and adds just as quickly as before, "That wasn't always true."

 **Daniella:** "Babe, I told you. Not much for living in the past or future tenses."

 **Olivier:** "I just -- " She was still coming closer. He takes a step back, hand coming up to his lips.

 **Daniella:** Surveying as he turns his head, now it's her eyebrows doing the dance so common on his forehead and she exhales. Standing still as she sees him move back, she contemplates, trying to puzzle out his expression. "You...surprised yourself too."

 **Olivier:** The bitter chuckle in his throat had better be enough of an answer to her, because all he could remember and see right now was what Tony's face had looked like when he told him the exact opposite. Screamed it, in fact. Only he'd been sixteen then, sixteen and that was when everything inside of him was screaming it for him. 

 **Daniella:** Quietly, "It's a hybrid thing. Yes?"

 **Olivier:** He spins back around at the word 'hybrid' as he realizes oh ho, not only was she speaking to Stefanie, Dani was clearly spending time with his brother too. In fact, he thinks dimly, she was kind of just finding her way into every part of his life. Wondering why on Earth she was still standing there and realized (by virtue of having licked his lips) she'd undone the jacket again. 

 **Daniella:** "The affection. For it."  

 **Olivier:** Amusement crossed his lips, honestly and he's simply not strong enough to not point out, "Now whose being eloquent?" 

Nor was he strong enough to keep his gaze solely on the dangerously-narrowed hypnotic one of her own, when she was toying with the edge of her his jacket, tracing it against the above her bare hip bone. 

 **Daniella:** Enjoying his wandering gaze, she shrugs a shoulder exaggeratedly and looks around the room, "Not usually my fortitude, I must admit. I just. Thought I owed you that one. Cause...if it's a hybrid thing, my disliking it would make about as much sense as your disliking my blood-type." She pauses. Olivier's eyebrows had popped up with wary amusement. (And she thinks, there's something else in his gaze: awe? appreciation?) Her finger taps her wicked, curl of a smirk. "Or wait, maybe I should say hair color because of this -other- hybrid thing -- " 

 **Olivier:** He takes ... well, he thought it was a step. She was nearly crushed against him in the process, so maybe it was more than a step. Crushed, and her lips were hot on his, fire to his veins, mouth consuming his as much as he ached to possess her.

Her high, bright laugh in his ear tickles the base of his neck as buries his nose in her hair, breathing her in until she stops chuckling, and pulling both hands up to cup her cheeks again, delicately tracing her lips with his thumbs. "...Sorry."

 **Daniella:** Holy--sorry, she wasn't supposed to swear with that word (it was a contradiction, she thinks, but then she embodies them) -- but she couldn't think of another word to better describe it. One second he was hissing and thinking his own wants through anxiously...the next, well. She thinks, as she leans her forehead to dig into his shoulder to save a concussion as her back hits the wall, it was a very loud statement to what he did want after all. Laughter peppering her sharp, needed quick breaths, she stills as he looks into her eyes and finds that unlike the yank-shove-push-against-wall-kiss-senseless move...the look in his eyes had made her breathless. 

"...No, don't be sorry." Her hand comes up to his cheek too, and she licks dry lips now that he's released her lips. "I quite enjoyed that."

 **Olivier:** He utters a soft, high laugh of his own, echoing, "Oh did you quite?" 

 **Daniella:** Heavens, she had said 'quite'. Her nose wrinkles and she tosses her head back and forth, sticking her tongue out at her own word. After a few moments, she asks, "Oli...why did you...ask if I'm okay with it?"

 **Olivier:** He hears himself answer before he'd really found the words to express why he had opened his mouth for the first time. "...I guess I just thought. For all the time we've been spending together..."

 **Daniella:** Her eyebrow pops up.

 **Olivier:** He releases her cheeks and shrugs, though he doesn't move away as he finishes. "And considering what you were about to ask me," he nods at her pocket with the knife and he doesn't have to elaborate for either of them, really, because he knew she was going to ask him if he wanted to drink from her (and frankly that was a much more pleasant question than what she had asked: one he was more than willing to say he did want, yes, and could say he had more than affection too). He knew she'd ask. She knew he knew. Wasn't that wonderful how that worked? He smirks, "...I don't know, that you might want to ask if ... I was a ... remotely good person, I guess." 

 **Daniella:** Now it was her turn, clearly to be taken aback. Her brows furrow away (oh, she had to stop that, bad eyebrows); she lifts her hand to push them down. There's a softness in her eyes as she breathes out, "Oli..."

 **Olivier:** He shakes his head, forestalling it, because the exhale of his name suddenly sounded like pity. "If you're going to say my name, I can think of other ways I'd prefer it."

 **Daniella:** That makes her snort, but she just lifts her hands to his neck and squeezes, holding on. (Who was she trying to comfort, herself or him?) "Yes, because you are a stubborn, ridiculously-cliche man at times on top of being much, much more than a -remotely- good person, Olivier D'Grey.

 **Olivier:** He blinks. But he was smiling. "You hadn't...--"

 **Daniella:** "I didn't need to ask that, to know that." She says softly (and ignores the fact that actually she was glad she had because...there had been doubts in her mind, and asking had always carried the risk of him answering the...well. Other way).

When his eyebrow pops at her she pushes it down, and then says simply, "You forgot someone, by the way. Of those who are undercover and taking it down."

 **Olivier:** He blinks again. Rapidly. "...You?"

 **Daniella:** She kisses his cheek. "...Not what I meant, I know you didn't forget me." Chuckling, "Harper Brackner." 

 **Olivier:** "For--..." But he trails off as he realizes exactly what she said. "Daniella..."

 **Daniella:** "You didn't think I knew Angel was him, I know." Daniella twirls a black strand as she replies brightly, "Though really. You just confirmed it, so you only have yourself to blame."

 **Olivier:** "It's dangerous that you know." He nearly growls it, and yet as she does with everything else, Daniella just waves this away.

 **Daniella:** "No more so than anything else." She knew she had him there when he said nothing in return, but growls again anyway. Oh. Men. "Look, for what I was about to ask?"

She pulls the little blade from her pocket again, breathing out and in. "Think of it as a protein shake?" 

 **Olivier:** His eyes were on the blade, but the words he recognized as Harper's in an instant and just blinks at her, breath wary in his chest and hot. Then he realizes, face screwed up, "You...read my file?"

 **Daniella:** "Well, you put it in my bag."

 **Olivier:** "I did?"

 **Daniella:** No, he hadn't. "Yes." She chuckled. "When you helped me pack this morning -- I just found it in my briefcase at work, thought it was mine and then when I opened ... and realized what it was ..."

 **Olivier:** Well, that explained the knife. Still a bit wary, "...Sorry, I didn't realize I had--"

 **Daniella:** She kisses him, just once, a quick, short stolen kiss again and then murmurs softer, "I just. I'd read someone who writes that way before, knew where you got it and then with what you'd said about a man waiting nine years for his wife I did the math and...well."

 **Olivier:** He chuckles, because really...he loves that she would have been smart enough to put it together as fast as he had when the facts were present (and maybe he was a little impressed, as she hadn't actually met Harper). Or...wait, had she, when she was younger? "When did you read his research?"

 **Daniella:** "I used to babysit his son." She beams at him.

 **Olivier:** "Alcott?"

 **Daniella:** "Does he have another one?"

 **Olivier:** "...Ah, I suppose, no he doesn't." 

 **Daniella:** "Yes, little Al." She flicks at his nose. "...Maybe not so little anymore."

 **Olivier:** He would say not, no. Amused, he takes her finger and uses it to pull her with him to sit back on the couch...at least until he heard the rest of this story. Then, he had ... oh, other plans. 

 **Daniella:** "I mean, I'm only like...six, maybe seven years older but...well, sometimes he and his mother would come to France with his mother's best friend, Mary? And then she....well..." For a moment, as she falls to sit next to him, her face breaks, softening. 

 **Olivier:** Curious and nonchalant, "For the record. I wouldn't say anything against Lyndsea to Harper."

 **Daniella:** "I wasn't going to, no." She chuckles once, but her face is still softer. "I just...think she was broken, for a while. She was never very...warm, you could tell -- even as she was warmest around Al. Loving someone that much...Maybe as a little girl I used to dream there was someway she'd get her husband back, so I was a little predisposed to believe it." 

 **Olivier:** The light that had appeared in her gaze makes him smile, and he thinks for a moment he was content just to watch her and listen. Or, okay, well, his hand was coming up to grace her shoulder blade too. 

 **Daniella:** Smiling as she feels the gentle caress (so different from the bruises she was sure to have up her back), she turns to him as she continues. "Anyways. Yes, I read Harper's research, some of it, because Alcott was a little pain in the ass sometimes - most times - now that hasn't changed really, but I still love him anyways -" Her finger comes up as if that makes the point for her, "- and anyway, I learned quickly that if I gave him the book he'd made of all the pieces of it he collected...he'd settled. Then he'd ask me for help on words, some of it I'd help him read through -- stuff like that. You know, for maybe a year, as I never understood it really. I stopped when the nine and a half year old knew what the Zoastrian religion tenants had correct in the Indo-Iranian subcultural pursuits of using a barsom wand.

 **Olivier:** "Zona--" He was laughing even as he stubbled over the word himself.

 **Daniella:** "Zo-ass-tree-an, yup." She helps him through giggling. Then she nudges his shoulder with her own.

 **Olivier:** "I .. do not blame you for stopping, no." He smirks, pulling her closer as she nudges at him, and wrapping an arm around her. He waits a few moments and then says softer, "I actually...mentioned, you to Harper today."

 **Daniella:** She looks up from his shoulder without a word.

 **Olivier:** "...Called you my girlfriend." He would not make the fact become a question, he would not. When he tilts his own eyes down, he finds himself breathing easier at the soft little smile that had appeared on her lips. He knew that smile; the honest affection in it, he loved that smile (and loved those lips).

 **Daniella:** For a second, the idea of genuinely being Olivier D'Grey's girlfriend had -- well. Stunned her, to silence and small smiles while she tries to focus on breathing (because a second later she knew the moment she answered his unspoken question she as going to need all the breath she could get). 

Whispering, as she pulls herself up, "...I like the sound of that." 

Ha. She was right. He settled about depriving her of breath so throughly, Daniella wasn't sure she'd ever breathe free air again. 

(And she didn't want to).

 

 

 

{*}

**Claude:** *She looked like her. Like his Eliza, the baby girl he had hardly gotten to know--no amount of black, scarlet and gold make-up or trashy clothes were going to hide his daughter's face from him. It couldn't be her (but it was). The pure shock, emotion like a single drop of water crystalizing over heat only to shatter, left him holding the gun at his side as she leaps into action upon meeting his gaze.

Tony, he'd heard--considered briefly foiling them another way as the woman he had come to see was being shepherded out. There was simply was no mistaking his old friend's chuckle of appreciation--he heard that a mile away and had been poised to leave before they were thrown into another situation where they were forced to fight. He would not blow Tony's cover.

Only two of the club's security had come out and he'd been too busy taking that out to move. That thirty seconds may well have been the longest that Claude had ever known: he feels emotion hot behind his gaze, drowning-in-lava blue and red emotions too scattered to name another way. He hears a tiny Hebrew prayer on his lips he thinks bizarrely his mother would be proud of. Eliza was dead, how dare they--how dare they stain her memory like this, how dare they use her image?! But it looked like her...

His gun was shaking with his wrist; he'd forgotten entirely what he was there to do.There's shame as he watches--paralyzed himself--as the girl surveys his gun. Shame that melts to icy-hot fury when she whispers, dropping the penny. The purified, crystalized shock in him shatters. He swivels the gun up--the sound of the safety being clicked off was somehow a louder sound than the spells cast before. His gaze is on Tony: bottom lip trembling through syllables but jawline hard when he finishes, not a single tear falls (he's proud of that).

All he can say is in a wretched rage is,* Ex _.plain._

 **Tony:** *Jade had tried to tip away from his hold as she saw Eliza's wand pointed but in his frozen state he had even more the grip of a statue. Unmoving, unrelenting. The stun hit Jade square in the chest and she slumped against him. It was instinct, or some basic form of instructions he was still following, but he had caught her and then with a wave of his wand she was now inside his car while the bodyguards fell, he wasn't sure which one had taken them out, father or daughter. For that had been obvious that's what it was now that he wasn't deliberately avoiding making the connection, and before Eliza had called the man 'daddy'. Eliza in that moment had turned from the woman helping seduce the mark inside to a confused and teary daughter. And Claude himself...fuck, if he thought the man had look haunted before, it was nothing to how he looked like now. Seeing a ghost was too accurate a description here and besides, they were all used to real ghosts, this was something else entirely. He'd had no idea what to speak and then he had a gun pointed at his face,again, and so speech was being forced out of him. Not the proper reunion here, time to move them towards it. Preferably with no guns. So after some requisite privacy spells, he began talking.* Okay, so I've concluded just now Eliza is the daughter you spoke of, so listen, buddy, this is her. She's alive, she didn't die, the Death Eaters faked her death because they wanted her to join.

Eliza dear, *He spoke to her now* I've known your father since I was 15, he trained me, as he's the best hunter in the country. He has recently been helping to foil a few DE raids. Claude *what a ping pong match* this is your daughter and she is very much alive. *He paused and then added.* Gun down, eh cowboy? As frankly, it's a little insulting how little you trust me.

 **Claude:** *Neither spoke immediately, staring with eyes that seemed to burn deep into each other's as crisp words spoke blunt truths, as if Tony was mid-sharpening his axe. Well, tongue in this case. The revelations they both were struggling with accepting were unreal, too large to fucking comprehend at once. Oh hell, Mary had told her he was only a musician -- of course she was staring at the bodies, his gun -- wait, when had he lifted that? No wonder Tony was rude (as if they didn't always tend to be). He locks the safety on it again immediately, tucked it in his jeans. Claude mutters out half the word 'desole', forcing air back into his lungs and rubbing hard over shut eyes. For two seconds. Max. He couldn't bring himself to look away from Eliza for longer than that.

It wasn't the fact that Tony hadn't told him that was infuriating him, actually -- but rather...what he'd just seen his daughter (Eliza, it was her, it really was, from the moment she muttered 'Daddy' he'd known really)--do. The clothes she was struggling to make cover her more now as they both take tentative steps towards each other-- they pale in comparison to the abrupt spell. The, to borrow from Tony, gunslinger's quick draw standoff where she might...frankly even best him in speed-casting. Without any regard to the woman she struck. That's what infuriated him. They took her, to make her into one of them?

Swear words burrow in his throat as Eliza steps forward hastily between him and Tony, her hand on her chest.*

 **Eliza:** Please. *It was all she could say at first, and as it sounds pathetic to her ringing ears (was there a bloody holiday for the Pope she'd forgotten? With electric synthesizers?), she snaps her jaw shut. No, no, no--this was not how she was supposed to see him again, it was not how she pictured it at all. They were supposed to be at home, she was supposed to run into his arms with Butterfly Kisses playing in the background and--

 **Claude:** Eliza?

 **Eliza:** *Oh, hell. Her spine snaps straight at the broken way he said her name and she winces, obvious anticipation for disappointment in her response,* It's true, it's me. I...*Her voice trails off as her gaze darts sideways to Tony abruptly.* 15!? You...wait...*That was easier than waiting for her father's disappointment, even as she had rolled her eyes at 'Eliza dear' (uhoh. Could -- had her father seen them snogging? She really hopes not.)* Fifteen, you...hold on, I don't understand.

 **Claude** : *She stopped walking, but he couldn't, he just couldn't--not until he has a hand raised to her cheek, until he can very gently, recognize that he actually can touch her. That she was real, solid...alive. So alive, if her questions were anything to measure by. Despite the look on his face being one of finding the Holy Grail, the moment she doesn't burst into smoke, he pulls her in to a desperate hug. He holds tight, furiously so, letting her frantic heartbeat beat for both of them.*

 **Eliza:** Dad. *Oh, god. Warmth. He was so warm. She could be held by him for eternity, she realized as arms lock around her in a vice grip. But if he held her any longer right now, she would break and burst into tears. So she pulls back, pushing them off holds her arms over her chest, saying point blank, though it was impossible not for some lightness to come into it,* Mum said you were in a band. 

 **Tony:** *He was half expecting for Claude to call him an insensitive dick somewhere in the middle of his explanation but then he realized the amount of bombs he had no dropped as if he were a fucking kamikaze pilot. Well, maybe not kamikaze exactly as they were obviously one hit wonders (drum roll, cymbal c lash), but the meaning was there. He wasn't only telling Claude his daughter was alive, he was telling Eliza that her father was an expert hit man (of rogue and supernatural beings, mostly vampires but those pesky details again.)* And...I'm a dick. But that's not really news. *He shrugs, his hands now in his jeans pockets (customary jacket was very much inside his car), he speaks quieter.* Yeah 15, after I was almost killed-- long story, wait for the movie. I'll just be *he clicks his tongue as he points to his car with his thumb, walking back towards it.* Wouldn't want to interrupt, pretend I don't exist.

*Though even while retreating to sit on the hood of his car, the idea of Claude being a musician, or rather just a musician, did make him laugh. Wow, hereally was a dick then again, much easier to think of that than to put into his mind the weight of the reunion. This wasn't his burden to bear after all, he should really just let the pieces fall where they may. Sigh. Curse his gentle heart.*

Eliza: *She shoots Tony an eyebrow that just says 'really?', feeling natural color actual overtake her rouge as she hears her Dad's dry chuckle and looks back quickly.* Seriously?! *Oh, that was just great.*

Claude: *He couldn't help it, he had laughed too, after a softer little twitch in his lips mouthed around 'oh Mary'. He does manage to stop the words 'well i was in a band' as the rapid, high pitched, sixteen year old Eliza question made breath stall in his throat. God, look at her. He couldn't stop. There was pride in his smirk now, of both of them oddly, as he calls without bringing himself to look away from her,* Yeah, dick, you got one of those fancy jackets around her for my daughter?

Eliza: *Her hands clasp up to her cheeks, lest she turn actual beet colored maroon, but she smiled. Even as she swivels, heels scraping in the dirt,* Wait--wait no, Tony, I want to....I want to know more. *God that sounded so lame, and there was an odd hurt in her chest at the thought of her father tutoring a fifteen year old, but she...did. She looks back when she hears her father's softer agreement, just, "Yeah, Tony, mate. *The look he had tells Eliza he was basically saying "you belong here too" but... God. Men. Seriously, though. 

So she looks back to Tony and adds,* ...I wouldn't mind the jacket though, *lips twitching,* amore. 

 **Tony:** *Oh, right. That was the gentlemanly thing to do. It was rather chilly and more than that, Eliza was probably tired of looking like a back-alley-Sa lly in front of her dad. Wow, that was still so so weird to process, the fact that Claude was a father and he had a daughter old enough to- but no, Tony'd behave. He was capable of restraining himself. Opening the car door, he grabbed his jacket off the back of his seat and warmed it with a spell so that by the time he had reached Eliza and put it on her shoulders, it wasn't cold as ice as leather tended to get. 

Damn Simmons's, making him part of their family time. Well, he means, he was flattered but that didn't stop from thinking he was intruding, even if they both had the same puppy face. You would think Eliza would have gotten that from her mother. Or maybe they wanted him around because they weren't comfortable or didn't know how to be alone around ech other. That was sad, he hoped that wasn't the case.* B-t-w, I'm so meeting Mary now, I wanna see the other side of these genes. *After motioning to E liza with a nod and then holding up his hands in defense as Claude's eyebrows began to furrow.* Hey, you asked for me, this is what you get.

 **Claude** : *Grateful as the jacket was placed, he realized it was more than anything because she seems to relax while she buttons it up. Now she only shivers from a chill--that he was okay with, provided they could go somewhere properly warm. His brows furrow at the appreciative gesture Tony was giving her, but before he'd said a word Tony's on defense. It makes him chuckle again, a weird lump in his throat.* Yeah, well you can come meet her right now. *Or that was what he'd been about to say. Eliza cut him off.*

 **Eliza:** No, he can't. We, can't--*she winces, holding on to the jacket she'd murmured grazie for tighter and straightening her back to look her father in the eye.* If you're--you're a hunter, then you must understand--I can't leave, they'd... *Her back teeth clench.*

 **Claude** : *Eyes snapping between the two of them, words seem to have deserted him except for her name, gasped out.* Eliza...--

 **Eliza:** *She pushes at his hand as he reaches for her, even as she finds herself taking it. Her voice is steely as she adds,* I'm fine. Truly, *a small smile crosses her lips, as she looks sideways,* Tony, you aren't the worst company in the world. 

 **Tony:** *Oops, there went his big mouth. He didn't of course mean tonight but Claude would, that's what any normal human being would want to do- take his daughter home, show her mother that she was alright, talk about how much they missed and loved each other. Pass. Now -that- reunion, they could do without him, but it would have to be at another time. His lips pursed at the hard truth, going from looking between Claude and Eliza. She wasn't fine, aside from the fact that she was alive, and fighting back against these cowards, and dancing Kesha and sharing naughty fake histories with him. Even though that was all true, she was far from fine but hopefully she would find a way to get there once this was all over. It wasn't though. He smirked* Flattered, *then he teased* but I know I'm your number 4 in this scenario, no medal. *Only Eliza would manage to find that many to begin with, to help her out and have her back. Though really the real miracle there was Wolfie but not a detail he was about to tell Claude, Eliza could do that herself, later, whenever, never? He wouldn't. He turned back to Claude, exhaling.* You know I'm undercover, she is too. Oli orchestra- well, actually, I would say he jumped on the one-man bandwagon. I told you about Angel *not who he really was but not his information to share* he's helping Eliza too, in turn, we're helping him. Until it's time though *time which depended on the mental prowess of a 15 year old, son to a genius but still* we have to stay with them. 

 **Claude:** *Four guys? Of course he couldn't just ignore that, but any comment beyond,* And the other three would be? *He forgets, as Tony kept going.* 

 **Eliza:** *She was glad that Tony spoke, as it gave her an excuse to continue looking only at him. Damn close to breaking her tooth she was gritting her teeth so hard, her gratitude only grew at the remark. Well. Until she thought about it. Who did he think she'd rather pretend to be dating? Obviously there was the one she was (had been) actually dating, and she could see why Tony might think his brother (which yeah, she'd be comfortable with too, at least as much as she was with Tony) but who el--

...her cheeks warm and carmine red, she realizes, the only reason she hadn't gotten it immediately was because of the word "pretend." She clears her throat, but her teasing response dies in her throat when her Dad spoke up.*

 **Claude:** Absolutely not. 

 **Eliza:** *Her eyes snap back to his, a trace of hurt behind them and in her throat,* Dad.

 **Claude:** No. *The remark was stubborn, flat, but short--lest emotion color it.*

 **Eliza:** *Irritation creeps into her voice as her back straightens, her eyes clear.* Well, you can say that all you want but you know what? Actually, it isn't your call.

 **Claude:** Eliza-

 **Eliza:** *Eyes narrow and she folds her arms over her chest,* No, now you're going to play concerned father? It's a little late for that, don't you think? *Her breath cuts out over the word 'late', so she takes a breath before speaking again. She would not waver, let alone show her hurt.* 

 **Claude:** *She might as well as hit him as spoken, but his jaw resets after he blinks away those tears.* Eliza, I don't want--

 **Eliza** : Me involved? Too late. *Her exhale is sharp, but her chin raised. There'd been disbelief in Tony's eyes when she said she was fine, wariness in his proximity all night--but she was so, so tired of being so drastically underestimated. Taking a step forward,* Don't want me hurt? I can take care of myself, I've done it half my life, and, *her head cocks,* I'm stronger now--not to mention, by the way? You are clearly -so- not the person to talk about lying to go after dangerous people. *Her eyes narrow.* Or is it-

 **Claude** : -to fight. *He'd let her talk as long as he could stand to listen (because he was a masochist clearly and well, he deserved it), but he just couldn't take more. Exhaling harshly, his voice softens when he realized he had silenced her.* ...I don't want, to fight. *He repeats it, looking between her and Tony just once.* 

 **Eliza** : *Wrong footed,* ....oh. *Her face falls for a second, eyes wandering around the dark alley before she steels herself to look back, rubbing at her arm. Quiet for a moment as Claude nods at her, she pauses, watching her hand and then says offhand to Tony,* ...is this real silk lining?

Tony: *...No, he couldn't answer that. Nope, not at all. He liked walking around without a bullet in his mouth and he would prefer it that way. So he continued, as the subject of Eliza's male preferences wasn't the most pressing concern though the color Eliza's cheeks were turning did make him pause for a pointed smirk before he continued. Though even that explanation was quickly interrupted when Claude flat out refused. Ah, yes, that had always been a risk. Parents were supposed to show concern after all and as a normal parent (as normal as you can get being a hunter), you wouldn't want your child dealing with the scum of the earth. He looked down at the ground and was struck with a sudden need to ask 'hear that, dad?' but instead Tony looked back up at Claude, and exhaled before he could say anything though, Eliza was off, declaring all the women who truly feel her to throw their hands up with her like the Miss Independent she was. 

Honestly he was as impressed with Eliza as he was feeling bad for his friend. That was harsh but wasn't she saying what he had thought to himself about his own parents for so long? More props to her for getting it out because it was true. She was involved and she was taking care of herself (and getting by with a little help from her friends but shhh) and all that jazz. He just wished Claude would speak up and stop taking this verbal abuse, it was like a car crash, Tony couldn't look away. Finally, it seemed to die away with Claude saying he just didn't want to fight. Now he was a little...confused, but, okay. Take it in stride.* Yes, it is. 

*...Awkward. He didn't like awkward. Time to move on.* But lets prioritize, my wardrobe is pretty inconsequential. *Honestly, he wished he could speak to them both in private. Defend them to...each other? Oh dear.* It'll all be over soon, you know. *Something that he could say to both of them, finally.* I mean yeah, the bad guys never really go away there will be a billion of them still out there, but these will be gone, we'll get rid of them and then you guys could maybe think about some, you know, family counseling *while nodding* and -open- communication, and family game nights. Have you guys played Cranium? I'm a beast at charades. Or Pictionary.

 **Claude:** *Eliza was alive--so alive, filled with such fire that it appeared she couldn't stop snapping at him. He couldn't do it back, not now--she was too damn right that he'd lost the ability to say some form of "young lady go to your room" a long time ago. And...maybe, because he was impressed as much as hurt. His gaze darts sideways as if looking where she'd felled the woman he'd come to see and feels heat inflame in his heart. Quite frankly? This wasn't the life he'd wanted for...either of them. But...

His gaze holds Tony's for a moment as he tries to find a middle and he shakes his head just once, briefly amused that he seemed to know what he was going to say--over? It was never over. There were always supernatural murderers to find; well-off, he'd never be, but unemployed he'd never be either. Instead, he says,* I can't deny you two seemed to make a pretty good team. *He exhales, feeling it was as much as he could....allow. Eliza might be (she was) right, that he had no place, it was too late, and she could look after herself but he didn't...care.

She was his daughter, for fuck's sakes. He didn't stop worrying since the ultrasound, as he told her once before, and she deserved better than all of this. For that matter, Tony did too, but that was an entirely different...battle.*

 **Eliza:** *She freezes for a moment, looking over her shoulder and burrowing her fists in Tony's leather-and-silk pockets after saying,* I happen to like your wardrobe. 

 **Tony** : Really? I was thinking you'd prefer it o-aaah, right, *he nods after a look at Claude* shutting up. *Maybe he wasn't as capable of behaving as he thought. Moving on, though.* 

 **Eliza:** *Finally lifting her gaze back to her father's and trying to push away the shame she felt for putting that hurt in his eyes, she swallows it back. Uh oh. Wait, them making a good team--* We do, mhm. *Nope, she couldn't look at either of them, she was too busy sucking on her bottom lip. Then she, abruptly, giggles.* Family game nights?

 **Claude** : *Exhaling out hot, and looking at the skyline, at that he restrains a snort and turns it to a stiff chuckle,* Mate, I do hope you realize the irony of -you- suggesting family counseling...

 **Eliza** : *Inconsequentially,* I like Pictionary. 

 **Claude** : ...I really can't imagine Olivier D'Grey playing charades.

 **Eliza:** *Her eyes narrow playfully but she says flatly as he'd said "no" before,* Well, I, bet Oli would. *Her chin lifts.* If he dances to Kesha. 

 **Claude:** *Now he just blinks.*  

 **Tony:** Damn straight. *He fixed his collar and his cuffs with a sniff before remembering the button Eliza had undone and bringing his hands back up to quickly do it.* I do see it there, yes. *But there was no counseling in the world mighty enough to tackle his messed up family. Seriously.* Are you kidding? Olive oil's the master of silent communication. *He smirks and then laughs once at the Kesha before agreeing with a nod.* I was proud.

 **Claude:** *He decides, as he darts a narrow gaze between the pair now officially avoiding each other's gaze (and buttoning up, he saw that), that it was best for all of them if he just said,* Good plan. *Immediately, in a low threatening heat, when Tony said "shutting up." Well, and then he adds,* Maybe, shut up a few words ago.

 **Eliza:** *Coughing out to clear her throat, she rubs at her cheeks as she says brightly over it,* He is rather talented at letting his eyebrows explain things for him.

 **Claude:** *His heart was thudding painfully at that--because honestly? His association wirh the D'Greys were the original reason he had stayed far away from her when she was born. Remington might be dead, and Tony was his friend, but Olivier...when had the world flipped over so that his daughter now apparently knew the man better than he did? For Tony's sake though, he only says off-hand,* Well, they both do that. *He smirks.*

 **Eliza:** *She giggles again, especially at that "olive oil" musing,* He's a good dancer, actually. 

 **Claude** : I...  am thinking I don't want to know who Kesha is. 

 **Eliza:** *She flaps her hand, but for a moment sounds much more herself as her hand comes to her hips.* Oh, come on, you said you liked all music.

 **Claude** : *He smiles honestly, a flicker of soft remembrance on his lips before he clears his throat and just nods.*

 **Eliza:** *After a tentative look between them she adds to Tony,* ...how did you know my mother's name? 

 **Tony:** *Smirks,* Oh, he was bragging of course. 

 **Eliza** : *All she did at first was chuckle...and point, because she couldn't help it, at her own eyebrows cocking up when Tony protested by proving her Dad's point. It was nice, she thought, to have a reason to honestly laugh when her heart already felt so dangerously close to imploding. At the response though, not only do her eyebrows disappear into her hairline, her head jerks forward and chin dips with an open mouth so low she nearly hits her collarbone.* Bragging?

 **Claude:** *Hm. You'd think, for someone who spent at the very least the last seventeen years getting himself beat up, he'd know not to chomp down on his tongue before speaking - but alas, he didn't get more than "ah" out before Eliza asked.*

 **Eliza:** *Swiveling to look at her Dad, mouth still in an "o",* You're back together?

 **Claude:** *The question was exactly what he expected, save the blood in his mouth that he sucked down and swallowed hurried (just a precaution). It didn't mean he had an answer in the slightest. Coughing as he cleared his throat too, his arms shift on his chest and he flicks a gaze between daughter and protegee before he says quietly,* Maybe. We haven't--

 **Eliza:** Discussed. *She says quickly, snapping her jaw shut as she's trying to keep the want out of her face - want and..and something else. Hurt, she thinks. Just a tiny bit. She wanted her parents to be happy, it was just.. ...well, was she the only thing in their way then? Her hands fall from her pockets and she cups her own wrist hard behind her back.* 

 **Claude:** *Softer, he takes a step forward after shooting Tony 'a look' that if they were so damned good at eyebrow communication should work, right? Then, to Eliza, under his voice with an arm lifting to hers,* Eliza, it's not--

 **Eliza:** *Whipping her head back up so that her hair flies away from her, there's a determined smile on her lips.* No, it's good, whatever it is -- *she nudges sideways, and elbows Tony's side, saying brightly,* Just sounds like you have another fan, that's all.

 **Claude:** *He exhales, off-put by the abrupt shift but can't help but laugh anyway.* Who definitely, can't keep his trap shut, no.

 **Eliza** : *Lightly,* And you should brag. *When had she stopped being angry with her mother?* Mum's amazing. *Now she looks sideways to Tony again and adds,* ...should we go to the hotel, or can I ask for more dirty secrets? 

 **Tony:** *Even when he thought he was doing right, he got it wrong! Geesh, there were simply no breaks to be had here. He only shrugged his shoulders and asked with a silent 'what?!' as Claude turned to glare at him. He thought Eliza would be happy to know her parents found solace in each other after her death. Then again, thinking it through, he could see why it wouldn't be the best of things to find out, yes. Getting a face full of hair as Eliza whipped her hair, he brushed away from him with a scrunched nose before chuckling when elbowed.* Big fan! *He smirks and then turns back to look at Eliza* Ah well *he checks his watch* you're always welcome to ask for dirty secrets about your daddy, but, as much as I hate this truly *he looks up at Claude now* we do have to meet up for the drop-off. 

 **Eliza:** *She blinks as she feels Tony's fingers brush her hair and curls the strands into her own fist, pressing it hard against the side of her cheek wish a sheepish little smile after mouthing 'sorry', though if she were to be utterly honest...she wasn't sorry in the slightest. It was an adorable expression on his face that made her feel younger than a century old for the first time in a long while (save for when drunk and Kesha was involved). As he checks his watch though, she feels the smile fade, tightening and immobile all at once.* That's what I thought, honestly. 

*Turning back to her father seemed suddenly a massive thing to do, so she waits until she has no other option, instead shaking her own diamonds back out and playing with the silver hoops even when she does. Her father has a look on his face she can't read and wished she could - wished she knew him as well as she knew others in her life, but the truth is she just...didn't. And did she know anyone at home (where was that) anymore, anyway?

This was silly, she thinks. The bruises were gone. If she stood naked in front of a mirror, the only thing she would see is perfect, unblemished skin. You don't look back after Atlanta's burned. 

Her gaze meets her father's again and she finds herself smiling, going on her toes to forestall an argument and kiss his cheek; he said he didn't want to have one, but she had some of her mother in her after all, and Mary Culpeper was infamous for her furniture-throwing tantrums. Squeezing her hand around his shoulder, she lingers kissing for a moment, letting him hold onto her and she thinks, oddly, he needed the grip more than she did. The smile flicks up and she breathes out,* I'll be all right, I swear. Don't...tell Mum, yet, it could be dangerous -- but Tony's right. It'll be over soon, really soon. 

 **Claude:** *He couldn't say what he thinks; he isn't sure anything could ever be all right again. So instead he shrugs a shoulder, and nods at her, eyes filled with tears he refuses to spill and mouth in a smirk he won't move. She seems to be waiting for him to say something, and he says the only thing he can think of, just to her, as Tony seemed to be graciously giving them a moment.* I can give you that, *he mutters, still holding on,* but you have a week before I'm telling her. 

 **Eliza** : *She opens her mouth to argue, but finds herself chewing her lip instead with a sheepish allowance,* I..suppose that's probably for the best, I apologize for any broken furniture.

 **Claude:** *God, and now he's chuckling. He's actually laughing, with his baby girl, and he doesn't know how he can possibly begin to let go. The wrist on her shoulder is shaking and squeezing harder and harder. Even as each finger pops out. He kisses her forehead again and realizes abruptly he forgot to add the one thing he should have said first.* I love you. 

 **Eliza:** *A small smile flutters across her lips as the words seem to wash over her, sink in to her skin and for the first time she thinks she's holding on as hard as he is. For a split second, Eliza wants to scream and bury herself in his arms and refuse to go with Tony, but she calms down instantly and doesn't even feel all that angry anymore (she won't feel it, she won't). Instead she just kisses his cheek again, and releases him all at once, letting him do the same.* You too.

 **Claude:** *It takes frankly all of his resolve not to spin around and go after her when she pushes past him. When the car is gone, he -may- deliver an extra kick to one of the felled security guards. Maybe. In the meantime though, he just notices...Eliza doesn’t look back. An insufferably proud smirk crosses his lips and he calls instead to both of them, where he’d frankly just been going to call on Tony.* Hey...take care of each other...all right?

 **Eliza:** *Swiveling, she doesn’t actually cast her head back, just chuckles under her breath and nudges Tony’s side again, before hooking his elbow with hers.* Like he’s getting rid of me. *She winks at him, tongue pushed to the roof of her mouth and doesn’t turn around.

When they get in the car, she notices Jade is in the backseat still out and promptly unzips his jacket to throw over her. With a sheepish look on her face, she looks sideways to Tony adding,* ...She looked cold. Thanks though, I promise not to ruin your silk and leather. *She waits until he starts the car to chance a quick look through the window to where her father was still standing in the alleyway and her breath catches in her throat. Then she looks sideways and says flatly,* I'm pretty sure you should call Oli and tell him he won't have to fill you in. I spent half the morning talking to him about my father, and now I get the weird look on his face when I said his name. 

 **Tony:** *He backed away from them to allow them their goodbye, knowing that there were some things that even Antonio D'Grey couldn't stick his large nose in. He didn't want to intrude in the first place, he just felt so out of place but then again that was common enough that he didn't even give it a second thought. Well, technically, this was the second thought but not any after that. No matter for how little daughter and father had really known each other, they still had inside jokes and teases between them. Healthy, good, that was..yeah, that was good. 

With a nod to Claude, silently promising the man he'd get his daughter back in one piece (hey, she had a genius, two hybrids and an alpha werewolf on her side, the odds were good) before Eliza took his arm, after poking his ribs yet again, grinning momentarily he shook his head and then he looks over his shoulder and smirks. Take care of each other. That was Claude, sometimes the man still saw him as the 15 year old boy who cried in the middle of his apartment and refused to leave.* Course, man. Watch, she'll end up saving -my- ass. *He smirked again, and a few seconds later they were in his car. Starting the car and turning on the heat, he looked over his shoulder at the woman, momentarily amused at having his jacket thrown over her before shrugging.* No problem. *He puts the car in drive and eases out of the alley onto the street, driving with one hand.* I was wondering if he knew...I suspected something but kept myself from asking questions. If I knew for sure, I'd have gone to him immediately. *He looks at Eliza briefly.* Your dad helped me through a lot when I was just a little younger than you are.

 **Eliza:** *Her smirk had flicked up over the fact that he said "take care of each other," a flash of pride burrowed in her heart that only grew warmer as Tony said she might save his ass instead. Primly, she says,* I would say that's more than likely, actually. *Fixing the wibble-wobble in her earring as it tugs on her flesh, she leans her head against the window and lets the vibration match her still-racing heart. Eyes on the road, at that she has to look sideways though, eyes softening.* Gone to him immediately? So you...trust him too, then, with your life. *She had a feeling she knew how they might have met - if her father was a hunter (that had not set in, that was just...she couldn't handle or process that) - and his father...a vampire. One who was dead, she knows, but decides that is just not a question she can ask. So instead she just asks, voice still soft and yearning,* Did he? How? 

 **Tony:** *He had restrained from telling Eliza to not get too cocky but stopped himself as that would be quite hypocritical to say. Not that it usually stopped him, but he had his rare moments. Lips pursed at her first question, he nods immediately.* With my life. Though he points that gun at me one more time he better be ready to shoot me down. *He chuckled though it was particularly good humor, still funny though. He drummed his hands against the wheel before taking a left.* When I was 14, I ate some poisoned birthday cake. Oli saved me, jammed a bezoar down my throat. Few days later, killer comes back and that's when Oli discovers his super-strength wasn't the only strength we got from dear old dad. 

*He really did have a talent for understatement.* It was a real eye-opener for me because I couldn't do shit. Sarcasm, was my biggest shield but wasn't very effective. *He grins, another understatement. Alright, he would stop before Eliza smacked the side of his head.* I was working out on my own, I'd spar with a few friends, started sneaking out of the house more often too. One day, one of Remington's friends *he scoffed* fellow vampire, maybe 500 years old, one of the best, he came looking for me. Didn't like him, but he liked me for some reason, he used to think I was funny. *He shrugs, rolling his eyes.* Whatever, point is, while I was hiding, your dad showed up. And he was just bad. ass. The first thing you want to do with a vampire is keep them from moving, bam! Two bullets, blew out his knees, perfect bullseye! Even still, that motherfucker put up a fight before Claude got him. And then 15 year old me, I got it in my head that I was going to learn everything I could from this guy, killer of vampires, the stuff of my nightmares...of my life, really. Didn't want to learn from my father, that was for sure. So I tracked him down, he kept himself well guarded I'll tell you that but I don't think he ever expected to have to protect himself from a teenager.

Anyway, after my begging, pleading *he coughs* crying *coughs again* and making sure I -wasn't- sent there by my father, he agreed to take me on. Taught me everything I know, well, most of it. And when I found out I had the bloodlust too...he helped me with that. He even let me crash at his place a few times, not many times though I always wind up dragging myself back home. *Well, till one day he didn't but that was another story all entirely. He took another look at Eliza.* Your dad didn't have to tell help a 15 year old boy scared shitless for his life, the son of Remington D'Grey, a hybrid who could rip out his throat if ever I went off the edge, but he did. I have a lot of respect of him, I owe him a lot.

 **Eliza:** *Tucking her heels around each other and pushing them under the seat so she could slip her toes free for a few minutes, the idle question of figuring out when he learned to drive was pushed from her mind. She's breathless while listening, quietly recalling,* He still carries a bezoar...I knew he was telling the truth...it was too blunt not to be true. *She couldn't remember for a moment why it was she'd known that. Then she did and as her heart skipped a beat she just did what Tony did: turned it to a fast joke and hoped no one noticed (it was just him and the unconscious girl in the car though so).* You know I actually met Oli when he was giving Harper's wife a bezoar too - he's good at that, huh? *She winks and then averts her eyes, swallowing back a lump. Anything else, she realizes she couldn't say. She just sits breathless and speechless, listening hard and praying she wasn't getting teary-eyed. In an odd way, this was the most she'd ever heard about her father, as it turned out she once again couldn't trust what her mother said.

Though...this had to be why, didn't it? He was a hunter of the supernatural, a professional hit man...a murderer, she thinks on a dry throat, but then so was she. It was strange. As Tony spoke, she got the feeling that...well, she'd been anxious about her family learning what it was she had become, but hey, here was one person who she knew at least would get it. Well, two, because Tony too. (And apparently he was number four - she did have to ask about that, but not...not now.) Bad ass, huh? Damn straight. It filled her with momentary warm pride: like father like daughter then, she thinks, even if it's silly or .. well, pointless.

Then all thoughts of her went out the window and her eyes were as round as her mouth (or was that vice versa) as she finds herself riveted to the story. She remembers Hans saying they didn't 'entirely escape the bloodlust', had seen Olivier struggling with it live recently -- but what Tony just said... (and he admitted he cried! she had to restrain from tears herself at that moment).* Tony... 

*She didn't even know what to say - especially the way he said the end. It felt like a reprimand, a defense of his actions and she couldn't admit it but she was grateful...so grateful someone had defended her father to her. But what he said about his father, just... 

Eliza bites her tongue, tugs the silver hoop hard and then says determinedly,* Well, the hybrid who could rip out his throat part is probably the reason for the gun. *She clears her throat, rubs at it, clears her eyes and rubs at them. Hard. Fucking hard, fingers and thumb pinching the skin, then her gaze darts back to Tony's. Looking away was an impossibility,* Thank you. *Softly,* For telling me that. *Exhaling and trying to think -- there were too many questions she wanted to ask, and the Paris nightlife was disappearing too quickly to give way to the tourist traps.* ...I saw Oli, be tempted with...blood...*That word was still not comfortable to her,* when that vampire Chantel showed up, so I'm....curious, how did he...help you with that? And do you think you could...could teach me some of what it was he taught you? I couldn't even..Chantel could have broken my wrist. It's unfair.

 **Tony:** *Well that was the thing, after learning how to kill people in the most effective way you picked up how to save them too along the way. He didn't want to say that out loud though, so he only half-smirked and nodded in agreement before he continued, answering Eliza's question and probably even a little more. Tony couldn't help but to add the last part in there. Maybe Claude had been a shit father, Tony didn't know their relationship, but he had been a good friend and a good mentor.* I much preferred the way you said my full name earlier tonight, by the way. Don't 'oh Tony' me. *He grinned throwing her a quick look before changing lanes.*

Touche yet again. *He relents, though really, the last two times with the gun were for other reasons that could be attributed to the fact that before recently, the last time they had seen each other was for when Tony had left for the United States and the man had wished him luck. By that time, they both thought Tony would never come back.*

Like I said, always up for dirty secrets. *He nodded and then looked at Eliza sideways as she brought up Oli's bloodlust, silently speaking a simple 'ah' at the mention of Chantel.* Well during a sparing match, I got a punch in, drew some blood from his lips, and I just saw red. I lunged, crazy, like a shark he described it to me later. He put me in a chokehold *he laughs* cut off breath until my heart slowed down enough for me to get a handle on myself then he walked over to his liquor cabinet, and I chugged down a bottle. I guess between serving a minor alcohol and human blood, he preferred the former.

As for teaching you, I can do that if you really want. I mean, if Oli and Fido are training you, you're pretty well off too, if you're on the offensive. They're not used to fighting against people physically stronger than them, they tend to easily overpower everyone they meet. On one hand, you'll almost never have that advantage, on the other, you're preparing yourself to go against those odds. And with a vampire like Chantel...*he paused, shook his head with an exhale, lips flicking* the advantage is spells. There's a spell, sends a shock of electricity, that'd be enough to get her to let go of you just by the surprise alone. Another spell, breaks bones, like I said you got to cut off their speed anyway you can.

 **Eliza:** *That makes her smirk flick up even as she gasps indignantly,* Hey, well now wait a minute, speaking of dirty secrets and phrasing-- when precisely did you get so good at erotica anyway, Antonio? *She was glad to realize now she didn't blush, as then, that must have been a just-around-her-father thing. Listening with a nod and twirling a blonde strand until it almost curls naturally now, she can't help but point out,* You realize you're laughing about being suffocated, don't you?

*Well, it appeared that was pretty natural right now. She laughed too. Maybe her joke had just been an excuse to laugh, as she was about to, and didn't really fancy laughing at the image of her father choking Tony. How much older than her was Tony? Age had become so relative. It had the tendency to do that when the parameters were "how many people have you killed?" It wasn't fifteen years -- this was after she was born, it had to be. Her throat closed off. A professional hunter for a father and a liar for a mother and yet the more she learned the more she was feeling attached to them. They were hers. Well, and...Tony's, it seemed, judging by the small smile that crossed his lips for a second. it made her smile lift.* But ... yes I could see why he'd prefer the alcohol. 

 

And oh...I...haven't fought Olivier. *She corrects without shame, trying to keep wariness at bay equally,* He...well, I'm betting this is why? Hans, *and she points at him, like she's threatening to poke him again even though he was in control of a vehicle that could slam them into a tree and he has the only super-hybrid abilities that would probably mean he could walk away unscathed,* -Hans-, is teaching me yes, and Oli's fought with him while I've watched but ... he says he refuses to teach me. *She folds her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her fingernail for a second and hoping she sounds off hand as she adds,* You know when he...saved me, he cleaned me up and then said you were trying to save his soul. *She chuckles at the back of her throat remembering her cheeky remark, adding,* I told him I'd help you. *Casting a look back she adds quietly,* This is why, isn't it? 

 **Tony:** *He hummed, pretending a delightful shiver made its way from the back of his neck all the way to the top of tailbone and then smirked before popping his eyebrows once, twice.* I'll tell you later. *Sticking his cheek out with tongue in the smirk, he passes it over his bottom lip before his teeth followed suit while he kept listening. Yes, he had laughed about being choked and no, he found nothing wrong with it. There was very little to laugh about so anything that seemed funny to him, he didn't tend to ignore. Except being tickled, he would not be conquered by that.

Eyebrows arching high to hear his brother hadn't fought Eliza once, he looked at her momentarily as he stopped at a light before they furrowed into a brief frown. Well, he supposed that made...sense. Wouldn't want to risk it, what if he hurt Eliza, or Eliza hurt him and then once the blood spilled then...yeah, best that happened then. He ignored Eliza correcting his nickname for Hans by emphasizing it, as really it was a Tony thing of him to do, and he wouldn't stop. He had a lot for him actually: Fido, Balto, Duran Duran, Big Bad Wolf, Lobo, Romulus, Wolfie, Dances with Wolves, and Fleacoat he had used once too. It was fun.*

You must have caught him during the 50% of the time he even believes he has a soul. *He moved forward again as the light turned, lips pursing again to hear what Eliza's comment had been.* Well I could sure use the help. But yes, that's why...gotta tell you though, I hope saving my brother's soul grants me a free pass to mine because otherwise I'm fucked. *He smirks, turning briefly to wink and then drives up the hotel driveway, past the normal parking and right through the wall that hid one of the garages used by the organization.* 

 **Eliza:** Just gonna say, know you D'Grey boys are loaded but seriously, you ever needed cash, you so could sell that instead. *She winks, playing with the skirt's bottom and adding idly,* And if you didn't want to sell it I, would not be adverse to reading some of it solo then... *But she quiets as he does and as he ignored her comment she rolled her eyes. Hans just called him Antonio most of the time (and she didn't really want to think about the fact that she actually even had a 'most of the time' with the man, at least not right now, her stomach was doing enough flip flops and-- well actually. Actually, maybe she wouldn't mind seeing him, talking to him about this but, not now. 

So instead she just says aloud, postulating, as she saw Tony frown,* He seems to have decent control though, you know...I mean if he can turn it down when the woman's shoving it in his face. Actually he seemed more affected when he was aggravated than anything...maybe that's wishful thinking. 

*Olivier...she'd met him when he worked to save Lyndsi. The next time she saw him, he was saving her life, and ending another's, moving faster than a blink (Tony was right, the speed was definitely the first thing) and using a single knife and just-- no. She shouldn't think about that moment.

The thing was as she contemplates it now she realizes that...well, was he that different than Hans? For that matter, (and she knew it was her real question), was she? Eyes clouding over at that, she's only cut off from responding right away because they just...drove through a wall. And her heart had took off for a moment before she remembered it was...like Kings Cross or something. The near-wall implosion cleared her emotional question: she realized she'd wondered when Tony had brought up horcruxes before. Instead she says, more casually,* Maybe Persephone's luck is turning around then. *She shrugs a shoulder, but there was no way to say that statement and not have it be loaded. The emotion chokes in her throat again as she undoes the seatbelt, and she looks at him sideways.* And you're not fucked, Tony. Well. If you are, then I am too - and I don't believe that's the plan for the evening anymore. *She cocked her thumb back at the unconscious Jade, smirking and then lifts her chin, her voice softening with her hand falling to her hip,*  You know, I don't know if his belief mattered actually, I think he was just explaining why he'd...helped save me, because of you. 

 **Tony:** *He smirks at the irony of her actually advising him to do something he had already done. Tony had not lied to Claude when he'd say Tony's money wasn't dirty (well, I guess in some aspect it was) and while he did have a credit card connected to the D'Grey funds (that went to supporting his expensive wardrobe that he was too firmly attached to now) most of Tony's money was in fact his own. Earned legally, legitimately, and then built on with a little help from his year as a finance major.*

I've got more control in keeping from it, but he has more control of himself while he's drinking it. Now I just pretty much suck at both. *He shrugged, not sparing a moment to be surprised by how casually he could talk of his bloodlust to her. Maybe it was because she had already admitted to have seen it with her own eyes from his brother.

Chuckling again as Eliza once again turned his own phrase against him, she was particularly good at that and didn't Claude say that was what Mary would have done had Tony chosen to tease her over Virgin Mary?, he shook his head as he turned off the care, making sure to mutter a soft sorry for not warning her of the wall before. 'Just lucky I picked the right wall' wouldn't have been that funny of a joke.*

I know. *he sighed* Shame. I wish I could offer some 'if you ever need some meaningless hot sex to unwind' but now it feels wrong. Which makes it hotter. But either way, I like not having a bullet in my brain. *He smirks and slips the keys out of the ignition with his eyebrows raised.* Oh, huh....maybe a little, maybe. But really in the end, he helped save you because he wanted to, because he wants to be a better person not only just for me but for himself too. At least, that's what I hope, think...believe. *He nods after, firmly.* Believe. *He opens the door and steps out before closing it and opening the back one now, and carries Jade in his arms* Upsy-daisy.

 **Eliza** : *Now he pretty much just sucks at both. That puts a shiver up her spine so quickly she nearly knocks her head against the side of the car. It had stopped though, and she rubs over her throat before pushing the seatbelt off her shoulder and slipping her wand out again. The new one, the one she's already felt twice the affinity for since Harper made it for her; she needed to keep it in her hand now, especially as she wasn't sure which...Death Eaters were going to come for her. It puts a bad taste in her mouth: were they honestly just going to hand the girl over and let her resume being tortured...?

Jade wouldn't be killed though, of that Eliza was certain, and she would be - they all would be, if they didn't see this through. Sliding her hands into her pocket and refraining from a shiver, she looks back up and said first,* Suck, at both? No pun intended, I imagine?

*Why didn't this frighten her more? She supposed because...she'd watched Hans transform, watched her friend do the same with some...elaborately dramatic mortal-wound-causing coaxing...and seen worse, far worse, from what they'd done to her. She rubs a hand comfortingly over her diamonds, but all the while she just smirked at him. Even as her eyebrow cocks up while she gets out of the car too and she realizes she's laughing again,* It feels wrong now? Because...

*Actually, she could guess.* Because of my father being your mentor? Huh. You're right. Definitely wrong. Definitely hotter. *Sucking on her thumb for a second and then popping the side of her cheek out, she shrugs it idly away and pushes her car door shut. Tony didn't need to hear from her that three words with increasing levity actually decreased how "believable" they were. He knew that already. Instead, she said softer,* I believe that too. *It was firmer for her, because she'd heard his first answer: "you deserve to be safe." Whether or not that was a line...she didn't honestly know, but what she did know? Very few people who were soulless and evil to the core went around saying that someone else deserves safety. 

Her gaze was riveted to his as he lifts Jade and she picks his suit jacket back up, promptly putting it back on. It was cold. Still fluffing her hair out around the collar, she waits a moment and says softer,* Anything you need help with though, I'm your girl. Now for instance, *she reaches down her shirt, fishes and then nods, holding up the room key card, smirking at him,* There we go. 396. *She pauses.* ...Are you going to carry her? Won't that draw attention?

 **Tony:** I may be corny and insensitive but I'm not -that- corny and insensitive. I do have some standards, thank you. *There weren't many, and they weren't that high but he did have some. And really, considering how psychologically messed up he was supposed to be thanks to all series of factors dealing from, but not limited to, being only half human to not being able to remember the last time someone claimed to love him, this was a huge step over what he could be! His inherent hotness was really the old thing that gave him his standards most of the time, actually.

And morals, morals dictated some of his standards like not coming on to your friend's daughter for real. That'd be an easy one to follow though, even as Eliza proved to be a little tease herself.* Kinda loses the appeal after I remember you calling him daddy though, so no worries. *Ha, if there was one fantasy he wouldn't do, it was that one. Not to his liking, but oh look! More standards! 

Nodding, in both relief and gratitude as Eliza expresses her own belief, that sounded much more sure than his. Something borne out of not having lived with the man for so long really, ignorance was bliss but Tony wasn't lying about what he had said either. Smirking as she fishes the key card out of her shirt, tilting his head wondering how'd that stayed in there, he simply chuckles and closes the car door with his hips and steps in front of the car.* Oh, amore, watch. He brings a finger up to a specific spot on the wall before the wall slid open to reveal elevator doors. Or rather, maybe they should call it the any-a-tor. He motioned for Eliza to enter first and then followed in before pointing at the room card sensor* Slide it through there, it'll take us to the room.

 **Eliza:** Your welcome. *She responds flippant to his sarcastic 'thank you,'  the short skirt twirling away from her even as she tries to make his jacket cover everything again.They didn't get to stare. Tony could (well he'd had his hands on her too technically, so she supposed that was why she didn't mind the jacket being His), but whoever was going to come meet them did not get a free show, dammit. Her brows furrow at the remark, and then she chuckles.* Erg, yes I suppose that would, Antonio. *She was taking what he'd said about her full name to heart, even though she knew most just called him Tony. Or maybe it was a reward, since, he was helping her. (Mostly, Eliza rather liked being special).* Ah. *She steps through first, surprised to see the elevator appear and beaming in amusement at it: honestly, sue her, the fancier this got, the more she felt like a secret agent. With a grin, she waves the card and then locks her hands behind her back to stop from falling over in the stilettos - rather, stop from falling -in- to Tony. Looking warily at Jade, she breathes out and in, murmuring,* Thanks, by the way. For...holding her when I stunned her. It was just--reflex, I was so surprised to ... see him...woah-! *Was this elevator moving sideways? That could not be safe. A ridiculous grin spread over her lips and she kept the key card in hand as she watched the walls. There was a 'ding!' and she laughed out, even before the door opens.* Well then. ...was that yours, or your brother's idea, anyway? 

 **Tony:** Then again...*he added as Eliza used his full name again, and just let that sentence continue off into the silence his smirk presented. Despite his teasing, he really was quite serious: there were some lines that he just did not cross. Yes, those still existed even for him. Patricide, pft no problem, sleeping with his best friend and mentor's daughter? Oh no no! Big no no, hit the brakes, that was one red light he couldn't run. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy hearing his name though, of course not.* 

Did I mention this goes in all directions? *He tuts his tongue, managing to keep balance with no effort and a simple grin.* Thought I mentioned that already, must have thought it. *The grin turns smirk before he shrugs and answers simply.* Not mine, so I guess Olivier's. I would have suggested a transport ray. 'Beam me up, Scotty!' That sort of thing. *He stepped through the doors as they opened where the regular door would have been (and would be again once the elevator closed), moving to place Jade on the bed before reaching for his phone and sending a simple text message 'done.'* They'll be here any second.

 **Eliza:** *She folds her arms back on her chest and cocks her head watching him walk out with a little -oh haha- mouthed after him and (upon spying he reflection in the mirror) rubs at her lips as well to brush off the scarlet paint that was...mostly gone already.* What makes you think I'd even be interested? Hm? *Though, she can't help it (and fine it was maybe calculated): she stole another quick look to his lips to see if that was where most of her make-up had wound up.

Huh. Thank God that alleyway was dark, she thinks, or her father probably would have said something about that. It was only the fact that she really wasn't interested that she'd felt so comfortable tonight though, and the only reason she felt comfortable teasing and flirting now. When it was serious...her heart flutters and she swallows any comments back on that, decidedly saying instead,* No, must have slipped your mind. *She loved that though. It made her feel a little younger to enjoy the ride. Though she couldn't help but giggle and point out,* Nope, you didn't mention, more fun that way. **It was, though she still wasn't sure what "Beam me up, Scotty!" actually meant. She got the point though: apparition light, and a reference to some muggle movie (it seemed like something Tony did). With a small smile still on her lips, she steers clear of the bed and honestly, was giving Jade a wide berth at this point. She nods.* Why, are they using cell phones now? How provincial and yet refreshingly modern of them.

 *Actually, it was more likely some kind of ruse: some sort of "you'd never expect death eaters to" and thus, they weren't traceable. They'd given her a phone too, hadn't they? ...The thought of them coming though, she looks around for fifteen sickle macadamia nuts and immediately starts eating them, ripping the plastic off. She was worth it, and it was the Death Eaters card, so in this she viewed a "win-win." Mid-pop, she looks over her shoulder at Tony and says casually,* You know. I actually almost had fun tonight. That weird? 

 **Tony:** *Tony just raised his eyebrows and looked back at her as if to say 'please, have you -looked- at me?' and also 'I would have sex with myself if I could' expression which was only about 12.5% true. As she looked at his lips, he pouted them far enough for him to look and then forgot that they were stained. Hmm, oh well.*

Don't know, because they decided sending an owl was impractical and most of the Death Eaters can't cast a patronus for shit because of their lack of skill and/or happy memories? *He shrugs, not really caring that much to figure out exactly why, though the irony of an anti-muggle group using muggle inventions was hilarious. He headed to the bar, of course he did, and grabbed a bottle, taking out the cork with his pinky nail with a pop.* Not weird at all. *He looked back to her with a drink.* I had fun too, I'm into roleplaying. Oh! Right, I was going to tell you how I know so much about eroticaaaa. *He takes a swig and wiggles his eyebrows.* I do write it, actually. Or did, haven't since college the first time around.

 **Eliza:** You just do that on purpose, don't you? *She couldn't help but ask as he popped the cork out in the third-interesting-impossible-for-human's way since she'd met him, and that had been less than twenty-four hours, sum total. Though, granted, learning that her father had mentored him on top of the heavily improvised snogging on command (and dancing to Kesha, of course, couldn't forget that) -- she supposes it's the quality of the conversation really, that matters in the end for how well you know someone. 

She'd giggled, over the fact that there would be a lack of happy memories but in all honesty that was only too...true. It was half the only kind of smile she got anymore she realized, and was much happier when he was wiggling his eyebrows and telling her something she couldn't actually believe she'd guessed.* No. *Breathless, it distracted her from the fact that she actually had fun on a forced date where they were live, sex-bait for kidnapping -- because Tony was a good guy (you know, if you left out the vampire-father and bloodlust and blahblahblah), and he was honestly making her feel better. Was that such a goddamn crime?* --oo, *She was still mid-breathless "oh" in "no", and then she giggles again,* really? You did? *She pops another macadamia nut.* You're pranking me, aren't you? You actually wrote erotica? 


	59. A Vampire in Paris

**Devin:** Paris.

 **Alcott:** *Not turning around from his work, his brows furrow. He'd heard his friend come back in, but the lack of greeting coupled with the fact that they had been talking about England's national team when he went to get a beer, he wasn't at all sure where that came from. Lips quirking,* Rome?

 **Devin:** *Snorts,* I have no interest in Tokyo, mate.

 **Alcott:** *Turning his knife, so he stays perfectly steady,* What are-

 **Devin:** They're in Paris. The Headquarters.

 **Alcott:** *That makes him look around finally. Devin is holding two beers, unopened, and the expression of certainty that would convince a man Victoria's Secret models weren't attractive. A raised eyebrow asks with him as he sets the knife down on the wood board. He holds on to his wand.* Because of the French phrase? Howd'you narrow the city?

 **Devin:** *Moving past the branch Alcott had cut from, he sets the beers down. His eyes never leave Alcott's.* Few reasons.

 **Alcott:** The more evidence you have the better.

 **Devin:** *Smirks,* I'm aware of the scientific method, mate. You going to educate me on that too?

 **Alcott:** Shut up. *He smirks, reaching over to take the beer, flicking his thumb to open it.*

 **Devin:** I did some research, after what you said your Mum knew about Rachelle-- rather, Jacqueline. Ansel Dorat? He told Irene he grew up in Paris-

 **Alcott:** *There's a momentary amber glint in his eye.* He might have lied.

 **Devin:** True. But there is a Dorat pureblood family there, and it's true if you did a Google search you'd find nothing about an Ansel...well, if...

 **Alcott:** *Laughs, after another sip,* You used your Dad's influence.

 **Devin:** *Shrugs, but there's a tiny grin on his lips that makes obvious the fact it's true.*

 **Alcott:** Proud of you, mate.

 **Devin:** *He pushes his unopened beer towards him.*

 **Alcott:** *Laughs again, nods once and then opens it for him.* So there was an Ansel?

 **Devin:** ...yeah, and it's not a pretty story, not surprised they made the press sit on it.

 **Alcott:** *Quietly,* Irene mentioned that too. A...there was a girl? 

 **Devin:** *He nods.*

 **Alcott:** *Rubs his lips, allowing a moment of silence.*

 **Devin:** It's more than that though. To all public record, he didn't exist. 

 **Alcott:** *Snorts, saying only,* Hans?

 **Devin:** That's a possibility. *Idly, after taking a sip.* But it's more a question of whose influential in France, isn't it? 

 **Alcott:** *Nods, turning back to lift tool back up, unwinding the heart string as he asks,* I assume this is evidence point two? So two of the wolves are from Paris--hardly definitive. 

 **Devin:** Yes, but--Hans. *His face flicks in distaste at the name.*

 **Alcott:** *Meticulously stretching between silver tongs, he says nothing, bothered and not wanting to admit he was.*

 **Devin:** He's not from Paris. But... he was there this summer.

 **Alcott:** *He goes still, eyes darkening. The dragon's heartstring vibrates dangerously between tong tips. With a low voice,* When we were.

 **Devin:** What if it wasn't just when we were? I jus--we know Sam had these connections before, but Hans was just hanging out in Paris waiting for Sienna to find him? She wasn't exactly the most likely lead--

 **Alcott:** *He cuts over,* Right. *He didn't want to think about why she'd been disconnected. Frankly, he had enough reasons to feel fucking guilty and he doesn't want this heartstring to snap.  With an exhale, he lowers it straight and picks up the opposing branch.*

 **Devin:** *Leaning back abruptly as the branch cuts around him (Alcott did that on purpose, he knew), he takes a sip of the beer and continues without mentioning Sienna directly again. He'd rather not get smacked by a tree branch.* Well, what if Hans recognized her because of what they were planning, so he talked to her for information yeah--but what if we've had it backwards? What if he wasn't following us, but -we- were on his turf? Otherwise, why go to Paris for the one weekend we were there? If it was you he wanted--

 **Alcott:** It wasn't just me. *Eyes narrow, hissing,* He gave her a fucking diamond bracelet, Stuart.

 **Devin:** *Breath catches, saying quieter,* I know. But speaking of who has influence in Paris, France.

 **Alcott:** I thought you were saying Hans doesn't--

 **Devin:** D'Grey does. *Flat.*

 **Alcott:** ...he's Italian. *Brows furrowed in confusion.*

 **Devin:** Yes, but remember why you knew the name?

 **Alcott:** *Blade slicing leaves off, he stills and cocks an eyebrow,* ...the vampire? Devin, that's a story for -- *snorts*

 **Devin:** *Undeterred,* In England, it is. Do you remember the story?

 **Alcott:** *Brightly,* Why, yes Devin. I get tucked in every night while Mummy warns me about the monsters under the bed.

 **Devin:** *Eye rolls, but says equally brightly,* Or in this case, Mummy tells you not to wander off when you're in a foreign city even if it looks all exciting because there's a--

 **Alcott:** *Voice regaining seriousness with dawning comprehension,* ...vampire in Paris. 

 **Devin:** Ding ding! And not just a vampire--

 **Alcott:** *Smirk flicking in pride, he continues in the same voice,* ...one whose from the mob. *Lifts his gaze from his whittling, pleasantly adding,* The Italian mob.

 **Devin:** Congratulations, you've officially won the Firebolt II. Shipping and handling prices apply.

 **Alcott:** *Waves off,* You think it's true?

 **Devin:** I think, *sitting on the desk,* the bedtime story came to England in the last hundred years by the truth that you say the name D'Greyin Paris and people turn white. Seriously, don't wander off in Paris? This is the city who literally invented the derive.

 **Alcott:** ...the what? *Turning his shaving and resuming whittling.*

 **Devin:** *Sigh,* French term. Has to do with the benefits to wandering in an urban environment and how observation makes you an artist.

 **Alcott:** ...certainly sounds pretentious enough to be French, yes.

 **Devin:** *Laughs and nods,* Yes, well. We have ... two people who became pack members in Paris. We know Hans was there. D'Grey's legacy is there. And Nadia spoke French when--

 **Alcott:** *He nods, turning the shaving again as he interjects,*--she suddenly broke into a rhyme, yeah. That is...a lot of coincidence, yeah. 

 **Devin:** Paris, France. 

 **Alcott:** *Putting tools down to reach for his beer again. After a long gulp,* You know how many gargoyles there are in Paris? *Incredulously,* Like, honestly.

 **Devin:** *Chuckling,* Yes. I know the exact number.

 **Alcott:** *Rolls eyes,* yeah yeah.

 **Devin:** ...you know who we should ask though.

 **Alcott:** No, who?

 **Devin:** *Bites down hard on his bottom lip and says nothing.*

 **Alcott:** *The beer comes down from his lips as he turns to look at his friend,* ...Devin.

 **Devin:** *Soft, but with obvious determination.* Eliza's father grew up there, didn't he? And according to her, and her mother's stories, they wandered all over the city--anyone's gonna know about secret passages or at the very least magical areas muggles can't go and civilized people don't--

 **Alcott:** *Rubs his forehead,* Yeah. *Bites his bottom lip,* Yeah, just--

 **Devin:** I think he'd want to help. *Those words were soft too. Still the boys look at each other in mutual disquiet and then return alike to beer and wand-carving. Of course Mr. Simmons would want to help -- for the same reason they both were set on this. After a few quiet minutes, he exhales aloud and mutters,* Besides. There's more to these clues.

 **Alcott:** *Brows flicker,* What makes you think there's another clue?

 **Devin:** *He looks away, chewing on the rim of his beer and says quietly,* They knew. The one who did this to Nadia's memory-- they. Knew. All the information she had at the Gala--the plan she couldn't remember hatching...that was protecting his or her identity, allowing them to help her without risking themselves--

 **Alcott:** *He nods once in a jerk.* I know, but.

 **Devin:** There has to be more. *Flatly,* They knew she was going to be at risk.

 **Alcott:** At risk?

 **Devin:** Something happened. *Stubbornly, looking back at Alcott and lowering the bottle.* The firs--she foiled them, at the Gala, she got away--so maybe she...maybe they didn't mean for her to live.

 **Alcott:** Their fucking mistake then.

 **Devin:** But it presented a problem for them. *He flinched. Logic, he had to focus on it logically, or else his anger would--well. He puts the beer back on the counter, hops off it and starts stalking as he keeps talking.* Now she's back, with us, with all this information locked away--

 **Alcott:** *Nodding slowly as he spins in the chair,* That they're daring me to break--

 **Devin:** *Cuts over,* First night she was telling the Aurors everything, every piece of information she could think of and then the Healers told her to rest and wouldn't let her-- **Alcott:** She did need to rest--

 **Devin:** Yes, but then--nothing. She hasn't said a word--

 **Alcott:** *Arched eyebrow again,* Maybe she did already say all she knew.

 **Devin:** *With a heavy, hot exhale,* That's not it. You think I don't know when something is making her feel guilty? When something's wrong? Bloody hell. Of course I do.

 **Alcott:** You think she was threatened?

 **Devin:** I think, *flatly*, that Eliza was fine and then she wasn't. And that Nadia was giving the Aurors free access, and then she wasn't.

 **Alcott:** *There's a ringing kind of silence as both of them tense, anger and hurt spread in blood on flushed cheeks. He shuts his eyes, hands going out on either side and clenching around the desk to force back the beast in his chest rarring to transform, to implode. Under his breath, he murmurs in quiet heat.* Yeah.

 **Devin:** *Resuming the pace, he moves on quickly as if compelled,* Nadia would be in danger, released, so they had to be clues given to us--

 **Alcott:** Yes. *His head whips up.* But why do you think there's another one? Wh--

 **Devin:** The only way, *he whips back around and his hand smacks the air,* the only way to hide clues without her knowledge was to lock it with her mind. You found the first phrase, she remembered home. You found the second and school came back. *There's a wrinkle in his brow, a frog in his throat.* There has to be at least one more, because...*Huffs out, voice whimpering away and then he rubs his forehead and slides the hand back in his pocket.* 

 **Alcott:** *Instinctively he understood, but he stays still in stark juxtaposition.* Devin.

 **Devin:** She hasn't remembered -me-! *Palm landing flat on his chest, voice breaking. He takes a second to steady, looking away and shaking his head back and forth.* Not...not one thing...

 **Alcott:** *Quietly, but fervent, he stands.* Dev, mate. The mind doesn't...it isn't a matter of--popularity or wh--

 **Devin:** *His teeth slam together and he inhales sharp. Then nods.*

 **Alcott:** *Slowing with his hand still up, in case Devin launched back into pacing,* If --I mean if anything, the fact she hasn't remembered yo--might mean that --you, or friends...that what was most, important to her. That she locked it away so you wouldn't be used against her, guarded it with everything -- now it's the hardest to--

 **Devin:** *Head turning back with his gaze slowly, he's already speaking ten miles ahead of both,* Maybe. If this amnesia wasn't magically manipulated. But it was, Al, it was engineered to protect the Death Eater's bloody location and her -- there's a deliberate pattern. And I can say it doesn't matter, to me, if she never gets every memory back but--

 **Alcott:** *Calm, and more bitter than angry--in a tone that suggests he was too used to anger to take on more,* Of course it does.

 **Devin:** It doesn't change how I feel. *Snaps immediately, defensive.* Not one iota. What it does...it defines what relationship we can--will, have. I just...

 **Alcott:** You think there's another clue, because as long as she doesn't remember you, than whoever it is who hid the first one knows we'll keep looking.

 **Devin:** *He just nods. Breathless, fiery want on his dark face, he finally moves to take his beer back.*

There's a deliberate pattern.

 **Alcott:** *Uncomfortably,* ...Devin--you know how many magical law aphorisms there are? I don't even know them all, I'm sure--

 **Devin:** I know. *After another swig, he sits back, lowering his beer.* Al-

 **Alcott:** And do you think I've been sitting on my ass? I've seen her as often as possible, we've tried some of them, other spells, even looked for a back door to her recollections--hell, I tried a Pensieve?

 **Devin:** *Bluntly,* I think you know very well it isn't just in-jokes about wandmaking and magic--

 **Alcott:** Stuart--

 **Devin:** \--*louder,* but that they're in-jokes your father got or invented even--

 **Alcott:** *Growls, eyes flashing yellow as he turns away incredulously.*

 **Devin:** And I think you've been trying everything in the world to avoid having to go there again.

 **Alcott:** *Under his breath,* You think I would put Nadia's health in jeopardy?

 **Devin:** I think it hurts you. *His words were certain, but soft as he could make them.* Having to think how they've used your father's memory and research and wand--*he looks deliberately at the table that Alcott has turned back to, the half completed wand resting there, core and second wood flat besides it,* ...that you're sick of how much it hurts. And. That you're afraid what you might find out, because you have something of your father's to solve, to find -- and you don't want that to be completed. 

 **Alcott:** *Jerking up, he goes back to the desk and slices the final shaving away, saying nothing.*

 **Devin:** *Quietly, to his friend's back,* ...because it's the closest you've ever been to him, and you don't want to lose that.

 **Alcott:** *For a moment his hand curls into a fist. For a moment he wants to hit Devin for saying that. For insinuating he would hurt Nadia deliberately--stall and maneuver around so that he could cling to some desperate childhood wish of his father--wants to rip into Devin's throat actually--but...he was right. Dammit, he was. Eyes narrowing,he pulls his old wand out from his pocket, the one his father made him, and pushes it against the wood, muttering a spell.*

 **Devin:** *Quietly,* There's something else your Dad used to say, isn't there? That he said...that night?

 **Alcott:** *The blue glow from his wand is reflecting as the moon would in his yellow eyes, and he just watches the weaving woods. He says in a low undertone,* There was one more rhyme, yeah.

 **Devin:** *His breath had caught abruptly as Alcott started weaving wood together--having said the incantation to himself so Devin couldn't hear--and then he exhales at that.* Just one? *Alcott did realize that meant it had to be it, didn't he?*

 **Alcott:** *He doesn't move. The glow as blackthorn and poplar welded was putting a soft smile on his lips and he was grateful his friend didn't make him say another word aloud on the subject. When the completed wand stops glowing, he lays his hand on it, only  to see the glow return. His smile widens. Then he gently lays his old one in a velvet lined box, closes it, and spins back, new wand in hand.* Seriously, one of these days your psychology fetish is going to get you killed.

 **Devin:** *Two woods. Honestly, he'd seen his friend practicing the spell so as not to waste wood from the trees he'd apparently spent a decade grooming personally, but watching it work like that...impressive. A smirk appears on his lips and he nods absently.* Hey. Nadia finds it sexy.

 **Alcott:** *There was a low hum of power he could feel vibrating up his arm, and itching to try it out--at that, he just laughs while gesturing out the door,* Understood mate, say no more. 

 

{*}

**Olivier:** The opposite of not deflecting? What, they don't teach double negatives in university anymore? *Sitting back in his chair, smirking idly,* I knew America's education had gone downhill but - *whistles*.

 **Tony:** Pretty sure that's one of the things you're supposed to know before you enter university but given that I spent years skivving off my education, it's a miracle I cross my t's as dot my i's actually. *He pauses and then asks* What -is- the opposite of not deflecting? Just deflecting? So what's the opposite of deflecting in a single word? Facing? Or a-flecting? Inflicting? Ooh, no, that's a totally different connotation.

 **Olivier:** *He chuckles under his breath, eyebrows acknowledging with a head-tilt "yeah, that's true", even as he says aloud,* Hey, give yourself a little credit, brother! Just depends on what you define education as, really, I mean, if pub-fries and darts and booze and women were a course, then, *He claps his hands together,* A+. 

*Standing up as he asks, he nods,* Just deflecting, yeah. See, the two opposing ideas cancel each other out and you can just act like they aren't there. *He stops in front of him.* Like, for example, if you were to say you're -- not, -not- drunk right now, would I be correct? 

 **Tony:** They were a course! *He lifts a finger and swirls it in the air as he nods* A full course meal, one I indulged in every Thursday, Friday and frequently Saturday nights. Rarely Sunday but I relented sometimes. Sunday's holy day, after all, I was busy communicating with God. *He snorts and then chortles, shoulders moving up and down as he leans back in his chair and reaches for the bottle again as he listens to his brother, brows furrowing, working out this logic a bit more slowly than he would have...* No...? Yes...? Yes-no? Maybe so? I don't know? *He grins*

 **Olivier:** *Smirk lifting, he nods along as if Tony was speaking not only truth but,* Why, I don't know, if this is you reciting scripture I could get on board with this religion after all. *Mhming,* Right, *and then reaching his hand out in one smooth, rapid jerk, he has the bottle in hand too,* seriously, Tony? Maybe-so you've had enough then. 

 **Tony:** My first apostle! *He claps his hands together and then wags a finger, eyes scrunched up and lips pursed even as he talks* Knew it'd be you. Like Peter to Jesus! Or was it...Jesus to God? Or John the Baptist to Jesus? And which one came first, the chicken or the egg? Did God make the chicken or the egg in which it hatched from? These are the questions that haunt me. 

*He nodded somberly and then protested with a 'hey!' as the bottle was snatched out of his hand.* I've killed people for less, you know. *He snorted again, grinning and then laughed at himself.* That's bad, I shouldn't laugh at that, that's not funny. Leo used to say that when we were teenagers and he thought it was funny but I never laughed. Mostly because -I- was supposed to be the funny one, not anyone else but whatever. Bottle back? *He extended his hand for it.*

 **Olivier:** *Smirking idly as he moves back even fully aware of his own irony he said anyway,* Just those questions? Oh good, for a moment you had me worried it was something serious there. *Ha, ha, yeah -- seriously though, sometimes Olivier thinks he has no room left to worry about anything below the life-or-death level. And then...

Oh, brother. Though his smirk didn't move, while he put the bottle behind his back and listened, his eyebrows did and his .. heart definitely did, that damned thing probably skipped a beat or whatever (an odd phrase; it was an organ, they didn't skip). He had never spent really much time with Leo, but that still sounds like him so he nods.* ..Never known you to not rise to the competition, he really that hilarious? He presses his lips together, hard as he considers him and then says first,* Ah, yeah, no. Think I should hold onto this until you're not asking me if God laid eggs. 

*Pulling back, he doesn't turn around as he walks, saying pointedly,* And you haven't, you know. At least. I don't think my ego can take having my life being called less than someone trying to stop you from drinking into oblivion. *He pauses, walking, breath- everything as he smirks to himself and looks at the ceiling,* Even if ah, they're both me. 

 **Tony:** *He scoffs and then shakes his head stubbornly.* Nope! He thinks he's that hilarious. Wonder what that cazzo's doing now. Haven't spoken to him in yeaaars! *Had to make a mental note to get back in touch once he was done fighting evil and saving the world like the superhero that he was. Super Tony! Or maybe he should give himself another superhero name like...Super Gigolo. Except that just made it sound like he was super cougar bait and well, that made a little sense given the fact he already knew of one woman older than a century who had oogled him. Couldn't blame her of course, couldn't blame anyone, just look at him. He was dripping with sex- oh, no, ouch, that wasn't a description he had come up with on his own. Hmm, time to forsake his own thoughts.* 

Now I'm just picturing God squatting down and popping out eggs, thanks man. *Not cool, not cool. He stands as Olivier moves backwards with his alcohol and Tony only 'ha-ha's' at his flawless logic. (His logic was always flawless. Kind of annoying.) Taking the opportunity while Oli looked up at the ceiling to remark on his vanity, Tony moved quickly so that he was standing behind Oli and grabbed the bottle with a quick 'Ha!' and moved back to his chair.*

So, ah...fed again. *He smirked, clicking his tongue and winking before taking a sip. As if that wasn't obvious. When did he ever sought out to get drunk for a good reason? And when had he ever been that fast?* Couldn't find a sippy cup though, Doctor Harper will be veryyyy disappointed.

 **Olivier:** *Despite his suspicions, when Tony was suddenly behind him he blinked - and it jerked his concentration enough that his thumb slipped. That and...in shock for a moment, he realized that it was very likely Tony actually was presently stronger than him. In control of his faculties though no, clearly not, which meant if Oli really wanted to stop him he could knock the bottle from his hand.

Just not sure he could do it before Tony drank the whole thing to spite him. So as he swivels back, gripping his own wrist so hard he feared he might break it, he exhales (inhales, exhales, and then rubs at his face, moving to sit in front of Tony on the little coffee table instead. He braces his elbows on his knees and looks his brother in the eye. (A bit hard to do, actually, they were wild).* Yeah, well, *his hands clap together,* don't really care what he thinks about it actually - just what you do. *He doesn't blink, even sounds casual(!), and he was trying very, very hard not to parallel what his father had sounded like when he first went to him as he asks,* They dead?

 **Tony:** *His opinion? Well, that was what the alcohol was for, to erase his thoughts and opinions or maybe instead to change them. Hell, Tonio didn't know much of anything anymore about anything or anyone. So as he pressed his lips thinking on how to speak (he was usually so good at doing that! Moving his mouth and making words come out), he tilted his head as he was asked a more pointed question.*

Yeah. Both of them. Some thugs I was supposed to keep in line...whoops. *He shrugs and takes another drink after he thinks he can still recall the taste of it.* That's not too bad I suppose. On ridding assholes from this world I'm 3 for 4.

 **Olivier:** *There's a dry swallow almost timed perfectly in line as Tony said 'three for four'- as if he not only expected what he was about to say, but actively anticipated it. That was just how well he knew his brother, he thought, fingers twisting together and knowing that now was likely the -worst- time to discuss their father (and on technicalities, the insult was valid), and maybe he was just...trying to think how to respond to that when he knew well what had made him feel better was never going to work here. Tony's masochist streak ran...well. Deep enough to be shallow, at least to him, because Oli could see and hear guilt in every motion. He nods, though his eyebrows arch,* Both? *Was it actually funny that his brother outdid him or just to him? ...Probably the latter. Speaking of D'Grey brother personality streaks.* Well, yeah, not too bad as -- saving us work in the next few days, really. *He bites down on his tongue.* You know the alcohol is just going to -further- lower inhibitions, right? 

 **Tony:** And you're, what? *He smirks* Worried I might think "fuck it" and go eat Teresa when she comes to change the sheets? *He tsks, wagging his finger from side to side.* Or are you worried for my virtue here? Oh Oli, I know I turn into suuuch the slut when I drink but really, you've got to give me a little more credit. *Leans back* No one's getting the d tonight, or otherwise I might you know...kill them. *He frowns and sighs* My kingdom for a sturdier lover. *He takes a swig and then licks his lips before looking back at Olivier and the guesses* You want to talk don't you? I'm not sure if I should be sobering up for it or not nearly drunk enough.

 **Olivier:** I know I've wanted to. *Well, wasn't that blunt. He shrugs, though his shoulders are still stiff and braced, head only tilting as his brother's finger wags and points at him, and then he laughs in spite of himself. Yeah, see, this was why Daniella was...insane. He shouldn't like that as much as he did. Biting down on his lip to keep himself from saying he actually hadn't had to give the kingdom to get that, just to keep his brother safe -he swallows tighter as he thinks: this wasn't actually safe.* Actually, yes, I did want to - I was going to tell you that it's happening within forty-eight hours and to call Claude Simmons except, wait, you did that two weeks ago so, *he smirks briefly, with an eyebrow arch,* lucky me, we can keep discussing your virtue. Or lack of one, as it turns out. *He presses his lips together and says slowly,* You know I'm not judging you, yeah? God knows I've been there. And oh look, you have me mentioning God. 

 **Tony:** Forty-eight hours? *He whistles and lets it die out, thinking idly of his new petite blonde friend and her inability to do the same.* Fuck. I either picked a horrible day to start drinking, or a wonderful one. *He reached for his phone and then stuck out his tongue, exhaling.* Can anybody even take a piss without you knowing about it, dear brother? *He put his phone to his ear and was glad he caught Claude's voicemail instead.* Hey beeeyooootch, Miyagi 2.0 here, too drunk to text. We land in Normandy in t-minus, 48 hours. I repeat, D-Day approaches. Call me back, preferably tomorrow, *changes* preferably tomorrow afternoon. Oli sends his love and devotion! Okay you take care now, buh-bye. *He clicks the phone off and then tosses it on the table, looking back at Olivier with a grin.* You'd be a dick to judge me, actually.

 **Olivier:** See, there you go(!),* he chuckles drily without any true amusement as he adds,* looking on the bright side. *Well, a kind of bright side. As Tony called, he battered down amused chuckles, even as he noted with curiosity the "promotion" so to speak, from La Russo to Miyagi). And thought about it. What -didn't- he know? Well, likely a lot, but...he'd be poor at what he did if he wasn't well-informed. Cocking an eyebrow he retorts,* I think pervert actually is where I draw the line, yeah. *Lips twitching as the phone clatters near him, he adds grinning himself,* Yeah, a role we both know you do better than I. *With an exhale,* And I'm just saying -- I can help you. We can do it, together.

 **Tony:** Lookie that, Olivier has limits! *It was a tease, at least, he wanted it to be a tease but there was a rather messed up truth and seriousness to it wasn't it? Yuck. Definitely not the companions he would have wished for on this night of drinking.

He shrugged, mouth turning up as he agreed, he really was better at being the dick, yes. Then he exhaled however.* How exactly would you help? We gonna hunt together? Pull me back when I go too far?

 **Olivier:** Shocking, I know. *With the same bitterly true tone, so he adds,* Also, Eliza apologizes, she didn't know I was unaware. *At least that could be genuinely playful. 

He didn't blink or look away (or even move, honestly) as he expected sarcasm and bitter refusals. He'd been the same way. (With Tony. With his father, he'd been ready to beg for help knowing the amount of restraint he had). Then his hands pop out, in a wordless 'well-why not?',* You've held me back for...how many years? Only fair I do the same now.

 *Calmly,* Besides, I know how much you love your guilt and martyrdom, but honestly--Tony, you don't -have- to hurt anyone, you certainly don't have to kill to feed. *Words stick behind bitten teeth a moment as Harper's words haunt his mind. Tony learned to associate it with killing...and the first time he'd seen it was Olivier. He exhales, hot.* Look, I know you might not believe me, but the other thing I wanted to talk to you about was...--I know you've been worried about...what I want? Well, Dani asked me that today. And I told her the truth: I don't, want to hurt anyone. I don't. I want to help them. *He says it firmly, looking hard in his brother's gaze as if he could will his belief as easily as Hans and their father imperiused. 

Then he smiles slightly,* 72 hours from now we might all be dead. But when we're not, the power dynamic in two countries is going to shift, dramatically. More than I think, most expect--because if I'm not mistaken, your uh, your girlfriend? *His lips twitch,* She's gotten to Wolfie 2.0. Without the Death Eaters holding a leash, with Harper not making their potion--the pack is going to turn on itself, which frankly, I warned Hans years ago it would end that way if he didn't change. *Oli pauses a moment.* Maybe I am a hypocrite, *he chuckles, but then goes serious again, hands coming back together,* but I'm not going to go into this war without a plan for whose king when it's over, Tony, I'm not Robb Stark. *Honestly, he adds firmly,* I want you with me, brother.

 **Tony:** I can just imagine that puppy face now. *He snorts and then chuckles* How could I not forgive such a face, hmm? *He shrugs* I was going to tell you , you know...soon. At least, before he would have gotten there to help, I'd have told you. *His grin turns sheepish for the moment before he shrugs again and with the gesture came the frown and the smirks.

How he loved his guilt and martyrdom, ha! His brother was making him sound like a pathetic fool. Tony wondered, did he look it at the moment too? Did he even care? Nope, that was what the drink was for.*

So sippy cups? *He smirks* Or should I be asking Stef if I can suck something else of hers instead? *He wouldn't though, he couldn't stop himself and he certainly wasn't going to have Oli there to pull him back. Gross.

Ah, of course, that wasn't the only thing Olivier wanted to discuss. No, the shape of his brows had revealed that much to him at least. His own eyebrows arching as he looked up at his brother, Tony listened intently. Tony didn't fancy being dead, that much was true, and he only made the slightest noise in half protest at the word 'girlfriend' (Stefanie wasn't his girlfriend, what a wholly inappropriate term- she was a woman, not a girl, and he didn't tend to fuck his friends).

He didn't like the sound of it though. Power imbalances, the pack turning on itself, God knew they were already a dangerous group but getting them even more volatile? Geesh. See, Tony knew, Hans should have kept a tighter leash or maybe a looser leash, whatever. You get more flies with honey than vinegar and all that jazz.

Tony now sat up, staring at his brother, knowing what he was getting at. He pursed his lips together and he smirked.* So you don't want to hurt people, but you still want to sit on your throne. Oh Olive Oil, you're gonna sit on a throne of skulls. *He rubs his face and then shakes his head.* You're just going to pick up where you left off? *Eyebrows arch even though his eyelids were protesting further movement.*

 **Olivier:** *He nods only once, using his look to say he knew that even as he says aloud,* Hey, I was proud. You wouldn't be you if you-did- tell me everything. *Was that odd? Well, he was being honest. Maybe he was enjoying too much that for once, for once!, he wasn't actually the one with reason to sit there with guilt, having just killed someone.*

 ...Ah, well, I would -definitely- be a hypocrite if I told you...you-shouldn't- ask Stefanie for that, but. *His brows flick.* Well, you did say sturdier. Hey, *he smirks,* Chantel is in town you know.

*As Tony surveys him, he tenses up at the mental image--a throne of skulls, and hears himself mutter, half in a snap,* Better that than letting anyone else do it. You want another Roswell? *He breathes out and then shakes his head. But his brow pops up and he can't help but ask,* ...where do you actually think I left off? Because you've never -- asked, Tony.

 **Tony:** Only you would be proud of me keeping something from you, Oli. *He chuckles, shaking his head but that's the only thing left in the conversation that he had to laugh and chortle about. Well except the fact that apparently Oli and his girl were engaging in some kinky bloodplay if the hypocrite comment was any indication. He only snorted, muttered that he knew Dani'd be a freak, and then he exhales after rubbing his eyes to try and clear some of the tiredness away from them. You know, after a hum of appreciation at Chantel's name, before shaking his head.*

How about making sure no one steps up to the plate? Aid the government, hell Oli, be the government I'd vote for you once you got up with your best Armani suit and declared candidacy. Give the city a chance to clean up the streets, like Gotham did after they passed the Harvey Dent Act. 

*He scoffs and shrugs* I don't know, I figured you left off running the oldest most powerful criminal organization in the world, as effectively as daddy taught you. Minimal bloodshed cuz no one's stupid enough to go up against D'Grey. See, the thing about running the most peaceful criminal organization is that it doesn't take away the word 'criminal' from the title. *He shrugs.* Or am I wrong? Was it all a bloody mess? Did you have to send guys like me to enforce a couple of thugs to pay up for protection money?

 **Olivier:** *He honestly hadn't expected anything at all--because eerily similar to the last time he'd asked him, Olivier knew that he would only set himself up for disappointment and irritation. Yet...that surprised him. Run for office? His natural distaste for the government aside, he thinks idly, that was because he knew well how corrupt it was. 

Still, that bore...further study. Exhaling, he can't help but point out,* That's exactly what I mean to do--insure no one else steps up. *His eyebrow peaks.* Surely you don't mean I should kill them, though? *Rubbing at his forehead, he swallows a scoff. He'd asked. He wants to know, what his brother thought, and he didn't even really...know why, beyond knowing that he does not want Tony to leave again.* You're not. 

*He says simply, leaning back and folding his arms on his chest.* But Tonio, before Roswell came, I hadn't killed anyone since I was a teenager. *He grits his teeth,* What happened tonight? I'd wager that he meant it too. Giving -you- that task? He wants you to lose control. He wants you to drink, to turn in to his weapon! So, he has two employees giving him trouble, he warns them to behave or you'd make them--win win for him. *Flatly,* It's something Dad would've done. 

*He pauses, spine jamming straight as he...remembers, and realizes. Correcting quietly under his breath,* Did, do. *To him: he remembered vividly, remembered the man as easily as he had when Harper mentioned it. 

He rubs across his eyebrows to stop them from scrunching and then says pointedly,* No. It isn't what I did, and it's not what I will do. *He clenches his teeth together; now a little surprised he was telling...specific details when he hadn't wanted his brother to know.* If someone owed me, protection money, I didn't send an enforcer, past a warning. I just took it myself, and dropped by to....*his tongue swipes at his lip, hmming,* let them know. *He couldn't help a smirk as he adds,*  As for aiding the government? I do. The sheriff, on the local branch of the national police? She's a friend of mine -- good friend, actually, anyone crossed me and she got a big fat envelope of evidence. *Calmly still,* Even arrested one myself--that was an amusing day. 

 **Tony:** Yeah except you're doing it by stepping up yourself. And no, I'm not advocating for more death. Filling up the federal prisons though, I'm all for that. *He smirks and then chuckles. Oh, what he would do to see that sight. Have all these assholes thrown into open court and see them getting sentenced to prison. He'd love that. Would he get that? Not if Olivier had something to say about it. Tony sighed, knowing the most difficult work was still ahead of him. Beating up and killing thugs was easy, he couldn't just beat sense into his brother. Tony knew, he'd tried before. All it left was a few broken bones and a wounded pride, and that was just on Tony's side of it.

What did surprise him to hear was that Olivier hadn't killed anyone since a teenager? So that meant, was it Sarah he'd had to kill first? Again? As if he didn't have enough of a reason to want Roswell dead. On top of pulling off a Remington D'Grey move? These 48 hours could not start ticking off fast enough.

Roswell wasn't forcing Olivier to stay in this world though, Olivier himself was doing that. Planning to intimidate and threaten as he had before. To keep the peace. He exhaled and slumped in his chair again, looking up at the ceiling.*

Great. So do it. Turn in evidence for everybody, lets disappear-- I hear Aruba is nice this time of year. 

 **Olivier:** Yeah, well, *he mutters that with a hand gesturing into the air,* some of them only worked for Roswell because they stayed loyal to me. Those who objected, on the other, hand--who thought Roswell scum and couldn't keep quiet about it...You remember Pepper? *There were others he could have mentioned, but...Pepper was the most likely to have Tony's sympathy, he suspects.* She refused, because she said she wouldn't work for a rapist. *His stomach clenches too tightly to remain seated. Rubbing at his thigh after smacking it, he pulls away.* I already turned on and killed my friends once Tonio, don't -- do not ask me to do that again. *The words were hot, bitter and -- a bit broken, he knew that, he hated it. He was D'Grey; he wasn't broken. It had been necessary, he wasn't revisiting it. 

Rubbing his hands,* Aruba. *He chuckles abruptly, incredulous. This, at least he thinks, was familiar ground for them both: the difference, in Olivier's mind, was only that he'd asked for it.* Yeah, sounds great, I'll just-- betray my friends who stayed with me, leave Hans even though he's never once left me and just turned on a sure deal to be free of the pain of transforming because I and Eliza -asked- him too -- just, skip off to find an island girl, and leave Dani in danger, --you-- in danger--I mean, you really think the muggle sherrif can handle a centuries old vampire like Chantel, let alone her vastly older boyfriend? *He collapses back into his chair and rubs at his lips, looking at his brother hard, but shakes his head slowly, and his voice dies off as he says under his breath,* Never see Nonna again either, let alone find mother. 

 **Tony:** *He pursed his lips, biting on the lower one as he listened. Yeah, he remembered Pepper. He closed his eyes for a moment and then shook his head, exhaling. Fucking Roswell. Instead of taking a swig of his bottle, he tilted his head and then offered it to his brother if he wanted any.* Okay so you won't kill them, you won't send them to jail, what are you gonna do? Keep paying them to be docile enforcers? Continue on? *He shook his head again, sighed and then listened. Because yeah, Olivier would never run away, damn bastard.*

And see that's why you and him are such husbands. You push everyone away except each other. Now that's marriage. *He smirks and shakes his head again, chuckling.* You're unbelievable. I'm not even getting into all the people you -do- hurt by keeping this organization afloat. Guns and drugs in the street. And you might not dabble in prostitution or child porn, but your buyers do. *He raises his eyebrows and shrugs* What's Hans, what's me and Dani and your criminal friends compared to the well being of thousands of innocent people? Also, Dani would bitch slap you to hear you using her as an excuse, well intentioned or not, to go back to being the uncrowned king of France. *He sits up* What happened to the guy that was gonna take all of this down with me? What changed?

 **Olivier:** *Taking the bottle as his brother offered it now, he took a quick swig--and promptly, banishes the bottle back to the bar with his a wave of his hand. He wasn't kidding: he did not want his brother drinking himself into oblivion when Alcott was possible to be calling him any minute. He'd left a voicemail for the boy, a cryptic little hint he'd 

mimicked from what Harper had said the clues were: call, when you've found the key to the frere's home.* Yeah, that's right, I am single-handedly responsible for prostitution in Paris. You know Chantel was a courtesan? One of the most respected.

*Something swelled in his chest--rage, hurt, pain--and he bites down quickly to prevent himself from speaking, for what he'd immediately thought? What changed? Guess he died the same day Dad did.

But he didn't want to hurt his brother further, especially anymore over that day: it might as well have put a stake in his own heart to think. As his brother sits up, he tenses and then tilts his head as he asks himself,* Why did you come back? You graduated, I know--I almost...went, and then you vanished that night, were here for...what, three, four months? And Dani looked you up when she was worried and -- *nope, relating the facts didn't change a thing, he still didn't understand. He tilts his head, poking at his chin,* I mean honestly Tony -- I'm glad, for your help-beyond glad, that you're here but you know me. 

*He cocks an eyebrow,* You knew I was never going to let Roswell or his pink bitch live, *voice sharpens and arches,* after what they did? *He breathes out, hot but...flustered, confused and...not scared, but...anxious. Quieter,* As for what's changed? This time....*he was breathless,* it isn't Dad the police would want.

 **Tony:** *Ah, probably for the best really. Though he still muttered 'dick' as the bottle vanished because he was Antonio D'Grey and well, he wasn't one to just take the theft of his alcohol silently. Though, technically, Olivier did buy the alcohol with his money so it was his. Blegh, technicalities.* I didn't say single-handedly *he scoffs because that's what Olivier did, twisted words, worked then to his own benefit.

And Chantel was a courtesan? Well, bonjour ma-damn. Though if she had longer hair and used to go by Satine, Tony was sure his self-restraint would evaporate up and leave nothing behind.* I came back because I wanted to see you. *He said plainly* And it took me four months to face you because I thought you never wanted to see me. *He shrugged, wishing the bottle was back. Tony knew, he wasn't going to let them live and honestly, most of him wanted to see them dead too. It was a good thing Tony kept to himself the extent of Gina's...punishment. He cleared his throat then, nodding slowly.* Yeah but I know you're smart enough to keep yourself out of the police's hands, Oli.

All I'm hearing is excuse after excuse. *He licks his lips but decided to stop in his train of thought here. Rome wasn't built in a day, or brought down in a day. If this required some patience then, that's the least Tony could offer. Well, he quieted all thoughts except one. Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.* You know what I think's changed? I think you've finally realized that I've gotten to a point where you could do everything wrong and I still wouldn't leave your side. *He smirks* And you're taking advantage of it. Same way I did when I gave you that ultimatum when we were 19.

 **Olivier:** *Surprise colors his flushed cheeks, breaks through and remnant of the mask he usually had so carefully in place. It hadn't occurred to him that-- oh. Because...of all he'd said a year ago, the things he wanted to erase from history and usually was successful at pretending hadn't happened. That he wanted Tony gone, that he anticipated and craved the excuse to kill someone -- he didn't even remember all of it, he just...had said all he could to force his brother through the front door as hard as he could make words push. Quietly still, but equally plain,* I always wanted to see you. I was...terrified, *his throat sticks,* Tonio, I was honestly terrified. You...almost died, and I guess I let it...turn me into a monster if it meant keeping you safe. 

*Then his face and chin lift, a momentary smile crossing his lips even as  contradictory as that was, because he knew Tony was right...in part. And he couldn't help the tiny, proud smirk that crossed his lips as he murmurs under his breath,* I knew you were playing me that night. *He leans back in his chair softening and finally ceasing to fidget: he just looked at his brother. Really, honestly looked at him, searching his gaze and puzzling out what his brother had even...just said.* Resented you for it, you know, *he dry chuckles, but softens as he admits,* Except...I knew it was truly how you felt, too. *There was no other sound in the room now, but the gilded-gold clock ticking away and he recalls dimly, the adrenaline that had to have his brother scorching.* So I couldn't...hate you for honesty, let alone that you wanted to be brothers again--ah, fuck this always does sound more eloquent internally, doesn't it? *His lips twitch, head falling back into the corner of his armchair. Still he doesn't blink.* And we...were again, for a while. *One brief shining moment, he thinks, even it had been...well almost a year and a half. He bites his lip.

Then says flat, like he was slamming a folder down on his desk,* That's what I wanted too--still do. But. I believe that you wanted to help keep me alive, and that you would stay to insure that was true. But... 72 hours from now? I mean, besides visiting Nonna for Christmas? What you're going through right now -- I'm not lying, I -can- help you, and no, no blasted sippy cups, -that- is messed up if you ask me, *he rolls his eyes and then says stubbornly,* and I know I pushed you away before but you -- God, I have, to stop thinking of you as just my little brother: you've been protecting me for years now, I had no right to do that to you. But. 

If you think after everything--after we win, after these bastards are gone--that I am not -terrified- I'm going to do something that makes you walk out the door again...then you don't know me at all, Tonio. 

 **Tony:** *It was the honesty in his brother's voice that had stilled him. Hearing him say he was terrified, and yeah he had said it before (was he drunk then too? Because Tony recalled it quite blearily) but it didn't feel nearly as poignant as it did now. He licked his dry lips and a swallowed a lump as he nodded. That was his brother: willingly risking his humanity to keep Tonio safe. He passed a hand over his face and exhaled. It was a -very- good thing Tony hadn't told the details.

And again, only Oli would be proud of Tony manipulating him almost 6 years ago. Truthfully, it was only after that Tony had realized what he'd done and yeah he felt guilty about it but he knew it was for the best. Knew that they were gonna get out. Well, so much for that plan.

He nodded, glad to hear the honesty that Olivier had been mad, but never mad enough to hate him for it. There were many other reasons to hate him for anyways.* I thought I was the one slurring here. *He smirked but it softened with his brother's next statement. Yeah, yeah they were.

His eyebrows arched as Oli's speech continued, and he couldn't help but agree. That's why he was here, he knew that, and that's why he was going to stay, and the bastard knew it but at least he wasn't letting this be a one sided relationship. Tony did know he needed help. He nodded repeatedly in agreement as Oli said he needed to stop pushing him away like a little sibling-* Damn straight *-before he stopped because the nodding was agitating his head. And because the next statement shocked Tonio into stillness. Then according to that, he didn't know his brother at all. He inhaled and exhaled, supporting his elbows on his knees and then shook his head.* I said I'm staying. I am. But you know I'm going to the buzzing bee in your ear, convincing you to let this Mongolian empire die out already. Maybe you'll kick me out again, instead. And not through low balled maneuvers like forcing me to leave, you'll have to literally take your foot back and make contact with my rear end to send me flying through the door. Isn't that a sight?

 **Olivier:** *Tony looked at him for a moment with that wide-eyed, blind shock and then curling, soft happiness he could almost feel--a look that he hadn't seen on his brother's face since he'd heard the Game of Thrones prequel series was in production. He chuckles drily under his breath, just once, but has to stop because his throat was so raw it nearly became a cough. He supposed that for all his honesty, he hadn't actually said...what he really meant: that he was terrified he'd disappoint him again. 

Olivier had never really let their father down: even in the end, for all his anger and surprise had been mostly with Tony--if anything, there had been pride in his father's face (for them both, he thinks as his stomach clenches) when he confronted them, told them they were in his way. He'd been proud they could trick him. (And now, wasn't he proud his brother had manipulated him too?) All evidence in his life pointed to him being exactly like his father in the end: that was, after all, the master plan. And once, he'd been proud of it--now...now he couldn't help but feel that his father had lost track of what was important in a way he never wanted to -- and no. He did not want to think of human beings as puppets and playthings; let alone simply as food. His brother had told him years ago that it was social suicide (it wasn't, people could be impossibly reminiscent of sheep) -- but it...was worse than that, inevitably, it was homicide. That was in him, he knew--and for the first time in a very long while, he wishes it wasn't.

Then he thinks of what Gustav and Gina had done, thinks of Harper's scars and Eliza's face after she killed two people--thinks of Nadia screaming at him that he was a coward (unaware how close she had come to the words Tony said at her age) and then collapsing into tears -- thinks of what Hans lived through, what his childhood friend became when he returned after two years (he was unrecognizable), and thinks of Tony. Walking in, seeing him strung up and crucified and-- yeah, every murderous instinct grew until he almost smiles. If he wasn't sure it would have looked cruel, he would have. But Tony was there, and...he might not have let his father down, but honestly--sometimes it felt like that was a he'd ever done to his brother, disappointed him.

He nods,* It is quite the amusing sight, yeah, Jiminy. But frankly, right now I think you could kick my ass, so I'll refrain from any attempts, yeah? *He cocks an eyebrow at him and sits up again himself, feeling normal breath return slowly.* Good. *He claps his hand on his arm rest,* so. We'll do this...together then. 

 First? There's a spell--most of the initial...pain for someone would come from actually being cut with a knife. *And since they don't have fangs, he thinks with a shrug, eyes soft and holding Tony's, voice steady,* Spell works like...ha. *Oh, how clever of him,* Think lube. Honest to God, you don't have to be the only one getting satisfied. *He shrugs, idle and amused at his own words, and still he doesn't look away.* And yes, if you want to hunt together, we can. Frankly, I need to...regain some control over it too. 

 **Tony:** *He scoffed with genuine amusement. Jiminy Cricket. A hopping, talking, conscience. That was funny, hilarious actually, as he didn't think Jiminy had ever killed anybody in his life but he relented because his brother had shared a sense of humor that wasn't dry or full of smart-ass smugness. Not that Tony was innocent of the same, but still.* 

Yes, I could. *Half of him wanted to, and it took all his self control to remain seated because he was in charge of his own body damnit, nothing else, physiological craving or not.

Speaking of which.

Lube! He laughed, licking his lips and then shook his head. He briefly wondered how anyone would get satisfaction from having their blood sucked but then he recalled the vampire craze from his childhood, and how when he was writing his erotic novel how he was asked to write a vampire one instead (ha! Fuck no) and he understood.* 

You can really do this? Without hurting anyone? *He was obviously hesitant and skeptical. And he also wasn't sure...what exactly in specific he was referring to anymore.*

 **Olivier:** *He was happy to hear and realize the genuine amusement in Tony's laugh. Even as the bitterly-strong remark that pointed out only too obviously to him that his brother wanted to hit him (well, the feeling wasn't not mutual there and oh look! more double negatives! he was just full of jokes tonight...you know, except the serious questions that he might have been glad his brother was this drunk for, in the end). 

He was happier yet, to hear the wavering but...sincere question, hope creeping into his voice even as he says stronger,* Yes, you can. I...did for a while, Chantel...*He screws his brows up as he thinks about it and then shrugs it away, decidedly not finishing the thought.* And I learned...to stop, because...well I guess according to Harper the physical want had already been sated but just also because ... I don't know, I guess because, *he licks at his bottom lip with tiny amusement even if he was still breathy, anxious -* simply it kind of put a damper on the evening if I had to bury someone. 

*He smirks, as if that's nonchalant, though his careful-slow-tone made it clear he didn't think it was. He hadn't wanted to admit this to his brother, hadn't for years. But now, if it helped...* Actually, I stopped altogether until ... well, you remember. *He wrinkles his nose ruefully, thinking when they had first come back.* So, yes. I really can. Which means, *he leans over and nudges his brother's shoulder with his fist,* you, really can. We can go to -- there's a few clubs that are perfect, especially as we technically own one of them. You can even make them forget after, not like blacking out for an hour at a club is uncommon.

 **Tony:** *Oh, Olivier didn't need to say any more on that. See, when he had asked the fire-for-hair vampire to take care of his brother, Tony didn't really have fucking and feeding on the mind but hey, whatever worked. He was more curious on the fact that vampire blood worked the same as human blood did, or didn't it? Or actually, was it the same thing? A vampire's blood was made up of the blood they drank wasn't it? No? Tony wasn't an expert and he didn't want to be, so whatever.

It made him chortle again to hear his brother's reasoning for forcing himself to stop. And it was a good one too! Logical, a little twisted with the words 'damper on the evening' but Olivier always had a knack with words.

Tonio nodded, to show he remembered and then swayed in the seat as Olivier punched his shoulder, he felt it as more poke than punch and then chuckled. Tony still couldn't see himself just waltzing into a club and drinking the blood from someone and then walking off again.* Hmm, I still would much rather feed on the willing.

 **Olivier:** He chuckles as Tony barely reacted to his hitting his shoulder. He was honestly a little curious how strong his brother was presently, but any thoughts of trying to figure that out was...likely to end badly right now. Absolutely not the time to have some contest to see who was stronger.

Pulling his hand back, he nods absently, reaching for his own phone now, eyes on it as he scrolls even as he responds to his brother aloud,* Yeah, well -- they can be, just, I think it's safer to be an at least a semi-public place to...start.

*He was glad in that instant that they apparently could communicate 66.67% (whether that was deflecting their conversation or not) of the time with their eyebrows only, or else he'd...have had to elaborate on not particularly wanting to be around if he was in bed with someone. Ah, there it was. A small smile crosses his lips, but he looks up and says instead, aloud,* Right now, on the other hand, I think sleeping is a decent idea myself. Sleep before the war begins...is that a song? It sounds familiar.

*Tony'd know. He was breathing out a little (a lot) easier than he had to start this entire conversation off -- actually, than he had in a few days. Standing up, he walked over to his brother easily, nonchalant as his hand lifts to his shoulder to squeeze -- offers as much comfort as he could. A small smile still on his lips, he says simply, "Have a good night, brother."

With that, he drops his phone onto Tonio's lap, turns and leaves without looking back. Well, almost. At the door frame, he holds it - grips with ease around the ornate edges and turns back to add, "Nice hat, by the way."  

The LSD screen was open to a photograph of Tony on stage in the black cap and gown of graduation.

 **Tony:** *He exhales in a small whine, wow that did sound ridiculous, before he scoffed.* I'm gonna be like a rapist, great. Let's at least find someone with dubious consent fantasies or something. *He rubbed his face with his hands again after trying to reach for the bottle that wasn't there.* Probably decent, yeah. It'd be easier to sleep if I was drunker, or is it more drunk? *He shrugs and then shakes his head* Don't think so no...ask me again sober.

*He chuckles and then pats the hand that lifted to his shoulder, eyebrows arching briefly as he nodded.* Yeah, you too- *He looked down as the phone plopped on his lap and then smirked.* Oh, bad move brother. I'm gonna send Dani a whole bunch of dirty texts from you. 'Hey baby, what you weari-' *Except when he went to pick it up instead he saw the screen open to a photo of him at his graduation earlier this summer. His brows furrowed only to rise with his widening eyes. He doesn't look up from it, mostly because if he does look at Olivier right now he might do something stupid like shed a tear (it was the alcohol), and that wasn't even worth the relentless teasing he would get.*

You didn't get my good side, dick. *His lips never reached a full smirk and instead stayed on a smile, shaking his head to himself. Liar, he said he had almost gone to graduation...maybe telling him that would have been better than saying 'oh I did but I didn't let you know I was there' because seriously, dick move. Then again, Tonio didn't really care at the moment for the what ifs, he was just happy to realize that he had wanted his brother at his graduation and he had been.*

 

{*}

**Claude** : *The shot glass he'd been picturing since the last second he could see the rearview mirror ended up shattered against the alley as he left the bar, without taking so much as a sip. He owed Cal for that no doubt. The broken glass didn't help calm him down. Knocking out that mugger had, a bit (okay more than a bit), but nothing was going to change it. The fact that his daughter was alive, undercover (but mid-kidnap that was all too real) -- and he couldn't tell her mother. Nothing made that all right, nothing made it okay. He'd do it, but not because it was right, or he agreed with it. Just because...Eliza asked him to do it. 

Steeling himself for the inevitable hurled furniture as he undoes the six locks and enters his own flat, he realized abruptly there was something after all that could change his evening. Eyes wide, brows furrowed, he can't think past the question.* ...Devin?

 **Devin:** A--hey. *Ah, oops. He looks up from the journal, but leaves his hand on it, wondering how it was he hadn't heard the nine different locks that had been on the door. Well. This...was a bit of a fascinating read, that must be it. Biting down on his bottom lip he thinks...he should be more apologetic for reading the man'a book but it was just-- the box had his mark on it! And inside...

He watches as Eliza's father hurriedly closes and relocks (with a finger-snap), before saying defensively,* Mary let me in.

 **Claude:** *He barely heard that as his gaze was locked on the box. It was open. How the fuck was it open? Eyes hard and wide, he wishes under his breath he didn't smash that glass after all.* ...where is she?

 **Devin:** Wh--Mary? *Right, obviously Stuart, you just mentioned her. Okay, the look on Claude's face made him feel a little more guilty. Claude nods at him, finally meeting his eyes. That was strange. Was that...fear?* She went to bed, I think.

 **Claude:** *Oh, he knew what that meant: she was on the phone with Lana, at least half a bottle gone by now. Fantastic. (Actually, that wasn't sarcastic, it -was- fantastic that he didn't have to directly lie to her yet). With that sorted, he looks back to Devin, one of Eliza's best friends, and asks,* When did you--

 **Devin:** A few hours ago. *Breathlessly shrugging, he waves it off, voice hardening as he adds,* I was going to ask you about--well, turns out I think you'll know more than I dreamed, life is funny that way, isn't it? *He looks back to the open wood lid, the velvet belly of it sporting half a dozen bullets, miniature weapons that...well the gun laying beside it right now proved: they were all too lifesize outside the box. There were two vials of potions (he imagined more were in the flat if he looked), a set of maps he'd already perused (thank God Mary had told him he could just "read his book") though they were marked up in a way he didn't understand. Then a rune symbols book and...the journal. He'd been looking for the map key, but gotten sidetracked reading the all-too clinically documented details of whatever ancient culture this was. He would guess Byzantine, Spain. Al should have come with him after all, but Al...well he was still reeling from his Aunt (for lack of a better word) Zoe. 

Gritting his back teeth, he knows he should feel ashamed for having picked through the man's things -- honestly, he does, but instead he just hears an accusation deep in his throat as he asks,* Now I know why Eliza couldn't find you. Why I couldn't. 

 **Claude:** *He'd unzipped his jacket, tossing it on his couch and after fiddling with his flask, he hears after the fact that he'd already responded to the accusation, retort hot,* You shouldn't be looking at that--

 **Devin:** Yeah, I know that. *Dropping the book back into the box, he folds his arms on his chest, eyes narrowed to slits. His retort was equally hot.* Thing is, you shouldn't have been lying about who you are to Eliza, so. *His hand slaps his forearm, eyebrows cocked,* Call it square?

 **Claude:** *If he was anyone else, he would have snapped he wasn't lying to her now -- but, call it spending way too much time in his life with Antonio, he had always been good at keeping his own trap shut. Besides, he was more curious of Devin right now (his gaze had darted to Devin's left hand). Exhaling sharply,* I don't have to explain myself to you.

 **Devin:** No, you don't. *Agreeing, his back straightening warily as the man walked closer.* But...thing is, I think you'll want to. I was going to ask if you wanted to help - Al and I, we think we have a lead on the headquarters and well--now, *he gestures at the box and says with undeniable want in his throat,* I know you'll want to. You're a hunter, aren't you?

 **Claude:** *They were sharp little knives the boy was aiming to wheedle into his skin, but Claude long ago learned how best to deflect such low blows. He lets him talk, and tries not to be reminded of another fifteen year old who had stood in this flat and spoken the same way: demanding, with ache in his angry eyes and desperate want on a scratchy throat. If he thought about that day again today, Claude knew he would fold. If only from a desperate want of his own: to somehow change this pattern from repeating a third time.

Tonio had looked back at him when Eliza did not -- his old friend and protege knew Claude better than his own daughter did. He'd looked back to reassure him that they'd both be all right, with his usual casual grace and unerring sensitivity (ha). Claude couldn't help but feel a little proud. The boy he'd met just shy of a decade ago had turned into a man of principles (despite his father's very best efforts to the contrary). Tony had always been physically strong, inhumanly so, but of everything else his best strength had been a humor that Claude recognized too damn well. His fear had been a visceral thing, palpable to touch in sweat and (too often) blood. That, Claude had recognized too, though he had never known it the way Tony had: Claude's own father had been a simple watchmaker (he still had some of his finer tools for weapons), not a homicidal psychotic vampire. Seeing him now, Claude -was- proud of the man Tony'd turned into, using the skills he'd taught him (and a few that Tony had innately, re, his sharp wit) to stand up for those who'd been forgotten about or stolen. There was just...one thing, one thing that kept him from being exhilarated.

His friend was in pain.

Tony was hurt, he could see it in every action--every twitch of his smirk and hear it in every  remark dripping more sarcasm than anything honest. Only this time, it wasn't his father who had hurt him (mostly) -- it was his brother. The brother he wouldn't hear a word against (that he didn't speak himself). 

Olivier hadn't meant to, Claude reasoned, anymore than Tony ever meant to hurt him--and though he'd only met the man a few times, from what Tony had said...he wouldn't be surprised if it didn't escape D'Grey what he'd done either. The guilt he lived with...Claude couldn't help feel the weight of some of it, anymore than he could help his pride. Tony and he had parted when he helped get Tony safe passage for his rebellious show of an exit. He was supposed to be safe, Claude thinks. He was supposed to go to college, get a normal job, have a better life away from this hell. 

So had Eliza. 

Man, he really just fucked things up, didn't he? With an exhale, his hand slides into his pocket, fingering the old gold chain that once had a pocket watch on it. He still hasn't blinked away from Devin, but now he nods, sighs...and leans on the desk beside him like he couldn't keep himself up anymore.* And you are too, is that what you're telling me?

 **Devin:** *Taken aback by the question, he blinks and finally releases his own arms.* What? No... *A hunter? As in, a supernatural hunter, who either was or wasn't contracted by the government but scratched out a living skirting the edges of the law to take out creatures normal humans were only prey too? He was fifteen. He also couldn't say he had interest (okay, much, interest: he did take some magical steps for protection yes, and he wasn't quite sure anymore what this was in his veins, but he still thought diplomacy and politics were the only way to sincerely change anything for the better).* No...I just--

 **Claude:** *Nodding down, brows furrowed,* How did you open this? Hell, *his head tilts,* how'd you _find_ it? 

 **Devin:** *Now he was only more confused. It didn't bode well either, as Claude was evidently just as befuddled if his face was any indication.* It..what do you mean? It wasn't locked and it was just sitting in the table...--

 **Claude:** *He shakes his head, cutting Devin off.* It was invisible, on the table. The reason it doesn't have a lock, is because it doesn't need one, it can only be opened by -- *He rolls up his sleeve slowly, and then mutters a counter curse to his own glamour. His eyes, suspicious and curious, stay on Devin's as the tattoo is revealed.

Ah, there it is. In the instant of Devin's shock, there was also...recognition. Which explained why his box was open, but did not explain how the boy had managed to...* You have the same mark, don't you? *He cocks an eyebrow.*

 **Devin:** *He bites down on his tongue. Glamour, right, he should have thought of that. It was so cold though (cold and grey, and oh!, he was a poet!). His long-sleeves had been fine for keeping the mark from sight. Namely, parents and friends, as Lynn, Rory and Al (and Nadia of course) were the only ones he'd told. He knew Lynn told Hols, because they weren't capable of secrets (and probably Nick), but that was it. It wasn't a matter of not trusting someone...it was a matter of...the more who knew, the more who might overhear. His advantage came most in surprise; the wolf pack on their ass right now would not expect him to be as strong as he was now. 

He was planning on telling his father when they knew more, but Claude...had not been the plan. Then again. Claude -had- the same mark. Eyes wide as he hears a million and a half questions burst to mind, he catches his breath and then nods, rolling his own sleeve up to compare.* How...

 **Claude:** Same way you, did, I imagine. *They weren't identical marks -- he could see that, but of course they wouldn't be. They were hand drawn on after all, blood acting as ink. He arches an eyebrow,* Who did you have draw it? *Of the many questions he had, he asked this. Oh, he knew the first and foremost should be "where did you even learn this" but that was longer--and Claude had always (as Tony said), been "shoot first, ask questions later."* 

 **Devin:** *He hesitates, saying under his breath.* Nadia. *He'd wondered, when he saw the mark on the box, if Nadia had known to draw it that way because of a vision he'd find this box. Whether or not she was aware of it, Nadia always just tended to...know things, and that was even more true now. Bursting out, as he pulls the sleeve down,* But how did you--same way I did? I'm betting you don't have my family's journals so how--where did you--

 **Claude:** *He chuckles under his breath as he realizes: he should have known it would be Nadia. Six months he'd been a part of his life in one way or another? Yeah, it took about three seconds to realize no one in the world meant more to Devin than Nadia. Oh, boy. Did this boy realize the depth of the magic they'd done, if they'd done it properly (and they must have, considering he'd found his box)? Probably not. It would be strongest thus though, drawn by the person who had their heart (mind, body, and soul)--the tether would be impenetrable and would only grow. Almighty, this...was going to be tricky.

Mary had drawn his.* I didn't know the Stuarts... *He furrows his brow, now honestly curious,* ...would have the gene, honestly, let alone the ritual instructions...you say there's a journal?

 **Devin:** *Gene? His eyebrows leaped. As in, predisposition based upob genetic material? Well. He supposes, it was a family journal, so, that made sense -- explained the urge for secrecy. Pureblood families and their secrets, after all. He feels a thrill trail up his spine at the thought it was related to being a Stuart.

True, Claude was not pureblood (or a Stuart) but, still. Bloodlines started somewhere: the point was this was something magical related to his family. Smiling briefly and undyingly curious, he nods.* Yeah, belonged to my ancestor...from like, a hundred twenty-five years ago or maybe more...has a bunch of these crazy stories in it, well, now I'm thinking they might be true then. 

*Maybe. He didn't really want them to be true stories, they were ... gruesome, and sad in parts. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, Devin finished,* His name was George? Though I guess the book was his wife's too, they both write in it. *George had neater handwriting though, he thinks with an idle smirk.* 

 **Claude:** *He nods, processing and letting his sleeve fall back down.* His wife?

 **Devin:** Yeah, Adelina, *moving to help him put things away as he's itchy now,* she's...well, she was actually muggleborn....*He pauses, and suddenly straightens. Wait. Not Byzantine after all then, or maybe they took it from Spain. He looks at Claude, curious at the coincidence that now he believed was anything but, as such things did not exist anymore in his life.* Not just muggleborn...she was French. Well, Dad was, I...she never wrote about her mother. Adelina Seydoux?

 **Claude:** *His smirk flicks up, as ah, there we go, that explained a thing or two. Though this box he was packing now actually had inherited from his own mother and was likely from gypsies, so who knew where it had originated?* Never heard of her, sorry, but. *He shrugs at the box.* That was my mother's. She's the one who wrote the Hebrew on the lid too. *He chuckled at the back of his throat, muttering the prayer at the back of his throat.* When she was little she thought it might open it since, she never could. *He shrugs, closing it, recasting the spell to make it invisible with an idle smirk on his lips. He's amused to see a similar one on Devin's face as he looks back.* I could--one of the first things that made me realize my magic, really. *As he lifts the box back to his bookshelf, he chuckles under his breath, murmuring,* Lis used to dare me to do spells until she realized she could do them herself. *He pauses, then opens the lid to fish out a few of the bullets to replace in his gun. Mostly, to have something to do with his hands when Devin asked the inevitable--*

 **Devin:** Lis?

 **Claude:** *Slipping the bullets in and resetting the casing he answers with a bitter smile crossing his lips,* Sister. Short for Annalise. *He looks up, smirk still in place as he tosses one to Devin--who caught it, with a speed unnatural, he knew.* 

 **Devin:** *Looking at it, he finds an eyebrow arching.* Wood. *In fact, more than wood, it was like a miniature stake he realized, shaped like his finger.* 

 **Claude:** *He nods,* Vampire by the name of Arseni, killed Lis. 

 **Devin:** *Immediately, he was perfectly still, eyes riveted to his with sorrow and understanding.*

 **Claude:** *After a dry chuckle and hiss of intake, he nods,* Yeah, that's ...always a good conversation stopper.

 **Devin:** *They were trying to kill Lynn, he thinks with a glare offered to the wall above all. He couldn't imagine...just, could not imagine, fuck. Face hardening to try and contain his bottom lip, he swallows back a lump of fear and grief. His words were soft.* I'm sorry. 

 **Claude:** *He didn't say 'don't be', because he hated when people said that: it was something to be sorry over, a tragedy -was-, and Devin was far from pitying him. He couldn't however, truly accept it either; it hadn't been Devin's fault. So instead he just said with a light smirk,* So, I killed him. He was something like five hundred years old. *Slowly..., very slowly, like the cat who ate the canary only in this case, hunter who caught the vampire, he smirks.* I, was twenty-eight.

 **Devin:** *Now that, he could imagine. A smirk plays on his own lips and he moves to toss the bullet back.*

 **Claude:** Oh no, keep that. *Clapping his hands together, he rubs away hard at his palms as if to clear his memories, he's reaching for his back pocket.* 

 **Devin:** I don't...have a gun it would fit. *He says with brows furrowed, even as he smirks.* 

Claude: I know that. *He shrugs, phone in hand as he adds offhand,* I designed it. *He winks at him,* We can fix that right now.

 **Devin:** *Smirk widening as he dry chuckles once more, he nods.* Who are you calling?

 **Claude** : A friend. *Too used to vague replies, he nods at Dev even as he dials.* He can help you better than me, I think. 

 **Devin:** *His brows knit together in curiosity. Then he realizes: Claude had been out hunting... it was likely, Death Eaters.* 

 **Claude:** *After getting the voicemail, as he knew he would, he just says,* Congratulations, LaRusso, graduation day. *His eyes narrow with a small smirk as he looks at a confused Devin, phone digging into his ear.* I need you to play Myagi.

 

{*}

**Tony:** *No, but Oli -really- think that he wasn't going to take opportunity of this moment? It was just begging to be taken advantaged of. And while it didn't seem like his brother's relationship with Daniella needed spicing up given that apparently blood play was involved, this was still a kindness of Tony's, really. They were very welcome.*

I'm thinking about you right now. *He spoke out loud as he wrote it out on the touchscreen, making sure not to misspell anything. He continued: '...And your perfectly plump lips, parted in shameless desire for me.'* Oh, but which pair do I mean? *He hums in amusement before clicking send.*

 **Daniella:** *...Yeee-ah. By the time she reached 'plump', she guessed what had happened and her soft smile had turned into a bright, amused-in-spite-of-herself chuckle. Oh dear.* Ooh Antonio we're playing that game hon, are we? *Shutting her door to ensure her siblings weren't going to interrupt her, as she was spending her customary sleepover-a-week there, she plops down on her stomach on her bed, props her chin up on an old teddy bear and promptly writes right back, saying the words aloud as she did,* 'Oh, are you? Do you want a taste? As a child, my favorite treat was chocolate fudge sundaes with whip cream. My favorite treat as an adult is you. How about we combine the two?' 

*She reads it through three times to herself before declaring it satisfactory, idly adding aloud,* How much have you had to drink, hon?, before adding the post script with a smirk to herself,* 'BTW - Hi Tony.'  

 **Tony:** Freeeaaak. *He smirks and then shakes his head as he reads through it, his mind already coming up with a dozen replies, starts narrowing between them but by the time he reaches the end of the text, the postcript, he 'awwed' out loud and then pouted. He started writing it out.* 'You could have carried the game on for a little longer though. Hello, Dani, darling.' 

*His pout was still on his face as he added, curious* 'How'd you know it was me? *He pauses and then smirks* 'Does my brother not send you nightly reminders of his attraction? I shall have to scold him.' *This was a lot for a drunk person to type, he did hope that was with minimum error. He pressed send.*

 **Daniella:** *She had her cheek pressed into the teddy's cheek when the phone buzzed again, and the ... longer the message went on the more she was giggling and the tiniest bit..concerned. She could make it out, but the typos were...well, unless he really had a "brorer" who should be sending her "fightly" reminders of attraction (with a 1 in it), then she thought: drunk. 

Still, she smirks even as she pops off the bed now, going to get her purse and shoes even as she types back one handed,* 'Well, Caeser,' *it starts, although she figures that answers the question,* 'even emperors can't keep things from fellow empresses.' *She pulls the boot up, and snaps her fingers to re-materialize her purse (with Dylan and Noah, she was certain always to hide that when she came over). Typing back,* 'Babe, I have scolding on the matter covered. But if you insist on playing, mind if I come -- over?'

 **Tony:** Eliza, you really got to stop spilling my deets. *He wrote back instead* 'Like my book? I can sign it for you.' *It was a good thing he hadn't told the girl he was ticklish otherwise he might have been getting tickle-attacked by Daniella, Stefanie, and Eliza on a constant basis. Some would say that didn't sound bad but to Tony, that would be his worst nightmare. Seriously. Forget reliving the screams of the dying (though that was surely going to be part of tonight, he hadn't drank enough), being tickled into submission and having to keep control of his bladder while he begged for mercy, that was a nightmare.*

Naughy, Dani. *He tsks and then adds to the text.* 'It'll be my, and by my I mean your, delectable pleasure. Bring a friend.'

 **Daniella:** *Having called out of the room to the boys, 'my friend's drunk-dirty-texting me, back soon,' (and sending Noah a little eye-roll in response to "don't pity-fuck him"), she was headed to her little private "balcony" (that was generous) where there was a corner she could disapparate from as a getaway when the phone buzzed again. Her lips flick up at the last part. Hm. Sliding her glass door back open, as she alights on an idea she picks up the teddy bear back off her trunk and puts it in her bag (where she'd already put a water bottle and aspirin). After popping in, and out, she hums aloud from the back porch, walking in to the main parlor as she puts her phone in her back pocket, and arches her eyebrow at him.* Oh would you sign it though? *She chuckles.* I liked it before I met you - now it's a little strange, boyfriend's brother and all. Story's okay. Sex scenes were hot. *She was talking as she kept walking towards him, and plops down beside him on the couch, her bag on her knee.* Exactly how much did you have to drink, Tony babe? 

 **Tony:** *He goes back to the picture as he sees Dani walk in to the parlor and then grins as she admits to having read it before they'd met. Oh, good. A real fan.* I will, I'll sign it Caesar Black and everything. It'll say 'To my number one fan- strokes and caresses, Caesar.' as hugs and kisses wouldn't be intimate enough of course. *He nods and then shrugs, agreeing with that.* It's the sex scenes that matter anyways.

*He moves to lay his head on top of the bag on her knee and then shrugs, which was a little awkward laying down but whatever.* A lot? I'll feel it in the morning. Hey, look. *He shows her his graduation picture, grinning widely* That's me. 3.89 GPA too, holllaaaa. *Makes the 'raise the roof' gesture.*

 **Daniella:** Aww, baby thanks, my girlfriend's will all be so jeaaalous that I met you. *She pauses as he lays on her bag, and promptly puts her hand under his neck, peeling the back free (and resettling so that he could just lay on her lap, while she rummaged through the back. She stills as he shows her Oivier's phone and though she chuckles, she's yet to move. Moving her hand to the side of the phone, she didn't make him let it go (yet), just held it steady so she could see and nods, smile softer,* I seee that... Nice pic. Your brother took it? I really gotta give you boys credit knowing how to use camera phones you know. *She looks back down at him, adding softer,* Yeah, you probably will but hey, I did bring aspirin and water anddd a friend. And best of all myself. Whattt do you say we try and relocate this to the bedroom, Tonio?

 **Tony:** Happy to help. I'm good at making people jealous, you know. *He smirks with his eyes half closed as she moves the bag away and then he admits* I was hoping you'd be so kind. Quite more comfortable. *He had the strangest feeling that Dani was going to steal back the phone for her boyyyfriend, and strut her stuff in and call herself 'savior' or maybe 'savioress' of cellphones.* Yep! He did, the bastard. *He chuckles and then looks at the picture again before setting the phone on the table and looking up, eyes narrowing at 'friend', briefly looking around the room to ascertain, no, he didn't miss anyone enter with her.* This feels like a trick. *He pouts* But you just made me so comfortable -hereeee-.

 **Daniella:** *She chuckles,* Babe, I'm always kind. Or, maybe not. You're just special. *Why Olivier was a bastard for taking a photo of him on his graduation she didn't know, for as she points out,* you look pretty good in the photo you know. *As he sets the phone away she tracks it with her gaze to insure she would know where to find it, before she laughs again: this time, she keeps it quiet, and soft, because ... Tony's head was going to be in serious pain, clearly.* You didn't say it had to be a human friend. *She drops her hand to brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes because Lord knew she was well aware how uncomfortable that could be. Laughing once she adds,* Your bed's more comfortable I'm sure Tony. *Hand moving off his forehead to squeeze his shoulder she adds,*  But I'll help eeevery step of the way with making you comfortable and what not. 

 **Tony:** *He snorts and then nods, lips twisting into an amused smile.* Yeah, I can tell. *Daniella Faye, making people work hard for her care and approval since 2000...something. A year. He wasn't good with dates, neither did he have to be really, Olivier should know though. And he probably did know, probably on his calendar. He stands with her from the couch, not really finding the heart to tell her she wasn't really going to be of much help here as it wouldn't be entirely true would it? This was as much a moral support as it was for a physical one. Eyebrows arching as he feels her push something into his chest, he grabs it and looks down only to laugh. Oh, Daniella thought she was so clever.* Ah, and does your friend have a name? It's not something like Sir Cuddles? *He smirks and then reaches to open his door once he gets to it. Shrugging out of Dani's hold, he tosses the bear on the bed and then proceeds to take off his shirt, throwing it...elsewhere, whatever. As he pops the button off his jeans, he looks up and teases* Still time to join me you know.

 **Daniella:** *Unf, seriously -- and she didn't just mean how much she was suddenly feeling physically strained, because she didn't really care about that. She knew that Tony was stronger than her (judging by the drunken rambling, the nostalgic photograph and his abs actually she could figure out what might have put that strength ... amped to a hundred at the moment). But he laughs, and that makes her smile soften, even as she closes the door behind them.* Sir Cuddles? *She laughs too, thinking that really she didn't remember if she had named him but -- why not?* I probably did name him when I was younger but oh, definitely yours now hon. *She catches his shirt in one quick hand flick proceeding to fold it up and look...side-eye at him with her bottom lip in her mouth. Then he pops the button and she finds a coy smirk pulling back in place as she hums under her breath,* Oh because you look....* She waits a moment looking at him in appreciation and shakes her head,* ...wrecked. Tempting as the so-drunk-you-can't-see-straight and need-me act is baby, I told you. *She leans over, tweaking his nose,* I don't do brothers. Oh, and it would break girl code too, *she winks at him,* Stef being a good friend and all. Besides. *She adds softer, even as she spins around,* Care about you too much to take advantage.  

 **Tony:** In that case I should probably name this teddy Madame Cuddles, lest people talk. *As she takes a moment to look at him, he offers up a couple of adjectives because why not?* Dashing? Iiiirresistable? *He huffs in amusement as she answers 'wrecked' and then tilts his head, not being able to argue on that point. He brings the zipper down with a shrug and then scrunches his nose as she tweaks it, swatting her hand away, or tried to anyway.* But Dani I waaaant to be taken advantaged of. *He smirks and then wiggles his eyebrows* It's not breaking girl code if she's here! I should call- oh! Left my phone, can't do that, Oli will want retaliation- *He heads for the door again.*

 **Daniella:** Wells, maybe, but women can be knights too, you knowww. *She pressed his shirt down on top of his dresser, bag on her hip, seeking out quickly if there was any nearby alcohol she needs to steal.* Mmm, no you don't. *Calmly, she was teasing but soft with the ring of truth. She only chuckles idly, sneaking another side-eye glance to see how he was getting along the whole 'pajama bottoms' part when she...saw him head to the door.*  Oh Tonyy, baby how you sweettalk me--*she spins past him, bracing herself between the door and him, then reaches into her back pocket to hold up his phone, without letting it go.* Got it already. With Olis. But I'll leave it here for you until you can properly spell the word brother, okay? *She leans to pat at his chest, comforting and smirking at once.* Madame Sir Cuddles doesn't do sharing anyway. 

 **Tony:** *Also a good point but meh, didn't feel the need to debate that.* In bed I do! *He smirks, not sure that was entirely true and then blinks as he finds Dani pressed against the door instead only to grin again* Quick hands you got there, Dani. *He wiggles his eyebrows and then extends out his hand* Phone then, darling so I can head to bed with my new cuddle buddy. Usually, these cuddle buddies have a pulse, and less body hair but you know, I can make exceptionssss. *He lifts his chin and grins again*

 **Daniella:** Why Tony I never would have pegged you the submissive type...*Her tongue clucks against the roof of her mouth as she moves her hand to squeeze his shoulder--half in comfort, half because she was curious (okay and maybe 1/16th enjoying).* No shame. *She winks,* Yes, I do. Plus I was looking out for my girl...your uh-threesome fantasies aside here. *She pulls her hand back, so she can offer the water bottle first, and the aspirin, lips flicking,* Ahhh I know, it's sacrilege and all, but you do so love to be contrary and inventive. *She tilts her head as her palm stays open with the pill on it, offered to him, saying a little softer,* You know I'm serious Tony, right? I do care. 

 **Tony:** *Well, no, not particularly but he was sure there was something psychological there that begged to just be controlled but that was a whole different fantasy. He takes a step back after she squeezes his shoulder and offers him the water bottle. He takes it with a raised brow and then looks at the little aspirin with a chuckle.* Hmm, that I do! *He chuckles again and grabs the pill before meeting her gaze as she speaks more genuinely* Yeah, I know. Only true friends rush to your side after a drunk text to make sure you don't choke on your own vomit and die. *He grinned then placed a loud smooch on her forehead and grabbed the aspirin, popping it in his mouth and swallowing it, uncapping the bottle and taking a swig before moving away from the door and tugging off his jeans, walking straight out of them and opening the drawers to pull out the first pair of pajama pants he found. Capping the water bottle again, he left it on the surface and slipped in to the bottoms with relative ease.* Okay, I've got my cuddle buddy, my pants for your modesty, no shirt - time for bed!

 **Daniella:** Well yes basi-Tonio! *She laughs abruptly, rubbing at her forehead hard and says pointedly,* Thought that was my job? *Well, mother's job but yeah. Staying still as she watched him dart from her, she 'ahhs' as she realizes how fast and...smooth his motions were (wasn't that making him dizzy?), and then warily looks at Oli's phone too, quickly checking he hadn't texted anybody else. Oh, good, he hadn't. Setting Tony's phone down on his dresser next to the shirt she folded, she ahems to herself and keeps her gaze darting around for-his- modesty, her...humility, sanity, take your pick. She blinks suddenly.* Yeah--hey, Tony? ...why do you have blue and orange handprints on your ceiling? 

 **Tony:** *He turns around and looks up at the handprints though he knew what she was talking about already. A small smile flickered on his face as he walked to his bed and jumped on it.* Cause when me and Oli were little we did this- *he jumped just slightly and touched the ceiling, thanking the Lord or whomever it was, that he wasn't drunk enough to jump harder or his head would have gone through the ceiling. Actually, probably thank Oli who took away the alcohol.* Anyway he came early in the morning one day, while daddy slept in his coffin, brought chocolates and we goofed around. *He plopped down on the bed on his butt and bounced; he remembered that being more comfortable than it actually was.* I jumped on the bed he joined, I brought up how cool it'd be to leave our handprints on the ceiling, he was like 'yeah let's do it! Got any paint?!' You know, standard D'Grey brother procedure- I have an idea, he makes it happen. *He then tapped the spot on the bed next to him after reaching for Madame Sir Cuddles.*

 **Daniella:** ...okay you're making-my- head hurt, *she chuckles under her breath, a hand on her hip to gesture,* trying to...follow. *She had been walking warily closer and closer to him as he jumped on the bed, eyes flicking between looking with concern at him and with amusement at the handprints.* Seriously, how fast -are- you? *It was...inhuman (but then she was a witch, and he was a wizard-vamp-human, so.) Her smile softens as she listens, (eyebrows flickering over the word "coffin"; had Remington really slept in a coffin?!) and then nods absently, sitting where he patted and smiling offhand.* Sounds like Oli. Making peoples wishes come true, and what not. And, *she nudges her shoulder to his,* meanwhile you're the brilliant one who has the ideas. My brothers are kind of like that--well the twins: Dylan idea generates, Noah makes it happen. Lila either fleshes the idea out, rather, down to actually humanly possible or it's her being Noah's lookout. *She tilts her head at him, saying fondly, gesturing between him and her old teddy,* You know you look good together. 

 **Tony:** I am quite brilliant, thank you very much. *Winks* Call me Caesar. *He leans back but holds himself sitting up right with his hands behind him, looking up at the handprints fondly, bewildered they were still there. Cracked, peeling, and faded but still there. Oh there was some sort of existential metaphor there too but he was no longer drunk enough to contemplate it. He then turned his head to look at Dani as she spoke of her siblings more in the way a mother would speak of her children. At least, he assumed...and vaguely recalled.* Sounds like quite the team there Mother Goose. *He grinned and then chuckled at the teddy bear on his lap.* Hmm, well, I can make anything look good. *He laid his head in the pillows, grabbing the teddy bear and adjusting it to lay on the arm he had behind his head.* Hey, Dani?

 **Daniella:** *A laugh peppers her exhale as she nods,* Yeah all right Caeser, long as you keep drinking water. *She reaches into her bag to get another bottle, putting it beside his bed and also summoning his little trash can, just in case. When she sits back up, her smile softens even as she tilts her head with wearily fond acknowledgement.* Yeahhh...we could be a Quidditch team. *She beams a little as she has to explain,* I mean, all of us Faye siblings--Millie, Remmie, then there's the four of us. Remmie's only two years younger, Millie's four and, and why am I saying all this when I know quite well youuu are not going to remember dates and names right now? *She chuckles, trying not to think to herself that might be why and then lets a comfortable silence fall as she stands a moment to adjust the bed sheet to be more confortable for him. Sitting back, she turns as he did, and tilts her head.* Yeah, Tony?

 **Tony:** *He kept smiling as she explained, mostly because he was happy to see someone happy especially when that someone was his friend. Then his grin widens impishly and then he shakes his head to agree, no he wouldn't remember exact dates right now.* That's Oli's forte. Mine is candied dates, I can make them. Very easy, I can teach you. *He adjusts the teddy bear again after sneaking a glance to make sure his phone was safe, looking for any excuses...not to fall asleep basically. He looked back for his question and then answers honestly.* Thank you, for hounding Oli into admitting he doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore. I don't know if you realize...the -huge- deal that is. So, thank you for that.

 **Daniella:** Yeah, have I mentioned how amazing it is and wonderful that you two are such great cooks? *Chuckling as he does, she nods absently, slipping out of her heels so she could rest more comfortably on the side of the bed. She stills, softening but not able to restrain a shiver as he continues, and starts to nod very slowly. Smile flickering with her eyes wide, she drops her gaze to her knee for a moment, humming under her breath before looking up just because she wanted to be sure to look Tony in the eye when she continues.* I just...get so tired of hearing from people...all the...bad. I...know, or am beginning to know and suspected a few weeks ago--he's a good person, or...wants to be. I don't know why he doesn't admit it. *She wrinkles her nose up, looking at him contemplatively and adds,* You know, you are too, right? 

 **Tony:** *Yes, he almost said except at this exact moment he couldn't recall the specific instance so he only smiled, eyebrows lifting momentarily as he nodded. He had almost told Daniella not to come over actually given that Oli thought Tony might want to munch on the maids for a midnight snack, but now he was glad he had. Though commenting on the fact that he didn't want to eat her just didn't seem to fit with the conversation anymore.

He nodded slowly as he agreed the bad sucked and more importantly on the fact that his brother wanted to be a good person. He did but he was tremendously conflicted. Good people don't run crime organizations he thought but then it was never that black and white was it? His eyebrows rise again as she turns the question on him, making him smirk.* Don't think I am, *he leans closer with a tease* teach me to be good?

 **Daniella:** Very funny, Tony. *Mouthing 'oh haha' as he leans, so does she, putting her hands flat on the bedspread, one on either side of her knee and continuing to regard him with a smirk that fades to puzzling.* Not really. Sure, that I'm the right person to ask for that anyways. *She wants to be. But only in acceptance of self can one find peace and the road to enlightenment and what not right? Wetting her bottom lip in a quick flick, she looks back adding softly,* Is it...really that big a deal?

 **Tony:** Hmm, leave it to you to take the fun out of it, dolcezza. *He smirks and then shakes his head before laying it back down on the pillow with a nod, biting his bottom lip as he contemplated what to say and figured he could just...talk.* I asked him the same, when we were teenagers I mean. He couldn't answer me, he just...it was Remington really. I mean you emancipated yourself from your father, you've probably been doing the right thing ever since you realized what that was. Our father, Oli's father, he filled his head with these ideas that what he did wasn't only right, that it was necessary. He never let our father down, always made him proud...but it took a toll on him, I knew it. All he ever wanted was to be like Remington, make him proud, he's saying he doesn't want to hurt people anymore. Consciously, that he wants to protect him. That's the biggest act of he's ever made against Remington, and that includes helping me try to take this organization down. *He purses his lips together and then pulls the teddy bear into his chest.* It's a step, and it was more than I was expecting in so little time back here.

 **Daniella:** *It was eerie, listening to the litany next to wondering about her father. All without moving away from looking at Tony's face, entranced by his quiet nostalgia and...hurt. She didn't know how to characterize it; the way he said 'our father' versus 'Olis' father' alone...* I was lucky, in that. *She speaks soft, locked on Tony's gaze.* My father isn't...I know, he hurt Olivier, because I...know it was him that got him away. I asked him two says ago...and after a lecture, *her nose wrinkles, voice matter of fact with amusement,* Papa...told me, you know, part of the reason was because your mother had just found out about you. He wanted to help keep you safe too. Well, *her lips flick*, your nonna got to him, but. 

*She quiets.* And I've seen how guilty he is, for...so many things, he's spent the last decade literally finding legal loopholes to be able to anonymously fund children's charities and yet--yet I know just as he does that he never could make up for all he did, and so...yes, I...try to do the right thing. But I know I'm lucky, that he didn't lie to me the way your father lied to you both.

 *She inhales, exhales.* ...I haven't asked Oli about Remington. Which...is strange, because--part of me always wanted to meet him just to see if...I don't understand how someone so terrible- could have Papa's respect even in hatred, how he ever could have loved him, it just--it makes no -sense- to me. *Gritting her teeth stop from exclaiming the last, she sits back on the bed, looking sideways now at Tony. Quietly,* He...was helping you, take it down? 

 **Tony:** *He smirked briefly and then nodded only after the mention of his nonna, as that made more sense to him than anything else.* Yeah, Nonna does that. *But he was glad to hear her father was repentant; trying to make things right for himself as much as he could anyways for Daniella was right- that guilt would stay there with him. Funny, no matter how many good deeds you might do, they never washed away the bad.* Welcome to the club, we have t shirts and wooden stakes. *He smirked, shaking his head. That was one thing Tony would never understand; how so many could come to love and respect a man so despicable, and so incapable of love himself.* Yeah, he was. 19 years old, I called him and he came to my campus. So naturally, I took him to a frat party andcable, and so incapable of love himself.* Yeah, he was. 19 years old, I called him and he came to my campus. So naturally, I took him to a frat party and with the help of bikini clad sorority girls, got him drunk. *He smirks and then has to quickly move on, knowing dawdling would only lead to memories of Emily and he couldn't take the guilt.* Revealed to him my super secret master plan...I couldn't have gotten as far as I did without him. Remington would have suspected me sooner but no, he simply thought Oli got to me, finally, that I came back for him and in some ways, I did. I wanted him out, both of us out, so we could keep going to frat parties or maybe football games and normal shit like that. *He shrugs as he yawns, closing his eyes but still speaking.* Most things tend to blow up in my face though.

 **Daniella:** Frat parties and bikini girls and booze--of course, naturally, what else? *If Remington D'Grey willingly believed that Tony would have come back, she almost said, it meant he wanted to believe it. Wanted to think he could still have a family. She almost says it, but for the pain in Tony's eyes the instant before he shuts them and she thinks, blown up in his face--how he spoke about Oli always wanting to be him, loving him...

Oh Tony. She has to restrain herself from saying that too, though her face kind of did. Good thing his eyes were closed.* Oh and, you know, the brotherly-moment where the one person he cares most about asks him for help on something only he can do -- but I'm sure it was the bikinis that convinced him. *Her lips flick up, but she feels better with that, to think that Olivier had been willing to end this once. Good. A bit softer,* And well, maybe it didn't end the way either of you wanted but that could be because it's simply not over yet, Tony. There's still pieces there even after an explosion. 

 **Tony:** Of course! *He grins lazily with his eyes still closed and then chuckles. Well, the bikini and the booze helped in the end obviously. Loosen him up enough to actually -listen- to Tony instead of dismissing him but thinking about it now...Oli wouldn't have dismissed him either way would he?* I'm aware there's pieces. Pieces of shrapnel, stuck in my bloodstream, inching their way into my heart. *He burrowed his face in the pillow and the bear* Just call me Tony Stark. Ha, Stark. Automatically became Iron Man and King in the North in one go.

 **Daniella:** That's not fuuunny--*oh, except she was giggling, even though she really didn't think the idea of Tony injured and slowly dying was funny, but hey--the last references were,* ...okay maybe a little. *She manages to add as she was giggling and gets up, trying to do it slowly, smile softer as she reached for the edges of the haphazard comforter.* Maybe it's cause I feel kind of the same. *She muses under her breath as she's pulling it up. Then she adds, smirking,* Yup. Just.. Caeser Tony Stark, king in the north, lord of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm, genius, playboy philathropist. Not too many titles or anything, hon. But...kind of the best name ever so I approve, Tonio. 

 **Daniella:** That's not fuuunny--*oh, except she was giggling, even though she really didn't think the idea of Tony injured and slowly dying was funny, but hey--the last references were,* ...okay maybe a little. *She manages to add as she was giggling and gets up, trying to do it slowly, smile softer as she reached for the edges of the haphazard comforter.* Maybe it's cause I feel kind of the same. *She muses under her breath as she's pulling it up. Then she adds, smirking,* Yup. Just.. Caeser Tony Stark, king in the north, lord of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm, genius, playboy philathropist. Not too many titles or anything, hon. But...kind of the best name ever so I approve, Tonio. 

 **Tony:** *He only smiled knowingly hearing the giggle and let it be a credit to how well he was getting to know her that he could picture her face right now even with his eyes closed. Though the mention of her feeling the same, that caused his smile to disappear for the briefest of moments. That is, until she started listing off all his titles, each one making his grin turn into a smirk.* Feels just like I don't try. *He hummed the continuation of the song and let it die out before yawning again* Shame we didn't get to play our game further. I was going to declare my eternal love and devotion through song. *Another yawn as he sings softly* Saaay youu'll love me, for one looove...one....lifeti...*The rest of the lyric faded into silence as his chest began rising up and down in steadier rhythms, finally asleep.*

 

{*}

One, three, six (and one she had never numbered, because to do so would mean she had to acknowledge that it was in existence, which broke four) that was how many rules she was breaking. She has her cellphone in her jeans pocket without encryption, she was doing something that meant she cared about a soul besides herself, and she’d left France. Right now she was staring, round-oh to her mouth, at a painting she thinks he must have stolen from a museum she wants to guess Manet. It was all right, really; far as her handlers were concerned she was at the D’Grey mansion for the evening, which was a short Floo ride away. Besides! It was his fault he was staying in a place outside France, not hers! (A lot of things were his fault. Why was there a deep longing simmering in her that Eliza could forget that was true?)

“You look stunning.” The warm chuckle highlights his words and she stays turned away for a moment, lest he see the sudden light in her cheeks. Eyes casting across the impressionist, reflective watercolors, she answers he through a soft, confused smile.

“I’m wearing jeans and a tee.”

“And a jean jacket, yes, I can see that.”

“Oh,” she chuckles and spins, the curls bouncing over her shoulder, “so it’s the rocker rebel chica thing, is it?”

Hans cocks an amused eyebrow at her. With one hand leisurely pointing at a standing bar, she understands the careless gesture to ask if she wanted something at least five seconds after she’s already nodded.

“And,” he was at the bar, “what do rocker rebel chicas drink?” How was he there before she had even blinked, in a blur of motion she could not grasp? Any more than her lungs could clutch to breath. Apparently.

She fiddles with a brass sequin on the skirt, trying and failing to avert her eyes. He keeps his back to her as he surveys his impressive array of alcohol. Eliza spares only a glance for the bar display. As with everything else in this cavernous, fire-lit room, she’s certain it’s both fit for royalty and stolen. Hans was in that relaxed-in-control-of-the-room (but not obnoxiously) pose, hands behind his back, wrist grasped loose. So she knows (just knows!) that he’s standing that way to encourage her (he doesn’t make anyone do something they don’t want to, if he cares) to survey him.

So Eliza pops her own eyebrow and retorts pointedly, “You choose.”

“Ah, you trust me to do that?” Without turning his body, he looks round, the flickers from the golden fireplace on his left alight in his blue eyes when he finds her gaze. Scoff catching at the back of her throat and tongue in her lips corner, she answers immediately.

“Oh and that’s not a loaded question at all, is it?”

“Only if you want it to be. Personally,” his tongue flicks at his own upper lip as he turns away from her, hand reaching for a suitable red, “I simply think it’s important you get the drink you want.”

Eliza mms, but can’t contain (he has told her he wants honesty from her, hasn’t he?) her hand from her hip or the challenge from her retort.

“Well, I suppose I should be looking for poison if you hand me pink champagne, shouldn’t I?”

When had she gotten to know him so well that even with his back to her while he uses his claw to pop a cork from a green Vino, she knew he smirked? Eliza could hear it in his chuckled exhale, see it form around his oh-so-manly and predictable words.

“I make a point never to repeat myself, lovely.” There’s a pop(!) with the oak cork as it pistons like a rocket and lands in Hans waiting palm, resting at his lower back. He never could resist the opportunity to show off for a pretty girl.

“Besides!” he adds brightly but there’s a trace of something else in that exclamation, a trace of something that furrows her nose as if she’s reading something written in a government manual for Sherlock Holmes himself. Hans lifts the pinot noir, summons crystal towards him in one smooth movement as she stares puzzling him out, “I doubt my sister would appreciate that, after she drank it.”

Holy.

“Stefanie?” For Eliza cannot think of what else to say to that revelation. His sister he’d poisoned his own…

“The one and only.”

Hans smirks as he pours, knowing quite well the irony in his statement, knowing she knew how many he calls sister. There was still only one Stefanie Ricard. The thick purple stream smooths out as it fills the glass, so he appears to be offering her velvet chocolate. He flicks his smirk unconsciously as he hears behind him, Eliza licked her lips.

Now lifting the glasses with only light pinches, he spins to regard her too. Aha.

“That a rebel rocker chica post, luv?” His pinky flickers up and down as he walks closer, eyes still on hers. Squeezing her hip, he could hear muscles straining in her wrist, the light tap to her heel she was trying to resist. Oh, Eliza was trying hard, very hard to do that: her words were proof of that.

“It’s a - are you seriously joking about your sister being poisoned? - pose.”

“…Specific. Have you had cause to use it before?” He hms, extending one glass to her. The other hovers at his lips as she narrows her eyes at him, a look that only deepens with intensity of her passionate irritation as he continues, “Or am I just that special?”

Eliza decides not to answer this. Instead she takes the drink, so his smirk won’t move to widen in fake triumph. Eliza had, he thinks, more fire than the brick behind her specifically built for it. He breathes in her flames, responding coolly so fast it stills her for the abrupt shift.

“Actually, Eliza, I was merely expressing why I would prefer not to be reminded of that.”

It would be so easy to snap at him for that. Scoff incredulously. Sharpen her tongue as she did her wit, maybe smack him for the dispassionate playful start and sudden demand - like he got to do that to her too, like she was one of his sired-little bitches, when they’d already agreed he wasn’t. It would be easy. It had been easy. Why hadn’t she spoken? There’s a flutter in her eyelashes as she looks at him. Genuinely searches his gaze for something behind those hypnotic blue eyes. Blue… Eliza’s face colors before she points out (because she was already certain she was right but she wants him to say it aloud anyways),

“You…feel guilty.”

Hans pauses mid-sip. No, she was not eying his revolving throat. She only heard his double breath as he fights off choking, that was all. He surveyed her for a long moment, caught up in her eyes like he not only wanted to drown, but he wants to take her with him, drag her under the tumbling tide until she suffocates in the tumult and spirals into rushing navy and white. There’s a tear in his eye. Bloody hell, there was a tear in his or, maybe not, he jerks his chin, the droplet disappears and he meets her gaze in another heartbeat. How her heart managed that when she was certain she’d somehow caught his head rush, she wasn’t sure, but it was impressive of a heart that was being incredibly unreliably lately.

“Guilt would seem appropriate, Eliza.”

The corner of her mouth pulls down, and she looks down, but this time she’s certain it’s in sympathy, not a frown of honest discontent. She nods, because she was petulant and adds aloud because she wants to be cruel, “And since when do you do what’s appropriate?”

Always Eliza danced on the edge of impudence and grace. A part of him marvels at how well she maintains the balance, but the larger part of him gives over to the game.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Yes.” It was sharper than she meant it, as her eyes snap back to hers. He admired the ability to meet his gaze so squarely, a trick many much more powerful than she was meant to be had proved unable to master through the years (he hears her pulse trembling under her skin and thinks it was enough to console him).

He didn’t seem surprised to find her retort shocking, and Eliza feels a pang like a little silver thimble had just struck her heart with his bitter chuckle. Not a needle itself yet, that was, as now she’d stolen the protective casing off his thumb it would be all exposed to her.

“I’m awe-inspired by your continuing ability to think the least of me, Eliza.”

…Okay, that was a comment she would have to come back to. Yep, as soon as she could find the words to express her actual emotions. (So maybe this time next … decade). In the meantime, she only said what she’d planned to in the first place.

“I actually was referring to your appreciation for a casual rebel rocker chica look.” Their smirks flirt up at the same abrupt moment. Savoring the wine and gesturing around his parlor with a suck-gasp, she continues idle as she can manage while he approaches her yet, “I’d have thought Cinderella fetish, given the ruin of a castle here. Maybe Aurora.”

It seriously was that. Tapestry, roaring fireplace, thick red velvet beneath her stilettos and a high-hung chandelier with actual, legitimate, wax candles, lit! Not to mention they were in the Scottish highlands, the roaring sea and fog just outside. A ruin, but a romantic ruin of a fairytale castle. She had to give this pack credit: they knew how to squat in style.

“I always was more a fan of Belle, actually, as she had such a mind of her own,” Hans doesn’t give her the moment to think on it, adding to snatch her breath away again, “but Eliza sweetheart, when I said stunning, it wasn’t the clothes I was referring to.”

Swaying on the spot just once, she winds up sucking on her bottom lip, choking back on her own chuckle now and casting a hooded gaze over his shoulder. Mouthing gratitude, the laugh she tried to cast off with disbelief turns into a half-gasped, “Seriously?”

Hans laughs with her even though he doesn’t truly find her persistent denial funny, because he likes laughing with her. He likes laughing with her almost as much as he likes talking with her, and oddly infinitely more than he likes to simply look at her. Not that he could really get enough of that either. (It had come at the worst possible time, honestly, after years of nothing mattering at all). It wasn’t shocking to him, the intensity with which she was followed, for he felt much like a schoolboy himself at times with her and others the worst monster of her nightmares. He didn’t truly want to be either. (Wanting something was so different that the long-gained mastery of bending, molding, simple creation that he wasn’t sure how to handle it). Eliza had … a light, an allure that it was for his sanity’s best interest that he didn’t think about it longer. (He had tried to charm her for a while, he won’t insult her with it now.) For he’d failed, left with a craving and the bittersweet bite of regret.

Eliza could feel his eyes on her, and oddly she felt … excited by it, it made her feel good. She liked having the audience, even if it was too her shame (that was the reason her cheeks were red, right, or the fire?), despite herself. His gaze made her feel powerful, gracious, maybe even sexy - but certainly friendlier, a little more merciful.

“I heard you retrieved Rachelle.” She cuts off whatever he was about to say, looking back and ignoring the part of her that felt embarrassed with his momentary, sneaky swallow.

“I know,” he replies with that irritating under-his-breath tone of knowledge thick in two syllables.

“Is she…okay?” Eliza knows that is a silly little question considering all the..mess that this was.

“Yes.” He did it again, this time with only the one syllable, taking a step forward in the most casual stance, one hand resting in his suit jacket pocket, the other still around the wine glass, as he nurses a sip.

“…you know?”

“Yes.”

Oh, ho, he was amusing himself now. Look at that wide smirk, wider than necessary so he’d get off track. What was it she was supposed to have gotten already? She takes a step to the side, setting the glass down, because it lets her step near him with an excuse to let her chest brush his arm and she smirks to herself as she less hears than feels his satisfactory little intake of sudden breath. She still doesn’t turn around

“Why you’re here,” he finishes his statement and she realizes it doesn’t…actually help her out.

Because she didn’t know why she was here.

Her gaze flutters, following his lips and she gives her heart a very stern order to just stop it’s little dance that was fifty shades of inappropriate as she catches his gaze again, folding her arms on her chest. She counts to ten in her head, because she was allowing herself to glimpse the little riddles hidden in his gaze as he looks curiously back, like he was looking in the looking glass from the Red side of Alice’s world: the one that was disjointed because left was right and right was left and yet somehow when you were there, things just made sense. Like dream logic, almost.

He hadn’t moved a muscle; he was just looking at her, amused by her maddeningly pandering-to-his-smirk’s-unspoken-wish heart and waiting for her to ask. Should she smile or glower at him? There’s an unfamiliar (but so familiar, so familiar it was something she decides was a bad idea to name) tightness in her chest and she cocks an eyebrow.

“Go on then, you know me so well, tell me why you think I came.”

Hans lips flick up, and he answers at once: that was all he needed. For once, she thinks, he even avoided a joke on her saying ‘i came’; a little miracle and all (though perhaps not that surprising, for he was being…ha, a gentleman).

“Alcott.” It’s a simple answer to her challenge and she feels her throat go dry as she realizes…he was right. He was right, as he kept looking at her with that look like his eyes were sinking in to pierce the tender skin around wounds she didn’t know she had. The tip of her tongue buries in her teeth.

“I gather,” Hans says as he sets his own wine glass down and moves closer to her (oh he should stop that because frankly she was already well aware thank you how hot werewolves got), “that our mutual friend Olivier informed you where it was, that Rachelle was, and thus,” his hand had come up, and now it hangs by his side as he looks down at her, “you want to ask me how he is, what he said, generally all things Alcott related and if that little move before was any indication, you’re not at all ashamed of manipulating me into truthful answers.”

Eliza’s lungs tighten painfully and she gasps out silently. She’s so baffled as she watches his smile sharpen with needles, watches his lips as they relay the last lines and she wonders why he suddenly sounded…angry. Angry with her? Seriously, again? Like between the two of them, if anyone had any reason to be angry it had to be him, certainly?

“You know what,” she won’t beg or demand, but she states forcefully enough with her urgency, “you’re right that I am perfectly shameless. But you’re still wrong, Hans.” The flirtatious grin melts into a more serious expression, almost somber, yet the smile doesn’t completely fall from his eyes.

“Enlighten me then, Eliza.”

No charm. No threats. No manipulations. Just a simple whisper, honesty in his gaze to spite her hard glint as she looks back at the wolf.

“I do, want to know about Alcott.” She struggles not to look like a fool at that moment considering she was acquiescing his central point first and that didn’t really bode well for her on this whole “enlighten him” idea. She’s drumming her nails against her thigh.

(So did the fact that he was standing so close, smelling of ash and nutmeg and a hint of bourbon making her think of all the thing she used to love about summers at the Brackners).

“But my bodies mine, Hans.” The drumming stops. She keeps her eyes on his, unaffected now by his proximity as she states, “and whatever little moves I do with it is my business, it has nothing to do with manipulating anyone —,” she jabs her finger forward and pretends not to notice that it actually struck his chest, “just in my own enjoyment, thanks.”

They were standing eye to eye and Eliza wasn’t entirely sure where her sudden hiss came from, but a heaviness in her bones seems to whistle away with it, blue eyes locked on blue and little sudden smirks written on both their lips.

“He’s fine, Eliza.” It’s not his hand that cups her close, she realizes. After he considered the center of his chest quite seriously; contemplates that for some reason or another it actually had hurt. It just was the way he said her name, the way it formed in his mouth so gently (defeated?) that it catches her by surprise.

Her hands twist her jean skirt between her fingers and she knows he’s daring her to look away first, which…damn him, because now she won’t and her eyes were already beginning to water.

“He’s fine. Well. Fine’s an inadequate word but it’ll suffice.” Hans repeats with less a step forward than merely…leaning, because that was how close he was already, “his mother’s fine, his uncle is —”

“Devin and Lynn?” She snaps quickly, and is surprised because…it’s the first time she’d said their names and his smile didn’t even quiver away. The fabric of her skirt buries in her knuckles.

“Alive, healthy, off limits.”

Three little characteristics that she desperately wanted to hear, but she props her chin up anyways. Her heart was desperately pounding, because as she snaps with desolation and want hot in her throat, “How can I believe that?”

“Have I lied to you yet, Eliza?

“Yes.”

“When?”

They were so sharp, both of them: his demand and her incredulity (and fear, there was fear there, never of him but fear of what he might do). She didn’t know how to read his question. There was want in his throat that made her think of the word “desperation” and she grits down on her back teeth.

Abruptly, she realized she couldn’t think of one time he had. A penny drops. Could even that be sharp? Or was that sound when a copper coin strikes marble just like one of his claws drawing breath up her chest for her? If she snaps (again) that he hurt Devin and tried to make Alcott think it was him he’d get off on a bloody technicality, because it was only ever to her he had admitted he had. Everything he said, about wanting to help Alcott, about knowing what he was going through…they were all repeated to her by Al himself later. Right down to answering without shame why she imperiused some random person to lure her alone, he’d never denied: just said he wanted to dance with her alone.

A slow smirk was lifting up the edges of his lips as he hums at the back of his throat a sound reverberating through his rolled up tongue, “Oooh. You can’t think of a time, can you?”

Eliza huffs. Oh God, she actually huffed, like she was in some American gothic romance wearing a big old hoop skirt and sighing behind a mini-fan.

(Alcott told her once it took more effort to fan yourself, the action was in fact making yourself hotter, so she mentally chucks it into the flames behind him).

“Yeah, well, you know what Hans?,” now she was a French teenager with all the hair and attitude as she jerks her chin, index finger wiggling at her thigh while she struggles not to lift it again, but at least that was accurate. “Being true to the letter of your word just means I can believe statements. It doesn’t have a thing to do with if I can trust you, and I can’t!” He seemed amused momentarily as he watches bouncing curls, and yet she sees it too clearly: her last remark was crawling under his skin and making a vein near his eyes twitch.

There was a roll in his neck, small but poignant. For a moment, he’d had to force himself to keep her gaze. Yet there was no carmine flash; she hadn’t made him angry. Was it possible for ones’ tongue to dry out, turn to cotton?

Swallowing, she continues just because she can’t stop now, and maybe because she could feel a flicker of a swell like the ripple before a tide in her chest (but she couldn’t think about that).

“Because off-limits? Said by who, to who? What if that person decides to let go of the leash, or if it was some deal made and Lynn breaks it which, like isn’t entirely so out of the question when it comes to her then you’re not breaking your word if you attack them, but they’re still dead! So I ask again, how can I trust that you aren’t going to hurt them?”

Another revolve in his neck answers her, another flutter of breath, like he was catching a little gasp before they escape and give him away. He didn’t seem to notice (or was it that he didn’t care?) his eyes bearing into hers revealed more in an instant than any quiet choke. Eliza doesn’t really care though: it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one affected by his premise.

His silence is deafening even as he struggles with himself, and for a moment he abruptly looks away. Eliza’s face twists into a look harkening regret. “See? I can’t.”

At that, he turns back, asking in a quiet growl himself, “And yet you trust me with the truth about you?”

“What?”

Eliza balks, blinking away her question with little stutters of her jaw.

“You didn’t take Harper’s potion.” It’s nonchalant, as he tilts his head, like he wasn’t talking about a magical morality binary switch they tried to force down her throat. “You have no intention of aiding the organization, are in fact actively working doing the opposite, and you don’t,” he was stepping closer to her again, her breath was hitching, “care that I know that—”

“That’s…that’s different.”

“Why?”

She just brings her chin up, whatever the shudders in her spine. He couldn’t move any closer; there was kind of…nowhere left for him to go. It was a good thing she couldn’t breathe. Even a tiny exhale would brush her chest to his.

“You’ve been friends with Olivier half your life-“

Hans is speaking in a low murmur now; anything louder and she’d think he was shouting. (Maybe that could shut her heart up). “You think I wouldn’t betray you to them because of D’Grey?” “No-,” she laughs once because she can’t think what else to do, skittish, “I mean—you’re helping him, but I think you always have wanted to take the organization apart.”

There’s a pause, and then Hans shakes his head. Just an inch. Not even. Not even a fraction.

“Not always.” He says low, “There…was a woman, who made me want to be one.”

Eliza’s scattered gaze darts back to his, amazed. With round lips, she asks softly even though she thinks she knows (she remembers her other life more out of France, remembered what Alcott had said),

“Who?”

“Her name was Laura.”

She was right. The woman that Alcott mentioned, the one who’d made him stop…killing, stop moving, stop doing everything for with two words. Eliza bites her tongue to stop it from flicking across her lip.

“Who was she?”

Hans looks delighted at the question, and she thinks it’s because he realized her distinction between ‘who are you?’ and ‘what do people call you?’ He’d done the same in his initial answer saying her name didn’t answer the question, even as she recognized it.

“She was…” he trails off, momentary distance in his gaze and then he chuckled, looking back at her, though neither of them had moved. “She was Laura.”

His lips flick with the clear irritation at his unsatisfactory answer snaking up her spine until it reached and tweaked her nose.

“When I went…through it.” It’s a low undertone, and her face softens because whatever else: that they both understood and “it” was a terribly small word for the hours of torment, but it suffices because simply, no one word could be grand enough to capture hell.

“Laura…was the pinnacle. The woman who was be-all and end-all. The best and the worst. Th—”

“Omega to your alpha?” Eliza speaks equally soft through a caught lip and makes him chuckle. She was glad. There was a sadness in his gaze she didn’t know how she’d reached the moment he said Laura’s name.

“Actually, I would say it started the other way around,” he allows in his small exhale, his gaze soft as he marvels at Eliza. He could see her surprise mirrored there in her eyes. For a moment neither breathed.

All at once:

“Hans—”

“Laura was…inspired. Cruelty simply…wasn’t in her, for all her harsh edges…but then in the end, compassion is a sharper blade.”

Eliza inhales at that, toying with her caught lip as she feels it again; that flicker before a swell. It had progressed from toes to knees to stomach now, she sees, as she shakes her head as slowly as he did.

“What happened?”

“She left.” He doesn’t hesitate. “As she should have. Laura…was just a girl, Eliza. A woman like you who they tried to tear apart and in the end she bested them all. Just a girl, trying to make things right, and for a little while she’d made herself my world-“

On the words ‘like you’, she realizes his face is closer, his head tilting and his fingers were brushing away a single curl. Heat from his lips strikes hers, making her inhale again, sucking her- rabbity heart and shuddering spine and all- into his feverish gaze,

“—and then she left.”

Hans goes still. Eliza’s face, by contrary, alights with her sudden aching for him, the swell growing, flushing through her chest and making her raise to her toes, stand on the tips, and she brings her hand up to grasp his.

“I’m sorry she hurt you.”

Hans face contorts with obvious, immediately oh-so-manly refusal even as he says flatly, “She didn’t leave -me-, Eliza—” He cuts off in surprise. She’d dug her nails into his palm. Scarlet crescent moons were appearing, as if she were the one with claws and he might have smiled honestly, if he wasn’t in simple awe.

“I didn’t say she did. She left this organization, she should have, we all should have; we all should, and now we are, burning it to the ground and about fucking time— I said, I’m sorry she hurt you.”

He clucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, idling, “I appreciate the concern luv, but I don’t get hurt.”

“Not anymore.” Eliza nods in brisk agreement, her curl bouncing from his hold, brushing over his knuckles, “I get that, see. Because they hurt you, so much,” how she manages to move closer to him she didn’t really know, as she was still standing on her toes and now stands braced to his chest balancing on the little precipice, “so, much that now you hurt them, you’ll hurt anyone, just so you cannot ever, ever get hurt again. I know. So it’s like, you have to act like you don’t want anyone to care about you- “

Hans tries to step back, a loss in his eyes mirrored in his surprised exhale of her name, “Eliza.”

“—well, so sorry Hans, but I do. I, care.”

She lets him go, standing still tall on her toes, hands grasping around her open neck and curling the jean fabric in a fist. For the first time since she met him, she thinks he’s honestly speechless. She was glad of that, because she was surprised too for the declaration: because it was what she wasn’t supposed to admit, ever, and as he blinks with the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, like they ache to crave into a wolfish grin but can’t get past the honest happiness to play yet she realizes she knew why. A second before he says it.

“Speaking from experience, luv?”

Lights flicker in their gazes as they hold each other weightless in them from the flames, from the heat of mirror images. “Am I?” She asks, even though she knew he was right. The biggest reason it will destroy her is because it’s not just lust. It would be easy if it was. He would make it easier if that’s all it was. Even with devotion pouring out of him, he’s most deferential with her a lot of the time.

“That’s, what’s different. That’s what I…trust.”

He’s also in her face, and loud, and honest, too. But she needs that. She craves that. If she didn’t have that, the world would simply be misshapen and unbelievable. Hans nods.

“Then show me.”

In another first of their relationship, Hans was slow on the uptake with his soft joy, and Eliza was screwing being patient, screwing everything, and she knows she’d meant to challenge him to swear to keep people safe— manipulate, not enjoy as she huffs and walks towards him— but right that second she couldn’t figure out how to care about that, about anything else but his expression and his heat and his half growled gasp of her name half as, right that second, she swallows the rest of it in her mouth.

He meets her instantly, open-mouthed and hungry like the wolf he was. Only after he’s seized her lips with his, Hans is still, as if the air between them was so hot it was cold, holding them frozen in this one moment that stretches precious and perfect across two worlds. Two worlds, so they let their mouths build a bridge between one where she hates him, where they face off in teeth-gritting honest revelations flung carelessly until they’re both bruised, and one where they’re—

—something else. Her gasp falls in his mouth, but he’s there to catch it. If Eliza had ever contemplated it (she hadn’t, of course, although really there was precious little to think on fondly so who could blame her a few moments of weakness?) she would have thought kissing Hans would be his seizing her, burning her, swallowing her whole in rough possession, eating her up as a wolf until she couldn’t recognize herself. And maybe that was why she’d grabbed him instead, to give her something to hold on to.

Only it’s…

…not sweet (Hans was not sweet), but savory. Tongue licking hers, Hans draws around her mouth as if it’s made of suckling honey and he could never get enough. Only his mouth was moving; their eyes were shut and his fingers float near her cheek as if, despite the fact he’s kissing her, he didn’t dare touch her. Eliza thinks of that deep breath before a plunge, when you’ve placed yourself on a cliffside and the lake looks miles away below. You’re terrified with the exhilaration of the maybe, the possibility, that risk of pain for sake of pleasure. The fall was, had been, the best part but now…now she craves to strike the water, let it flood over her, consume her in the rush.

He tastes like fire and wine as he coats her teeth and fills her throat to full and overflowing.That it’s seductive is unquestioned. So is the fact that burns between them: she hadn’t proclaimed lust, but to care. Proclaimed she, Eliza Marielle Culpeper Simmons, gives a fuck what happens to Hans Lawrence Ricard. Whether it makes what is to come next easier or infinitely more difficult she can’t quite bring herself to fathom.

 

||

It’s fucking ridiculous how hard and sweet it turns out her mouth is, like he was tasting a Tootsie-roll lollipop and he was playing that game—how many licks did it take to get to the center, even as his teeth graze the pockets of air between their lips, daring him to just bite and get to the good part already. He couldn’t though, (and talk about fucking ridiculous), and not because the good-part could only be followed by the let-down (he couldn’t think at all let alone think ahead), but because that wasn’t how he wanted this.

With Eliza…he’d thought she’d taste of tear stains, of could have beens and instead he dallies with heat and now-now-now; he loves (don’t you dare say that word) that she’s selfish after all but he wasn’t going to let her win that easily (he wouldn’t let either of them win at all). Was this a precursor or a goodbye? The game was simple: they won’t, but they might. Phew, what a hell of a might.

Of things that could make him say God’s name again this ranks top three—but he won’t do that either, as it was bad enough he’d gasped her name. Oh, for a moment he pictures her saying his chosen name that way—gasping it, lips spread, mouth rounded, chest bare and heaving and—

—yeah, Hans had lost his mind ages ago, no bloody use finding it now. A gentleman didn’t deny a lady what she asks for, even if she asks it silently (especially if she asks it silently). An animal didn’t deny what makes his body flush with sweltering, stifling, torrid red want. So why was he pulling away now?

Not far. Just an inch or two, letting his eyes open to hold hers. He feels, (he feels!), the moment her eyelids flutter and he sees the pure happiness in her blue-eyed gaze. It freezes in his mind’s eye, an image he could never have imagined being allowed to own, harmonizing with the startling thought that vibrates in his mind, under his skin: that he could make her look that happy.

“I believe I was…meant to show you,” the whisper is filled with confusion as much as humorous delight as it traces her lips with equal sensuality and heat as his own had. The red flush in Eliza’s cheeks only deepens with her abrupt amusement.

“You still are.” She agrees with her usual challenge. The thought that have that—a “usual”, curls his smirk up, even as he licks at the dry flesh of his mouth, her taste lingering. Yes, he should. And bloody hell, he wants to, oh, he does-like a switch was flipped, he didn’t require any pre-heating-he just isn’t sure what her question is anymore.

There’s a question now in her gaze—and her eyes drop as he deliberates, like she’s frightened to see. He hears two dozen (two thousand) others asked behind them: how could they, is this what she really wants, is this what i want, is this best, is this going to last or be temporary madness only, what if i hurt her, what if i lose her—

All those pesky relationship-py questions Hans wasn’t supposed to be capable of anymore, Eliza brought to him with a kiss and a glance. Damn her.

Only he does know one answer he can give her and it makes him smirk. Tomorrow morning, he thinks as his fingertips hover closer to her cheek, tomorrow morning and he can give her that at least.

“You want Alcott to know, don’t you?” Eliza gives him a look that makes words unnecessary, irrelevant of the truth in her eyes and in wake of the night they’d both had. “You know it’ll put him in danger.” He doesn’t try to console her, he doesn’t try to justify it (blame the mutual hell they’d both lived with), but in a way he can see she’s thankful for that.

“He’s in danger already,” she breathes out, but averts her gaze. It bothers him in a way he can’t figure out that she’s cast her gaze down, like she’s as torn as he feels, so at last and at once the pad of his index finger connects with

—well, what turns out to be a shock of lightening the same shade as their eyes. Eliza startles, squeaking in kind of an adorable way he thinks he might too-easily get addicted too and then laughs, rubbing at her cheeks as if she thinks that can hide her flush from him.

“What was that?!,” she squeaks it again, eyes wide with light and girlish amusement. “You being smooth?” His fingers just moves to her nose, taps once there as he shakes his head, looking down at her with laughter in his reply an undercurrent that always seems to course through them at their proximity, poignant as it’s ever been, and he decides he’s not bothered by those questions at all, the what-does-it-means and how-do-i-feels. Except that he feels damn hot right now and a tad bit uncomfortable from what the impromptu grab-and-snog had already…arisen between them.

“Static electricity, I think.” He darts his gaze to the floor beneath them, smug smirk on his lips as he realizes her stockings were brushing back and forth against the Persian rug. Mhm. Basic, boring chemistry. He had other more amusing ones on his mind now.

She stills her feet at once and looks him in the eye, with enough determination that it seems she has a choice with it. He’s got her chin clasped between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes brushing every inch of her face, wide with awe.

“I didn’t come here just for Alcott,” he hears but isn’t quite sure he can believe it even if Eliza had never lied to him either and he hears sincerity ringing in every word. He hears it, but it’s all he needs all he needs to reach to lift her up, the other hand going to curl around her shoulder, only she slaps both hands away with another squeak.

The rejection turns his face stony, but only for an instant.

“The static ” she begins, flutters for breaths and eyelashes, ” if we kiss —”

There’s nothing tentative in Hans response now. He’s insistent, certain, and (dare he say?) relieved.

“Afraid I’ll light you on fire?”

 

||

“Oh don’t even” she wants to say (starts to say), her head turning with the indignant girlish-rebuttal but he’s caught her cheeks, framing her head, her neck with both hands and his tongue is seeking hers again, languorously moving with it, against it. As if he’s exploring what he’s certain he’ll never be able to taste and touch again, and something inside her breaks at that (breaks at the fact that she leaves nothing but dark prints in her wake, breaks that he might not be mistaken).

“Don’t even “, Hans makes light mockery when he steals back a breath, and then all at once turns her around, his mouth hovering the nape of her neck, her wrist locked in one hand, her back pressed to his chest and moving with him as if by design, sparked by live wires. Her blood racing, he noses through her hair to purr in her ear, ” what, Eliza? Don’t…”

His breath ghosts against her jawline, down her throat and she’s gone, she’s absolutely gone but screw whatever giant, (stupid) risk it was because bloody hell, Eliza could feel his burning for her, so it felt only fair (only right) she melt for him too.

“…hold you?” Hans hands grip, one pressing her waist into his, the other her wrist down to her side as he feels out the stretching in her muscles, the clench in her pulse. Eliza hesitates, feeling like she’s been pushed off the cliffside finally, only Hans is on deck still holding her to the shore (or did he push her?).

“Don’t…,” when she didn’t answer except for breathy shivers, he continues, “Kiss you?” And oh so obviously through a smirk, even as he’s got her trapped pinned in place where there’s no mirror, only the fireplace flickering at her to stare at as her vision goes hazy, his lips trailing down the side of her neck. He breathes heavily through his nose and exhales, lecherous and hungry. This time her shivers were met to his own, their hips so locked together.

“Just, for once,” Eliza manages to get out, “just shut up and-“

“Touch you?” The hand on her waist loosens, barely, turns from solid iron to wandering fingers. They dip down her jean skirt, finding the stockings to pinch thin fabric and skin between forefinger and thumb, massaging back and forth on her inner thigh, tracing slow circles as he mouths at her neck.

Neither of them were thinking now; he thinks she answers him, but the retort didn’t contain consonants. Or vowels, for that matter. Spinning them both abruptly, he can’t help but dance them closer to the flames or did she lead him there?

Didn’t matter. They craved the same thing in the end.

As her palm presses abruptly into the mantle, the golden edge digging into her spread fingers, she gasps out - not his name, but close. So close, he thinks, as he moves urgently: lips to caress at the nape of her neck, hips into hers, thumb popping the button off her skirt until he’s tracing the line of her panties. He's brushing back and forth to her little murmurs, fingering as he reaches the juncture between her neck and shoulder and bites down until her gasps turns into it.

“Hans—!”

 

||

He smiles a little (more than a little) proud to be successful, and soothes the red mark with his tongue until she hums, going up on her toes to get better leverage and press into him. Hips answering her, with a groan that reverberates from his chest, his other hand slides down her forearm, light in airy contrast off the heat of the fire. He rears back as he feels her hand pulling up insistently at his shirt, scrambling around behind him as she can’t turn around.

“Oh,” she’s making those little sounds now, expressions that just slip out but holy-fuck and goddamn were kind of appropriate, weren’t they? Not that he was very holy. Ripping his shirt off, he does the same to her jacket and shirt and in a second is on her again, spinning her to yank into his chest. He lets her own hands wander now, her back striking the wall every now and then as they kiss; when he nips her lower lip she steals her lips away, kisses down his chest, biting at his own nipple in retaliation that makes him groan again. Shoving her skirt off, he leans to lick at the shell of her ear. Then he presses back in, running his hand up her bare stomach to cup her breast beneath her bra.

One hand pinches and toys with her nipple through the light purple-white bra and can’t help but glance down to see what the other is fingering her through.

“…pastel, Eliza?” He breathes out hot on her lips, amused at the sight: the flowery lace, the lavender, scarlet and white innocence and sin, he thinks, appropriate and she scoffs indignantly at him, something breathy he thinks was meant to be “I like pastel —” but was lost in her squirm as she strains in need against his hand. He obliges, two fingers shoving deep beneath them, not bothering to waste the time to take them off. They plunge in crooked, measured moments, drawing from her sweet moans that beat the finest arias in his not-very-humble opinion.

Again, and again and again…

“Hans.” 

The thrust back from her this time seems to be meant to remind him of her active participation reminding by irritating him, as Eliza was wont to do. Was it his fault he was caught in the moment of reverence, when she was so…beautiful? (And for the moment anyways, his?) His hands were running across pink porcelain skin darkened by his mouth, her eyes were shadowed by the flames teaching him what that word smoldering really meant, and oh fuck, she had her hand down the front of his slacks, had him gripped in a heated, heavy embrace and was squeezing and

“Eliza,” he answers, “I am going to fuck you, against the fireplace so, whether you like pretty pastel panties or not —”

A dangerous growl fills her ear and she almost giggles, cocky as she feels the line of her lingerie snap beneath both at once one, two, three and floor, she was bare, she was free.


	60. Here We Go.

**Nadia:** After the Hogsmeade attack, Nadia was almost certain that her mother wouldn't allow her to leave the house ever again. Ever. And Nadia had been right, that had been Amaris Tudor's first instinct upon getting her back home. It had taken the combined efforts of all of her children and Brad to allow Nadia to travel to the very secure Brackner home (oh yes very secure, her mother had remarked with a snap, when a pack of werewolves just strolled past the front door-- Nadia was glad that no Brackners had been in the vicinity) to work on getting her memory back.

In the end, Amaris had only relented when Shawn had agreed to take Nadia there himself and to pick her up after. If there was one man Nadia's mother entrusted with her children (aside from Brad),it was Shawn. Though Shawn was also not very pleased Rachelle had slipped through their grasps to say the least.

So now Nadia was here, unscathed from the attack apart from a bandage on her arm that her sleeve covered anyways, walking in through the front door Jimmy held open for her after hugging Shawn goodbye. Unraveling her scarf and slipping out of her coat, Jimmy took them both as she thanked him warmly and headed to the room Jimmy indicated Alcott and Devin would be in. She knew, it had been the same room from last time, one of the studies.

Knocking on the door to alert them, even if Alcott would have heard her from the door, she walked in with a smile which turned playful for a moment as she remarked, partly to chase away nervousness, "Am I interrupting? Thought I'd said you should always wait for me." She closed the door behind her with a simple click and walked forward to hug Devin first.

 **Devin:** There's my girl. *He remarks lightly, spinning around as the door opened, hands popping off his shoulders the moment he saw Alcott's head turn in that tell-tale way that meant he'd heard someone's approach. Thank heavens it was Nadia, really, he didn't fancy telling Mrs. Brackner why he was calling her that.

He was breathing out in relief still, just to see her. Irene was in recovery (he knew Alcott was planning a break out any day now, though whether that would be from her father's house or the school he didn't know) -- Dillon and Rory were both with her presently (he assumes); and while he'd joined the fight himself ... it had been such a surgical strike, most of the Death Eaters were gone when he and Rory had burst out of the pub to join the fray. And Reid was still recovering too...

Honestly though, he was both proud of Nadia, and sick-as-fuck of having to be grateful to D'Grey(s, apparently, and yeah he remembered Tony -- 'dude' had good taste in suits). Feeling better the moment he could wrap his arms around Nadia, he squeezes tightly and keeps his eyes locked on Alcott's.*

 ** **Alcott:** ** Your girl? *He had gone still the moment he heard Nadia, twirling his new wand between forefinger and thumb from anxiety (and okay a bit of a desire to show off). Now he snorts.* I don't know, mate. 

 **Devin:** *Tsking,* You don't?

 ** **Alcott:** ** After Hogsmeade? 

*The attack on Hogsmeade had happened when he was here -- though that hadn't stopped his mother from clinging to him for at least ten minutes when she rushed home; he'd had to calm her down long enough to ask what happened and by that time, the attack was long over. He hated that fact; he hated feeling useless. Especially when he couldn't figure out...how to help Irene, though she  looked as fabulous as ever even in a hospital gown.

How many of his friends was he going to have to watch be hospitalized?* More like woman.

 **Devin:** *Tilting his head, considering for a long deliberative moment (and squeezing Nadia closer), he nods --* Yeah, kick-ass woman -- 

 ** **Alcott:** ** Nice save, Stuart. *He chuckles, lowering the flames on the cauldron he was working on to a light simmer and stepping away from it, looking at Nadia now.* And course we waited for you. Pay no attention to the potion, it's only Wolfsbane.

 **Devin:** -That- one is. *He points at the cauldron, then turns to point,* -That- on the other hand --

 ** **Alcott:** ** Yeah, well, we need better vampire weapons apparently too. *Clapping his hands together and looking back at Nadia with a bright smirk he adds,* Can't wait for that! Magical zoo of the insane, should be fun. You ready? 

 **Nadia:** *Her cheeks want to tinge the color of the pink cotton candy she'd had at a fair when she was younger than she remembered sharing just not with who, but thankfully she's able to keep the blood out of her face. Poking Devin's side, she moves a strand of hair out of her face* Oh stop it you two, flattery will get you nowhere. *She pauses before she adds innocently* But you both have a point. *She lifts her chin with her smile and then nods as her gaze trails over the cauldrons. Even with pieces of memory unavailable to her, she knew that there was no hope for her to ever, -ever-, concoct a potion that difficult. At all. And she was more than okay with that because that's what apothecaries were for.*

Oh, Al. *She shook her head with a brief chuckle and then peeled herself away from Devin's side after looking up at his gaze (she needed a bit of his strength for this, if this was going to be anything like her previous experiences, they were going to be overwhelming). Turning back to Alcott, she nodded, determined and gave him a small salute.* Yessir!

 **Devin:** Ah, a point, thank you. *He had smirked as she poked him, about to point out it was at least better than the pinching (though actually, the mark up his arm tended to have dulled most pain but - Nadia's pinches? Those would still hurt like a bitch, he figures). Especially, when she was...Nadia, again. Nadia with her memories, that was. He was flustered - anxious, hopeful that this worked, but regardless of if it didn't...they did have, "a point", and Nadia seemed to want to still be with him either way so...

He still wants it to work, desperately, so he just smiles back at her encouragingly as she glances at him and swallows the dry lump back down as hard as he could. Words escaped him.*

 **Alcott:** *Amused as she salutes him, he stands up straight, folds his arms behind his back and then says resolutely,* At ease, soldier. *Except not really, his gaze said, knowing the likelihood of overwhelming her again.

He already did know what to say -- something that Devin had pointed out to him, to his chagrin, right before the attack, which left everyone a little...in a mess and yet, he'd been...relieved too. Now he has no choice; people, his friends, were getting hurt, were dying, were in danger and he could help Nadia -- this all took precedence. 

Still, he'd had to get the wording right, which meant...remembering. 

Dad had spent maybe a half hour with him only, in this very room, a few feet from where he stands now. He'd been wearing a black sweater, khakis, the side-smirk that Ma said he got from him most of the time -- a smirk that only went wider when Al had handed him the last (stolen) cookie. (And, well, when he'd kissed Ma too). Then he'd started talking to him about wands... 

Gesturing to the chair, he waits for Nadia to move there before sitting on the arm of it himself, still holding on to his new wand himself. He'd done a few other spells with it now- a whole other range of tests- to insure that it would work as properly for him (if anything though, it was working better, stronger, than the wand his father had made him. It was to be expected, when it was for a six year old, but...it still made him think now how he and his father were supposed to have a duel to test them out 'when he was older'. 

His smile is soft even in sad remembrance as he snorts, amused as Devin didn't let Nadia actually go.* ...Well, that's one thing I should prepare for more of, yeah?

 **Devin:** *As Alcott gestured at his hand on Nadia's shoulder, he nodded resolutely,* Course, mate.

 ** **Alcott:**** Yeah, remember I don't actually have a bed in here, all right? 

 **Devin** : *His lips twist up, saying drily,* Cause a -bed- is actually necessary --

 ** **Alcott:**** *He rolls his eyes, pointing at Devin with the wand,* You want to keep going?

 **Devin:** *Holding one hand up with surrender, he still doesn't let Nadia's shoulder go and mouths 'your rules' with a smirk.*

 ** **Alcott:**** Yeah, thought not. *He chuckles once, and then looks back at Nadia, saying quieter,* All right. Well. The...other phrases were both things my Dad said to me...that night. It's likely that the...last lock, is related to whatever else they might have overheard him tell me so. *He breathes out, in, out.* It was...mostly about how to make two-wood wands, how I was sworn to secrecy, and that yeah, he wanted to give Ma a heart attack - he accomplished that, anyway, *There's a quiver to his smirk,* just probably not how he expected. *He'd also said he'd had the heart of a warrior, Alcott thinks, but that part...he had no interest in sharing if he could help it. Terrible though it may be...this was the last memory he had of his father, the last moments he got with him. Did he have to give that up too?* And then there was a....rhyme. *His eyes lock on Nadia's as he mutters the spell again for a moment once she said she was ready - holding steady and then,* Rowan gossips, chestnut drones...ash is stubborn, hazel moans. 

 **Nadia** : *She walks over, closer to the table and seat as Alcott motions to it, her back and spine rigid as she stands up straight but she feels herself loosen up almost immediately when Devin's warm and firm, but also gentle in its way, hand lays on her shoulder. Her lips flick up in brief amusement before she remarks casually after a thoughtful look.* It's okay, that chair will do nicely. *She thinks briefly Rene would be proud of her, and that she would have to go tell her when she visited her after this.

She listened to Alcott as he explained, a small smile on her face as he recounted memories from that night he'd lost his father, before he had lost him. There was still some good from that day, she thought to herself even if she didn't say it out loud. It was true that the good didn't wash away the bad but the bad also did not taint the good in any way. That's what Nadia believed, ever the optimist, ever the purposeful naive girl, sorry, kick ass woman.

The moment Alcott said there was a rhyme, her body tensed again, knowing these were the words that could potentially unlock the rest of her memories. She waited for the spell and then braced herself. 

Alcott had been wrong, it wasn't one lock, it was four, one for every part of the rhyme, opening up in sequence. Her eyes squinting shut, a small whimper got stuck in her throat as she feels little trickles of light coming through the open locks before the actual door was blown out. It started the same way it always did, the rush of memories she had access to again. The scene she had shared before with her friends, there seemed to be hundreds of those moments, scattered all over the place. Irene, brilliant and outgoing; Alisha, stubborn and protective; and Trent, caring and joking. Justin was there as well, friendly and upstanding and Reid, blunt but always with his good intentions. His attack only seemed to hurt her even more, as well as Irene's, what they were all going through. It hurt so much.

She remembered Al and Eliza with absolute clarity as well, and she had to lift a hand to her mouth to catch the sob that was threatening to escape as she realized what exactly she had done; what she had cost Al and Devin by being so careless with the information she had given out at first. And Al, oh, Al.

She opened her eyes to meet his gaze first, her eyes threatening to water. Angel, her Angel, her guiding voice through all of this, her helping hand even when she didn't realize it, was speaking to her again, his words from the day of the Gala. There's something else I have to ask of you, he'd said, his explanation had continued. Alcott thought these Death Eaters were goading him, using his father against him, how terribly untrue that was. Her mouth opened and it closed again as she heard 'he mustn't know, not yet, please Nadia'. So she turned away from her friend.

There were more things being released, more information she hadn't realized she'd housed (Harper fucking Brackner you magnificent genius, you), but she'd cast that all aside at the moment as she lifted her gaze to look at Devin now, and now her eyes did tear.

She had shared the cotton candy with him, of course she had, like she had shared almost everything with him. First sleepover, one they had actually planned that was, not counting when their mothers would put them to sleep in the same crib when they were babies (Merlin, Lynn and Hols never got tired of those stories.) First beach trip with both of their families. First gift exchange, a tradition they kept up that included the year he'd given her the teddy bear charm bracelet, and she'd given him her handmade picture frame and a muggle chess set, they had talked about how gross snogging was. And on that same note, their first kiss.

On the school grounds last year, as they talked about Christmas and made fun of Celestina Warbeck and he had stolen her ancient runes book (and yet the rune she had drawn on his chest for the spell was not one she recalled even now) and then he'd kissed her. She had wanted him to kiss her long before that, Nadia remembered floating on air for a long time. 

That was, until he had said he was going to a party with Victoria. The good and the bad, the dark ages of last year, how hurt she had been when he had ignored her, how much she'd hurt him back. Disastrous, horrible; she never thought something would ever hurt her as much as giving him his jacket back and watching him walk away had hurt.

She knew now that wasn't true, and she wasn't talking about anything Gustav or Rhys had done. The worst thing she had gone through was seeing Devin ravaged by that werewolf and her being powerless to help him. She understood Irene perfectly now, when she said Nadia hated Victoria. Because Nadia _hated_ her, hated her just as much as she hated those two men, and now she was only disappointed that Nadia _hadn't_ gotten to turn her in.*

Devi- *She hadn't even finished exhaling her name before she'd reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and jump up, holding on to him tightly, with all the strength she had in the world. Tears spilled down her face, the first tears she'd shed since she had told herself she wouldn't, and landed on his shirt.* I remember, I remember, I do *She said quickly into his neck, gasping as she nodded insistently, blinking away her hot tears as much as she could.* Oh God, oh God, baby, I thought you were dead. Th-that night, when that _bitch_ , I saw you, and I saw the wolf *she gasped, the memory vivid* and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't scream, and I saw it, I saw it- I thought you were-- don't. you. EVER! *she pulled back suddenly, hitting his shoulders* ever, ever! Scare me like that ever again, never- *she grabbed his cheeks and pulled his face to hers, meeting her lips to his once, and twice, and again as she whispered to him* I love you, I love you so much, everything kept getting in the way of me saying it back that night, but Merlin *she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck again and holding him tight. She wasn't going to let go, ever again.*

 **Devin:** *So, in one of their many understatements, it turned out that his unspoken fear that her memory's returning might make her relive every horrible thing he had put her through, point out the fact that this started with his being idiotic enough to seek his cousin out, and she would thus no longer love him? Unfounded. Her squeak of half his name followed by a mostly-for-show 'oomph' from him as he caught her took care of that. Holding her up, her legs didn't hit the ground yet -- he locks her between his arms, one squeezing her waist, the other her upper back and buries his nose in her neck.* Nadia.

*He breathes her name out, but it's as much as he could say. How could he explain the wonder, the joy, the relief it was to hear everything she said?  The stories were too big for their mouths, they were tripping over their own lips trying to press every longing, every yearning, every fear into them -- and it didn't really matter anyways. Rivers of breathy rambles could never tell him as much as her arms did - as her eyes did, and that smile, oh her smile, the one he remembered so well and had been so long, so terrified he'd never see it again. Eyes lit-up by her natural beauty he thought there was nothing ever as seductive and addictive in the world that might exist, so much as Nadia's smile. This includes beer and chocolate. He'd have given anything, anything at all, just to be able to see it again.

Then he starts chuckling, a second before she smacks his arm and he sets her down again finally, though he can't let her go. Instead his arms rest around her waist and his eyebrows pop up.* Me? Oi, hold up -- *He asks with innocence faked in his soft smile and arched eyebrows, but with honest incredulity.* I, scared -you-? *Well, okay yes he had been in a coma for almost a month and all right yes he had forgotten the last memory that Nadia would have had was that dick ripping into his chest but he wasn't the one kidnapped, he wasn't the one amnesiac, he wasn't the one who had gouged out someone's eyes (fucking kick ass woman). 

He doesn't get to say more than that because her lips were marrying themselves to his and he breathes out into her mouth, kissing back fervently, feverishly, deep, as if he could remind her of all his love in one kiss (because nothing could ever be enough anyways). Lynn was fond of saying nothing began without an ending, and that was true here. Never had he been so brilliantly, blindingly happy to think something had ended: the end of missing Nadia.*

 ** **Alcott:** ** *He let them have maybe...three minutes, to just kiss and hug and reunite -- an oddly soft smile on his own lips as he watched. There was something in Nadia's gaze when she'd first opened her eyes, something so resolutely odd and poignant in the way she'd looked at him (like she was saying "oh Al" with her gaze and torn between a flood of tears and singing with happiness), that he couldn't get it from his mind. Actually, what it reminded him of was that alpha douche's statement: Alcott, the total tonnage of what I know that you don't would stun a team of oxen in it's tracks.

He had the feeling he'd just watched the oxen ram into Nadia, that's what it was. 

So, he did try. Really, he did, he tried to just let them be and give them the chair (yeah, seriously, he averts his eyes as they cling to each other) -- but he had to...ask, because if they were right? Then Nadia's memories were hallmarks to information. Information he bloody needed. Information like "where the fuck are the Death Eaters" and "how many" and "where will they try to hide when I come for them." That and probably, who the other prisoners were, that they could set free, and what this Angel was actually up to -- not that he really thought he'd trust Nadia on that, because she was sure to be influenced by whatever the man -wanted- her to believe. 

Arching an eyebrow and clearing his throat as his friends devolved into each other, he calls out to the super-being," Oi, Navin." It wasn't his invention: Irene was the one who'd started giving them all ship names (and he smirks to think because of -him-, Nadia would remember that now too). Hand going to his chest and pressing flat,* Far be it from me to interrupt really, but -- I do have to know, we got a location? A plan? Because I do have to go call someone anyway -- so you tell me that, and have at the chair but --

 **Devin:** *Breaking away with a tiny under-his-breath chuckle as he hears the nickname, he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and nods, smirking back at his friend,* Call someone? *Like he'd miss that.*

 ** **Alcott:** ** Yeah. Which, speaking of, Nadia -- Hols lose her phone again? Because she hasn't answered all morning. 

 **Devin:** Oh, of course. *Still holding onto Nadia's waist, he chuckles, breathing out,* You run out of voicemails to listen to then?

 ** **Alcott:** ** *Smirking without abash (or okay maybe a little color in his cheeks but he was a wolf, dammit, he had a fever all the time),* Shut up, Stuart.

 **Devin:** *Shrugging his shoulder, he looks back to Nadia too, raising a questioning eyebrow, lost in the joy of being able to just...look at her.* _Do_ we have a location...? 

Nadia: *For the briefest most minimal and inconsequential of moments, she had wished for a bolt of lightning to strike Alcott in his place for having int errupted them. Then of course, logic caught up with her and cheeks reddened as she remembered Al -was- there and they were in his house and they'd just snogged in front of him. She quickly chased away embarrassment and would have ran over to hug Al for a moment if she could bear being away from Devin's embrace even for a moment and she just wasn't that strong.

She cleared her throat and ran a quick hand through her hair before she nodded insistently. Pausing briefly at the question about Hols, Nadia only frowned and shook her head.* No I haven't seen her all day. *But yes, they had things to do! A breakout and counterattack to plan! Because damnit, she had promised Ang- Harper, that she'd get him out and now they all would. Oh, Al. Her throat itched with the desire to yell out what she knew but given that Alcott wouldn't believe her (she already imagined a 'tampered with your mind' argument that would on ly leave all of them livid) and that they had no time for this, she refrained.*

Kind of, sort of. I need a pencil and paper. *When Alcott had passed them over she quickly began drawing the sketch of the map in her head. She wasn't the best drawer, but it was easy enough to draw lines and curves of a bird  's eye view of the mansion. Though the more she drew it, the more she realized it didn't look like a mansion at all.* The lullaby was a clue to the place, the rhyme was instructions on where to find the entrance and how to get through it, under a gargoyle, tap it three times *she spoke under her breath, because it was more for her sake than theirs, they must have poured over those rhymes for hours* and this is a map of where I was. This is the room I had dinner with D'Grey in *she pointed at it* this is where the werewolves stay when they're there. The leader, I met with him, he stays here. *She pointed a gain and again then exhaled as she put an X over another room* This is Angel's room, close to the stairs that lead to the dungeons.

*She pursed her lips together and then looked back up at Alcott and Devin.* There's something else, another riddle. *She began to recite it* "You'll find no sanctuary here. Hell resides directly underneath Heaven's eyes, and the bells don't ring for the demons below." *and then she felt the need to ad-lib, to add the sentence Julio had given her because she had to, there -must- be a way to reveal Gustav's identity without any one else getting hurt, even if they were all in immense danger* "The Devil rules here, he who wears horns on his face, and no gypsy mother can gain refuge for her monster son; there is no sanctuary here . Where am I?" I'm sorry, I don't know the -exact- location, Angel didn't put that in, he said the Death Eaters would be watching, that my thoughts weren't safe-- but I have to go call someone too. Your dad, Devin, cause what I do have are locations to safehouses in the country, and I have to talk to Brandin, and I need to call- yes, much to do, much to do. *Again, rambling to herself she looked up.* Any ideas?

 **Alcott:** *He listens more than looks, as his mind was seeming to recreate everything with her words as if he was mentally flying overhead her drawing made three dimensional. The longer she went...the wider his small smile starts to lift. She wasn't drawing a mansion. She was drawing a church. Cathedral, to be exact.* Well, explains all the heaven and hell references. *He murmurs under his breath, amused.* 

 **Devin:** *Whatever Alcott had gotten...he hadn't, but he was a little distracted with toying with a few strands of Nadia's hair while he watches her draw because he couldn't honestly bear to part from her. Momentarily worried, he'd dug his cellphone out and sent a text to Lynn, and is distracted now to get a reply--* Lynn's not with her either. *He looks sideways,* Heaven and hell?

 **Alcott:** *Wait, Lynn wasn't either? So Hols hadn't answered him, Lynn, or Nadia? His heart was pounding with that thought (and dammit was it so awful that he wanted to...well, brag a little? He was proud he'd gotten through.)

But Devin was looking at him and he just nods,* Yeah, cause, look at the arches--

 **Devin** : *His hand stills with curls tucked around his knuckles,* It's a church. 

 **Alcott:** *Now his smirk widens with a chuckle he swallows, arms folded into his chest, chin and neck revolving,* Yeah, yeah...oh God, Rene was right--*there was a wicked glint to his eyes, a flutter in his breath,* 

 **Devin:** ...about?

 **Alcott:** Yeah, cause her Disney marathon helps doesn't it-- *oh, holy hell*--gargoyles, gypsies, no sanctuary for her monster child...oh they think they're so clever.

 **Devin:** You're looking at me I know more about Disney than Mickey Mouse, mate.

 **Alcott:** *He rolls his eyes and looks at Nadia; see, she was getting it.* It's Hunchback. *There's a lift to his smirk,* Why Brandin, Esmeralda?

 **Devin:** *Low under his breath, a curl to his own smile,* ....they're in Notre Dame. 

 **Alcott:** *Notre Dame. They knew where they were. He breathes out, his hand fluttering over her drawing, mentally mapping,* ...here we go. 

{*}

 **Tony:** *He had his feet up on the balcony railing, making the green and red plaid print of his pajama pants that much more obvious to him. As much as he sometimes loathed Christmas season, so close to his own birthday and damnit why couldn't have the Romans actually celebrated Jesus' birthday in the month it really was which was sometime in June?, Tony never denied the opportunity to get himself decked out in the Christmas colors.

Sure, the pants were all it really was which was sometime in June?, Tony never denied the opportunity to get himself decked out in the Christmas colors.

Sure, the pants were all 36 hours until his brother took it upon himself to pick up the pieces for the good of the country, and less than 24 hours for his birthday. Happy birthday to him.* Oh it's all I ever wanted. *He muttered as he picked up his phone which laid next to the bottle he'd brought out and scrolled through his contacts before clicking on La Russo. To Tony's expectations, the call went to voicemail. That was more than okay, Antonio loved to leave voicemails.*

Screening my calls already sugarpuss? I really do encourage you to answer phone numbers you don't know, I once got this Colombian belly dancer as a wrong number but damn, do I not regret picking up that phone.

Oh *his eyebrows lifted quickly as he clarified* yeah, by the way it's me, the brother of your gay guardian angel, Antonio D'Grey, but you can feel free to call me sensei. Claude gave me your number, hope you don't mind. *He smirks briefly to himself, and quickly continued.* He said you were in need of some tutelage from yours truly and I must agree, so consider me the Miyagi to your La Russo, the Batman to your Robin, the Harvey to your Mike, the Syrio to your Arya and so on and so forth. *He waved his hand around and realized what he was doing so he dropped it down to his stomach again*

That hunter's rune you have is no small thing to trifle with, not sure if Claude's had the talk with you yet. Frankly, that should be more his territory as I'm going to be in charge of the knocking-you-on-your-ass part that'll make you think of me every time you try to sit down without wincing. You'll soon grow to hate my face, have no worry about that.

Would loooove to talk to you about it soon but I have the slightest inkling we might see each other sooner than you think. In the mean time, do send my regards to your fantastic girlfriend. I finally understand what everyone in that Gala was on about, pretty special kid. Don't want her anywhere near my eyes or fingers though.

Hope to talk to you later, sweetdimples.Take care now, okay? Ciao, amore. *He hangs up, setting the phone back on the glass table and reaches for the bottle.*

{*}

 **Lynn:** Oh brother of mine--*speaking into the phone with a sigh, she enjoyed the look on her companion's face as she mentions that it's Devin she's on the phone with,* when will you accept that Mickey Mouse reigns supreme? *That was a good look too. Didn't make her lower her gun, but it was a good look.*

 **Devin:** *Over the phone, she was certain she could hear his eyeroll.* You ever giving that up, Lynn?

 **Lynn:** Do I ever give anything up?

*From behind her she hears,* Knew there was something I liked about you, dah-ling. *He murmurs with his hands going into his back pocket, standing at ease with a smirk. A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he sees her narrow her eyes at him.*

 **Devin:** ...Lynn, was that--

 **Lynn:** You're breaking up, Dev--*she crinkles under her breath*, Love you, keep me updated--

 **Devin** : See, that's you crinkling, Lynn-

 **Lynn:** Give Nadia a big kiss from me too. *Snapping the phone shut, she turns back with a full smile.* All right. Let's play let's make a deal.

 **Ansel:** *With his eyebrows popped and smirk easy,* You going to lower the gun first?

 **Lynn:** I don't think so, no. *Her head cocks with her grin,* See, cause I know it's actually not possible for you to put your weapon away.

 **Ansel:** *A quick flick of his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes lit up with the fact he was perfectly aware she was right,* My hands are up, cheri.

 **Lynn:** Oh don't give me that. *Though yes they were actually up. The nozzle of the gun gestures him up and down,* I know you don't need the moon to transform.

 **Ansel:** Then you are probably aware that silver bullet or not, *he points at her gun, smirk flicking* you'd never fire fast enough before I did.

 **Lynn:** You want to test that theory? 

 **Ansel:** *Sighing, his hands go back to his pockets,* I want to have a civilized conversation with the woman who captured my sister, a situation I think fraught enough without a gun in my face.

 **Lynn:** *Her teeth grit.* Rachelle was trying to kidnap me.

 **Ansel:**   Let's not add your defending the crime to the list hun, you don't want to make me angry.

 **Lynn:** You don't want to make -me- angry. *The retort was instant, petulant, but she thought it was made more adult by her step forward and the gun levelled at the--well, where a heart would be, if he had one.*

 **Ansel:** All right, *he rolls his eyes,* take it easy, Van Damme, I was as surprised as you to see you here. The pup neglect to inform you?

 **Lynn:** Brackner's not my closest confidant, *she stops walking, really wanting her heart to shut off,* but yeah, he told me all about your supposed deal. And then, yet, *she gestures with the gun, red hair flying over her shoulder,* the last of us you were personally interested in is in the hospital, so--

 **Ansel:** The hospital? *With genuine surprise, both eyebrows popping up and for a moment, his jade eyes flash grey, mirth disappearing from his face.*

 **Lynn:** Like you didn't know about Irene. *She scoffs, not buying that--and okay a little...tenser as she sees his face shift.* **Ansel:** I haven't spoken to Irene, *his voice gains that quality of someone humming along a dangerous precipice between hard and vulnerable underbelly,* since she told me of my sister's fate. *Bastards. They would jump on her the moment his back was turned. Undeterred by the gun, he takes a step forward slowly,* So go on Lynn, tell me what I don't know, sure you'll enjoy that--

 **Lynn:** *Admits,* It's not unpleasant. Except of course for the subject matter.

 **Ansel:** The subject matter. *Drily,* Is she all right?

 **Lynn:** Like you care. *As she watches his face shift, a surprised smile slowly dawns on her lips as well, and she lowers the gun slightly,* ...you actually do, don't you? 

 **Ansel:** *Teeth gritting as he feels them shift, he might as well sink the canines into the flesh of his own lips.*

 **Lynn:** Oh, wow. *He did. That was...she tries not to laugh, she really does, because she knew that couldn't be smart when his face was that hard and his teeth were out and buried in his own mouth, eyes a different color.* At least, you think you do. Because see, caring actually usually necessitates not attempting to kidnap them--

 **Ansel:** *Had that not been me, he thinks with his muscles tensing, they would have sent another--one who wouldn't have failed to retrieve her for a month. He didn't expect Lynn to understand that, however, so he says nothing.*

 **Lynn:** \--your pack honestly is a bit pathetic, isn't it? *She was talking because that was what she did, when she was afraid -- or nervous (she didn't get afraid),* You really think she'll forgive you for that?

 **Ansel:** Lynn, do you think it's particularly intelligent to call me pathetic right now? *He leans against the dusty stall, arms still braced on his sides, breathing in the different aromas.* 

 **Lynn:** Well, no, *breathy, because she could see what he was leaning near and damn him, if she fired on that barrell she'd likely kill them both,* but there's a reason I'm -dating- a Ravenclaw, not one myself. 

 **Ansel:** Stating the obvious, really. *His smirk had returned for a moment as he sees her take stock of the murky vials he rests against.* 

 **Lynn:** I did that twice. Because...you really are, your pack is, and know why I can't believe you? Even Hans, if Brackner's to be believed, seemed to genuinely care about Eliza and look how that turned out--

 **Ansel:** *In an instant his mirth returns, swallowing a smug smirk.* Oh Lynn. *It wasn't so much 'look how that turned out' as it was 'look at him turning her inside out', he almost says, but thinks better of as simply: his alpha (for the present moment) was not particularly forgiving of slights against her.* Let's not rehash the past. *She'd lowered the gun, he notices, in surprise of his chuckle, and he seizes that moment,* You wish to make a deal. Let's play then. What do you have, that you think I want?

 **Lynn:** *Her heart had turned cold with his chuckle, and then...her brows furrow suspicious.* That look-

 **Ansel:** Look?

 **Lynn:** That one, the smug smirk and bright green eyes--I don't need your wolf hearing to know you're singing right now -*mocks* I know something youuuu don't knoooww...

 **Ansel:** Do you know ,*he continues idly, good humor returned as he puts (for now) Irene from his mind,* the capital of Assyria?

 **Lynn:** *She blinks, retorting instantly as she recognizes the question.* And the carrying capacity of an unladen European swallow, yes I do.

 **Ansel:** *Aha, oh she did catch the reference then. He forgot which of the Minister's children it was who disdained of the muggle entertainments for a moment but--oh, yes of course, Mickey Mouse reigning supreme comment.* Nice to see you catch the reference.

 **Lynn:** Since when do douchebag Frenchmen enjoy Monty Python anyway?

 **Ansel:** Ah, *there's a curl to his lips,* I'm full of surprises, cheri. 

 **Lynn:** Clearly, *she rolls her eyes but lifts the gun again as she sees his eyes going hard and grey again,* now what exactly do you want with moonglitter?

 **Ansel:** *That makes his chin lift, jaw frozen in a half open smirk. So, she did know how to play after all. That nearly makes up for the fact that she'd clearly been eavesdropping on his conversation with the proprietor of this backwoods (literally) kooky establishment. Nearly.*

 **Lynn:** *As it dawns on him, she takes a breath, nods and adds,* Yeah, that's right, I'm actually not an amateur here. 

 **Ansel:** I surmised, *with a low chuckle,* considering you were here and not gathering your classroom ingredients in Diagon Alley. 

 **Lynn:** And, *twirling a scarlet strand with the nozzle of her gun,* not when I knew what you all were poisoning my brother with?

 **Ansel:** *Tiny scoff,* Oh luv, I would never have used something so provincial as that.

 **Lynn:** *Her gaze hardens.* So it was yours in the pink champagne?

 **Ansel:** *His smirk flicks up, not answering, instead saying to this double-agent in heels,* What dark agent are you looking for here, in any case? I surmise Daddy doesn't know?

 **Lynn:** *Oh, this one just thought he knew everything, didn't he? Well, no, her Dad didn't actually know where she was but she answers without missing a beat,* Just because -my- father actually takes an interest in me, doesn't mean he has to know everytime I buy unicorn hair.

 **Ansel:** *A dry chuckle reverberates in the back of his throat,* Ah, and yet I see no unicorn hair in your hands. 

 **Lynn:** Well, I was distracted, *She grips the gun a little higher,* noticing the psychopath who hurt my friends was talking to Mr. Pique.

 **Ansel:** *He casts a glance over her shoulder to where the man in question had scurried off the moment her gun appeared, breathes out and looks back, adding lightly,* That's a fair point. Of course you can get unicorn hair in Diagon. 

 **Lynn:** Thank you. *She snaps it, then relents adding,* Yeah, well...maybe I'm gathering a few other ingredients too--Alcott is...particularly picky.

 **Ansel:** *Light in his narrowed eyes as he swallows another laugh, he cocks his head. Ah, of course it wouldn't be a coincidence.* Brackners can get that way. *Father and son would use the same lines for the harder-to-acquire ingredients, he thinks with honest amusement, and licks at his bottom lip as if he can taste the sweet irony.* As for what I want with it would depend on your answer to the simple question--what do you know?

 **Lynn:** *Lightly, as she inhales, buying time with,* Aside from the capital of Assyria and the airspeed velocity of swallows?

 **Ansel:** Unladen. *Corrects easily, smirking.*

 **Lynn:** *Another breath and then,* I know that it's proper name is legatus lunaris herbilius, which roughly translated has nothing to do with glitter, but is rather an herbal sentinal of the moon. Fitting, as it's really just the collected dust off a moonrock that crashed here over a decade ago. I know there's only twenty grams of it in the world, and that duplicating spells render it useless. And I know which irritating friend of Jesse back there, is hoarding it. 

 **Ansel:** *His face hadn't shifted at all through the litany, most of the time--apart from "only twenty", which cocked an eyebrow. Eyes narrowing now, he keeps his voice light intentionally to point out,* Impressive. But don't lie to me.

 **Lynn:** *Surprised, her chin and the gun both lift hearing a dangerous quiver in his tone,* I didn't lie.

 **Ansel:** Only twenty? *He leans off the stall now, taking a step closer to her, still not caring about the gun, even as she shifts it and only stops walking when she has it actually laying on his chest,* Honestly, Lynn. You think after searching for three weeks, I'm not well aware there's thirty?

 **Lynn:** *Her eyes on the gun as it rests on his Armani jacket (damn this pack and their bloody good taste!), she breathes out and says quieter,* There was thirty. Now there's twenty. Said friend's doubly irritating brother used some of it.

 **Ansel:** *Listening carefully to the rhythm of her heart, he breathes out realizing she was telling the truth, nodding and then all at once, he pushes her gun away -- a shot rings to break a bell jar, spilling beetle eyes onto the floor and then he's pocketing it as Lynn rubs blood from her lip. Lightly,* See, now we can be much more civil, when I tell you, your further cooperation will only serve to break the stranglehold that those erroneously calling themselves the Death Eaters have on your country. *Smirking as he looks back while she stalks his easy walk back with murder in her eyes, Ansel leans against the stall again.* And I,* he finishes,* don't have to feel like I'm giving it up at gunpoint. 

 **Lynn:** *Seriously, fuck him--her lip hurt where he'd hit it and as she watches the skin repair itself where her shot grazed fire down his forearm, she breaths out hard. Only...* To -break- the--

 **Ansel:** Yes, dah-ling. I can promise you there will be no harm to your brother, nor your little Scooby gang --well, unless you try and foil us, then they'll probably hurt you much worse. I've been reliably informed it's much worse than even I, *his hand lands over his heart, mouth round and eyes seeming alive with a kind of dark glimmer,* even could, and I assure you Lynn, I am quite capable in the area.

 **Lynn:** *Snaps,* The area being torture. 

 **Ansel:** *Rubbing blood off his sleeve, surveying the wound as it knits and says lightly,* You're no angel yourself.*Pulling his phone out, he starts fingering at the shelves and then points at her,* ah-ah! *as if to say "stay", like -she- was the dog.*

 **Lynn:** *Irritated, her hands fold on her chest,* You realize the angel jokes got old a month ago, right?

 **Ansel:** *Lips flicking up as he realizes what he'd said,* Ah, dah-ling they were old almost a decade ago. I assure you, I wasn't referring to the man. 

 **Lynn:** *A decade? Her mouth gapes.*

 **Ansel:** Well. *Fairly, he had pointed out that it was a Brackner who sent him here.* I wasn't that time.

 **Lynn:** *Her brows furrow slowly as her eyes and mouth stay round,* ...that time...? *Who had he mentioned, aside from Rachelle and Monty Python? Well and Alcott of course-- Lynn blinks.* Wait-when you said Brackners do that--

 **Ansel:** My dear brother! *He says brightly on the phone, amused she seemed to be getting that joke too, the moment that Hans picked up. Smirking as she stares in shock,* You'll never guess who knows the location of our moon-glitter. 

{*}

“I’ve just heard the most interesting news.”

The soft voice carried through the dark room, traveling to her and then running up her spine, leaving her frozen and breathless. Her scalpel poised along the chest where she would made her incision, Gina brought it back down on the table with great effort to keep her limbs from shaking. A breath in and a breath out didn’t seem that complicated a process. Breathing was a involuntary physical process, like the beating of a heart. The only difference was, you could hold your breath and keep air from reaching your lungs for a short amount of time, the same did not apply for the organ within their chests.

The body was in a constant state of activity. Even sleeping took energy, even if it was less energy, the body still worked to break apart starches and proteins; the heart continued to pump blood to every extremity. It was a machine, a perfect machine. There was none other quite like it in the entire earth. It was perfect.

And in its perfection held its flaw; it was a traitorous smoke signal, making apparent every specific state. Palms sweated when you were nervous, your voice hitched with anxiety, and your heart rate accelerated when you were frightened or excited.

With him, for her, it was always a little bit of both. Couldn’t have one without the other.

He reached her as quietly as he had entered the room, placing large hands at her waist to turn her around. Her smaller hands grabbed at the edge of the metal table to steady her legs, and a quick inhale allowed her breath to speak. “And what would that be?”

He never answered her quickly. He was a man of significant patience, his plan and revenge years in the making. Beneath that calm, cool, exterior however, she knew the monster that lay caged inside, something he found no qualm in unleashing as often as possible. The monster in her own chest growled in response, aching to be released as well. They were monsters both, the kind that this world created and also the mad scientists, collecting corpses in an attempt to reanimate them to their purpose. They were Victor Frankenstein and his Creation simultaneously, because you couldn’t have one without the other.

His hand snaked and slithered its way around her waist, and a gasp caught in her throat while her eyes widened momentarily at the abrupt movement. Hard fingers sunk deep to leave fresh bruises even beneath her lab coat and shirt. Bruises, caused by the damaging of capillaries that made blood pool right under the skin with nowhere to go. Like she had said before, the human body was perfect and yet altogether imperfect with its fragility. Any moment could be a person’s last. That was something she understood far younger than most ever had to, and it was a knowledge she carried with her always, was reminded of it every day she came to work.

His other hand came up to brush aside strands of brown hair away from her cheek. The gesture was so soft, so gentle that for a moment she’d felt the stinging of tears threaten to erupt. That moment was quickly over for in the next he clutched his chin in his fingers, bringing her face closer to his as a strangled laugh left her mouth.

“I don’t like this color,” was his only response. Gina concentrated and then turned it into a darker shade, the light brown changing under his gaze until the tendrils were as dark as night. Biting her bottom lip, his thumb popped up to drag it away from her teeth. It was a habit he detested and one she would never drop, not when it aggravated him so much.

Satisfied with the change in her appearance for the moment, he finally got around to answering her question. “Zoe Noel’s in the hospital, got into a traffic accident, apparently.”

Gina hid her smirk of triumph with a roll of her eyes that shared nothing but the contempt she held for that woman. It was no secret that the slightest of mention of her irritated Gina but soon that would all change. He gripped her chin harder and tilted her head to look into his chilled ice blue eyes.

“Good,” she answered in defiance and a relieved sigh left her lips as his hand tilted to grip at her throat instead. There was a small hum from deep in her chest as she continued, “I’ll send black roses for her funeral.”

He laughed then, a piercing and butchering sound that caused her good mirth to disappear entirely as she beheld him. She recognized that sound and she waited until his amusement had subsided for her to vocalize her question. “What?”

“Oh, she’s not dead. They got her soon enough,” he revealed with a tone that demonstrated potential relief at the fact. It was why Gina had wanted to get rid of the woman, for her constant and unyielding hold on this man like his physical hold on her right now. “Why did you assume her death so quickly?”

“Wishful thinking,” she answered bitterly and then gasped as he raised her off her feet by the grip on her throat. She kicked her feet and held on to the arm holding her up, knowing how much he liked it when she struggled.

“That better be all it is,” he let her drop to the floor, her knees buckling unsteady under the weight. With a small giggle she steadied herself with a grip on the unrelenting metal table and then drew herself up again to look into his eyes. That wasn’t the only reason he had come to her.

“What else?” She asked, eager, seeing the fury in his gaze.

“The wolves,” he revealed quickly and it was the fact that he had cut straight to the point that alerted her to how dire the situation was indeed. The beasts, yes, they had been more unruly as of late, failing to do as they were instructed to do- they had failed to retrieve the Minister’s daughter and the mudblood and had forced Gina to have to retrieve Sam’s plaything herself.

“They plan to take Brackner for themselves and run.”

Oh, foolish move. Gina pressed herself against her lover, her master, and curled his shirt in her clenched fists, feeling his anger boiling up to the surface, exciting her. Her lips hovered above his own, for now, for this brief moment as they never lasted long, he was the one answering her questions like an overeager student might bark out the answer to the teacher he had fancied since the first day of school.

“They insult you,” she revealed, exhaling as a growl reverberated through his chest and shook her with the force of it. “They would betray you…” she drawls it out, burying fingers into his own short hair, enough to grip.

“Yes,” is all he manages to snap out, all loathing and disgust in one simple syllable.

“And what would you have me to do about it?” Her grin widened with anticipation of the assignment, anticipation for him, and he never disappointed.

He took her shoulders and turned her around, slamming her face first into the table with her tools. Scalpels and small knives cut into her skin and she whimpered, grabbing the edges of it once more as she turned her head, the cadaver inches away from her face. He leaned into her, his mouth pressed against the side of her cheek as he rasped out.

“Ricard’s siblings are in town, aren’t they?” A small acquiescent nod was her entire response and after a hard bite to her ear that made her jerk away from him and further into the metal blades, he delivered his instruction.

“Well then, kitten,” he ripped through the lab coat with a knife, digging hard enough to reach the toughened skin of her back, “go and play with your mice. But first,” he lifted her head with a yank on her hair as he whispered, “change.”

Gina knew who he meant, and the sudden anger that came would only help in the role he would have her play. For black hair turned golden yellow in his fingers, limbs grew even as he held them in place with his weight and he turned her face once more she spat in his face, rewarding her with another drawn line down her thigh with the cool blade. In return, she rewarded him with a tearful and pleading sob asking for mercy, that which he always craved and never got enough of.

{*}

 **Stefanie:** *Her flat was small, she knew that. Marcel, darling brother he was, hadn't been able to resist from pointing that out anymore than he'd been able to restrain a comment on her awaiting someone "special" judging apparently by her outfit, before she shoo'd him away.

That outfit was off now, of course. Marcel had never really seen the full thing anyway, as luckily she hadn't assumed it was Tony at the door. She hadn't known he was going to take to her request for a family reunion so quickly but, she'd been glad to have the hour or two with both of her brothers. Even if they were out of well cinnamon sugar before Tony arrived (she'd made apologies by shrugging the white pullover off and revealing that yes, in fact, her blue dress was one breasted after all). He, of course, had pointed out she wasn't supposed to get her own but, they'd found ways for him to play Gendry anyway and besides, as she told him, Stef was never one for patience.

Last night's outfits were well-shedded, so that now she was wearing his shirt only over her lingerie - well, and sunglasses. Actually, that wasn't all that had changed; they were in a different country too. Yes, her flat was small but as she'd told Marcel--that wasn't the reason she fell in love with it; her balcony was. She had a thing for them, she thinks, and Tony seemed to share her passion, (oh, what a double entendre that was!), for the hotel she purchased had one too. When she was reminded (oh-so-subtly by Daniella, who'd sent a text when she saw Olivier's present) that it was Tony's birthday in a day, she'd promptly found them a hotel suite to properly make use of their respective outfits, in his beloved Rome, as a gift. 

Well, she wishes it was that innocent only. She was well-aware judging from Hans with Marcel at lunch yesterday, and from Tony all night when he thought she wasn't looking...something was happening. These twenty-four hours might be the last of peace for...a while. So, why shouldn't they take a quick trip to Rome? Especially when the suite had a balcony like this one.

The whole of the city lays at her feet, or so it seemed as she leans on the balcony railing. She feels a soft smirk lift back to her lips as she hears the glass door slide open again. Toying with the middle button on his shirt around her, she doesn't look around as she calls lightly,* Any pressing messages, ser? 

 **Tony:** *After taking care of his oral hygiene (ever since he had seen a man with only nine teeth by the time he was 30 when he was kid, Tony was ceremonial when it came to the cleanliness of his mouth), he had walked out of the bathroom to discover Stefanie already awake and no longer in the bed. He had stepped out onto the balcony to make his call so as not to wake her but clearly it was the sound of running water which seemed to stir Stefanie back into the world.

Walking back outside, sliding the door open, he had to restrain a groan as he saw what she'd chosen to wear. She was a model after all, she pulled everything off perfectly, and that dress yesterday? He'd have dreams about it for years, surely. And yet now, in nothing but one of his Varvatos shirts and her own lingerie he assumed from where he stood, he didn't think he'd ever seen her look sexier to him.

After disengaging his bottom lip from between his teeth he stepped out completely and closed the glass door behind him, moving to her with a sincere smile on his lips which he quickly turns in to a smirk by the time he's in front of her (with a gaze that kept falling to her fingers toying with buttons).* None, thank God. *He sits on the arm of the chair she's in, this was a great view honestly* A moment of peace, it's a miracle.

 **Stefanie:** *Judging by his wandering gaze, she'd chosen well -- even though really, she'd just plucked his shirt off the top of the pile, thrown it over her lingerie and decided to stop getting dressed in favor of looking on at the city awakening. The sunglasses pushing her hair back were just in case even in winter the Roman sun made her go blind. 

As if she wasn't in worse danger of that from certain Italian -men-, oh holy. As a shirtless-Tony sits next to her, she holds the hand not playing with his buttons up as if to shield her eyes from his reflective, chiseled chest.* Jesus, Maria und Josef. *She teases, hardly noticing her instinctive reverting to German in the moment of awe. Oh, she was getting to know Tony's body quite well but never so...brightly in the light of day. 

An eyebrow wiggles as she pushes her sunglasses down and then lets her hand fall to her knee.* Actual peace? Almost feels like a trick.

 **Tony:** *It only made the situation that much more favorable when she gazed appreciatively as much as he did. Who didn't want a second look at his body? He tried not to dwell on the fact that it was because of how much blood he'd had in the last twenty-four hours alone. The two thugs he was sent to rough up, and then with the attack in Hogsmeade...blood to him was like instant steroids.*

The big three huh? Wow, Stef, you'll make me blush. *He winked and then looked forward, a smile appearing on his face again. Rome. He hadn't been here since he had last visited Nonna.* At this point I don't care if it's a trick, let me just enjoy it until it endsss. *He looked back to her because even the beauty of his city was nothing compared to the one he had sitting next to him* And if it's a dream well then, please don't wake me up.

 **Stefanie:** You're cute when you blush though. *The look in his eyes was shiver-inducing as he surveys her, and yet oddly she thinks for a moment she enjoys his glance back out to the city more. There was a softness there. A kind of nostalgic yearning in his gaze she thinks makes her want to curl up with him like he was a teddy bear.

And then he looks back and it was back to shivers, just for a second. She smirks, nodding in agreement as she lowers her knee and braces her hands atop the one still popped.* Yeah, same here. 

 *She winks back, letting a few moments pass softly, but as a breeze takes a few yellow strands of hair, she feels those shivers change to something more foreboding tickling her neck. Swallowing tightly,* It's really...happening, isn't it?  

 **Tony:** As if you've ever seen me blush-- as if anyone ever has. *He countered easily, now undoubtedly curious as to which occasion she could possibly be referring to if indeed she was. Then again, maybe she just meant -flushed- and he couldn't deny that that was an image which he gave her frequently, as often as she gave it to him. 

His smile faded as he pursed her lips at her small, but loaded, question. There was nothing he could but nod, and agree.* Yeah, it is. Sooner than I thought too but, I'm glad. *He nodded again, he hated pretending to be a death eater.* So I guess you could call this the calm before the storm.

 **Stefanie:** *Both her eyebrows pop and wiggle as if to insinuate she actually had besides him flushing scarlet. And not only that she had but that it was some totally secret embarrassing memory that she treasured. Maybe she was blushing herself but--honestly, this sun.

She sobers as he continues, but she was glad he did. Nodding just once, she lowers the other knee too as her hidden-behind-Gucci-black gaze drops too, contemplating the marble tile beneath them both.* Right. Thanks for telling me. *She murmured that, so quietly she wasn't even sure she'd actually said it, but the sentiment was clear: she liked that Tony didn't make a joke, push it away -or- overload her on sensory details that would be hard to keep her stomach intact over to scare her off. He just answered. Pointblank, and he didn't dwell either. 

So, she nods, gets up an inch, scoots the chair so that Tony 'fell'(Jesus he was strong, she suspected he meant to do that), and then falls herself back into it, now on his lap. Her hand falls to his chest, thumb rubbing over his clavicle as she speaks.* Well, in that case, *her words were sweet and easy,* I think. So long as we're living in the land of puppies and unicorns and rainbows, *she echoes his earlier words with an eyebrow wiggle,* we might as well make the most of it.

*As sure as her words started...by the end, she was honestly asking, wide-eyed and unsure how to even begin to phrase the want behind her words.* 

 **Tony:** *His eyebrows had popped too, one higher than the other and curved as he took in her expression, that little smugness that came with knowledge but then the moment ended. Fine, let her have that, it wasn't as if he wasn't going to play at getting it out of her later. And even if he didn't succeed in his endeavor, the journey itself would have been savory enough to be worth it.* 

Are you kidding? It seems like there's nothing I -haven't- told you sometimes. *He admitted with a sly grin before he was falling in the chair with a theatrical 'oomph', his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled into his lap, smirk rising but only in honest enjoyment.

Puppies and rainbows and unicorns, he chuckled, added idly* Don't forget the butterflies...*he bit on his bottom lip for a moment and then nodded slowly* A few moments where everything's easy...normal. Yeah. *He nodded.* Exactly.

 **Stefanie:** The butterflies? *She echoes, sketching a figure eight against his chest with a little smile darting over her lips.* Why Antonio, am I putting butterflies in your stomach? 

*She was glad for her shades, seriously, even if they were likely knocked askew at the moment. It hid how...earnest her gaze probably was, though her lower lip drawn into her mouth probably already did show that. Bother. Pushing them up with her free hand as he nods, she does too, enjoying the word "normal".* Ha. Right. As normal as we can be anyway. 

Just two people. Guy and girl. In a city that actually had to outlaw cars having a backseat because just the language, *she trails her finger up to his lips, smirking,* is such an aphrodisiac. *Her finger taps against his lips.* That's not even getting to the food or men yet.

 **Tony:** *Her feathery soft touch on his chest made him grin a little wider to keep a giggle at bay. Curses, this is was one of the cons of going shirtless aside from sex where touches were decidedly less innocent.* Blushing, butterflies in my stomach- you just -want- me to lose my masculinity don't you?

*As she pushed her sunglasses off her face again, he took a moment to enjoy the way her hair was pulled back with it, idle strands falling to frame her face, briefly touching her cheek but not obscuring it.* Ah, there they are. *He commented simply about her bright blue eyes and then started smirking as she elaborated on her definition of normal. The little piece of trivia did make him laugh though, a short burst of air leaving his lungs before he smirked again, nodding.* Bene, cara, che cosa vuoi dire? *He smirked, taking the finger against his lips in his mouth, nipping at the pad* Quale preferisci?

 **Stefanie:** Not at all, *she hums,* just would prefer not to be alone in it. *Yeah, those words were out of her mouth before she thought about them, and so she was glad when he just smiles as he looks at her. 

There they are, he'd said, like he'd been waiting just to be able to see her eyes. They instantly spread wide, like they were struggling to comprehend his words even as she smiles in simple happiness. Well. At least until he took her finger in his mouth, speaking in Italian. Then she smirks too.

She doesn't understand his first question (besides that he calls her darling) and chuckled to bite back a gasp as he toys with her finger.* Tonyy, *she shivers, and then (well, the latter question he asked before and was pretty close to French), so she adds leaning closer,* I can't have both? *She turns, still mid-giggle, and then adds lighter, but honestly curious,* Have you really told me everything? Honestly?  

 **Tony:** You aren't. *The response came as quick as hers had and with the same amount of shamelessness. Maybe it was born out of the need not to have her uncomfortable, or to have the balance of their relationship as it was, tipped to any particular side why he'd said it but it was also completely true.

As was true that he enjoyed her enjoyment, and his lips spread in a smirk at hearing his name even as he kept her finger caught between her teeth at that moment. He let it go at her own question, grinning* Insatiable. *He said simply, remarking on her, leaning in to press a kiss to her neck and another, as his hands grab the back of her thighs* Hmm, honestly, yes. Well- *he grins, sucks a spot of her skin, nibbling and soothing until he'd left a mark and then pulled back* no, there's something I've never told anyone, ever, everrr.

 **Stefanie:** *She wasn't. So she was putting butterflies in his stomach then, and maybe that was why she didn't retort instantly: 'do you mean i'm stealing your masculinity after all?', because she didn't want it to be a joke. That was...new, but she didn't. She had said something genuine, and he'd done the same and if she backed out now it would leave him on the ledge alone and--well, Stefanie was never cruel. Besides, it would leave her alone again too.* Born that way. Craving.

*Or, maybe she just didn't retort because she couldn't, because she'd hmmed and then gasped as he pulls her skin between his teeth, the shivers down her spine turning her, her hand moving from his mouth to his own shoulder to grip and steady her. She sways from the strength and heat of his kiss, well aware the other bruises and marks hadn't even faded, and here he was leaving new ones. Her eyes had fluttered shut, a blanket of yellow hair falling over her left shoulder as her forehead tips forward and she stills as she hears him, letting her gaze open to meet his.* What's that?

 **Tony:** *Born craving, ha! He almost laughed but it would have been too bitter a sound and he wasn't bitter in the slightest about being here with her so the two just simply didn't belong together, in a balcony over looking his beautiful city of Roma.

As her eyes, fluttering, open to look at him he only grins impishly, wiggling his eyebrows in the same way she had to him about the blush comment and then his hands gripped tighter, moving her to straddle him in one swift movement. Grinning, he leaned back in, kissing down her throat to the beginning of her chest, undoing a button with his teeth to expose more skin to him.* Tell me when you saw me blush first, then I'll tell you.

 **Stefanie:** *Peppering the air with half-formed syllables in a gasp as he moves her, she lands on her knees and barely feels the jab as they dig into the tan linen and wood. More bruises for later that were totally worth it. She inhales sharp from need and want when he leans in to her chest.* A(h)n--ton(e)-io-- *That's what his name sounds like, intercut with little giggles, especially as he pops the button free. 

Rising with every squeeze of her to him, she braces her arms around his neck to grasp the chair behind him. Her hair was falling now like an awning over his, as if rays of sunlight mixing in his ink-black nightsky, but she has to admit, no offense to nature or anything, she thinks this better than the sunrise.

Oh hell. He would ask that now. Her head comes back up, she tosses her hair over her shoulder, cups his cheek with a hand to still his mouth and lift his gaze to her.* You. *She wrinkles her nose and leans down to kiss his.* Are a tease. *Another kiss, this to the side of his lips.* Oh, very well.

 You were...what. Fourteen? I'd just turned fifteen. Was visiting, well, I was looking for Hans. Called and met up with Olivier at a bar where you were too with...I think her name was Deborah. *She tilts her head, contemplating,* Delilah? Dierdra. Oh it was some D, anyway, I wasn't really listening to Olivier when he told me, anyway, *she flaps her hand,* you gave her a drink, such a gentleman, even kissed her hand.

 *Her eyebrow wiggles.* And she said something sweet -- well that's what I assumed, in your ear, and I thought your face was funny, so I told Olivier that and he laughed and said he thought you were blushing. *She nods importantly, teasing.* And then you were off --woosh-- *her hand goes over his shoulder,* and Olivier asked me to dance, and that's it really cause you didn't come back. *She licks her bottom lip quickly, braced on his lap and holding his cheek.* Always had great stamina, didn't you? *She leans down as if to kiss him, and stops, an inch from his lips,* Your turn, amore. 

 **Tony:** *Yes, yes he was. He shrugged his shoulders with an expression that too clearly read "oh well what can you do?" Licking his lips as she began telling the story, his thumb idly traced the outline of her pelvic bone through her (well, his) shirt, his gaze never leaving hers.*

Oh back when I thought you were an insufferable brat. *He teased and then quickly nodded along as she continued, finding himself remembering with a fond smile. And then he laughed at his 14 year old self, putting his forehead against her chest and looked up at her again, her lips inches from his.* Hmm, well, my secret is that I am, *his hands move up from her waist up her sides* utterly...hopelessly...embarrassingly...*he runs his fingers over her ribs* ticklish. *He grins.*

 **Stefanie:** Excuse me? *Her high-pitched incredulous gasp (and giggle) didn't probably help dissuade him of the notion, so she was for once grateful of her little blush as that probably did the better job.* Oh...fine, I thought you were too. Mostly. Olivier didn't help disabuse the notion really. 

*She was only six months older than Tony (less really), but she had to admit sometimes she felt they...both were many years below their actual age.

Amused as he rests within her open shirt, she snaps her own twisted bra strap to straighten it and leans down as he leans up. The wandering, exploring fingers were making her breath catch, only highlighting the fact they were breathing each other's air, so close, in the intimate moment he extends with adjectives that he catches her sudden laugh with the answer, and she buries it in his mouth, kissing him through chuckles reverberating in her chest as his fingers run along her, pressing to him and then popping an inch back to breath and prod his shoulder.* 

Ticklish? Really? That's your deep dark secret? *Then she pauses, her nail still tracking across his skin (maybe on purpose now with a few other fingers joining in), and she allows,* ...okay, aside from you know, the others you've told me -- oh! *Her fingers run down his sides too now, light in contrast to her usually digging into him, dancing around his bare lower back, over his hips as she searches, smirking,* Ticklish whereeee? 

 **Tony:** *Alright so they were both brats, yes (as well as twelve, sometimes) but clearly not as big as they had been in their younger, more foolish days. Not that they weren't foolish any longer, actually you could have said that they were vastly more foolish now. Tony didn't care for the distinction, he was busy elsewhere.

If he thought a kiss would be enough to distract her from her new uncovered knowledge of him, he'd thought wrong. She leaned away from his lips as she teased him, but he only frowned (in jest)* It is my deepest darkest secret. I've never told anyone, anyone at all. *Oli didn't count, and technically he hadn't told his brother either.

As her sole finger was joined by the rest and they had down his sides with feather light touches, he lifted his hips in surprise as a tiiiny giggle reached his lips-* Hey! No, no! See, this is why I never tell. *he's grinning wide now if only to keep more embarrassing laughter at bay. He brings his hands to grab both of hers, tsking and then leans up to nip her bottom lip* Naughty.

 **Stefanie:** Well, I'll give you deep-*she gasps as he suddenly arches beneath her, oh, that was fun,* -est, but. *Whether that was an act or not, it honestly did make her smirk as she continued to tease, hovering over his mouth as she's swaying with his every motion.* I get it though, *having bounced when he arched, she arches down herself, quite enjoying the feel of his plaid pajama's now,* biiig, *okay she emphasized that one,* bad hybrid, helpless for a fewww strokes of my-

*Oops. She didn't get to finish the thought--he'd lifted again, seized both her wrists and her lips, nipping at the bottom one. For someone who had such past troubles with vampires, Tony sure did like to bite--she wondered if he noticed that. How could he not though, when the soft skin of her neck, her exposed throat, and the valleys and mounds of her chest, were all marked and mapped by his mouth? Breath hitching as he releases her lip, she inhales,* All right, maybe not helpless. *Licks at his top lip, loving the way naughty sounds from his lips, accented.* And I'm honored.

 **Tony:** *Oh he almost wished he had let her finish that sentence as his primarily auditory oriented senses seemed to hum aloud with the want that sparked in the dry air between them. But then he remembered how he actually reacted when he was tickled and then it didn't seem as disappointing as his reaction and involuntary jerks might have been.*

I'm glad *he replied easily and then leaned back in to press another hot kiss to her mouth, keeping her hands in his grip. With the taste of her on his tongue, he traveled down her mouth to her chest again, popping another button and smirking as the curve of her breasts became more apparent to him. He dipped his tongue to trace the dip before murmuring against her skin.* If I release your hands *he used his nose to push aside the fabric of her shirt, revealing her bra* will you behave?

 **Stefanie:** *She was quite glad he was...glad, yes (her brain was going fuzzy and she was half thinking in improper French exclamations now). Still, she very much enjoyed his pleasure, in multiple ways, even! Sharing things with Tony usually had involved one of them bitter, spending time together in passionate solace. Somewhere that had changed into just pure passion, and she murmurs into his warm mouth her appreciation for that.* Behave? 

*Only he still hadn't let her go. Moving her hips half-involuntarily as his tongue tastes below her bra, she feels more of her short gasps than actually breathes them.* I never behave, *her hips revolve into him again,* Tony, not in my life. 

 **Tony:** *He couldn't properly express with words how delighted he was to hear that response leave her lips, and to feel her other one as it ground down on him, stirring him steadily with life and renewed vigor. Even if he had expected it, because she wasn't lying, it still made him smirk against her skin to hear it and then sigh a hot breath over her breast at the brief friction she provided.* Well then *he moved her hands behind her back and grabbed both wrists with only one of his hands, the other working on the rest of those buttons, taking the bra strap in his teeth and moving it off her shoulder as the shirt loosened* hmm, maybe you need a time out. *He smirked to himself with the cliched response before mouthing her left breast through the fabric of her bra.*

 **Stefanie:** *Ah--ooh, she had meant to try and break free when he moved, been distracted by the tickling sigh his mouth traced her bra with and now was clearly much too late: even his one hand had both of hers pinned. And of course, with her elbows spread like wings, she knew she was just popping her chest higher and higher--especially when he pulled the bra strap down, and she felt the red lace uncover one nipple. Murmuring something incoherent, she adds,* Mm, no. *Her nose wrinkles as she tosses her hair again, leaning down to take the tip of his ear in her own mouth, biting down with heat behind her words.* I think a more...*Her tongue darts out to trace the shell of his ear and she grounds down again more insistently,* adult punishment, *she kisses the lobe,* is more appropriate. 

 **Tony:** *His eyes close for a moment, the skin of his ears had always been so sensitive, and her hot breath striking the shell of his ear earned another sigh from his lips. The sigh however quickly turned into a hiss as her hips moved against his again, his stiffness much more noticeable and pressing between her thighs with only two layers of fabric between them.

Dragging the cup of her bra further down, his traced the circle of her aureole, avoiding the nipple for the moment. At the word punishment, his hand made contact with her rear, squeezing and kneading as he muttered* Bad girls don't get to pick their own punishment.

*He lifted his head again and sought out her lips with his own, pressing a hard kiss against her mouth, only pulling back when he was certain he'd taken her very breath for himself before his mouth traveled to her other breast, moving the bra and strap away in a similar fashion.*

 **Stefanie:** *It was cliche, but she couldn't get the adage out of her mind that men make love with their body and women with their mind. And his denying her the ability to touch him even as her wrists strain against the lock of his palm (fuck, stronger than any iron cuff would be), only gives her mind more time to wander, stretching and heightening the dizzying sensations from his traveling lips and hips--even when interrupted by his hand striking her.* Ah-(!) *Her surprised giggle turns to keening moan before he steals that, with her breath, and she moves into him, standing up on her knees to rub harder against where she felt the length of him.

It makes her think of what Daniella was saying about how yes, size mattered, just not how guys thought it did--too small was unsatisfying, but too big could be...painful. Dani'd kind of not-so-subtly insinuated Olivier wasn't the biggest she'd had--just the best, for other reasons, and Stefanie thinks it's why she never compares the men she's slept with either, simply enjoyed the range of talents. Sex itself was kind of mechanical (she gasps again--momentarily distracted by his mouth and tries to yank free again--) as there were only so many kinks and positions (she and Tony would know, they seemed to be determined to eat the whole buffet), but his fever consumes her every-time, sweeps her away, even as she thinks: Tony was likely very good at reading a map, as only men could see an inch and percieve miles.*

 **Tony:** *She surely had to know how addicting and arousing those little gasps of her really were. The way they left her mouth in a perfectly formed 'o' as her eyes fluttered between opening and closing. And if she didn't, well, let each drag of his teeth, and lick of her skin be proof of his adoration and appreciation. His teeth grit together before a moan leaves his own lips, striking the hardening nub his mouth hovered over. 

Tony was a creature of temptation, it followed him around at every hour, unrelenting and torturous. So he relented, slightly as her hands were still in his grasp and she was wiggling in the most desirable manner, and took the nipple in his mouth as his hand came down again, hips rising to meet hers.*

 **Stefanie:** *Exhaling sharp, the words started as,* I want--,*but an ah finds it's way on her vowel with a twist of his teeth. Her thoughts are dancing in her head in slow, strong rhythm of Tony's tongue, they rock gently against his strokes and circles, sets her mind in motion. Circling her hips in answer to his hand leaving sure to be another red mark on her rear, she leans her head back, squeezing her knees together as if she can keep him there, kissing her (needing her), keep him there forever.

It was her own little cat and mouse game, an interesting proposition as she knows she doesn't feel guilty. Maybe that's because neither of them had declared a want for exclusivity (at least not verbally). She won't deny she truly was born craving--so naturally she was jealous seeing him lavish attention on anyone else. The only problem was she couldn't tell anymore who was cat and who's mouse.

Tilting her neck as it's exposed to the sun, she's sucking on her bitten lip as she murmurs, challenging,* Torturous. But not truly-punishing-I don't think, yet...

 **Tony:** *His chuckle was throaty, coming from somewhere deep within his chest as she tried to tell him what she wanted. He tutted his tongue, shaking his head side to side as he looked back at her, biting his bottom lip as another small moan left his mouth as their hips moved against each other harder than before.

He took the other stiff bud in his mouth, and then took her panties and pulled them back slowly, making the fabric of her front rub teasingly over her nub and dig into her slit.* Sicuro? *He pulls it back a little more as he kissed her neck* Well then, mi dispiace for disappointing.

 **Stefanie:** *His mouth on her neck imprinting smug chuckles in her skin -- his little headshake like he was telling her she couldn't have dessert yet -- then his hips moved, his fingers dug, and there was breathy Italian in her ear and she was pretty sure there had never been any pesky thing like time, space, a planet, war or peace or anything but this moment and Tony's dexterous hands and mouth. Eyes shutting to prevent them from rolling up into her head, she squeezes her knees together and mutters in slight surprise,* you aren't--,*she brings her chest forward, the peaks aching from his desertion, rubbing into his bare chest,* --no, but don't tell me sorry --*and pushing down on her own wet fabric with his fingers,* --show me. 

 **Tony:** *He could do this all the day and he was vastly tempted to do so. To make the game, the punishment, long and arduous and slow and torturous. He would just have to see how long he could tease himself as well because fuck, she was so responsive and technically he'd barely touched her though the marks he was leaving on her skin spoke otherwise, and her noises drove him wild.

His fingers push the panties to the side and he passed one slow index finger over her slit, taking an inhale of breath as she did, his eyes watching her face before he went back to her ear, licking the spot right behind it* Madonna mia, you are so fucking wet. *He pulls the outer shell of her ear between his teeth and then brings his hand up, rubbing her wetness against a hard bud before dipping his head to lick it, pinching the other with his thumb and index finger.*

 **Stefanie:** *His command of her at that moment has her veins singing alive with want warring need. A torture she could see he was enjoying, playing on her as if her body was an instrument.  Tweaking buttons and pressing strings she vibrates and hums a low rhythm like he was tuning her up to the pitch he prefers, for him. Just for him.

 What was it she'd said before? Jesus Maria und Josef--yeah, that, something akin to that leaves her lips as her eyes flutter open in one smushed together heated long word that doubles as a sigh; interrupted with a sudden-*-fuck-*-as he pinches, and she nods, as if a curse and bobbing her head doubles as the eloquent phrase: Why yes, ser, I am quite appreciative of your musical technique. Would you play it again for me, Sam? 

Spreading the knees she's standing on, one almost slips off and she frankly, uses his chest as a jungle gym to steady herself as she wraps her leg around him instead, digging her heel under his shoulder blade to increase his access beneath her (his) shirt, aching with his neglect and rubbing against his leg impatiently. Proudly. Ha, see, ballet pays off. 

He still hadn't given her hands back.*

 **Tony:** *He did enjoy her show of flexibility almost as much as her impatient mutters and abrupt, short nods. She liked it, as much as she hated it and frankly he was of entirely the same mind especially when this position, sitting and her hands kept together behind her back, didn't allow for much undressing.

But he was a stubborn man.*

Impressive, *he drawled, leaning forward and using the grip on her hands to lean her back enough for his kisses to drop down to the top of her navel, undoing that button there with his teeth, and dipping his tongue into the small hole. Leaning back with a quick movement and bringing her forward again, he cupped her cheek and parted her full lips with his thumb, taking in her flushed cheeks, her blown pupils before he pressed another kiss, slow but deliberate, tasting the inside of her mouth and breathing the gasps as their hips continued to gyrate together, his own soft moans joining in until he rose from the chair and let her hands free before he flipped them.

Her hands were his captives once more, fingers intertwined and braced on the arm rests as he moved to kneeling. As much as he loved a woman on top, with a chair there was only some much mobility involved. Besides, there was no rush. He kissed back down her stomach again, undoing the last button, finally, and sucked on her hip bone when he reached it, his tongue drawing circles to her inner thigh.*

 **Stefanie:** *She'd showed her flexibility and so of course, he has to display his strength. And speed, evidently, for she's jarred between quick motions and deliberately drawn-out moments where his tongue worships her, and fuck, he just is so--Stef gasps--like she can't figure out where she wants-no needs him to touch next, and yet he seems to know right before she'd shout from the wanting. That's how good. Not that he didn't seem to want her to shout, just for an entirely different reason. 

As she's moved she melds to him, encased in their own world of his shirt and her loose hair on this balcony, willingly spreads her thighs as he kneels in front of her. In that one move he makes this old, tan, linen chair (that she thinks must be magically reinforced or else he'd have broken it already)--feel like a throne, and she the Khaleesi residing in it, one of her queen's guard taking her in a moment of weakness; making her feel alive, so alive.

Hazy-eyed, she still forces her eyes open, because it's somehow important that she look at him. Really, watch. Her hip, her body were keening for him, and he was a little breathless as his shirt falls off her stomach. She was half-bared; her breast still glistening, a scarlet mark shiny over where she feels the pound, like he was trying to taste her heart.* Amore...

*But just, God. His eyes. Stefanie keeps hers open now, captivated in his gaze, as if there was a literal tether from his to hers, and she thinks despite lingering fabric, they're already quite naked.* 

 **Tony:** *Her simple word draws his gaze from his own actions on her inner thigh to her eyes once more. The stunning light blue had darkened to a point they more aptly resembled sapphires and he knew his own icy-blue had melted from the intense heat both of them shared.

His mouth opened as he licked his lips again, unwilling to release her eyes as he was to release her wrists or anything else about her because in this moment, and for however long it lasted, she was his entirely and he was making the most of it. Swiping his tongue over her through the scant fabric, his teeth then grabbed hold of her underwear and dragged it down as far as he could, letting her take them off the rest of the way before he leaned in again. 

Now bringing one of their joined hands to move a leg over his shoulder, he kissed the underside of her knee and the inside of her thigh as his lips traveled to her dripping, wet center. Reaching it, he finally broke his gaze from hers as he forwent teasing in favor of more delicious torture and closed his mouth around her clit and sucked.*

 **Stefanie:** *She won't look away. Even as the heat from his wide-eyes feel like they're melting her spine, reducing the bones to little shivers that knock into each other as she preens towards him -- even as she thinks it was too honest, too vulnerable, she should run right now--right goddamn now before cares about this beautifully broken and dangerous Italian lover boy of hers (oh, too late, weeks too late) -- she is too stubborn to drop her gaze. If he could look at her without flinching away, she could (and did) the same. 

 It would take, she thinks, quite a while (fucking forever, even with his hybrid extras) to get her off just by nuzzling at her neck and breasts--or now, his lips traversing the undersides and hidden pockets of pebbling skin as if he wants to lay claim to every inch. She almost says it too, but hears in his murmur of appreciation the moment before his tongue parts her folds, his lips draw her in and she presses to his mouth--she hears what he'd say. That was the point.*

More. *She mumbles it out, lips still parted, squeezing their hands together (or wait, did he do that first?) like she was holding on to him for dear life-- and suddenly she thinks she understands why. “I won't leave you,” she wants to tell him when she stops shaking, but her throat is raw and she has no breath for anything but to murmur his name and "more" again.

Hopefully that, and the fact even as her hips move involuntarily with his lips that she just watches him pull her apart with a smirk--can suffice, because fuck if she could ever breathe properly again.*

 **Tony:** *Oh he was only more than happy to oblige to her wanton moans and gasps of need, looking up at again to watch her face contorted into a mask of pure bliss and undulating pleasure. He mutters an obscenity in his native language as he runs his tongue down her slit, circling her entrance with it as he drinks in her juice, a guttural groan stuck in his throat.

He keeps her hips from lifting with their joined hands on her hips and flicks her nub again before sinking his tongue into her wet heat, finally allowing her one hand free as he disentangled his fingers to press them against her clit. He rubbed in slow but firm little circles, gaining in speed and then slowing again, over and over, just like they tended to be. Fast and slow, slow then fast, and both all at once.

His patience had been outstanding, and it frankly deserved a medal, how long he could handle teasing himself by denying himself her touch even if watching her alone had made him harder than he thought he'd ever been. Tony pulled back, bringing her hips forward a few inches before he leaned up, grabbing her neck to pull her in for a kiss, timing the meeting of their lips with two of his fingers entering her and curling inside.*

 **Stefanie:** *Dissolved to a pleading moan, she clamps her mouth shut and lets her gasp answer instead. Chest shoving forward as she's writhing, trying to move her hips against his lock, she winds up just twisting their fingers together, and knows that the smug bastard would be grinning like the Cheshire cat right now if his mouth weren’t already occupied.

 At last one hand is free, and it falls instantly to his hair, tangling soft, wet curls--ah, he'd showered. -Her- wetness has nothing to do with that, and he knows it and -- oh she doesn't care. He knows what he’s doing--knows when to speed up and slow down, when to flick his tongue against her nub, over and over again until she's shaking on the edge, unsteady as he rears up, driven to the brink of insanity and orgasm; fingers and tongue plunge to push her off.

It's a soft cry she offers into his mouth, humming with his pleasure -- her hand sliding to cup his neck too and hold him there. Just for a second, just--keep him right there, as he holds her, caught in this game they play where he makes her want him so it's all right that he wants her, and she does the same; you lose if you pull away first.*

 **Tony:** *He swallows her cry as she reaches her peak, her mouth only a hair's width away from his and only for a second. Their lips taut against each other as she rides his fingers through the waves of his orgasm, he feels her muscles clench around his fingers and imagines with all too much clarity how that would feel around his own stiff length.

The touch at his neck is enough to make a small shiver run down his spine and his mouth takes hers for another lingering hot kiss before he pulls back enough to bring his fingers up and lick her off him.* You taste so fucking good. *He admits in a heated murmur before taking her bottom lip in his mouth once more, toying with it and running his free hand up her side* How did you like my preview?

 **Stefanie:** Do I? *The murmur is almost an afterthought as she tries to catch her breath, her feet shuffling on the linoleum beneath them and gaze fluttering to his fingers as he licks them clean. Undeniably curious now, she can't help but lean forward an inch to lick the tip of one knuckle, bathe her tongue in it and suck, suck to contemplate. (She has to admit to herself, for a moment she wondered about her blood, because of the talk with Dani but she puts it from mind--she remembers well how clearly upset he'd been before and if his rockin(') bod was an indication...)

Then she tilts her head at his question and chuckles weakly.* Preview? Antonio, have mercyyy.*The hand on his neck rubs back and forth and tugs abruptly, trying to trip him into the chair with her so she could return his favors, and also just...embrace him fully.*

 **Tony:** *He followed her tug up with a throaty chuckle and a brief smirk, happy to have his knees off the floor (though just a few moments before he hadn't even realized or cared for his knees). He leaned up and lifted her slightly once more so deposit her on his lap. He did love a woman on top and in the interest of not crushing her, this was the favored position.*

A crueler man would make you beg for mercy. *He held her close, securely, and yet not with a tightening grip; he held her as one might hold sand: cupped with an open palm, not clenched in a hard fist. He took her mouth once more in a deep kiss, their chests pressed against each other.*

 **Stefanie:** *Wait, had they been holding hands the entire time? She didn't even notice until he's letting it go to pick her up, and she reached instinctively for his hand again when she lands, sucking on her bottom lip.*

Then it is a very good thing you aren't cruel, as. *She tilts in to him,* I never beg.  *As she tried to swallow breathy giggles for how much she enjoyed the just -- total control he had right then, she still tangles their fingers together, resting them on his shoulder as they breathe together and she melts into his kiss. Only pulling back to recapture breath (he was quite good at taking that from her even when it wasn't literal), her eyes flutter back open to hold his. She breathes heavy for a few moments before saying,* You're beautiful, you know? *Her gaze flutters down between them, lingering over his lips, chest and christmas pajama bottoms before flicking back to his eyes.* I don't mean just physically, but mm, that too. 

 **Tony:** Why is it you manage to make almost everything sound like a challenge? *He remarks with honest enjoyment, a softness in his smirk.* It's like each time I have to be better than I was the day before. *He lets the comment fade away as he had leaned them in for the kiss. Leaning back, was the smile still on his lips? He licked them, unsure, but no just found her taste there instead, lingering, which of course only reminding him of her tasting herself off his knuckles. Fuck, this woman was-*

Stop stealing my commentsss *Was his instant reply though he still chuckled only to have it silence as he looked at the sincerity in her eyes, well, that was before she took another gratuitous look at his body. He chuckled again but her gaze was back and his own, desperate in its want to tease, wavered with honesty.* I would not have described myself as such, no. Then again *he flicks her bottom lip with his thumb and traces the corners of her mouth* something to be said for beauty being in the eye of the beholder.

 **Stefanie:** Funny... I could say the same about you. *Breathing in and out near his lips, she thinks how she had never quite understood how intimate it could be just to share air with someone, hover near his lips - just above, and yet not touch, not yet. Then she chuckles,* I won't though, if it would just steal more of your comments. 

*Though she wasn't actually sure which of her words he was accusing her of stealing, lost in looking at his wavering, earnest eyes and thinking for a moment how a newborn pony had looked at her once (and what a stallion he was today, hell).

Her smile softens too as she nods into his palm.* I suppose there is. I'm glad to hear I inspire you so, though. And by the way, *she whispers over his lips,* happy birthday, Antonio. 

 **Tony:** A-pub! *He holds a finger in the air only to let it fall 'generously' as she admits she didn't want to steal any more of his lines. This seemed to be an increasingly occurring habit- Olivier, Dani, Eliza, Claude, Mary when she wasn't even there- cutting off all his witty repartee. He would have to digi-volve then.

His lips break open in a wide grin as she wishes him a happy birthday, though their fun times with her Dany dress yesterday he would consider as her unspoken 'Happy Birthday' honestly.* Thank you. *It almost startled him how honest that sentiment came out of his lips, so of course, it was quickly followed by a lighthearted addition* You gonna sing me Happy Birthday?

 **Stefanie:** *It surprised him, she could see that, his own gratitude or rather--she suppose, how much it meant to him that she said that, sincerely offered him a happy birthday. Something as simple as that. But of course with his family, just as with hers...just another thing she understood. So she nods.

Maybe that was why it mattered so much to her to spend this time with him. Then she chuckles out, abruptly even though she wasn't surprised.* Aha--well, I'm not much of a singer, but I can think, *she drops her free hand from his shoulder to cup the swollen junction of his pajama pants,* of something else I could do. *She runs her nail down the warn length light, teasing through the fabric as she adds, shifting,* You can sing instead, *her tongue flicks her upper lip as she squeezes, enjoying his expression,* close enough?


	61. Rosary Prayers

The tea-pot was steaming, his hand curled on the orange porcelain when he asked. 

“You’re never going to tell me, are you?”

Hans didn’t speak, didn’t blink his reply, so he tried again. Marcel knew he wasn’t the one in the room who could hear a heartbeat across miles, but as he meets his older brother’s gaze just for the time it took him to lift the pot, it seemed he could. He could feel the seconds pass, beating dully against his chest as they look at one another, seeking out the almost comfort buried deep within the other’s eyes. Hans didn’t look away, he didn’t do anything. He never did anything.

“Brother.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what.”

More seconds, maybe minutes. The heat was stifling; there was the faint tug of a familiar ache teasing at Marcel’s mind. Still silence. With a sigh, he turns back to the task, pouring out the hot tea and telling himself he didn’t mind. He didn’t care. It was when he gets the cinnamon powder down, realizes Stefanie’s little kitchen had run out, and goes to his suitcase to fetch more that Hans broke. First into laughter, his hand patting his little brother’s shoulder, and then into words.

“Marc,” he says, and then in German, “I have missed you.”

Hans spoke in an unmistakable German accent that sends shivers down his spine. It had been years since his brother spoke their native language to him. Marcel doesn’t even know how many languages he speaks now: sometimes, considering how much he seemed to know instinctively, he thinks it might be all of them. A tiny grin crosses his lips, and he spins, tapping at the red McCormick cap with a sharp rap.

“How many languages  _do_  you speak now, anyway?” Marcel asks, also in German. Hans arches his eyebrow back, questioning, always questioning silently as if doing so that way means he does not have to admit to a doubt.

“Just, one of these days I’m going to speak to you in Gurajati and you’re not going to have a clue what I’m saying.”

“Oh are you, little brother?” 

Another bright, shared laugh and Marcel thinks he can feel the warmth spreading up from his toes. There’s a contradiction there, as Hans was looking at him with blue eyes, not red, and the latter would have only put a chill deep in him. It made him think of the day he’d lost—in one fell swoop—his father, his brother, and then his sister, though Stefanie tried to stay. Stefanie always tried, for his sake. He knew that—he loved her for that, and he’d still told her to go. 

Stefanie had looked at him with such a small, sad little smile when he did too. Told him that was what she’d done too: told Hans to leave. Twice. The first time she’d done so she’d even helped him—she found the center, stole their father’s money, bought his train ticket so there was no trace. (The second time she’d been too teary-eyed and busy screaming to lift a finger). Now Marcel was pointing out to her she hadn’t been happy—that he wanted his sister to go somewhere she had a chance to honestly smile again, and still! She gave him a smile in return! “Some family,” she’d said. Two words were all it took to tell him all her wondering; they seemed to define that adage “if you love them, let them go.” Just with a little twist to it. A tiny, little, fucked up twist. Fitting, for an English family driven out a century ago, only to continue amassing a fortune. 

“Sure,” Marc responds in English now, just because he was trying to practice the accent. His lips tweak up. “I’ve just…you know, got to learn Gurajati first.”

“A minor detail.” Hans spoke, licking jam from his finger.

“Miniscule.” 

Marcel steals the last tart. He’d have to buy Stefanie more later. Not that he thought she was going to mind, very much, he thinks ruefully and smirking. It had seemed to him she was quite happy with her own treats.

When his brother leaned forward on the little table, he folds his arms over it and Marcel stiffens. That pose was familiar to him too. Though he had asked, he wasn’t entirely sure he wants the answer.

“Look.” Hans says quietly, “I’d always thought…you would be happier not to know.”

That was fair, Marcel thinks with blown-pupils and a soft nod. It wasn’t exactly a warm, fuzzy topic. 

“And yet,” Hans gains a bitter smirk through his words, “as I have been reliably informed by our darling sister—”

“—I’m sure she was polite—”

“—restrained, even.” They share another chuckle, and Marcel tries to cling to the warmth. “Keeping someone from knowing the truth isn’t protecting them.So, you’ve asked. Do you honestly want the answer? Because Marc…it won’t change anything.” 

Hans reverts again to German, his feet shuffling under Stefanie’s little chair. Marcel doesn’t blink. He feels oddly as if he was the one tapping, pacing, atop a brick rooftop — even as he hasn’t moved. Well, he did move once. He nodded, and so leaped off.

Though he grits his teeth, Marc knew his brother was a man of his word, and he wasn’t disappointed now, even as he was then. 

“Is this why you’re here?” Hans asks first, and that makes Marc fumble. The question less than the tone: his brother had never sounded younger than him before. Eyes widening, he shakes his head. First slowly, and then abruptly, as if the force of his head shake could will his brother to believe.

“No—”

“But Stef called you, didn’t she?”

Oh, Hans, Marcel thinks. He always has to be right. 

“She did,” he confirms more for his brother’s little triumphant smile’s sake than his own.”But I’d come cause it’s Christmas, brother.”

It surprises him (and doesn’t at all) that that fact, simple and subtle, seemed to take Hans by such abrupt surprise. The look on his face makes Marcel still, and then his hand comes up to take his brother’s wrist — and squeeze. While he talks, while he explains with overly bright eyes like he’s drunk on the psychosis of painful memory, Marcel’s eyes shut.

He does remember, after all, even if he was only six years old. Mostly in flashes: it was storming (wasn’t it always, in the worst stories?) so hard he’d thought the house itself would shake — Stefanie’s braids had come undone, wet curls dangling to shade and hide her confused (sorry) gaze — the loose gate and horses running in the mud. The scent of pine wood and spices. Then his mother…

And then, his older brother’s voice as he catches him,  _I have you, it is all right, I have you._

Marcel’s eyes only snap open at the realization and things come into focus for a sharp instant. Hans had kept him grounded that night; it was only fair that he does the same now, when he can feel how harshly his brother was breathing — so visceral it was as if they was burn his own throat. He’d told him then, it is all right, hush little brother (but it wasn’t…it was a momentary respite). Now he’d do the same for Hans. There’s a tiny proud smirk on his face as he thinks that. He didn’t often get to be the older brother between them. 

When Hans finishes, the tea-pot has run empty and the cinnamon powder spilled out onto Stefanie’s table, but both of them just sit there. Marcel squeezed again and simply, they  _breathed_. If Hans was fully with him (and later, Marcel thinks, perhaps) he’d recognize the profoundness of that gesture. To sit silently with that shocking information inching under his skin, coming out in a deep rumble.

Yet when he spoke, he was smiling and he said only, “It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t.” Hans rips his hand back, but Marcel stays seated.

“It was an accident, brother.” Marcel rubs at his throat, both of them still speaking in German, and then he goes to get up. “If Stefanie won’t tell you that, I will.” 

Hans stares as Marcel stands, a soft smile on his lips.

“Do you know where she keeps her liquor? Because the next thing you’re telling me is who the girl is.”

Marcel spins and sees he’s right, the guilty (momentary) red stretch across his brother’s face makes him smirk.

“Girl?” He asks, too casually. 

“Yes, brother. Girl. It’s what we call members of the fairer sex.”

“Being seven years old I needed that information —”

“If you don’t want me to think you’re seven mate, don’t act like you didn’t come in this morning with that look that screams I-got-lucky.” 

Silence, as Hans narrows his eyes and swallows.

“Hans, I believe you’re blushing.”

The quick-snort only makes Marcel’s smirk widen. Even though he has to duck the flying linen (really, he was just surprised it wasn’t a fork; this girl really was working miracles, wasn’t she? he approves). Hans Lawrence Ricard, made of lean muscle and in silver moonlight fur and fangs — made up of his burdens collected in his chest and words that are always trying to make up and catch up to his actions — his old guiding arm, the King, his older brother. He, was blushing. 

“You are.” Marcel breaks into laughter. And yup, this times he dodges a fork, (oh, thank heavens there were no knives on the table and he knows Hans won’t throw their mother’s tea pot). Keeping his hands up when he hears the chair squeak back against the linoleum, Marcel relents, “All right, all right fine — fine, just… I approve then.”

This went unanswered as well, but Marcel thinks that means all the more.

“Where  _is_ our sister, anyways?” Hans stole the cloth back to rub over his face. When he emerges, it’s as if he’s scraped away years. Marcel shrugs a shoulder.

“Speaking of getting lucky,” he groans as he realizes: hold up one minute, he was the only one of the Ricard siblings apparently not to have someone. Well, last night. There were a few girls at home, but still, really. Brutally unfair. 

Hans had his nose wrinkled. That was cute. He supposed he understood; Stefanie never had really had the best taste in men, but…then, they were biased. 

“Well that’s, just, wonderful.” The sarcasm might as well be literally dripping off his words as he summons the fork that had clattered to the ground. 

“Do you know who it is?” Marc took the fork quickly. Just…you know, in case. He didn’t really fancy getting stabbed by his brother. “Who she’d go to  _Rome_ with?”

“That would be Antonio.”

The fork makes an obscenely loud sound as it lands in the sink behind them. Marcel only blinks.

“Antonio—”

“Do you know another Antonio?” 

He blinks. Blinks again. And then realizes:  _oh_ , wait, but that was —

“ _D’Grey?_ ”

There was an abrupt buzzing followed by horrifically low-quality speakers blasting out —

“—is that  _Kesha_?” Marcel asks, his own nose wrinkled the same way Hans had been. Hans waves this off, muttering something about Olivier having had his phone that morning. Under his breath, as his brother answers his phone, he only muttered,  _“Speaking of getting lucky again…”_

Marcel darts around the island this time, thinking it was a good idea to put some solid distance between him and his brother judging by his look. Right. Wolf hearing. That wonderful thing. Well, it was true though.

Antonio D’Grey…well, he had to admit, he didn’t know much about Olivier’s younger brother. Mostly because he’d spent so long running away from his father so — in Marcel’s mind, that was just a plus. 

Still, whoever Hans heard on the phone just put a smirk on his face too, and Marcel tilts his head, curious and amused. 

“Alcott, mate. Right on schedule. Should I bother pretending I don’t know why you’ve called?” 

{*}

**Eliza:** *Hans had been…oddly polite, when doing her the courtesy of not having to figure out if she was going to attempt to slip out or not. He’d left first. The mess of figuring out everything —her many, clearly incoherant emotions and thoughts— could wait. Seriously, she didn’t feel guilty, because there was nothing wrong with enjoying a little…well—but in any case they’d, you know, have to be like—alive. 

Eliza would be, she knew that, because she knew that like Hans—like Oli, like Tony and like her father, she survives. The question was if she would be Eliza Culpeper or Simmons. (Could she even be that again? Well, speaking of questions not to ask right now…)

She has the note crumpled between her fist as she treks through the forest floor.* Ugh, *she mutters as she hops over a fallen trunk, swinging her black stiletto before it gets stuck,* you know, Hans, you could have told me in this cryptic little message that I was going into the forest so I could dress appropriately. 

*Like, seriously. She was taking these shoes off. Pushing the crumpled napkin into her pocket, she arched her back stretching and cracking knuckles behind her (god, what a work-out though), and sits with a little harumph onto the bench. Blowing a curl out of her eyes, she decides Hans could wait a few minutes longer, while she caught her breath and contemptlates what footwear to transfigure her shoes into. Humming aloud,* What passes for creepy psycho-sadistic killer, still posh—and is comfortable? 

*Well. Allison’s shoes that morning…oh she’d wanted to steal those. She had also wanted to, of course, disappear into the face of the Earth. Hans had left her this message, with some of the best waffles she’d ever had, on a little plate that apologized for his leaving to attend urgent business. No, really. The plate did. Eliza had spent at least fifteen minutes trying to convince it to sing “Be My Guest.” (Okay, twenty minutes). What? He wanted his romantic ruin of a castle to be Belle’s didn’t he? 

She was leary of doing that (she wouldn’t make a fairytale out of the simple facts: she slept with Hans. It…had been…fucking mindblowing. It also had (probably) been wrong, yeah, and —)* No, focus. Shoes.

*Yes, so Allison’s shoes, she could probably find a way to copy those. She’d gone in search of the kitchens to return the plates … frankly she was glad to only see one pack member before darting out of there. The smug smirks and probing questions would not have helped her quest to—* Ah!

*That was her phone. Rubbing between sore toes, she digs the phone out, singing under her breathe,* Roooooxaaaaneee…. 

*…oh.* Speak of the devil. *She murmurs, counts to five, and presses the metal reciever to her ear.* I know—

Hans: Morning, luv. Have a nice breakfest? 

 **Eliza:** *Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and humming carefully, she nods, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. With a softer exhale,* I did—but let’s focus on the present, shall we?

*There’s a pause, lamentable and then a low chuckle in her ear.*

Hans: Very well, Eliza. *Oh for heaven’s sakes, she could hear his smirk from here.* I’m wondering…have you arrived at the site I 

depicted?

 **Eliza:** Close. There’s been a wardrobe mix-up.

Hans: *Definitely a large smirk, yup, oh Eliza would smack him for that, she thinks even as she smirks herself in hypocritical enjoyment of her appreciation.* Indeed? Is it an imposition if I ask you to describe?

 **Eliza:** *Teeth digging into her botton lip, she speaks sweetly,* With my shoes.

Hans: Ah. *Tiny sigh, but she knows he’s still smirking and she wants to throw the phone as hr adds,* Disappointing. *There’s an odd little groan she can’t make out, which makes her brows furrow.* No matter. I believe you can stay right there.

 **Eliza:** *With a tiny sigh of relief in response,* Even better then. *She lowers the phone, tucking it between her ear and shoulder so she could lean down and tug her newly transformed shoes on. Tying them, she mutters,* Your message was very cryptic, you know, I’m still not sure what you’re showing me—

 **Alcott:** Turn around. 

 **Eliza:** *Leaping to her feet and spinning in the same movement, she drops the phone. It smushes into leaves and branches below her, her arms swinging at her sides like little wings, fingers scrabbling with the air, as if her hands were trying to draw him; draw Alcott, who was standing there, an earnest smile on his face that looks painted.

Eliza just stares. (Was she breathing?)

 Alcott Brackner, whose head was tilted and chest puffed and Goddamn him it looked like he grew another inch (or maybe that was the new shoes). Al, her oldest friend, who’d taught her to ride a horse and cast Alohomora; who she shared jelly beans with and then firewhiskey with later — Al who couldn’t be more than thirty seconds from a smart ass remark and a hug — Al…who thought she was dead.

There was a slow smile spreading across her lips almost as an involuntary afterthought, and she exhales out the quietest little,* Hi… *She thinks she’s ever uttered and she sounds like an idiot, but Alcott just nods, beaming at her, eyes alight, like she’d found the meaning to life, universe and everything and Eliza feels she’s going to shiver out of her skin, take flight, see the stars up-close, or open for the Who or something  epic and amazing like that. Oh my God, he was really there.*

 **Alcott:** *She was real. Fuck, Eliza was standing ten feet from him. When Hans had met him, all he said was he had to show him something he wouldn’t believe from Hans just telling him (and he was right) — and proceeded while they walked, to talk of what the Death Eaters did to recruit without gruesome details…except for one. There was a woman, he’d said, who could make others appear as if dead. And then he’d mentioned the latest recruit, said the little blonde was already working to defeat them from the inside…

 (Wherever the buggar had went was fine with him now, but he was begrudgingly thankful for at least this moment). 

Because holy fuck, she was bloody real. Alcott couldn’t handle it for a few seconds; when he’d seen her back sittinv on that log, he’d started hyperventilating, felt tears pearl in the corner of his eye even as they remained dry, and then felt as if he were going to collapse. He’d watched her father put her in a coffin. He’d watched the casket lowered, buried, covered. He’d watched and then he drank and he mourned and he trained and he drank and—all the while she was…

Al was sure he was beaming. Hell, he was sure he was blooming blushing like a six year old with a school crush (which was hard for his genetically darker skin, all right? But he was sure he was). It didn’t matter. He couldn’t get enough of just looking at her. If this was some kind of trick…

But why would it be? What could they gain, from this middle of nowhere meet-up? (Actually it isn’t that convinces him, because these bastards would get a thrill out of just the apparition and his reaction, he knew). No, he was convinced by her smile. It was the same look she had the first time she successfully rode his broomstick, and the look she had when she convinced him to stay up all night with her, and when she convinced him to go to Paris with her. That was Eliza…, real and alive and smiling at him, his Eliza. (Oh God, the tears were gathering behind his eyes again, quick, speak, before he embarrassed himself)—* You have no idea. How much I missed you.

 **Eliza:** *Oh, she didn’t? Same old Al; his suffering was worst, no one knew his pain. (Oh, she couldn’t stop beaming). Yeah, when she has a little stuffed animal wolf now, and a wolf charm on her bracelet she was wearing; when she had sworn to his memory to find a way to make this right and cried to sleep thinking how their first camping trip went, when she had called his number just to hear his voice and remind herself what she was fighting for when everything was just goddamn depressing and awful and how she had teared up with her inability to shout at him; it’s me, Al, it’s me—I’m here, I’m alive, I’ll see you again, I swear.

But she doesn’t need to shout that now. She doesn’t need to shout anything now. His eyes were on hers and she knew — he understood. He heard it. The joy and wonder in his wide-chocolate eyes make that clear…it was shared. For a moment they just look at each other, lost in breathing through the overwhelming crippling rush and smiling. The next—*

 **Alcott:** Oomph. *A dry chuckle fills her ears as he teases; she hadn’t hurt him one centimeter, (she was lighter; that fans a flame in his gut), but he makes the show of it anyway, just as when they were kids. Besides, she’d barreled into him—launched and threw and he didn’t do anything but catch, squeeze, and swivel as he held on to her tightly, so tightly she whimpers in his ear. Yet when he mutters,* Sorry, *she only holds on tighter. Alcott gets that too. He knew what it was to be in pain from the one you love.*

 **Eliza:** Don’t you dare,* she breathes out as she squeezes her arms and legs around him, blue eyes shiny with her tears as she looks skywards,* Alcott Matthew Brackner, don’t you dare let me go.

 **Alcott:** Never. *He breathes out, amused as she tried to squeeze him; lifting his one hand as she acts like a little monkey, brushing the tear from his right eye and shutting them before he embarrassed himself worse, or heaven-forbid sniffled.

She nods forcibly into his shoulder-with such strength honestly, Alcott thinks she might be bruising him after all (he didn’t need to ask when Eliza had gotten so strong; he knew, and besides…to him? She’d always been.)

He just stands there letting him choke him for several long moments (minutes?), breathing in that horrifically (wonderfully) overpowering flowery scent, listening to her steady (reassuring) heartbeat, and then slowly lets a smirk cross his face when he finally remarks,* Might make it kind of awkward with Hols, but if you insist babe, I think we could work it out—

 **Eliza:** *She squeaks indignantly, letting him go at once (okay mostly; she got down, but she whacks his arm—and she knew how to do that without hurting now, even though he was a wolf!)* Alcott!

 **Alcott:** *Smirk only widening,* Come on, you missed it, admit it.

 **Eliza:** *She blows out a little puff through rounded lips easily mirrored in her rounded eyes, and she starts to shake her head to refuse only she…can’t quite manage it. Her hands clap together instead and with a guilty smile,* Yes…and you missed me shrieking your name.

 **Alcott:** I will not deny that I adore a woman shrieking my name.

 **Eliza:** You’re right, I’ve missed your dick self so much that you keep it up, I will kiss you, and then you definitely will have problems with Hols.

 **Alcott:** *He laughs—warm, full-throated, and slides his hand into his back pocket in that kind of casual dismissal that clearly said “yeah, well, what could you do?”* 

 **Eliza:** Oh, Al. *Rubbing tears from her eyes and sure she was brushing mascara away, her heart hammers and skips beats as she looks at him…and then pulls him in, kissing his cheek instead. She breathes out, heated and relaxed,* I am just…so glad you’re here.

 **Alcott:** *Where he starts relaxed, by the end of her words, he’s exhaling with tension in his shoulders and heat in his throat. Gently, he pushes her back and adds,* Hans filled me in, Eliza. 

 **Eliza:** *In a flash, she asks first: where’s Devin? *There were other names on the tip of her tongue. Rene? Her parents, and Sie (oh God, her cover was crumbling, how fast these names were coming back and one—Rory—oh, Rory…) and— and then she remembers what Hans said the former night, ‘you want Alcott to know, don’t you?’…

and she hadn’t been able to lie (she couldn’t lie to him).* …did he fill you in?

 **Alcott:** Well. *He answered immediately,* Devin is well, Nadia is healthy —in part, *he adds with a tiny smug smirk,* because of me, Ror is proving his Gryffindorness, so is Dillon—Rene -will- be all-right —

 **Eliza:** Alcott, did he fill you in? *She snapped that. She snaps, because she couldn’t; she couldn’t hear a list of their friends (what did he mean will be?!), she couldn’t focus on anything because her third thought was just…oh Alcott, do you know?*

 **Alcott:** *There it was again. That look, that fucking, i know something you don’t know look, stunning oxen. Unlike with Hans (though very much like Nadia’s look though)…there was sadness in Eliza’s gaze. He grits his teeth and says matter of fact, still smirking,* Well, he didn’t have to on most—I know where the headquarters is, because I broke the memory charms on Nadia—*he cuts off. Eliza had smiled very abruptly at that, and he felt his heart flutter as he thinks again how close he’d come to never seeing that again —and then he realizes what she’d smiled at. His lips twitch.* What?

 **Eliza:** *Breathe in and out, Eliza darling, do not fucking give this away—her inner voice said sweetly, even as she murmured,* We knew you’d break that—counted on it.

 **Alcott:** You and…D’Grey? And Hans?

 **Eliza:** Well….*she falters, breathy and curling her fingers around her wand,* not…just them, though them too. *Her gaze was gaining anxiety as her throat revolves like she’s swallowing nothing, nothing at all over and over again, throat only growing more raw and stomach more hungry. She tries to start,* Alcott, there’s…something you should…

 **Alcott:** I already know about Angel, Eliza. *He snaps it and now he does finally let her forearm go, even as he doesn’t move backwards more than a few inches.*

 **Eliza:** *Officially confused, her mouth had gaped, and then her eyes flick wide and narrow and wide and narrow as she’s puzzled by his…anger. Well, yes, she was angry too on Harper’s behalf but this seemed…* You… do?

 **Alcott:** Yes. *Shortly, and then he looks over his shoulder as if he could see Notre Dame from here. (It wasn’t far. Good.) He looks back, surprised to see Eliza looking bewildered—torn between anger and earnesty, like she was about to go on…oh God, he didn’t need to be lectured. (God, he might kiss her too, for being so wonderfully, entirely Eliza).

He knew he should call—well, Mary and Claude first, and then Dev, and he wants Hols to pick up (dammit), and then the world but—but as she brought up Angel…* Yes, I know there is a man called Angel, who makes the silver potion that let’s this pack have free reign to torture and—

 **Eliza:** Al, wait—

 **Alcott:** *He takes more steps backwards, hands back stuffes in his pocket, searching out his wand.* —mutilate, no, I won’t wait—he took Nadia’s memory—

 **Eliza:** There was a reason though—he was trying to protect her and give you information—*she’s following hurriedly, carrying her old stilettos in one hand, her other hand snapping out to summon the cell phone (oh, merde, whoops, yeah it was totally on that whole time; she turns it off quickly.)

 **Alcott:** *He scoffs; disbelieving and rolling his eyes, now walking faster,* And why did he know I could get through it? Oh right, because he’s using my father’s research! *Had his want just jumped into his hand? Neat trick. He should figure out how to do that consciously. Oh, (riiiip), the tree from the ground too—yes, definitely something that would be helpful if he could master how he had done it.* You know, the research they stole when they killed hi—let. Go. *Hjs eyes flash a dangerous yellow, as he realizes abruptly, Eliza’s hand on his forearm. Fuck, ow, she had something on those nails, she could genuinely rip him apart with those.*

 **Eliza:** -No.-

 **Alcott:** *Softened if only by his surprise at her fervor, he winces (his eyes return to brown) and then shakes his head at her,* Eliza—

 **Eliza:** Fine, stpp ripping trees down (she had jumped), and listen for two seconds, and I’ll let go.

 **Alcott:** *Momentarily impressed,* …when did you grow claws?

 **Eliza:** *Quietly,* When we have the time, I can fill you in properly Al, *oh God, she wasn’t sure she was…ready for that, and suddenly she was glad, so glad, that only Alcott had come to start with,* but…you’re going to see Angel?

 **Alcott:** I think it’s about fucking time we meet, yes. *He snaps and abruptly rips his hand free, not caring for the blood she draws from her talons. Al isn’t sure if he’s angrier to realize a part only of what were sure to be thousands of things he didn’t know about… this Eliza, who was his but had changed (grown into herself)—or still over his father. Both, honestly.*

 **Eliza:** *She hissed, attempting to restrain a flinch,* You have…no idea. *And then, seeing the bloody tracks she left on his forearm, she murmurs softly,* Sorry. *Quickly conjuring him a bandage, she wraps it around his forearm with a quick wave of her wand, and then looks up.* You should meet with him Al, just—what are you going to do, walk in the front door?!

 **Alcott:** *That makes him still. His frown had flickered for a few seconds as he watches her bandage his arm, and now he returns to frowning, contemplating. Eliza took another few steps after him, squeezing her phone into her stilettos and pressing both to her chest.* Look. I can get you to see him, I think. But you gotta do it my way, Alcott Brackner. My. Way. 

 **Alcott:** *He cocks an eyebrow back at her, but the six-year old in his gaze thanks her with wide-eyes and a soft smile—even if only for a second.* God, I missed you, Liza.

 **Eliza:** I missed you too, *her lips flutter, but she’s undeterred, saying firm but sweet as wine,* and that isn’t an answer.

 **Alcott:** *Damn. She knew him too well. (His heart soars at the thought his lips twitch up and then he just nods).* Fine. Your way. But, now.

 **Eliza:** *Oh Thank God. She took another step forward, holding and squeezing his shoulder, looking earnestly in his gaze.* Good. I’ll get you in—this will have to be above ground or else the guards, but there’s the priest’s office, I can get him there—*won’t tell him who he’s meeting, she thinks at the back of her mind, for the same reason I won’t tell you now,* —but there’s one more thing. *She waits for his cocked eyebrow telling her to go, before saying softly,* You don’t want to do this angry, Al.

 **Alcott:** *Immediately stiffening, even as he heard the way her heart skipped and then suddenly steadied,* Eliza, he—

 **Eliza:** You trust me, don’t you? *After what seemed to her an incredibly long stretch of silence, Alcott relents - at least. He nods at her. She breaks into a smile, and pulls him in, kisses his cheek, just breathing out soft,* Thank you.

{*}

**Daniella:** No, really. *The tip of her middle finger traces down the woman's cheek, as she imagines her chipped red polish to be her blood.* Tell me why I should care suddenly, when I know perfectly well how many people you've both killed.

The spit the woman tries to throw at her globs together in the air and strikes her own cheek instead. There's a hiss of disgust. Daniella just rolls her eyes, takes her fingers back and shakes her head.* Okay, seriously though? Most predictable response ever. And don't be so glum, you were harder to crack than Brains over there, I mean *There's a light in her eyes as she flips a curl over her shoulder, dropping her hand to her side and bracing her skirt, as she looks to the man tied up to a warehouse pole,*- talk about cli--che.

*Whatever he snarled against the gag she'd shoved in his mouth wasn't worth trying to figure out. Beastly little thing. One kick and voila, dead to the world. She'd come back to him. Her fingers spider out as she turns back to Monica, drumming along her hip.* Babe, seriously it's not like you have a choice.

*She begins with what would be a lesson of dominance and submission -- instead Monica had lifted her hand (hell, how had she gotten that free?) and Daniella was forced to sidestep as a knife spun at her. Her own hand whips out - grabs the blade from the air, and she hisses when the tip pricks her thumb, drawing the blood she'd been imagining, even as her other hand raised, her fingers snapped, and the necklace that Monica had on began choking her.*

Ouch, *Daniella examines the finger tip, the blossoming red droplets and then sticks the thumb in her mouth, sucking importantly as she batted her eyes like a wolf surveying a prize. The two of them were personally selected Death Eaters (or were), both English, both far too obsessed with the tabloids and their self-image.

Olivier's text message had been quick, the agreed-upon code word (their safe word), and there'd been a slight spring in her step as she left the cafe at once. Two phone calls later, she'd had both of her "clients" off to the abandoned warehouse she'd already set up. They showed up on time even! Daniella appreciated that: she wouldn't be kept waiting. Of course, they thought it was a time-sensitive photo shoot for a new spread in Vogue and as their publicist -- she'd already made it clear they had to be discreet about getting there.

That, instruction had gone well. Hisses from Monica now as she struggles through the silver choker point out the fact that her imperius was evidently, not as strong as she would have liked. Bollocks: yes, she could simply hand these two in to the police, but it would be such a waste if she couldn't use their connections to send back-up all over hell and creation; divide the Death Eaters apart, make them easier to pick-off. Dropping her hand (there's a gasp of relief that answers her), she pops her thumb free, licks the blood off her lip and narrows her eyes at her.* Impressive.

*Smack! Her hand came down backwards; Monica head nearly turned around with the force from the blow to her mouth. Daniella just turned around on her heels.*

 **Monica** : Dani- *she talks through blood on her own lips now, her throat raw and gasping, but still she seemed to snarl.*

 ** **Daniella:**** Oh, is this the part where you appeal to our friendship? *She asks, stepping behind her and this time redoubling the metal with another rope around her wrists.* Save it, Mon, because guess what? I've seen pictures of them all.

 **Monica** : *In French, hissing as her wrists are pulled back further, ropes pulling blood, she just asked 'what pictures'?*

 **Daniella:** All little boys too -- I mean, *she tightens the ropes again,* I will give you credit for being the first female pervert I think I've ever met, that's less cliche but -- *Her heels clack as she takes a step back, thinking this through and muttering a spell to heal the cut on her hand. Sorry, Olivier, she thinks mentally. Her eyes were clouding over.* You killed six boys, Monica, you really think I'm going to apologize for tricking you?

*A shiver trails down her spine as she hears the reply, and Daniella stills, face shadowed as her neck turns, slowly. She doesn't reply, practically vibrating with her fury. Instead she whispers another word and gets some satisfaction out of watching Monica's eyes roll back into her head, before she slumps unconscious too.

There's a scurrying sound that makes her swivel - oh! Rats, in the warehouse, lovely. Calmed, she takes a few steps on stilettos ringing down the cement, dialing. A bright smirk has reappeared on her mauve lips as she hears her friend answer the phone.* Amalie! *She looks out the window, hand curling around the box.* So, remember how you said I had a look this morning like I was up to something and I said you were just being paranoid because you hadn't had your morning coffee? ...See, I'd say confession, but you already know I wasn't telling the truth, can't fool you darling, but -- I might..*she's resumed sucking her thumb, nose wrinkling,* uhm. Need a tiny bit of help.   
**Amalie:** Excuse me, sorry- *One glance down at her phone had let her know this was a call she had to take. Daniella didn't call if it wasn't important, she just sent a text or a picture message of the cute shoes she had found on sale and had bought for Amalie, knowing her adoration and more importantly her limited budget. Recalling her from this morning however, Amalie knew perfectly well this wasn't about shoes and proceeded to stand up and walk away in the middle of a press conference. Stepping on someone's shoe with her stiletto heels as they tried to cop a feel, she quickly rushed out of the room and into the hallway before answering her phone by bringing it up to her ear.* What do you want? 

*Uh huh. Yep, Amalie knew it. Shaking her head before she leaned against the wall, Amalie pursed her lips together before letting them pop with a sound as her best friend got to the point.* Aha, knew it. *She stuck her recorder pen behind her ear before asking.* There's nothing 'tiny' about you or anything you do. And this better be life or death here because I'm missing Simone Piqué's coming out speech.   
**Daniella:** Mm, damn straight. *That she hummed under her breath the moment her girl had finished the word 'tiny', before she finished the sentence: Daniella knew what Amalie was about to say. Well, until the end. That made her lips pop open in a chuckle, her hand gasp to her mouth and she shook her head even though her friend wasn't there to see.* Aha! Knew it. Oh, Dylan owes me ten Euros. *Flicking the edge of her lip with the sore thumb she swallows tightly and then looks over her shoulder to the unconscious Death Eater pricks. Her smirk lifts as she considers, wide-eyed innocent,*

You tell me. Does abandoned warehouse and two serial killers sound life and death to you? I mean, I have the latter two knocked out and tied up already, so...

 **Amalie** : *Her jaw dropped immediately, and a hand flew up to pass a hand through her hair before she remembered, no! Paulie would kill her if she messed up her hair again though it didn't sound like she was going to get in front of the camera anytime soon. She gritted her teeth together, settled for that nervous habit instead and then exhaled a small 'mon Dieu' her breath before speaking up again.* It sounds like the makings of a slasher flick, actually.

*Daniella Faye, what the hell are you up to? Her heart seemed to be dancing to a fast paced cumbia even as her facial expression showed nothing of the sort was wrong. Nope, not at all.* Or a porno- *she drops the volume of her voice to a whisper, but a manic one* Que diable faites-vous?! Are you crazy?!   
**Daniella:** Quite possibly. *She tucks a curl behind her ear, sucking on her bottom lip as she turns away again; she didn't particularly like looking at them.* Though not as much as these two are fucked up. *That was equally pointed as she digs her elbow into her side and breathes out, letting her eyes shut.* It's a...long, story, mon amie, that I promise will sound much better after we succeed, with celebratory champagne poured, and I'll buy you a whole box of macaroons too if you still have that book from your grandmother. Because, long story short? *She bites her tongue tip and sucks in air.* We're taking the country back. It's D-Day, cheri. *Ah, that reminded her --* And yes, when we're done, you can meet Olivier and Tonio too -- Oli'll be on his way here, actually.  
 **Amalie:** Small favors. *She muttered under her breath at the notion of Daniella being at least less crazy than the two serial killers she had restrained at a warehouse. Oi vey, mon Dieu, give her strength. Of course every beginning sounded better when you knew there was a happily ever after guaranteed. But D-day sounded quite...ominous. Taking the country back sounded just a little...like a grandeur. And anything that needed her grandmother's book was trouble. Of course Dani was right in the middle of it.*

Yes, I still have it. *She sighed, knowing she was going to miss the interview for sure.* Merde! *She whispered under her breath and then started walking towards the exit.* D'accord, I'm on my way. Soon as I ditch my camera crew, grab the book and you send me the directions. Remind me again why I love you.  
 **Daniella:** I thought you said nothing about me was tiny. *Breath was coming a little easier now, as she folds her hand over her heart and leans against the wall.* Geolocation incoming.

*Yes, Oli was going to be coming here - when he wasn't off fighting the others, as Tony was, as Eliza and Hans were -- as Harper was. But Amalie? She knew she could trust with her life. They'd known each other for more than half of it at least, and while she knew well how entangled she was with the D'Grey brothers (and how much she wanted to actually meet Harper), there were just so many things about this entire...fight and mess, that Daniella was still unsure of. She hits send on the text with the directions.*

Two reasons, mainly, *she drawls, licking just behind her top lip as she toys with her own necklace and bites down on her back teeth, a smirk flicking up.* Freshman year and Jimmy Choos.  
 **Amalie:** *The roll of her eyes was so immense she was sure that Daniella must have felt the breeze her eyelashes caused when they finally fluttered even over there. Shaking her head, she just kept walking and then took the phone away from her ear as the beep of her phone alerted to the text, quickly memorizing it before clearing the building but at least she did it with a reluctant smile.* You got me. Be there in ten, I have to go play the mute.

*She clicked off after a smooch and placed the cellphone in her purse before she zoomed over to the news van. Hitting the back, it opened up to reveal a confused Paulie who said they weren't due to record for another twenty. She pointed at her throat and made a harsh, raspy sound to indicate she lost her voice. It took a good 7 minutes to handle the freak-out, the call to the station, the freak-out from her boss before eventually she just wrote on a notepad that she was going to the hospital.

A quick dash to an alley apparated her to her tiny apartment. Her bedroom in her parents' home was bigger than her flat but she loved her little apartment. Even if right now it was a mess. Tying her hair up she drew her wand and summoned the book, and it ended up flying at her from the bottom of her treasure chest. She should have figured. With it in her hands, heavy as it always was, she turned on the spot once more and landed outside the warehouse. The inside must have been spelled against apparition. Finding an entrance, she walked inside and looked around, seeing Daniella at in the middle.* Two boxes of macaroons and a bottle of white wine, that's my price.

  
 ** **Daniella:**** Oooh, *she lets out an over-exaggerated sigh of disappointment through her smirk as she recalls fondly the last time she'd seen that particular bit,* Chaplin's got nothing on you, you know, it's too bad it's so useful. I still say we could put footage of that on Youtube and make millions. *Oh, look at that, honest work! With Amalie writing and her production? Best duo you could ever ask for, and this was her being modest.* Ciao, mon amie.

*Click. The phone went back in her leather pocket and she tilts her head back into the concrete, surveying the warehouse. Ten minutes was much too much time not to...peek, honestly, around the boxes that were still piled up. Under her breath, she looks once at their captives,* You two are simply no good for anything, aren't you? Well I mean. Aside from the murdering and the lack of moral scruples and what not but honestly, *sure, she was talking to their unconscious bodies but did that mean she couldn't speak her mind?* Anyone can do that, frankly. Choose to be mean, spiteful...Even killing's not nearly as hard as most people think it is...sparing someone, that's the really difficult one. Sparing someone and forgiving someone their trespasses -- oi-vey, I am definitely spending too much time with Tony.*

Speaking of, she thinks, her hand trailing along the edge of one of the cardboard boxes and flipping it up. Santa Monica.* Well you're a long way from home. *She was now talking to the box. Oh Oli, why -did- you choose this place, anyway...? Ripping into the dusty tape with her nail, she blinks. Her lips smack open, forming a loose "wow" silent in the air. The tightly bound cables inside with red felt had burned at her touch. Her nose wrinkles, as she looks up at Monica and then tilts her head.* Huh.

*Latex snaps against her skin as she discards her conjured gloves and slams a trashcan lid down when she hears a door open. She swivels quickly with her hand raising again, and then beams. Clapping her hands together and rubbing away the dried blood and red marks from where she'd accidentally touched the cables before lacing them around Monica's hands (maybe that would actually hold her down), she exclaims,* Yes, yes, maybe even three -- *hurrying over, she presses two kisses to her friend, one on each cheek and smirking down at the book even as she adds lightly,* So, any BAFTA's in your future, you think?

 ** **Amalie:**** *The smile was still on her lips as she reached her friend, despite her wandering eyes falling on to the two bodies Daniella had tied up. Kissing both of her cheeks, she pulled back and then playfully asked with a raise of her eyebrows* And why would I want a British award, amour?

*She winked and then patted her fingers against the old and work black dragonhide book cover. Her good humor was quickly fading however and her worry was taking over as she looked her friend in the face and saw the same worry seeing through behind her ever present grin-smirk and perfectly shaped eyebrows* I'm gonna need a little something more than D-Day and the reclaiming of the country to work with here, girl. *She pursed her lips for a moment and then bit her lower one before releasing it with an exhale* What do you need?

 ** **Daniella:**** Ah, fair point. To prove how easy they are to win, I suppose, but your Chaplin is worth the Venetian or Cannes too, I expect. *Her words were coming very quickly now as she pulls back, seeing Amalie look at those she has tied up. Worry crosses her lips, pulls them into a frown even (oh the wrinkles) for a few moments, but fades easily enough when her girl looks back at her.

Oh, God, how to explain all of this quickly enough? She clears her throat, knowing she couldn't just...take the book (the thing would probably burn her, actually, Amalie's grandmother was particular like that). After a quick exhale,* Do you remember Alcott Brackner? Kid I'd look after some summers, the one who had a crush on you when he was eleven? *Her lips flick up and she adds, more playful despite the serious subject,* Well. Olivier found his father. Or I suppose I should say Tony found him, way I'm understanding this story, but....

*Her eyes glaze over for a second with sympathy as she adds,* Well. You know better than most what's...happened. To this country. *She presses the roof of her tongue to her mouth, letting an appropriate moment of silence fall before she adds,* The reason is...the Death Eaters. Squicky things over there. *She points to the two with an eye roll.* They've been regrouping in France for five years or so, since they were kicked out of England and ... they'd kidnapped Harper too, faked his death. Oli's been working on taking it down from the inside. So've I - or rather, I got him to give me a few names, because they're busting Harper out today, killing the leader, and those two - *she points* - they, could send some of their comrades supposedly after them for back-up, only they actually send them all over the city to drop-off points where we ambush them. That's the plan anyway here, I don't know what is going down in the Headquarters itself or in England. All I know is, *her smirk returns and she lifts clasped hands like she's praying,* It's D-Day. And...they seem to be trained against imperius too damn well, so I was thinking...*her gaze casts down to the book, joined hands stretching out at it, both index fingers pointed, like she was pointing at candy she was begging for.*

{*}

**Alcott:** *Eliza had told him not to touch anything, but what the hell else was he going to do to occupy himself? He hadn't really wanted to let her out of his sight again -- was more than half convinced he was dreaming (had now sent Hols a total of six texts, and a voicemail; plus a few texts to Sie, Dev, Ror, Rene)...but in none had he found the words to explain Eliza. That would have to wait until he was out of Notre Dame again and was calling the troops. (Well all of them were on standby and in France already(Hols and Lynn excepted)--Nadia was alerting who she was supposed to alert--). He wasn't fool enough to get near the place without nearby back-up.

He just also wasn't patient enough -- so while Eliza was off getting something she needed to get them down there, he occupies himself with the manuscripts. And come on, he knew these were faked. It had only taken him thirty seconds to start cracking the code...but bribes? Ha, how shocking for a Cathedral. Let alone one that had been housing the bloody Death Eaters for--oh, ha!  
He hears the (secret) door open again and so, without turning away from the desk, calls to what he assumes must be Eliza with humor in his throat,* Finally, Liza-- so, it would seem one of the priests has a gambling problem...*he looks skywards, contemplating,* how does one even pay someone off in rosary beads? I meant I suppose these are rubies and sapphires and what not but honestly...that's a lot of Hail Marys. *He chuckled to himself and looks back down, letting the manuscript roll up. Then he looks back...

...and freezes.*

 **Harper:** *Maybe he would have been more concerned about Eliza's request had he not had a similar one from Olivier about Tony just a few weeks ago. Someone he had to meet, but couldn't risk them going underground. He had only wondered who it was (the look on Eliza's face alone, you would have thought it was either Christ reborn or a youthful Leonardo DeCaprio whose praises she had sung more than once) for a moment before simply realizing he just had to see to end the mystery. He trusted the young woman enough to go into a room unknowing of what he would expect to find beyond the wooden door and wondered if she realized the extent of what that meant for him.  
Opening the door, he passed through it quickly enough as he no longer had a habit of lingering but a s his hand moved to close the door behind him, he find himself standing up right, his spine unbelievably rigid in that one moment. It was the back of his head, just the back of his head, and yet Harper found he instinctively knew. Harper closed the door all the way but it was the only movement he could manage (he wasn't sure it was that more than a spell really).

Nine years. He'd spent nine years dreaming about seeing his son again. Wondering what he'd sound like, and what Harper would be able to say. What did you say? Harper couldn't find the words. He had left Alcott a six year old boy, and it was that boy whose memories he had, not this young man's, this tough and sarcastic (a swallow had replaced a laugh at the rosaries and Hail Mary's for it was all he could muster) boy. God, he was huge, even Max had never been this big, supernatural aid or not. He looked more a man of 20 than a boy of 15, and Harper instinctively knew he would feel older than both of those after everything he'd have gone through.

But when Alcott had fully turned around, when his gaze was locked with Harper's, he swore he could see the young man de-age into a simple teenager and then maybe (wishful thinking, complete wishful thinking) even younger. Harper had wanted a chair, sure he felt to collapse but he forced himself to stay upright. He could not, at all, ever, have this reunion be stained with his own weakness. Harper already had so much to apologize over, so much to be shamed over, he didn't want to add anything else.

Harper hadn't cried in years. Not real tears, he thought he had run out (not biologically impossible) a while ago, but now his eyes stung hot with the need to shed them. Those he was less strict on keeping back and maybe it was because Harper wouldn't be able to manage it either way, but it was also the fact that he'd have something be a testament to the truth.

No doubt Alcott was wondering if this was a trick, if he was just an impostor, for his son had seen him die. Could he do that? Could he call Alcott his son, despite not being there for nearly a decade, despite him having to grow up without a father, despite the fact that it had been too long since Harper had felt like an actual father? Because if he wasn't a father than he most certainly didn't have a son. But he wanted to be again, he wanted to be that man again, a father and a husband and a brother and a son and a friend. This was the beginning of that journey back, it had to be, it had to be.*  
Alcott. *It was a breathy exhale, more air than words, all he could manage through shaking hands and an accelerating heartbeat, all details Alcott could pick up now, let them be testament to his honesty as well. He inhaled through his nose for his mouth seemed treacherous with its quivering bottom lip and lazy tongue.*

It's...it's me. *Even if he didn't know who exactly 'me' was supposed to be, he just knew it wasn't Angel. He hated the man he was forced to be for his cowardice and his pessimism and his defeatist attitude. He never wanted to be that man again. But neither was he Harper Brackner, the same man as before who had stood single handedly against 4 Death Eaters, told them they should have bought him dinner first, and had very plainly told them to get the fuck out of his house. That man had been chained, beaten, and bruised. That man had been broken and been forced to pull himself together piece by piece. The problem with putting something back together again is that it almost always never came back whole. You were left standing with pieces that seemed to belong before but now don't. Harper had pulled himself together so many times, he had enough spare parts to build himself another him.

He took a small step forward because he had to, because Alcott was right there but it felt almost as if Harper shouldn't touch, that he didn't deserve to touch.* I am so *he swallowed* sorry, I know what I've done, what's happened because of me, I never wanted. ..I only wanted...*He passed a hand over his mouth to steady his bottom lip, to steady his breathing, to steady himself in general. He only found himself repeating* It's me...

 **Alcott:** *I know your face, Al thought with the lucidity of a nine year old (six year old) on a sugar high trying speed for the first time on Christmas morning. That was how fast his heart started thudding (curious, as for a few moments he was certain it hadn't beat at all); how he imagined his brain would look in one of those Disney cartoons, all colorful and popping and anatomically impossible but shh--with little stars around the shocking thought: I know your face, I've seen you before, you're someone I care about.

Nope, wait, wrong, try again (his lot in life): you're someone I love.

And at this point the cartoon's heart bursts somehow without injury to the man, breaking all monitors as it grows three sizes that day. A hand jerks to Alcott's chest, (his own, he registers dimly) rubbing in a small circle as if to assure himself he hadn't just died from the overwhelming, rushing, warm swell he felt.

So much better than oxen, he almost says, but finds his mouths turned to cotton and his tongue to lead. He takes a very quick breath, eyes moving up, and down, and up, and down over the man. His cheeks had turned to molten lava, but hey at least it melts any tears before they would fall. Alcott hadn't spent this long searching to collapse; and he'd already joked at the churches expense in his opening statement, he wouldn't add crying to his offenses of the first time (in nine years) he speaks to his...

Okay, fine, maybe a little tear found it's way out, viciously stubborn buggar. It was the six year old who had cried, the six year old who -had- someone to cry over, he wasn't that boy now. (The hand jerks from his chest to his cheek to throw the tear away). Al couldn't lie and say he'd never imagined meeting him one day. If anything he had imagined it too often. He'd pictured his family whole more times than he could count; dreamed about the man his father was, had been -- sometimes there'd been a sibling or two with them, and Ma would smile like she did in the photos on their wedding day--(Oh, -Ma-), and in none of his dreams did he disappoint his father by breaking down into a boy again.

He's thrown, when the man speaks, even if all he says is his name. Oh, yes, Alcott, that was his name. Alcott Matthew Brackner (how could he have forgotten, when Eliza so dearly loved to shout it?). He was fifteen, almost sixteen; he was a werewolf, which was the reason he could the man's accelerating heartbeat and lungs working three times as hard to normally breathe. In they had something in common -- and oh, why does it feel as if he sticks a knife in his chest at the thought? Four times as hard then. These facts seem to take a long time to settle in his sugar-speed-addled mind that had left early for Christmas vacation; he felt like he was relearning them, and as if somehow none of the facts quite add up to "Him" anymore.

Part of him, the part that had spent far too much time with Devin lately (oh Lord Eliza how I've needed you), understands from a psychology standpoint. That Alcott Brackner was a boy who grew up bitter and hardened because he saw his father die. And he wasn't him, not anymore, because oh look, another fact taking nine years to process (okay stop with the self-inflicted wounds, his chest would protest in a cartoon)--he's right over there! This Alcott Brackner--in one shining brilliant instant-- realizes: it was a trick.

"You don't want to do this angry," Eliza had said. Alcott almost manages a harsh laugh, but it fades on his raw, revolving throat. How the fuck was he supposed to be anything but livid? His life had been a lie. He'd been tricked, manipulated, beaten down, neglected--all for the sake of this bastard organization not able to understand that No Means Fucking No, let alone any other principle of moral decency. How long had he been saying they took his father from him? (Nine years, four months, three and a half weeks--) He wants to rail, to scream, to break things (break them in half) -- these bastards who must have laughed behind his back at the irony. They hadn't killed him, they'd done something worse.

...and better.

So much better. That was, Al thinks, the reason for his burning cheeks-the shame to know he was thrilled, over the moon with his joy, to see his father standing quivering lip, shaking hands, scarred and anxious and scared but there, there, there! Right there, he could point to him, he could hear him breathing, he could touch him, he was living, he was there--he was-here-. And Alcott was glad. He was so glad he was threatening to burst from it, brilliantly tomato red in a fever all over. He was glad, and he was...relieved. Letting Rachelle go had felt a little like he was betraying the man who stood up, fought and died for his country --and to save his life-- no matter how often he convinced himself otherwise. The same went for why he was even there right now; the personal vengeance he'd sought, that he'd sworn to himself since he was a little boy, even though vigilantism was such a plague on justice. He was relieved to be able to see in a moment his father wasn't perfect. He was just like him, and because of it, because he'd started working for these bloody bastards (but not wholly, no, he'd given Nadia this information)--because he chose a path much less straightforwardly honorable and more morally ambiguous--he was still alive. His father, the man struggling to get the words "it's me" out, he was still. Alive.

Alcott knew what their recruits went through from multiple secondhand accounts, and oh God all those things Rachelle said--Angel was the best, Angel had survived for so long, Angel took the longest to break--Angel was a genius, Angel wore a wedding band (Alcott looks quickly to his finger at the thought and upon seeing it, the same Ma wore, a smile ghosts across his lips) for the wife he lost years ago--Angel made them wands with two cores and used the spells on Nadia (who sang Frere Jacques in the same voice that once sang him to sleep with it), Angel had trusted that Al could figure out his spells--* It was right in front of my face. *He hears himself half whisper. Had he blinked in -minutes? Well, he was making up for it now, shaking and blinking rapidly.* I...how could I not have seen...  
*A very wet laugh forces out of the bottom of his Saraha desert of a throat as he looks up again quickly, seeing him take a step forward and instantly takes one too. Another step, his hand coming up, and then fluttering away uselessly as if he started with concern that his father was about to fall over only to remember how goddamn strong Harper Brackner was. Or maybe Al wanted him to catch him; in that moment he couldn't be sure of...

...well, anything actually, except that he felt his heart break in half and mend quickly (like the swell of happiness was so resilient it just kept repairing all his ills) when the words "I'm Sorry," left his father's lips. Now Alcott does move the rest of the way. He hates that for an instant he was glad to hear it. It was just he'd been...so alone, so goddamn alone, and Ma had tried (he knew that now), and even Uncle Max had helped (he could admit that now more readily) -- but there were just some things you just...need your father for, you know?*

I know--,*he supposes that's his answer to the repeated "it's me" as Al licks quickly his bottom lip, trying to wet his mouth with his earlier laugh so he could talk, and since when did he have a problem doing that anyway?* I know. *He echoes softer, and then his hands come up tentatively, reaching for his father's shoulders, only they seem to take a long time to get there and it's probably because they're shaking (not because he had a latent fear his hands would fall through an apparition because honestly it did all make sense now, why people kept looking at him so funny -- sad or amused, always so -knowing-).

When they finally land, Alcott thinks he might collapse from the weight of relief and joy to realize solid warmth under his fingertips. His face breaking open as he squeezes, he focuses one moment on steadying his breath, and then just says, all in one breath,* I think you might have just given me an aneurysm so, I'm grateful to have you...here to fix it.

*He breathes out, licks his mouth again and then steadies abruptly as Al just looks in his eyes, because really? All technicalities and questions and answers aside--they told him everything he needed to know. Softening his smirk, he murmurs honestly, earnest and not sure anymore if he felt six or thirty--just--* ...It's really, good to see you, Dad.

 **Harper:** *He barely caught the whisper Alcott spoke as all the information seem to crash into him with the speed and strength of a tsunami wave. He said he should have known because it had been in front of his face the entire time and that wasn't true, it wasn't true at all. He had tried his best to keep as many facts regarding his situation from his family since this plan finally came into motion. He didn't want to let them know until he was sure that he wouldn't be forced to leave them again. Harper knew how that felt, how low he had been when he saw his ring, his picture, that tube of lipstick thrown in the fire and he had whimpered out that he couldn't stand to lose them again. He hadn't been about to do that to the people he most loved in the world.

It was those whispers as well as every reminder of the things he'd done that driven him to an apology. There was so much he had to make up for, so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to say but couldn't find the right words to express them. What good was in knowing the entire Webster dictionary if it didn't help him formulate coherent sentences?

He knew. A statement both as simple and loaded as his own declaration of "it's me" had been. With emotion clogging up his throat again, he found himself nodded, blinking away a few stray tears for his hands lay uselessly at his side for now. Or they did, until Alcott closed the distance between them and placed his hands on his shoulders. Strong hands on shoulders that bore the weight of the underworld and yet it was one of the lightest things he had ever felt.

And then there was laughter. It was small, and it was splintered and short but it was there, like his lungs had decided to expand and pop in less than a split second. And upon hearing the word 'dad' leave Alcott's mouth, Harper no longer wanted to be very strong. He used the strength he had to pull Alcott into a strong embrace, squeezing his eyes shut as he battled sobs trying to leave his chest in joy (an unnatural concept to him anymore) and just squeezed him harder.* My son. *He managed to get out as an exhale, and then more words tumbled out.*

My son, my boy. You brilliant man, I knew you'd figure it out, I knew you'd find me. You've no idea how much I've missed you, look at you! Look how much you've grown, my son. *There was no way to keep tears at bay anymore, not as joy and happiness of the likes he didn't feel he'd ever known seemed to replace the blood running through his veins. There was a bitterness there as well, a gnawing hatred for those who had kept him from being there this past decade but for the first time in that same amount of time, it was entirely negligible because there was no room for anything else, not now.*

 **Alcott:** *He had told Nadia once that he didn't remember how to be a son to a father--had told Gramps that it didn't matter how many times they said Dad would be proud of him, because on the one hand it felt undeserved. How could he be proud of an eternal six year old whose greatest accomplishment had been stealing cookies without Ma knowing (except she always did?). And on the other...it felt like a tease, like they were rubbing in his face for all their good intentions, the fact that they knew him and he'd never get to. Only now...

He...fell, into his Dad's arms, only staying steady on his feet because of how he squeezed and squeezed. Al just shut his eyes, closed his mouth, and found himself squeezing back--carefully, he realizes after a moment. Carefully, but not (only) because he knew his werewolf strength versus the lack of it he could feel --but because his father was precious, and he was terrified of gripping so tight he'd slip away again like sand.

A huge, wide and sheepish beam appears on his lips the moment he hears "my son" (he remembered that, oh he remembered that--) and a choked-closed-throat laugh leaves his lips at "i knew you would figure it out", with a mutter passing unrestrained,* Blast all, Gramps was right.

*He shushes himself just because he was desperate to keep hearing it, keep listening to the emotion and aching in his father's words, his father's voice, fuck he'd take standing there listening to him breathing in and out over and over again if it meant his father was actually there.

He was laughing and he was probably crying, Al didn't know, all the emotions were tangling themselves up and mixing behind his eyes and deep in his throat: all he knew really was he pulls back because he actually wants to look at his Dad, looking at him, looking back.* Course I did. I kind of used to just write "wands of elder never prosper" on Charms exams in protest sometimes of Hogwarts lack of adequate books on the subject...

*And oh, oh just, fuck it--,* Ma, will have more eloquent words I'm sure, but...she's going to be so...happy, Dad. *He couldn't stop saying that word.* So, happy.

  
 **Harper:** *Another strangled laugh left his mouth that sounded like bubbles popping in the air, the sound escaping with each little round globule. He licked his dry lips, nodding with a knowledge that he was sharing something, anything at all no matter how small it was, with his son. A laugh about Alcott's grandfather, his own father, a person they knew but they didn't know together, was becoming such a precious moment, no matter how small it truly was.* Not something he's used to hearing in my experience.

He has to force himself to swallow again lest his next words be accompanied with a blob of spittle. Harper pulls back as his son does, hands still on his shoulders. He smiled, nodding still with all the pride he had for Alcott, which was surely only to increase with each passing moment in his company. For a moment he couldn't breathe just thinking about it, passing moments, with his son, and with his wife. His gaze flitted to his wedding ring on his finger and his smile widened even more. He had hoped so, the same way he hoped for Alcott to welcome him with open arms but had always feared never having.* Is she coming? *That sounded so frail to him however so he added* I mean does she know you've uncovered the location?

 **Alcott:** *Honestly, he didn't think he was going to ever get used to the look in his father's eye. There was such...pride, and a little fear, and a lot of sadness and want and--well. Love. How strange. It was a revelation to him his father still loved him.

He was going to rip this 'organization' apart limb from limb, stone from stone, and swear to God? (Appropriate given their location, yeah?) Burning Notre Dame to the motherfucking ground if he had his way. Which, Alcott had always joked he did--but with his father squeezing his arms right now? It had never been more true; he must have done something right after all just to...just to have this moment.  
He chuckles dry and soft, eyes still wide, unable to help his immediate murmur,* Not in my experience either, no. *Was that pathetic of him? That he wants, that feels an overwhelming desire to just--tell his father everything he knew, anything at all that they shared?

Well fuck it, he was pathetic then. Tiny bit surprised as Al hears a skip in his heartbeat as he asked about Ma, he exhales, looking sheepish as his brows popped and he sucks on his bottom lip, hesitating and waiting before his Dad rephrased and looked up again. Then he speaks through another dry chuckle.* Yeah. Yeah, I mean...I uh--*he pauses, and then admits ruefully,* couldn't have kept her out of it if I wanted to--she kind of already is suing half of a Mungos floor for neglecting Eliza, and got the Auror department to send uh, Rachelle to our house--I don't...know how much you know.

*That was strange too. He was used to thinking Dad knew everything. His brows flick and soften.* I kind of have a mini-army on standby while Nadia's running around -- aahhh....  
*Well. See now that makes sense. Eyebrow arching slowly, he asks with a rueful little smile,* She knows, doesn't she? And...D'Grey--fuck, wait a minute, so, Hans knows? I mean that's how the prick gave me the...

*And of course! Another revelation. His chin pops up, mouth pops open and he blinks rapidly.*... silver...you know. You...know already. *His throat went dry; he couldn't elaborate or...move.*

 **Harper:** *More genuine laughter passed his lips as the images Alcott was creating of his mother matched the ones he had built up of her during these past few weeks. Words couldn't express the sudden relief he felt that despite the time that had passed, he still knew her. So absolutely relieved his Lyndsi was still out there because Eliza's disclosure of what Lyndsi had told her the day she was poisoned (a frown threatened to overtake his face but he denied it access for it just did not fit) had worried him more than he realized.

He nodded as Alcott worked through what others knew, pleased to hear he had a massed a considerably number and then continued nodding. Nadia, Olivier and Hans all knew.* I could have done without Hans being privy to the information but we reached an agreement. *He did not bother hiding his distaste for the man. Then he looked back at Alcott and nodded just once more, brief and quick.* I know, son. *He squeezed his shoulders, his knuckles protruding eerily from the pale skin.* I know. It's why I've struck the bargain.

Hans is acquiring moonglitter for me, which I will use to create a permanent version of the silver potion, five doses to be exact with one of them designated for your use, the rest to do with as he pleases.  
Admittedly, *he tilts his head, swallowing* I know the danger of allowing even one wolf from that pack to change at will for the rest of their lives but I did what I needed to do, to make sure -you- got it. And I was also hoping for the information to get out and form dissent among the ranks but D'Grey's informed it's already there. *He returned the focus of his attention back on his son and then revealed in a softer voice.* This changed nothing for me, Al. You're my son, and I love you and I saw the only way to help then and I took it. Deal with the devil or not, and I've made plenty of them, you and Lyndsi are the most important thing to me, you've always been.

 **Alcott:** *It took him aback to see the honest, light transformation to his father's face as he laughed and...for a few moments, looked like the old Harper he'd seen in photographs. Even the scars seemed to disappear, he lost ten years when the perpetual smirk melts to his crinkled eyes. Alcott blinks, sharing the chuckle, feeling not unlike the world was spinning away from him.

The sensation was only heightened as he feels the weight and thrill of...acceptance, as if his father was taking the guilt from his shoulders and laying a blanket across him instead. Half-smiling, he blinks and lifts one hand to his father's on his shoulder, squeezing his white knuckles and saying quietly, all in one breath,* It was...so stupid. How it happened. I was just--I honestly don't know, Dev was down, understatement, and we were high and drunk and I got it in my head that I wanted to meet the centaurs, on a fucking full moon--I know I knew what it was, remember Devin saying he could see so well by it and-- and then it just came out of nowhere and I fought it off -well, *he acknowledges quickly, credit where credit is due, raising his free hand to rub under his nose,* Eliza and Devin helped. But not before it bit me, and now-- because I was...so stupid, I almost killed someone. I would have, or he'd have killed me, if not for Hols--and Roswell was a dick before, but after that it just--it spiralled so fast and it--it was because of me, because he thought I deliberately meant to, and it's not like that's-- that far off the mark! I've wanted to--I've threatened him, honestly I just--it was my fault--  
*But he breaks off there because he's run out of breath and he looks down to his father's shoes. Then he blinks. Not that he'd really given it much thought before (but now anything but thinking about the truth of how he felt) but...his father was kind of dressed rather well for someone who was living...he couldn't finish the thought. Clenching his teeth, he looks up suddenly, wide-eyed with stubborn want. Especially at the name "Lyndsi", hell, he knew Ma would be thrilled just to hear that, no matter how ragged his father's voice was. Her husband. His lips stretch, half twisting and he adds softer,* It did help. The potion. Does. It's...honestly, I can't describe--

*He clenches down on his back teeth, and lets his voice die off, eyes fluttering shut and head shaking.* It's just...I was terrified before, what would happen, what I might do, again, who I could hurt and with it...I could help save people instead. So, yes Dad, I understand why this particular pack is--although honestly, Rachelle isn't--but just...there have to be others out there, like me, who could really...benefit. From it. I mean.

*His gaze flits around and then softens when he returns to hold his father's eyes,* I mean speaking of Ma, I know for a fact that ever since Rachelle said what "Angel" (he does the air quotes) went through -- she's been planning on finding a way to bribe you to continue making the potion for me and for others, anyone who needs it, too. *His lips flick, fondly as he adds,* I imagine said bribe will be more entertaining now.

 **Harper:** *He wasn't happy to be hearing about how Alcott was turned simply because it was such an abhorrent topic but he couldn't deny a certain lightness at the occasion being shared with him to begin with. Later they would have time for happier moments, for Al to speak of Eliza the same vivid and gleeful way she spoke of him, to speak of all of his friends and his girlfriend but now there was unpleasant things to get through. And if the unpleasant things felt good, Harper could only imagine what it would be like for the others.

And was it wrong of him to be more amused and proud to hear the phrase 'high and drunk and wanted to meet the centaurs' than he was worried? Well, he figured it had already happened and Alcott was here and well and strong. Yet undeniably he still felt a turn in his stomach at the thought of his son being attacked. And again at him having attacked someone, but he knew that part of the story before he had known the wolf was Alcott.* Sam's actions are not your fault, Al. His mind was warped and twisted by his uncle who saw an opport unity and made the most of it. *Teeth gritting, he shook his head once and buried those murderous feelings for now.

He listened again, glad that Alcott didn't seem to blame him for the bargain he'd struck, his features softening to hear how much help it provided his son. For so long he had associated the potion with all the atrocities the it had allowed the pack to commit that it was suddenly relaxing to have it associated with something good, something helpful.*

I've just...never thought of it that way. Years here it...I forgot that people could be good. Nadia taught me that again with her near saint-like disposition and Eliza reminded me. I wasn't happy with the man I was pretending to be and that I was turning in to...but I do want to help people again, I do. Starting with this take down, though I can't deny this is...personal and vindictive but I think I've earned it, don't you?

*His lips curl up briefly before another chuckle leaves his throat and be tilts his head in complete agreement.* Yes, well...I never denied your mother anything, and that won't change now. *Put up a fight, yes, but probably not one of those things to say out loud.*

 **Alcott:** I know that, it just still...*He stills as he realizes he'd been about to say 'it still felt that way', only...it didn't. Blink. When had that happened? Had that been...right now? He felt lighter, honestly relieved but then of all the warring, happy and sad and angry and fearful and hurt and joyous emotions-- the one that he seemed to keep coming back to, aside from shocked disbelief and appreciation, was relief. Relief this was almost over. Relief he could give Eliza her christmas present. Relief that soon he wouldn't have to bloody deal with Hans. And above all...

Dear God, his _father_ was standing here. Telling him...pretty much everything he had ever wanted to hear, at least until that last few points that make him tense, rigid in his father's grasp. But his Dad was proud of him. His Dad had relied on him above all to find him.

He was smiling again, and as he had no idea how to respond to thinking that people were incapable of good, he says instead,* Yeah...those two have kicked my ass a few times...more than, really. Especially about--oh.

*The soft smile had been widening all along when suddenly it breaks into an honest smirk, and he frees one shoulder to dig inside his back pocket, pulling out the flask. He holds it up sheepish and grinning, before remembering.

Oh right. Dad. Underage. Last saw him as a six year old. ...Huh. * I know I'm uh--only fifteen, but it...helped with the cravings and jitters so...if it's all right with you, I, *be tilts his head smirk still lifting,* think we both could use a drink.

*His lips flick open as he holds what had his father's and grandfather's and great great great grandfather's initials carved into it up to his Dad, adding,* Ma's hard to deny, yeah, and as far as earned? Oh, I think we both have -- Liza and Nadia too. Frankly, I'll be staying out of their way. Same goes for Sie and Hols who--by the way should uh, not be allowed to fight near each other.

*He got a sheepish grin, pride spilling from all edges, shining bright as he thinks that was (points at himself) and flicks the cap off, questioning if that was all right with a head tilt.*

 **Harper:** *'Still...' that word and pause hung in the air, it's ending unfinished because he could see Alcott realized that the appropriate continuation of that was nothing at all. Still, nothing. And he was glad, for guilt was a terrible and deteriorating emotion to live with. He knew he didn't have to teach his son about that, that it seemed like there might not be much he could.

He looked back curiously and then laughed once more, a brief grin that turned into a subdued smirk as he recognized his refilling flask in the hands of his underage son. But he didn't protest, he shook his head. It was a bit difficult to wrap his mind around it as half of him wanted to tell him he was only 6 yesterday because in Harper's mind he had been. Instead, he clapped Alcott's shoulders and released him though he made no move to back up.* I'm glad you have it. Lots of good memories with that flask actually, it could tell a story or two...hundred.

Yeah, I'll definitely have some. *Though he could probably get drunk off a single sip of communion wine at these levels. He took it as his son offered him it, his fingers tracing for a moment where the carvings were etched and with a fond smile, took a swig. What met his throat was fire unlike he had ever tasted (or rather remembered tasting). He sighed, feeling his cheeks pink with warmth but at least he kept himself from coughing.* Bit rusty. *He cleared his throat with a little laugh.*

I've heard of both of them from Eliza, they sound quite...formidable. *He smiles as he hands the flask back* You obviously have a type.

 **Alcott:** *Oh, good, thank Hols (His own personal substitute for "thank god"). His Dad was not only okay with sharing the drink with him but said he was glad he had it and Alcott had to admit--he really would have hated to part with the flask. Yeah, it was his Dad's first but...he really had grown attached to it. Even if he wanted him to have the sip first. Or...large gulp it lookes like and oh Al probably shouldn't be laughing as he hears the restrained cough that his Dad buried away in his throat but--look, he claps his upper back too to help, all right? And then his lips flick as he nods, smirking,* Wakes you up though, yeah?

  
*Okay not that either of them needed that: it was only just past noon or something like that and besides. A, if this was a dream, he never wanted to wake. B, if this was a dream, he wouldn't be a wolf, his Dad would never have di--left, and he'd have at least two siblings, and they wouldn't be in fucking Notre Dame, unless they were playing some prank.

Well, actually.

He pulls back, taking his own expert swig and the smirks, wider, thinking about that. Breathing out the flames through his nose, he adds offhand,* Yeah...maybe. Ma didn't like either of them at first. I didn't really know why but now I think it's because they kind of reminded her of her old....well, that is, *he runs his throat, ducking his gaze and pocketing his (their) flask,* herself at fourteen and what not.

*He looks back up, breathing steadier even if that was a contradiction as he just looks at his Dad steadily and adds,* When you two actually drew the wand trees chart--hold on, reminds me. *He pulls his new wand out, offering it to his Dad, saying shyly,* I mean I kept yours, safe place but...*He flicks his gaze from his Dad, to the wand, feeling more tears build up and melt away as pressure grows in his chest.* I think you promised me a contest to see whose was better. But uh. *He slaps softly at his thigh, eyes cloudy with warmth,* Ma has to judge, so.

 **Harper:** Best alarm I've had in a while. *He chuckled, nodding and grateful for the pat on the back that seemed to give him the necessary strength to keep the cough at bay. He knew that increased tolerance was part of being a werewolf but damn.

What he did find more amusing for a moment at least was hearing that Lyndsea hadn't liked either of them at first.* More like my mother than she realized. *But then he understood why that would be, his nod was cut short as Al pulled out his new wand, the one he made himself. He took it from him gingerly, testing the balance, the springiness of it, finding himself just smiling so honestly.* You did it. You could- *his voice was choking with the emotion, that Alcott had followed that research as well, and _so_ well.* Oh we'll have that contest, definitely, Al this is...it's spectacular. *He looks up from the wand* Truly.

 **Alcott:** *That, made him outright crack up for a few minutes.* Oh...I'm not sure which of their faces would be better if they heard that. *He folds his arms on his chest, still shaky --half with chuckles, half with nerves as he imagines, all without looking away from his father.* Uncle Max said something like that once and I swear he hid behind Aunt Zo' the rest of the evening.

*Oh, but then he just gets quiet as his Dad looked at the wand (what a wonderful sentence that was he thinks) and feeling as if his chest lifts with him, as if goes to his toes. Sheepish, he's torn between looking away, waving it off, shrugging--and pulling his Dad into another tight hug. As ever, he compromises, echoing the soft and honest smile before he answers.* Yeah, well. Had a little help, but. *An eyebrow pops at him, but only wiggles once.* I actually...well, when I leave school, I had been wanting to open my own shop--Ollivander and I have had many an argument.

*It was only "has been" because he realized now...there might be other pursuits he was equally interested in: primarily using the resources of his mother's charity, and now...maybe he and his Dad --both--could make this potion for others...

All of which hinged on them getting him out of here. So he smiles, glad as he takes his wand back and then looks his father in the eye and adds, playful and honest,* I hope you know that just because it's been almost a decade and you're a bit rusty doesn't mean I'm gonna go easy on you, Dad.

 **Harper:** *His son's laughter only seemed to induce his own and the more they laugh together the lighter he feels. It took every part of his willpower to keep from shedding more tears and stay sobs from taking his chest. The mention of Max and Zoe as well, inseparable as ever it seemed by both Eliza and his son's remarks, made him eager to see them again, see them all. But not more desperate than he felt to see his wife once more. His thumb brushed over the ring briefly before he repeated.* Just a little help *He pinched his fingers together and chuckled.

His own shop and getting into disagreements with Ollivander himself. He couldn't keep his smile of pride at bay only to scoff at the challenge, smirk in place.* Rusty at drinking, yes. But my wit and cunning remain as sharp as ever. *He smiles* If anything I'll have to go easy on you, boy.

 **Alcott:** Just a little, *he confirms, amused as his father pinched the air, trying to remember if he'd ever seen him do that before. Then...it seems to hit him: he didn't need just memories, and photographs or other's endless stories...because his father was right in front of him. Teasing him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and he hears himself add before he thinks it,* And..maybe I wouldn't mind a little more help. Just a little. *He tilts his head, lifting his hand as he adds quickly, chuckle dry and throat choked up,* Not with wands, but...some other things, yeah, sure.

*That was probably the least eloquent and most vague way he could put that he wants his father's aid...but because of that, it was perfect to him. He didn't have a clue what things in specific his Dad could know or help him with. The point was he could have a...chance to know now, and like hell if he was going to pass that up. Breathing out, he chuckles again,* Aha, you know, speaking of similaritieees--*he was teasing in the same tone, with the same smirk he realized,* only Gramps really has called me 'boy'. *His lips quirk, deciding not to qualify the time frame. He was too happy. Honestly, in the midst of all this goddamn hell, Eliza was alive, and he'd given Nadia back her memories, and let Rachelle join her family and even given his friends that chair hadn't he? And now...his father. As he looks back down at his wand, he adds sincerely, smile kind,* ...and thanks, Dad. I...truly, appreciate that.

 **Harper:** *Alcott was turning out not to be the man he'd expected but rather someone so much better. He didn't care if it had only been a few minutes, because the times of him not knowing his son seemed like another lifetime ago. Harper just knew, and he would be proved of it even more later on, of that he was certain.

His throat closing with emotion again as Alcott confided in needing more of his help in other things, Harper nodded with a smile that tried not to show how enthusiastic he was at the prospect of being able to teach his son things and help them with others. He would make up for these past nine years.

Groaning a little as he realized he had sounded like his father after all, he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.* I must be getting old. *He let his hand drop and put it in his pocket, fingering the golden tube lying there and had to blink back tears again.* Thank -you-, Alcott. Picking up my work, making it your own that's *he swallowed*...I've never felt so honored, and so proud.  
 **Alcott:** *He had a feeling that he and his father were both restraining themselves from showing how thrilled they were at the thought--so recently impossible and for it all the more wondrous--that they could work together. Why were they doing that?

Well. Perhaps because the emotion was so visceral, so deep that -- literally leaping, taking flight and breathing fire to burn he church down (while certainly an enjoyable image), it wouldn't bring his father home any quicker. That thought made his breath quicken, catch, and fade into brief non-existence...especially as his father kept going.

Swallowing (and then swallowing again), he realized after the fact that a few tears were finding their way down his cheeks after all...and he was talking, suddenly, like he started and forgot (didn't know how) to stop. His hands clench behind his back in fitful fists.* I'm so glad. That's what I wanted...Well, the research I salvaged--I mean it's genius, it is, and I realized quickly, probably smugly, that I understood things about it others didn't. And I liked that, but what I liked more....I don't know, it felt like--like if I got it, and no one else did, then...kind of like you'd given me a, a job to do. *He hits his pocket now, before putting his hand in it, a soft tap and wordless moment as he shakes his head.* Everyone from Gramps to the idiots at the Prophet would tell me just...how wonderful you were, how tragic it was--and it was like, I knew they were trying to make me feel better but I didn't need to hear that, because who could bloody understand better what it was than the one who -saw- it. I remember it all--too well, remember what you were teaching me, and giving you a cookie, I remember what Shawn said about Hols before he killed that Arlette guy and, and then I...I _saw_...

*He breathes out, for his voice was hot. That was odd to him. He wasn't angry, at least--he wasn't with his father and wouldn't show him that right now. So he shuts his eyes, breathes in and out again, and continues,* I hit him, you know. Shawn, I mean, because he said you were gone, and I wouldn't believe him -- and see? *He gestured abruptly at Harper, smug for a moment and eyes agleam,* I was right!

*He pauses, hand falling, smirk twisting and then admitting softer,* I bloody already knew it was a tragedy. And I didn't need them to tell me you were wonderful either. Because I saw you, that day, stand up to these monsters. Bitch them out for Ma. Blind one. Save my own life. Hell, you said Ma was the one to be afraid of. *He exhales, rubbing his hands together, looking down as he says softer, almost as if only to himself,* And frankly the only thing more wonderful than that, is that you're standing here now telling me you never stopped fighting for either of us, so.

*He flicks his gaze up, stating the obvious with levity, somber and yet smiling.* That's the kind of man I wanted, want, to be too.

*Exhaling again, he just continues in a quicker voice, trying to squish words in,* I can't say I started there you know, I was furious, am--it's just I spent so long being angry instead of fighting, it...when I think, how I might have lost Hols just because Shawn's her father I just--it's...unthinkable to me now. It was just that...people were so sorry, sympathetic -- and then they expected me to get okay with it. How the fuck, do you get "okay" with it? *His hand cuts through the air.* Ma always got that though -- because she couldn't get okay with it either. She tried, honest to God, *he rubs over his mouth, even still speaking, because he was determined to get it out of him, this fucking weight and ache,* she did--she...got me a puppy, asked Uncle Max to live with us, let me take care of Swift, smacked one of the therapists I'd been assigned - she did, try, just--well, anyone without the last name of Brackner for a while, it was like they weren't good enough to understand. No, dammit, they didn't get to take it from us--our anger or our grief, certainly not our warm and fuzzy memories, just, no fucking way. *He bites down on his tongue, smirks and says fondly,* So, I was a little shit. I was, am sometimes still, yeah--and when I was bitten...I just, I learned who would stick by me, and then Roswell...well I guess I just realized --er, rather, Hols...*A faraway, little smirk of appreciation and adoration covers his face and for a moment...he didn't have breath to speak.*

Picture Nadia's saintlike disposition in a warri--no. *His smirk and eyes lift back to his father,* In a lioness. Human or animal form, that's Hols. Golden-brown mane and everything, fuck, Dad, I don't honestly know how I could have dealt with this without her. She is...she owns the room, has the best smirk I've ever seen and is so goddamn, witty...but above all she just--she was always so...good. I mean she somehow never let people walk on her and yet she would sacrifice herself in a heartbeat. Not just for those she loves, though them first--but for what was right. Like, she gets it, that there's...more, it's bigger--and she made me want to see it too. *He pauses, and then with a dry, rueful chuckle,* I'm not as good at is as she is, probably will never be because I'm a fucking Brackner thank you, and I love it, I just do. But I love her for sticking by me while I just...try.

*Wait. Hold up. Had he just said--yes, he had. A brief look of surprise appears, falling into colored cheeks and lifting smiles and then he clears his throat, deciding to move on, or his worry would come back. Damnit Hols, pick up your goddamn phone.*

I think it was Ma too--look, obviously we're all going to have to--I just...she started fighting so goddamn hard, after Dev was hurt. I didn't...realize, I kind of took after her too, because I just..just wanted to know you, Dad. That was all I wanted, and it hurt so goddamn much, and when I'd read your research or tend the herd just--for a little while, it felt I did. I guess I'm glad you're honored, and yeah, I'm...so proud, that you are too--but.

  
Dad. *He breathes out, trying to keep his voice from breaking (and failing, even in the only three lettered honorary). He rubs at his cheek, as if to clear tears but finds none.* I'm so much happier just knowing you're...here. So many...I mean, your potions, and Ma, and Gramps--so many people needed you, fuck it, the world did--does. I, do. And yeah I'm mad as fuck that they did this to you, to our family -- and also so goddamn impressed, in awe frankly, that you still found a way to...get Nadia all you did, and me the potion and I mean--this is all you, right now. My friends, and our relatives, our army on standby--Nadia getting the Minister all that info, and I mean D'Grey and the pack, how the hell you managed to get them too i just--this is all you! *His hand came up, head shaking to draw out the point.* Your spells, your information and after all they did? You more than earned tearing this organization apart, it wouldn't be possible without you. And yet you still looked at me and said you were sorry, for deals with the devil? Because you get it, what Hols does, that there's more to the world than one person or family--and Dad, you just said it, you just said you want to help people again--everyone. Yet you can't deny Ma anything--you haven't lost sight of family. You want to use this unbelievable mind of yours to fucking fix the planet, and still come home for Ma and me. Why -wouldn't- I want to be you?

  
 **Harper:** *For all of his troubles and his sufferings, the one that his son and wife had to suffer through by thinking he was dead was not one he had experienced. He found himself listening to Alcott speak of it with a heavy heart but it was a weight he was welcoming with open arms. He wanted to know what it was like, wanted to know everything about Alcott. That included his troubles and struggled as well as his accomplishments.He had already imagined what it must have been like for Alcott to watch him 'die' and had countless of nightmares about it. He never would have thought Alcott could have recalled that day with such precise detail but he should have realized that was possible. Harper felt his eyes filling again with new tears he didn't want to shed for all the ones he had so far today had been in happiness and he didn't want to change that.

Like before when he felt pride at hearing his son break a dozen school rules and a few federal ones, he was equally as proud to hear he had punched an Auror in the face at the age of 6, and chuckled out loud. His teary smile only widened to hear his son's praise for his actions that day and chuckled again as he recalled what he'd said about Lyndsea.* I still stand firmly by that.

*No, he hadn't expected Alcott to have started that way, not after what he must have gone through but he was glad that in the end Alcott was turning out for the better. That's what was important and what was even better was that Harper would be there to see it, to see Alcott continue to grow into a man far better than he ever was.As ever, he was equal parts saddened and glad that Lyndsi had tried to be okay but failed. Sue him, it was the ninth circle of hell here without her, he was relieved to hear that.* I heard about Satan. *He remarked quickly, smile on his face and then finally had to raise a hand to his eyes and wipe the tears from them as another small laugh left his lips at 'little shit', shrugging.

And then Alcott started talking about his girlfriend Holly Rae Graft and his smile turned into a brief knowing smirk as he nodded. Not with the knowledge of Hols specifically but of the knowledge of how feeling like that for another person felt. Damn, Alcott was truly not a child any longer. It felt good to hear that Alcott was astounded and proud to know all that Harper had accomplished in captivity. Just so damn good after years of torture and abuse, of being underestimated and treated like he was lower than dirt. It felt even better to hear that Harper was needed, that he was missed, that his son had never been this happy knowing that he had Harper back. There was no way to stop the silent tears even still he continued to bat them away.* Alcott, I-- *He had to clear his throat as his voice broke, nodding and then laughing a little.*

That's...I don't know what to say.

*Its like he had to teach himself how to breathe again, and control the expansion and contraction of his lungs, protected by ribcage, to intake oxygen and expel out carbon dioxide (a simple description really). He sniffed, and swallowed a lump at the back of his throat.* Except, well...you haven't even seen the best of me, son. *He smiles and exhales and then places a hand on Alcott's shoulder again.* But you will.


	62. Sing The Bells of Notre Dame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and he smells them all, these close-packed creatures with their sticky ice cream fingers and their nicotine sighs. There is a ripeness to them, a hot sweet wetness, and his eyes darken as an ache appears in his gums, but no, he has this controlled, reined in, and these peasants will hardly undo him.

The cathedral of Notré Dame was lit by stained glass and marred by unaware tourists. In the ancient days the Romanesque domes, stature and curved, colorful facades had been enough to draw the crowd. The modern era demands as ever more. *Rejoice, Mary*, the image opera, has played Thursday and Saturday nights for years now, a spectacle of lights.  
  
D'Grey stands in the bell tower, looking down at them in a lined frown. Hands shoved deep in leather pockets, spread like wings. One hand is clasped around his phone, waiting for it to vibrate. The other rests on a knife, but he doesn't move. He's listening hard. The drumming of the hearts, the whispering of the children's soft candy breaths- he filters these all through his eyes, his ears, his nose, sifts them aside, roots down to the under-layer. He can pick them out, their enemies, who stroll among the humans with their strangely beating hearts and their irregular breaths.  
  
Oh, and he smells them all, these close-packed creatures with their sticky ice cream fingers and their nicotine sighs. There is a ripeness to them, a hot sweet wetness, and his eyes darken as an ache appears in his gums, but no, he has this controlled, reined in, and these peasants will hardly undo him.  
  
He spies her first: Lyndsea Brackner, sitting in a pew. It took a moment longer to recognize her than usual, never having seen the woman out of stilettos or silk gowns. For the first moment since he'd interrupted the reunion between father and son, Olivier finds himself smiling. He'd thought she would look nervous.  
  
She looks determined.  
  
His phone buzzes, and he descends. ** **  
****

{&}

**Kevan:** Brackner. *He doesn't actually call out of course, for he would never be so improper but he sees that he was heard all the same.*

 **Max:** *His nose wrinkles as he stalls his abrupt stalking through the Ministry's halls. That was not a voice he enjoyed hearing. Last person in the world, actually, that he wanted to talk to -- well, no. It was close. Maybe even tied, for see, the other was Kevan Roswell's brother.* Not now, Roswell. I have to --

 **Kevan:** *He comes to a stop as Max turns around, saying over him with the smug certainty he couldn't help,* You have to go talk to the Minister, yes, I know.

 **Max:** Then you know I have no time to waste.

 **Kevan:** You want to talk to me first.

 **Max:** Oh, do I?

 **Kevan:** You're going to meet with the Minister because Nadia Tudor has informed him, based upon your nephew's miraculous recovery of her memory concerning a man she calls Angel, the location of every safe house in the countryside for the organization presently being called the Death Eaters in homage to it's fallen Lord.

 **Max:** *Taken aback but honestly having no interest in admitting it, he snaps instead,* So this is the part where you beg, or tell me you were imperiused?

 **Kevan:** *He doesn't miss a beat.* If I had been imperiused, why would I be free to tell you about it before the attacks have begun or the organization has fallen?

 **Max:** Perhaps you wish me to believe this Angel broke the curse on you as well.

 **Kevan:** He does sound like a genius.

 **Max:** *That…huh. His eyebrows flutter.*

 **Kevan:** However no, I have neither been a death eater, *he rolls up his left sleeve, showing Max his bare forearm,* nor sadly, imperiused.

 **Max:** *He snorts, eying the arm with suspicion,* Sadly, of course, it is a pity you have to face up to your actions --

 **Kevan:** Sad, as the only thing I've been is a brother.

 **Max:** *His gaze jumps from his bare arm to meet Kevan's eyes immediately, teeth gritting,* Are you saying --

 **Kevan:** *Flatly, he speaks with dead-locked eyes and slow, steady breath. He was certain.* I'm telling you that the man you have in jail, Julio Cortez, is my firstborn nephew. I'm telling you that until three years ago, he was a normal kid in Spain, that I met with the department he worked for, and that he was an undercover agent whose sole intention was to gather evidence against his father, my brother, who had raped his mother and despite my best efforts, found out that Julio was his son. I do not know what he did to him, but the Julio that is in a cell at the moment does not resemble the boy I knew one iota. *There's a flutter to his voice and expression as he fumbles over the word 'resemble', thinking of the young child he'd met, the toddler in the dance studio, playing jungle gym on the barre.  
  
Max was staring.*  
  
I'm telling you that Gustav, *now he holds out a folder,* might become soon aware or aware already, that his own safe houses are compromised. Given his predilection to both despise and yet make silently complicit myself, this is a list and comprehensive breakdown of all of my own resources, which he might steal.

I am telling you, Brackner, that I have not been aware of my brother's actions as he has been almost singularly devoted to keeping me in the dark in this pitifully destructive attempt to one-up me, but that I will tell you, a judge, and the Minister -- all that I have discovered the past month. For I do not, foremost, any longer consider Gustav Roswell my brother.

 **Max:** *He yanks the folder out of his hand the moment it was explained, but he couldn't bring himself to look at it -- for it required lowering his gaze from Roswell's. He was listening hard, so hard he thought he might have broken his ears -- he must, have broken his ears, for Kevan had just said multiple things that made him feel...sorry, for him as much as angry. Trying to keep his breath steady, he tries not to blink with the subsequent revelations as each world makes him tense, and tenser, with this peculiar mix between regret, pity and anger.* ...which is?

 **Kevan:** *Mostly, he was grateful that Max was not saying a word of the judgement that was clear in his eyes. He nods.* That it is my belief that Gustav is, and has been for over a decade, a Death Eater of growing strength, until now he is at the top. That he is responsible for the attack in Hogsmeade, that he orchestrated the Gala and used my wife to do it. That he had Miss Tudor kidnapped, Mr. Stuart mauled, and Miss Simmons killed. And--

 **Max:** *Incredulous, gruff scoff,* And? That's not enough?

 **Kevan:** *Ignoring that, because he's still speaking firmly, his hand sliding into his pocket and balling into a fist.* And I'm telling you that I'm sorry.

 **Max:** *Well. Fuck him. That shut him up.*

 **Kevan:** Nine and a half years ago, I lied to you.

 **Max:** *Immediately, his spine goes rigid, his jawline strikes hard at the air.*

 **Kevan:** The morning of July 27th, 2018, you came to me, in grief and asked -- which is, by the way, putting it politely--

 **Max:** *He shrugs a shoulder, because he still didn't give a fuck (especially if he was about to say what he thought he was), but he couldn't give another reaction because things like movement and words require breath.*

 **Kevan:** \-- you asked me if I was aware where my brother was the former night. I lied to you, Maximillion. I lied, because I was lied to, and because I wanted to believe him. *He breathes out, momentarily surprised and struck dumb as he sees the tears pearling in the corners of Brackner's eyes. What did he do with that? Every other line in the man was red, angry, tense and drawn -- that he could deal with better.*

 **Max:** *Like bloody graveyard quiet,* He wasn't with you.

 **Kevan:** *Slowly, he shakes his head without dropping his gaze or blinking away,* He was not with me until later in the evening. *He hears Max's hiss.* Judging by his attitude and in light of these present-day revelations, as well as...of course, our particular family history--

 **Max:** *Gruff, caught between blind rage and bitter hopelessness,* Just say it.

 **Kevan:** I believe he killed Harper.

 **Max:** *He grits his teeth, a harsh heavy smack-him of a breath catching behind them like he was biting a bullet. To Max it was as if he took a depressing dive in the sea of knowledge, swam and struggled for breath (for life), for miles and years and an age in the dark -- only to abruptly emerge now, be pulled out, and be somehow completely dry.* Nice of you to join the real world, Kevan. Only took forty years. *Breathe in, and out. He speaks in a twisted mockery of a smile,* Pretty sure that's a record for you Roswells.

 **Kevan:** *He snorts. Expectations were useless things but honestly, even he had somehow known Brackner would say some twisted, bitter joke first. Insert whichever Brackner it was here.* Well, Brackners should know something about familial loyalty above all. I was protecting my family.

 **Max:** Bullshit. *He snaps, gripping white-knuckled around his little manilla lexicon of evidence against Gustav. Then he brandishes it as if to make his point.* You were protecting yourself.

 **Kevan:** He was my brother.

Max; He murdered mine!  
*It came out in a gasp, like the lid off a can or that mentos-Coke experimrnt thing. The tear still shining in the edge of his eye, Max slaps it away. His voice was a highstrung gravelly burst, as if a violin was snapping according to his jabbing at the air pointer-finger as a baton.*

 **Kevan:** I know. *Now Max composes a bass drum in Kevan. At least until his hand curls into a fist, making Kevan tense.*

 **Max:** I ought to hit you.

 **Kevan:** *He breathes.*

 **Max:** *Just as soon as his fist and lip stop trembling with his fury,* I ought to lay you out.

 **Kevan:** I'm sorry.

 **Max:** That doesn't mean shit to me.

 **Kevan:** *He snorts and slowly cocks an eyebrow at him, but he speaks flat and expressionless because it was all he knew to do.* You can hit me, Brackner, but it'll waste time I could be using to let me clean up my brother's mess.

 **Max:** *Hissing and caught as he suddenly hears his own words. Oh sure, Kevan didn't know that but he snaps anyways,* Don't. You don't get to say that.

 **Kevan:** *He blinks, but decides that in the interest of keeping from a public brawl, he only acquiesces with a nod to say instead,* Will you give that folder to the Minister?

 **Max:** As opposed to what? *He pauses, and then laughs at Kevan's head tilt-a forced, bitter, twisted thing but it was a laugh,* You think I'll use it myself?

 **Kevan:** *Steadily, his voice still low,* I would prefer to know if you're tracking him down, yes.

 **Max:** That's not how I work. *High-eyebrowed, but he shakes his head with another little gasp-laugh,* I, don't disregard the law and I don't act as some fucking renegade lone wolf.

 **Kevan:** *Far from insulting him, why did that seem to make it easier to breathe? He nods, trying to clear the discomforting realization that even after everything he would still prefer he nod have to find his little brother in a ditch somewhere.*

 **Max:** *Damn near pacing now, he stuffs pointer-finger away as he hears his mother's words, because no: he was not pointing three fingers at himself, he was not responsible for this! That's not to say. *He stills though, a scary chill in his laugh as he adds,* If I see Gustav.

 **Kevan:** I know.

 **Max:** I will rip him apart.

 **Kevan:** I said, I knew. *With a little sigh that goes unnoticed as Max snaps again.*

 **Max:** I still fucking get to say it!

 **Kevan:** *Calmly, with a thin, somber jawline.* I was trying to prevent you from giving me explicit knowledge. You going to jail wouldn't help anyone. Least of all Lyndsea and Alcott--

 **Max:** You say either of their names again, and I -will- lay you out.

 **Kevan:** *He grits his teeth, counting all the way to twenty before he answers the rude fist, with an honest, quiet admittance.* I am, sorry.

 **Max:** It still doesn't mean shit to me.

 **Kevan:** *Quietly, he nods as he's taking steps back,* I know that too. *He gestured to the folder.* Give that to the Minister, Maximillion.

 **Max:** *His eyes squint together as he nods and then he calls out, even as it sticks in his own throat.* Kevan.

 **Kevan:** *After a steadying exhale, he spins and pops an eyebrow as a way of asking "you called?"*

 **Max:** *Low, as he's still calming struggling shivers in his spine and aches in his balled fist which was dying to hit someone,* ...thank you, for telling me.

 **Kevan:** *There's a flicker in his face that's...unnatural to him; like he was close to an honest smile made of regret but couldn't reach it. Instead, he just nods.* You know, there is one thing I...haven't figured.

 **Max:** I'm sure it's not only one. *He doesn't have Kevan's problem, smirking instantly even as his eyes were heavy.*

 **Kevan:** From what I remember, Harper was incredibly... secretive, when it came to his experiments -- and yet. *He shrugs a shoulder, curious.* Nadia seems to have been suffering under one of them, and then his son breaks it? *He tilts his head, asking curiously,* Any idea who else knew what Harper did? I mean, there's Brandin, obviously...*But he just trails off, seeing Max's rapidly changing expression.*

 **Max:** *Slowly, nodding so slowly, but now his smirk was softening as he considers it.* Oh, they didn't exchange confidential information like that. *With a tiny laugh, fondly as he remembers their little competitions and exhales, looking back up.*

 **Kevan:** Right. *His own word was distant, like he was a lot farther away than just down the hall, and then nods. He was realizing...slowly, that Max had a strange look. He shrugs, because he decides just not to intrude, as that was just the least he could do. Exhaling, he nods again and turns around, walking away.*

 **Max:** *He watches him go, but he...doesn't, as he feels like he's having one of those slow-dawning realizations even as it hit him all at once; like a floating loading bar over his head hit 100% but processing was still a floating needle between 40-60%. Kevan was right (there was a thought he didn't want to ever have again), it was strange that Angel could have known Alcott could break it. Yes, his nephew had bragged over the summer he could understand Harper's research, but trusting a sixteen year old kid to do that? And if Nadia was basically programmed to reveal information to guide an attack the moment it broke than Alcott was wrong--Angel wasn't luring them their to kill them, unless all of this information was wrong...no, he was luring them there to break the organization apart.

And if fucking Roswell had been at the manor that day and now was being betrayed...and Angel could cast his memory charms...if they'd stolen his wand...and there was the fact he was referred to as "the genius", not to mention of course that Angel was obviously a fake name, a joke of some kind, and--oh for fucks sakes, Angels played the harp, didn't they?  
  
He snorts, an honest if disbelieving wide and soft smile on his lips as he rubs at his eyes and thanks God no one had heard that horrific bubble sound in his throat.  
"...oh, you little shit, you didn't."

 

****{ &}  
** **

**Alcott:** ...You have got to be-  
 **Eliza:** *Her eyebrow arches and he changes mid-word*-  
 **Alcott:** -kidding me.  
 **Eliza** : I'm not.  
 **Alcott:** Eliza, seriously, I'm not-  
 **Eliza:** Oh for the love of God, Al, you're a werewolf who can transform on cue, and you're nervous of a few --  
 **Alcott:** _Chains?_  
 **Eliza:** I can break out of these. *Pulling it down, she rattles down to the cusp, puts it around her wrist, grits her back teeth. Alcott's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head at her - his hand had come up and flutters uselessly down to his side. She tugs, and then unlocks it with a finger snap.* See?  
 **Alcott:** ...Hot.  
 **Eliza:** Al.  
 **Alcott:** *Smirking, his hands go up as if to say he's only human, you can't blame me here I'm just saying.  
 **Eliza:** *Throws the cuffs at him,* Come on, they'll be worse downstairs.  
 **Alcott** : Is that supposed to make me feel better?  
 **Eliza:** It's supposed to be the truth, so you'll be prepared.  
 **Alcott:** I'm moved by your overwhelming confidence and showers of support, Eliza.  
 **Eliza:** If, *she holds her hands to her hip,* you're scared of fake handcuffs, how am I supposed to be confident you'll be --  
 **Alcott:** *Loud snaps the chain on, and smirks at her,* And the showers of support?  
 **Eliza:** *Snorts, smirking* Ask Hols.  
 **Alcott:** *Tiniest pause, flickers of concern on his face.*  
 **Eliza** : ...what? *Her good humor falls in that second as she thinks: what if they'd broken up while she was .. away? What if she'd inadvertently hurt him? How..much had changed, considering it..felt like for her it was just that small measure of "the entire world"? He cuts off her further complaints, words idle.*  
 **Alcott:** She's just not picking up her mobile. Not sure why.  
 **Eliza:** *Brightly,* But you know how to work one now.  
 **Alcott:** *Cocks eyebrow and tilts head,* Yes I do. *Putting the other cuff on.* And this is relevant because...  
 **Eliza:** I...uh. Might have called you. Once.  
 **Alcott:** *He freezes in surprise and looks up, eyes amber.* What?  
 **Eliza** : *Both hands go up,* I have a new phone! But I had your number memorized so I called but I couldn't say anything because -- well --  
 **Alcott** : Well is not a reason! Well is a completely unsatisfactory reason!  
 **Eliza** : Would you have believed me? *Her hand goes out, like she was with one of the D'Grey boys right at that moment.*  
 **Alcott:** *Beat.* Probably not.  
 **Eliza:** *snorts, echoing,* Probably.  
 **Alcott:** Still. You could have tried.  
 **Eliza:** They were listening, Al, no I couldn't have.  
 **Alcott:** So your intention here was just to -  
 **Eliza:** Give you another reason to want to hurt them, yup.  
 **Alcott:** *Matter of fact, hanging his hands up and rattling the chain,* In that case, two O's for you, luv. *leans over and kisses her cheek,* And for future reference that would have made a lovely opening from you.  
 **Eliza:** Duly noted. *She chuckled, pretending her heart hadn't skipped a sudden beat at the proximity and rubs at her cheek, pretending to take his kiss and hold it over her heart. Then she winked.* All right! Ready?  
 **Alcott:** Yeah, but maybe you want to tell me what the plan actually is?  
 **Eliza:** *Blinks in surprise and then nods with her usual smirk,* Right, sorry. So we'll go down together. If anyone questions it, which likely only two will and one of them we want, to question it -- the story's just that you saw me in Paris, cornered me and I decided it was more valuable to the organization to take you, than kill you.  
*She says this so matter of fact that a chill slips down her spine, hearing her own cold logic. It was answered by a flash in Alcott's gaze, amber across his brown.* What?  
 **Alcott:** *Nipping the tip of his tongue, he shrugs.* Nothing, you just.. *But seeing a sudden caution in her gaze, something that makes him think of the word "regret", he says instead,* you could try to kill me.  
 **Eliza:** *Cheekily, brightening at once she reaches over and wraps her hands around the chain, tugging on it.* I won sweetheart, but you want a rematch let me know any day.

 

 

{*}

**Tony:** Hello evil mistress of the darkness, how may I be of service to you today? *holding his phone to his ear and then making a face at Stef and pointing at the phone to indicate who the target of his displeasure actually is.*

 **Gina** : *smirks over the phone and then leans back against the wall as she watches her captive slowly rouse only to realize he's in chains* Hello, Tone. Need you to do some babysitting for me.

 **Tony** : Pass. *He rolls his eyes and then rubs his forehead to move away the frown lines because he knew there was little chance of getting out of this.* I'm a bit tied up at the moment.

 **Gina:** *She laughs* What a coincidence. So is my new pet.

 **Tony:** *He grits his teeth together and then looks up at the underground ceiling. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three- one thousand.*

 **Gina:** Baby, I really do insist. I've got some hunting to do, need my little pair together you see, and I need you to watch out for this one.

 **Tony:** Get somebody else.

 **Gina:** Oh they're on their way. *She tilts her head and then 'aaahs'* In fact, they've just arrived. But see they usually tend to have a little problem um...well, behaving. And I really do need to keep this one alive.

 **Tony** : *He exhales now* Yes, because my head count on keeping people alive is just so high compared to the opposite. *Dryly.*

 **Gina:** You'll want to keep this one alive baby. *Singsongs* It's someone you knooow.

 **Tony:** *Stiffens, narrowing his eyes* Who?

 **Gina** : *clicks her tongue* No, that's no fun. Come here and find out.

 **Tony** : *He grits his teeth an d then looks back to Stef, pursing his lips and then answers quickly with his gaze still on Stef* I'll be there.

 **Gina:** Splendid, Tone. I'll send you the address. See you later. And by the way, baby? Happy birthday. *She gives him a loud smooch and then hangs up.*

 **Tony:** Cazzo! *He rips the phone away from his ear and stuffs down his pockets, exhaling and looking back at Stef.* I've got to go.  
  
 **Stefanie:** That phone rings at most inopportune moments. *She had observed when it first rang, pulling away and releasing the bottom..er, half, of Tony's shirt. The day had been thus far, absolutely wonderful (honestly, Tony's Nonna was permanently Olenna from now on in her mind, which was a compliment of the highest order); so, naturally, because they were them, the phone would ring now. Crinkling her nose up to mirror Tony's face of displeasure that he makes at her, she nonetheless knew her heart was skipping all kinds of beats that were probably necessary for..something.  
  
By the time he was off the phone, she'd figured out that he was leaving. Her eyes were hard with her own displeasure (and maybe because the stony gaze prevented her from showing an odd sadness she felt), but releasing her tongue (fuck, ow, she'd been chewing on it and hadn't even noticed), she nods.* I figured that out. *It was sweet - reaching for playful, as she re-tangles her fingertips in his shirt and leans in to him. Her mouth is open in a half moon, eyes cast down, like she had been about to kiss him and suddenly forgot where she was and who she was as she asks quieter,* Who was that?  
  
 **Tony:** I know. *He sighed, nodding and biting on his lower lip.* I said that mostly for me, otherwise I won't be able to get myself out of here. *He draws back into her like a moth drawn to a flame, watching her through heavy eyelids as she leaned back in towards him.  
  
His mouth went dry at her question, his throat ceasing to be coated in saliva and instead coated in venomous bile that threatened to choke him. Truthfully, if she had kissed him he might have either hung on to her for life and refused to go or...well, no, that was the only option.* Gina. *His eyes narrow* Second in command, she's got a huge lady-boner for me. *Or rather him in pain.* I feel the rainbows disappearing before my very eyes.  
  
Stefanie: *She blinks, because she knew that name from Hans. Yet she knows she doesn't want to remember why, so her painted eyelashes barely shield her gaze from his and still she refuses to blink again.* Oh does she? *Her heart skipped a beat again.* Shall I come with and kick her ass then?  
  
*Crumpling the fabric between her fingers she doesn't move, closer or far away, simply breathes in his air as candles flicker behind them. The catacombs of Rome went on for miles of pink stone, dusty and broken pieces of elegant architecture, an atmosphere thick with the romance of darkness. Stefanie breathes out, and nods again,* I love that you just...told me. *Well, she did. It was one of the things she liked most about him, however contrary it might be when one considered the things he actually had to tell her.* What does she want?  
  
 **Tony:** *He chuckled, and licked his lips not being able to deny the fact that the image of Stefanie kicking that smug smirk off that bitch's face (and he said bitch amiably) was one he enjoyed thoroughly. Unfortunately, or maybe it was fortunately, logic returned.* As much as I'd love to see that, I'll have to decline.  
  
*After all, he wouldn't deliberately put her in danger like that. Even if she already was in danger, alright he should say further danger. He nodded at her little comment, smiling and then shrugging.* Like I've said, I've told you pretty much everything. *He licked his lips again before answering the other question.* Babysitting. *He scoffed* How she put it anyways. Look after a prisoner while she's gone. *It certainly wasn't the worst he had been asked to do.*  
  
 **Stefanie:** *As Tony licked his lips she thought, blissfully, of nothing else but it's taste (and the fact that she was sure he was cleaning off more of her lip-gloss than anything else). The moment was fleeting, as everything, but she'd always been one for the hummingbird heartbeats.* I figured that too, *she reveals half in a tease,* might give your cover away Jon Snow, but thought I'd give you the image anyway.  
  
*Tony was probably the only person she didn't mind (okay, as much, she still minded) acting to protect her - especially from what she'd been told about this "organization" (a kind way to put it). Still, she nods, nose wrinkling at his last instruction, sighing heavily.* Right. Well, that isn't...as bad as it could have been. *She wasn't sure why she said that aloud; was she trying to make him feel better or her? Still, she casts another hooded glance around the catacombs and finds herself smirking as it occurs to her,* Damn, though. Find an underground spring, and we could easily make this the wilding pass...go looking for Gendel's children.  
  
*This time the sigh was mostly for show, more enjoying that image than anything else of the last ten minutes. That, seemed to remind her of herself, and she leans in to kiss him - hard, pushing them both against the wall, shadowed as they move away from the torchlight. When she finally releases his mouth she teases,* I don't want t' leave this cave,* she murmurs near his lips,* Not ever. But...  
  
*Her eyes flicker open now, barely lit by the fires they're near, but she says sincerely,* we'll find another rainbow, Antonio, *her hair tosses over her shoulder as she mutters near his lips still,* Or just make our own.  
  
 **Tony:** *This woman had a clear highway right to what made him tick. As she called him The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch (Tony liked titles) and spoke of that underground spring Jon and Ygritte had found, he had to restrain a groan but not the smirk that came upon his lips.*  
  
I already gave you a Lord's kiss though so, at least there's that. *He smirks again and then his lips part to accept hers as she closes the gap between their mouths for a hard kiss. With his arms wrapped around her waist he held her closer as he breathed her in, trying to imprint on himself how it felt so that he had something happy and warm to hold on to up there on the real world. One more day. They would take them down.  
  
Pulling back, he brought a hand up to cup her face, breath falling on her lips as hers did the same. He watches her eyes open, the firelight making it seem like flames dancing on top of the glassy ocean surface. He licks his lips again, licking hers in the process because she was still so close, and then gives her a quick kiss.*  
  
I like that plan.  
  
 **Stefanie:** *The arm he squeezes around her waist and embraces her with provided the -best- leverage she thought she'd ever had to playing wall-gymnastics and for a moment she was certainly tempted. Especially as he reminded her of a certain capital-K Kiss that has her knees shivering and mouth crushing to his harder. When they finally break apart she chases his tongue with hers and focuses a few, fleeting and wonderful moments on just the dance between them, the feel of him around her.  
  
Then she lifts her hand to hiss on her cheek, tangles their fingers and murmurs,* Go, Tony. *She slipped into the voice she did sometimes, when he called her Mistress.*  
  
I, am going to find a few dragons, and then I'll come find you. Try to stay away from knifes in the dark though, *she mumbles, kisses just his bottom lip and knows she'll wonder later how she ever stops enough to pull away,* I don't know what I'd do.  
  
*That was as much of an admission as she could give, because it was 100%, entirely true. Her free hand falls to the arm he has around her and she steps back as soon as he lets her, a small smile on her lips and eyes wide. Her hand goes to her hip as she adds, trying to find as many things as she can think of for him to picture,* Seriously though, dragons, my dress, that woman's going down. They all are.  
  
 **Tony:** *That might have been the only thing able of making him leave and then at the exact same moment, leave his feet wanting to dig themselves into the ground so he wouldn't have to. The way she said it left no room to argue however. He pursed his lips and then nodded slowly after scrunching his eyes together for a moment though they opened again as she revealed she'd come find him after.  
  
His lips flickered into a small smirk though they quickly softened as she followed another small kiss with her wish for his safe return, in simpler words than he could ever think.* Your words, my will, Mistress.  
  
*He takes his arm back from around her waist and again she provides him with glorious images as she pulls back. Walking away from the wall, he chuckles now in agreement.* Of course they will, I'm Azor Ahai reborn. *He smirks now again before the phone buzzes in his pocket as a reminder. Mentally cursing that woman, he's itching to touch Stef again, instead he settles for meeting her gaze before speaking honestly.* As far as I'm concerned...today ends now. So that I can be able to say that today's been...one of the happiest days of my life.  
  
*He swallows on his still dry throat instead of clearing it out and then smiles.* By your leave, khaleesi. *He makes a bow and straightens up with a wink before disapparating with a pop.*

 

 

{*}

When he hung the phone up, Hans had to spend a few moments changing his ringtone. He ignores that there's a natural upturn in his lips: when he smiled, Hans chose every aspect of it, the size, the purpose behind it. Even the bare threat of a smile for happiness' sake hid a beast behind the Cheshire that might tear him apart.

A silver nozzle greets him upon arrival, and Hans breaks into a wide chuckle.

"I'm honored." He says easily to the gun, knowing who held it. "To experience the famous Lynn Rivers hospitality."

Lynn doesn't flinch as she retorts, "You shouldn't listen to Alcott."  
Hans chuckled again, hands going behind his back, grasping his wrist as he cocks his head, meeting her gaze. Hearing the uptick in Ansel's heart, he speaks preemptively: "It's all right." Without breaking her gaze, he tells Ansel to go; he's gratified to be obeyed in an instant as much as he is irritated he should be relieved by it.

Lynn's eyes were hazel, he notices, changing with the afternoon sun as it reaches it's apex. They're dark now. She's holding a gun, this girl who had never taken a life, and neither her wrist shakes nor her gaze give away anything but a killer's instinct. A rare quality, the optimists want him to believe, but one too familiar to Hans.

"Is he wrong, when you've greeted me thus?"

"Don't move." There was a click. The barrel of the gun snaps in the telltale arc of loading. Hans only steps closer to the nozzle, until it rests on a forehead. For all her bravado, the girl seemed to have forgotten one important fact.

"Has no-one read the entire pamphlet then, Liasons with Murderers?"

"What?" Lynn interrupts even though she knows he wasn't being serious, having every intention of defeating his rhythm Hols had made it clear to her: he prides himself on his banter. A small quirk lifts her lips from his missed beat.

"A head-shot won't kill me, luv."

"It'll still hurt like a bitch."

Ah. Hans lifts an eyebrow, making it clear: he already knows what he wishes to say next. If Lynn truly wants to fight him on the matter of words (an interesting prospect), she didn't think he would be so easily put off beat, did she? Oh, honey. Hans was born off-kilter.  
They were in the middle of a field; a grey-green, truly dreary little English pasture outside Diagon. Ansel hadn't left her side until Hans arrived: now his brother went to a traditional toast, before a hunt. The excitement in Ansel's own demeanor had put his little friend here fully out-of-patience, he sees easily. Amusing. He laughs, though only too himself.

She was busy wasting time. Biting down on his lip in amusement as he watches her, his ears swivel. This she must notice, for as he discerns the fidget in her left hand, she speaks again.

"What's so funny?" It's a demand. And ah. There it is again. Her hand was flicking, thumb to palm, like she's clutching something.

Hans smirks, and now he steps to the side, feeling the cool breeze as the gun turns to follow him. His words were matter of fact.

"Well, darling. I was just thinking how often it is, and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, that you and your little friends..." He stops his slow circle to cock his head back at her, relishing her moment of unease. "...have called me a monster?"

Lynn pulls on the top of weapon she's leveled at his eyebrows. Click-snap and cock. Safety's off. A crimson glint in his eyes answers her, but as the butt of the gun had moved, he took that as a nod. Ah, see: he was the monster to them. A grin of pointed teeth appears as he resumes his slow circle. Lynn revolves on the spot. Clever girl, she would not give him her back.

"You admit, though, that you intend to shoot me not to get away "

"I'm not running away from you."

Hans pricks his tongue on his teeth's tip.

"To be sure. You're not afraid " But again, she interrupts him, her hand fidgeting in that peculiar, telling way. Her right, on the gun, doesn't move.

"I didn't say that."

Hans cocks an eyebrow, as sharp a gesture as her gun.

"I'd be an idiot not to be afraid, of the big bad wolf." She continues. The sarcastic retort was truthful, Hans saw that at once. Intriguing. Yet, what a shame. Another who hates him on principle, while being entirely unaware what his principles were.

"Of course," he wiggles the raised eyebrow at her, then gestures at her hand, "which is why you're still here, with the ingredient I need -- "

She palms the vial again, so tightly Hans can taste the sweet tang of the sweat it clings to.  
"--with not intention of shooting to kill me."

Lynn's eyebrows wrinkle and in a flash, he's behind her. She adjusted impressively fast: her heartbeat staccato, breath steady albeit heady and quick, but her grip unwavering on either vial or weapon. He takes neither wrist, only breathes against her ear, tickling the back of her neck, a heated whisper stroking the shell. "But you'll still shoot to hurt me. You want to see me in pain, little Red?" He curls a strand of scarlet around his index finger - then tugs. Sharp. Her hair fills with his low chuckle. It was the laugh of a killer in the dark; the laugh of a young boy watching ants burn under a magnifying glass. As she catches her breath on her tongue, she buries the tip behind barred teeth before he can inhale her shiver. "You want to see me writhing on the ground," he hisses, quite casual, "...fighting for breath, begging for mercy, cradling a head of holes while my blood and brains splatter your pretty designer shoes?"

"Yes." Lynn would not be deterred, though she could not know he was thinking: been there, done that.

Hans laughs again, but this time the sound rings differently. This was the laugh given when one has nothing else left to do, when you've cried to numb. Though there is still something of a young boy about it.

"And I'm the monster?" He asks, suddenly in front of her, hands deep in his pocket once more, casual as you like.

"You tried to kill my brother." Lynn snaps certain, eyes narrow.

"You tried to kill my sister."

In that instant, all amusement was gone from them both: real or imagined. In that moment, they loathe each other in low, mutual growls. Hans imagines with scarlet satisfaction how she'd look with her heart in his hand. Surprised, he imagines, then horrified. There would be an instant before death set in that she has to register who snatched it from her chest. Then she'd fall, like a marionette cut. Like Rachelle had. No doubt, Lynn's imagining shooting him.

But then --

"Which is why, if we're even, I want to make a deal." Lynn says, and holds up the moon-glitter vial without any reverence, entirely unaware she holds his holy grail.  
Hans laughs, but it sticks in his throat.

"A deal?"

They'd make it: a promise to stay out of each other's lives and business, to help the other just this once. He tells her the fight would be at Notre Dame (ah, if he could reveal that, it might already be underway). And now, he knew why she had the ingredient, why she would have summoned it to meet with him.

"You see." Lynn lowers the gun an inch, smirk wide, like she knew: she'd got him.

"Rachelle talked a lot about Angel. This man who...was a genius, who'd invented the potion that lets you turn, did it all for his wife and son. I'll admit." Her hair flips over her shoulder, hand holding her hip. "I'm not the greatest fan of his son."

She holds up to him the vial of moon-glitter.

"But I owe him one, really, maybe two. Without him, I couldn't have captured Rachelle," Lynn smirks, eyes lit up. She takes a step forward. "I'd have been thrown in a cell." Another step. "Whipped." Another. "Tortured."

"Get to the point, luv." Hans eyes are on the vial, knowing how easily she could smash it.

"So I figure." Lynn stops in front of him, plucking his wrist up, and holding the vial over his open palm.

"Least I can do, is make sure this ingredient," she slaps it down, "does get to Harper Brackner."

 

{*}

"How much far-- "  
  
Well, _ow._ An echoing crack rings out across the hall. Chains rattle as his hand leaps to his face, pushes calloused fingers around a red burn as it appears. Incensed faster than he is confused, he lifts a hand to strike her back before wincing. Eliza tugged on the chains she'd told him were fake one more time. As if he needed reminding that she'd lied.  
  
Rule one, apparently. This Eliza - (*The Death Eater*, Alcott reminds himself and tries not to wince) - had no problem lying. Nor hitting him.  
  
"I said I'd take you down." This Eliza answers his question as she forces them to turn down a corridor. The inner halls were beginning to all look alike to him: fake windows, thick carpets on stone, billowing torches. She sounds bored. "Didn't say you could talk on the way."  
  
"That's not your call."  
  
The high laugh he gets in response chills him, and he finds himself too busy scrutinizing her as they walk to say another word. Eliza walks with a Catwalk strut, bound together in leather and lace, teetering on heels he realizes double as knives. It made the act easier, sure, but...Alcott would be happier when she took it off.  
  
Actually, he'd be happier with a lot of things. However necessary this was, however much he knew that the role he was playing (not that she'd told him specifically who he was drawing out besides "the leader") was central to both survival and success -- he'd still not been pleased to leave his father behind. Yes, he knew his father's genius was going to be needed elsewhere. No, he really didn't want to be there when he and his mother saw each other and jumped each other's bones right there in the middle of a freaking battle. But he'd just got his father back. Leaving him at all? Just add it to the list of the fucking-unfair things his small family had to deal with.  
  
Eliza's blowing by a man who'd spent far too much time at Candyland. Alcott's eyes widen to take him in, and before he thinks better of it, he's spoken.  
  
"What's with the Walrus?"  
  
Two things happen very quickly: the Walrus snaps at him with tusks, and Eliza breaks them off. Or, rather, she broke teeth when she hit his jaw.  
  
"Oi," She's ignoring him, speaking to Walrus, "Another step, and I'll break something a lot more precious to you, Maurice. Ignore  the pup, I'm still house-training him."  
  
That's too far. Alcott goes to speak, but Eliza merely twirls the cuffs, he lets out a sudden hiss of pain and realizes why they were painful. Fuck i--Eliza had put _silver_ handcuffs on him? He licks both his dry lips hard with a spongey-soft tongue, like the revelations were striking too fast to stomach. Walrus (yeah, Al didn't care he'd heard his real name) hisses something in an odd dialect -- oh, French probably, or Walrus-language -- and Eliza returns in kind. Was Eliza certain that "something much more precious" hadn't been taken already? Seriously, this man's voice was high.  
  
He hears the name "Roswell"; that seems to shut the guard up. They exchange fast and angry words and then Eliza's tugging on the cuffs again. He nearly stumbles down the steps, steps that look so endless and dark he's pretty sure abruptly he knew where Dante had been inspired.  
  
"I'm not your _pet_ " Alcott snaps when they're a good distance away, and doesn't stop to think if he was acting or not. He didn't need to, see, to ask, "What the hell happened to you, Eliza?"  
  
Eliza stops. The lack of her heels echoing in the stairway frightens him, even as he tries to listen to her heartbeat, her breath, something, anything that would prove to him this was an act. The hand not on his chains falls to her hips, and she spins to him.  
  
There's a softness in her gaze, so he thinks about asking what she'd told the man whose jaw she broke to let him by. (Why would he be 'so important' to a Roswell? Shouldn't she have said Hans name? And where was that bastard, anyway? Wasn't he meant to be helping them too?) He thinks about asking her if her phone had gone off too -- if Dev, Nadia, Rory, Sienna, Uncle Max, Ma -- Aunt Selene, her partners -- if they were *there.* But the softness falls as she says, "You already answered the question."  
  
What the hell happened to her?  
  
That. Hell. Alcott decides he won't ask if she was acting later.  
  
"Now keep up, or I'll drag you. Sooner you're there, the sooner I get to play."  
  
(He already knew the answer.)

 

 

 

{*}

"All I can say," Ansel rolls his neck to crick as he pours shot one, then shot two in the same graceful sweep of his wrist, "is it's about time we have a proper hunt. Don't you think," lifting her the shot, "dah-ling?"  
  
Somehow Rachelle had been successfully managing to keep away from conversations such as this one in the mere 24 hours since she had returned, if it had even been that long. Her brothers and sisters longed to get her out on the hunt to work out her anger.  
  
But Rachelle also felt tested, challenged, by Allison especially since the moment she promised Alcott she wouldn't seek retribution against his friends for what they'd done to her. The whole pack had heard that.  
  
She wouldn't mind clawing the heart of a few specific people, the urge was still there, the animal instinct didn't go away. Rachelle just felt more hesitant than before against who in particular. The couple in Hogsmeade that she and Hans had run down for instance, the thought of doing that again didn't excite as she knew it would have weeks ago.  
  
The next hunt, as it was, would be against the Death Eaters. Arriving at Hans' castle (it figured) after the run when she joined them again, her brother had told him everything about the deal he'd struck with Angel. Angel who was actually Harper Brackner, the husband Lyndsea thought she'd lost a decade ago. The urge to let the woman know immediately was won over by the fact she wouldn't be believed. A revelation such as that could only be had face to face.  
  
Then, Rachelle buzzed with excitement over the fact that they were leaving the Death Eaters. Some of the pack didn't mind the association, but the majority were in consensus; they wanted out and Rachelle was no different. If anything, she was probably the most enthused; as her anger dissipated against Alcott and his friends, it quickly took a new host. No, she wouldn't mind hunting them down at all.  
  
Rachelle took the offered shot glass happily, licking her lips in anticipation and then clinking it softly against Ansel's with a grin.  
  
"Been too long. Santé."  
  
"Salute." The moment they clinked them together, his eyes flash grey with excitement. Throwing back the shot faster than anyone but his family could have caught, as was their tradition, he welcomed the burn without wasting a gasp.  
  
Lowering the shot glass and twisting the cap back on, he remarked casually, "Glad to see you're looking forward to it too."  
  
She swallowed the drink with gusto, licking her lips after an appreciative sigh.  
  
"I think the correct term's 'eager'," She smirked briefly.  
  
Squeezing her hand back gratefully, that makes him chuckle honestly. "Also a good word."  
  
Grinning, he had to admit: he felt the same. Overtly, actually. The Death Eaters had been a bane of his existence for too long--this time his grey-eyes was a flash of gleeful vengeance. These were the bastards who said She'd been less-than-a-person. Betraying them was a particular personal joy.  
  
Lifting his gaze, his eyes were kind with honest concern and affection now. "I know we haven't...much time. But I...really missed you, sister."  
  
Her smirk gesture softened into a kinder smile as he expressed having missed her. She leaned to take his hand and squeeze it briefly, "I did too."  
  
Ansel squeezes back, eyes locked on hers. He was trying to measure...what would be best for Rachelle. Well, best for all of his family, but she was a member of renown. The first sister he ever had, actually.  
  
Quiet exhale. "Been a lot going on. You know...Stef's been here?"  
  
A lot going on, yeah so she'd heard. Rachelle nodded once as he brought up Stefanie. Irene had said so, and Rachelle's first instinct had been to wonder how Hans was taking it. And yet it was Ansel who brought her up first. Rachelle almost laughed at how unsurprised she truly was. Rachelle had met Hans' sister once or twice, and she liked the younger Ricard. Rachelle never got the impression the feeling was mutual though; that memory did make her smile briefly but it didn't last. She exhaled as well before tilting her head.  
  
"Yeah I heard she stuck around after the Gala." She questions 'casually', "Did her highness bother apologizing?"  
  
He adjusts the button on his jacket, smirk lifting in amusement at her title. It fit Stefanie...and brought to mind the tiara he put on her once.  
  
"I wouldn't have accepted if she had."  
  
He says instead. Stefanie, apologize? He tilts his head, drumming his fingers like dancing horses on the rim of his bottle.  
  
And thank God, she almost said out loud before seeing the buried hurt in his eyes. Ha, he'd kick her if she said that out loud as well, but it was there. Maybe not for anyone to see, or for himself either but it was there. That was the thing about their family, they all had...so much. So they buried it like a bone, the pun was intentional, and focused on each other, on the pack.  
  
There was a frown on his lips as he looks past Rachelle.  
  
"She started seeing the younger D'Grey, you see. After accosting me at the Gala, spilling secrets..."  
  
The bottle was open before he realized it, and then rubs at the back of his lips after a quick swig. As he drops his gaze to the curled, golden label he adds,voice weighted.  
  
"She'd had the champagne... I gave her the antidote, but I couldn't stay...so I put her, in his arms, isn't that irony for you?," He chuckles, warm even, but no one would believe it.  
  
"Figured he couldn't do anything against his brother. So he fucked her instead."    
  
He swigs, and offers the bottle to her, shrugging it off.  
  
The info on Antonio was new to Rachelle. Olivier had mentioned him all of once in the time she'd known him, and Rachelle had met him briefly at the start of the Gala. If she hadn't had worked to do, she would have probably gotten to know him a lot better.  
  
Ansel had reached for the bottle after closing it. The intent was only to have one drink, but one drink was never just one.  
  
"Dear, what a Cupid you make."  
  
"Touché, my dah-ling." He says it quickly, but with honest delight.  
  
She took the bottle from him after he swigged and shrugged, but poured her shot in the glass instead, and another in his glass as well, for whoever reached for it first but she knew it'd likely be him.  
  
"So they're fucking. That's pretty much a French 'hello'." She smirked briefly, trying to tease but let it drift off when she saw something behind those beautiful green eyes of his.  
  
"Not just fucking."  
  
He and Rachelle were the only two in the pack who genuinely called Paris home. Or had, as the city of love had long become nostalgia-based alone. It was where the pack was, that was his home, but that was sickeningly maudlin to say, wasn't it? Besides, it wasn't the city he missed. (But that was definitely too maudlin...and sick. That too. What right did he who did the murder have to mourn?)  
  
She did have a point though, his sister. Hand slapping at his thigh, he turns so she might not be able to read his expression so easily (as if there were chance of that; Rachelle knew him much too well.).  
  
"Evidently not, as according to D'Grey, they're both in Rome right now." He reached for the glass she'd poured him, smirk playing across his lips.  
  
"They have me to thank for that too-she only called him again to stick it to me, see. Always did think cupid was a little bugger, but what right could I have to call myself Parisian if I did not encourage such?"  
  
And down the drink, but he turns from that now too. Dangerous, he thinks. Dangerous, though alcohol was hardly his poison of choice, had never been problematic. His eyes narrow...but his voice softens a tad, knowing it wasn't just their brother who had suffered.  
  
"Antonio told her. What Hans went through."  
  
He looks sideways at his sister, eyes clouded. "But you're right-and anyway, why should I care? Was certainly how I said hello at the Gala to her myself."  
  
Ansel winks, but Rachelle doesn't believe it. She knew him too well. As he takes another shot, he presses his lips together and tries not to think: _That might be a problem._

 

 {&}

She looks at him with quiet brown eyes, sitting against a window, arms wrapped around her knees, hair unkempt. He thinks she's mocking those who keep her here, mocking all those stories that present the mentally sick as worn-out, dirty psychopaths, too obsessed with themselves to even clean their hair. (And that didn't mention withdrawal, which he knew she would have had to go through). It was the kind of thing Victoria would do, but when he meets her gaze, he doesn't see insanity. He sees knowledge. Mocking, she might be he thinks, but he knows there's some truth to her wild tales. It's the damndest thing. He knows her too well.  
  
"Well, go on." Victoria tells him on a throat parched. It fits her. The last year he'd watched as she fell apart, been a victim of her machinations (the guilt burns in his gut). Now her voice quenched of warmth mirrors her hazy gaze, echo the bruised little girl who thought vengeance alone would bring her more than emptiness.  
  
"Go on?" Devin asks, even though he knows what she means already.  
  
"Laugh." Victoria commands.  
  
"Vicki."  
  
Devin's voice cuts and whatever the command in her tone, she was the one who listened to herself. As her laugh bubbles on his ears, he tries not to think that was typical. He tries not to think it was his fault, but her laughter sticks to his ears, coats pink flesh in soapy residue.  
  
When he doesn't laugh, she's compelled to explain her own 'joke.' Oh Vic, he wants to say, if you have to do that it had never been funny at all -- but he won't. She knew that already.  
  
"Oh, it's Vicki now?" Her voice was high and bitter.  
  
"Would you prefer Victoria?"  
  
"Why not just call me 'Whore'? Or Drug-Slut? Or sorry, I can't think of others, I never was as clever as Al."  
  
"That isn't -- "  
  
Devin struggles with a frown and he comes further into the room, fiddling with the mobile he'd snuck by all those bright colored "no phones allowed" signs with hand-drawn cartoons. The hospital was papered in them. The long term coma ward in Mungos was the same, he remembers. It was Victoria who drugged Sienna to poison him; she was the reason he nearly spent his life in surrounded by such drawings. Considering that, why didn't he feel more triumphant now?  
  
Victoria stiffens when he comes closer, then her eyes flicker to the phone. Devin follows her gaze, thumb stopping immediately on the antennae. It was a nervous habit at the moment: he was waiting for a text from Nadia, waiting for Lynn to bloody call back and explain what she was doing with a werewolf from that pack -- waiting for Alcott to tell him he'd made contact. (He didn't hold his breath that Sienna would text to tell him how to get in; Eliza hadn't taught her how to use the mobile).  
  
His eyes glint with the reminder and he changes tact mid-sentence.  
  
"If you think the masochist act is going to garner sympathy with me -- " Folding his arms over his chest, he moves closer anyway, " -- then, sorry Vic, I'm not moved."  
  
Devin lies, but it's a necessary lie. Victoria was wearing nothing but a camisole and baggy pyjama bottoms, plaid, barefoot. The loose curls were tickled by a revolving fan in the room; there were locks on the window. The truth was she did look so pitiful here, so small, he couldn't help but see past the selfish, hurtful girl who used his heart like a yo-yo. There was a playful girl at a party once with eyes that still sparkled, the one in a sea of oppressors who'd thought he had value. Truth was, Victoria was vindictive and petty -- drug-addicted and desperate -- but she wasn't evil.  
  
She was broken, and Devin understands that.  
  
"Sam tried to break me too." He says, sitting down. Victoria scoffs, but she looks away from him, those weirdly sharp eyes stuck on the frosted glass like they held all her missing puzzle pieces, like she was so much more than stained. They sat in silence - not comfortable, not uncomfortable precisely, just there. It hangs like a curtain between them, lost in muddled memories until she speaks.  
  
"Sam." She echoes the name reverently, like it was candy-coated and butterfly-adorned -- then bitterly, 'Sam', the sugar sucked out, the bugs squashed to mashed colors on a marble-white sterile floor.  
  
"You think if you try to understand me -"  
  
"I'm not trying to understand you." Devin shakes his head, then thinks better of pointing out it was because he already did. Oh, he knew what it was to have Sam consider you the center of the universe. Desperation borne from loneliness and shame, yeah, he fucking got that.  
  
"You tried to kill me, Vic. Because Sam told you too."  
  
She gripped the window frame, knuckles white, and then drawls, "I didn't know they were attacking you. That wasn't supposed to -- I didn't know that."  
  
Well, he thinks with his mind in that familiar dark place he never wants to go again (something he thinks every time he visits): you bloody should have known better. But hey! At least he was getting answers now.  
  
"No," he snaps, "you just thought they were killing Nadia."  
  
"No." Her head whips around so fast, he thought of a doll breaking. "No one - no one was supposed to die. I was -- they were -- I just wanted you *gone*, all of you, there weren't supposed to be -- I can't remember -- "  
  
"Of course not." Devin snaps. "That's what fucking happens when you're drunk, high, and desperate."  
  
Victoria falls silent, and knocks her head into the wall. He lets her sit there, stewing in her bitterness. Right now, he wants her to hurt. If it hadn't been for her ...  
  
"You should be in prison, Victoria. You should be in a four by eight cell, with a fucking cot -- I tried, you know, I told Sam myself I'd forgive the attack on me if you just let me know where Nadia was -- don't you -see- that this is merciful?" He asks, and then, because he could hear it in his own tone, "The desperate's the worse part." He vaguely remembering feeling something similar, but this isolation, this barrier between them now, he was welcome for. "But even still, -Vic-. I never, -never- tried to hurt -anyone.-"  
  
Her eyes bug out and he thinks she might be about to say -- "you tried to kill Sam" (that was Alcott, and he'd never known he was doing it)  -- but at least she seems to realize the idiocy of that. Victoria chin drops to her knees until she's staring at him, and he can't ignore a tear in her angry eyes that makes him fall silent again.  
  
  
"I never knew." Victoria says softer now, rubbing it out, "I never knew where Nadia went."  
  
"You didn't care."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
Well, that was a bullet in the chest, but he supposed he pulled the trigger himself. He breathes out, and then looks at his phone again. Come on, he thinks as if he can will a message to appear. Nadia, Lynn, Hols - someone, someone let me know...  
  
That reminds him why he was there in the first place though, and it wasn't to get angry. It wasn't to attack her. He wasn't religious, and he didn't pray; this newly shattered world of theirs was going to have to wait for exploration. Maybe Vic could be clean, and happy with herself for once -- for fucking once, and then he wouldn't have to feel so guilty -- but he couldn't let her loss drag him back to that dark place he nearly drowned in. "My Dad said - he said you took all the credit." The sharpness of his words were fading, faster than it had before as he holds her gaze steadily. Her brows furrow with anger but for the first time in a year, he realizes; that self-righteous ire was both justified, and not with him.  
  
"Sam made you take all the credit."  
  
"Clever as always," Victoria mocks in a deadpan voice, eyes piercing his gaze. "Ready for your OWLs are you, Devin? See, didn't matter you missed those weeks of prep..."  
  
Devin ignores this; he knows she's just trying to needle him with minutiae, pull him with her into that abyss of abuse and merciful highs. The one he nearly drowned in the first time. It didn't hurt him now. Shaking his head, he continues, feeling like he was stumbling on to something bigger than he'd first thought coming to see her. Guilt trips were the worst to get over, so he won't let that happen now. This was too important.  
  
"You did everything for him. Poisoned Sienna, hurt Nadia -- and he rewarded you by turning you in for his crimes."  
  
"Who's going to listen to a drug-slut's side of the story, after all?"  
  
"I will." Devin spoke so fast he almost shocked himself. There were thoughts festering in his mind, conspiracies and murder -- no. Not murder, he chides himself. -Dev, wait...- Nadia's voice echoes in his ear, -the person Alcott's making contact with at Notre Dame...Angel...it's his father...  
  
His thumb flicks the antennae so quickly it breaks. Devin doesn't notice.  
  
"You will?" Victoria's voice was scornful, but when he only nods, her face transforms with worn confusion. That wasn't a shock. No one had listened to her in a long time - and he was the first one to blame her for everything. Everything that had been anger with himself.  
  
"I know you, Vic." Devin shrugs. "You dramatize. You make yourself more important, build up on little facts -- but you're not clever enough to wholly invent. This wasn't you."  
  
"Oh-" she stands so quickly he stiffens, starts an attack, starts to go to slap him, " - do, you? You think you know -everything-, Devin, don't you?"  
  
He slices her attack off with a blow to her gut.  
  
"I kissed you."  
  
Another silence falls as a penny drops, as glass shatters, as blood falls from the open wound. Victoria just looks, searching in her gaze. Searching for some ghost, some memory that wasn't even real, some illusion of grandeur, some knowledge of being loved. He stands too, palms sweating and moving closer to her.  
  
"In the forest." As he continues, he thinks he wants to break something but knows -- knows he has to think rationally at the moment. "I was high. I was drunk. I was miserable. I was desperate, so I kissed you."  
  
The tears shining in her wide, glassy eyes threaten to fall but in the first moment of respect for Victoria he's had for nearly a year -- she doesn't let them fall. Just nods, nods and nods like he was confirming something -- and maybe he was -- but she needs to know more.  
  
"You didn't invent anything, Victoria. You dramatized it, and you took that knowledge to hurt the person who means most to me. And when I called you on it, you hurt her again. Only this time --"  
  
He takes another step forward, all warmth gone from his tone as his voice hardens, "This time, you told Sam to do it. You told Sam to hurt her. You grabbed her, handed her over to the fucking Death Eaters." His finger comes up and jabs at his chest. "You used her." Now he jabs her chest. "And they abused her. She lost her memories, she spent weeks in a cell -- "  
  
"Stop." Victoria's voice was shaking and he realizes, there was honest fear in her voice.  
  
Well, good.  
  
"Oh, am I frightening you?" Now it's his laugh that's sick and soapy, hanging on the curtain he was pulling back. "You're looking at the door behind me," and she was, "at the window -- looking to escape, Vic? Can't use your drugs now to do it. All you've got here is me -- and let me tell you something."  
  
"Stop it, Dev--"  
  
"I *am* a Stuart, and the Minister's son. No one's going to come save you. Maybe now you have some idea the hell," he strikes her chest again, "that you put Nadia through. For what?! A scrap of attention from a monster who kept you addicted to drugs? Who called you Eliza when he fucked you? Because that's who he really wanted, you know. But hey! At least you had an excuse. At least -- "  
  
 "What do you want me to say? Yes, I did it? Yes, I was an idiot, and a drug-slut, and desperate, and I hurt her, and I'm fucking sorry for it?! Would it make a difference? What do you want to hear?!" Victoria screeched it, and it gives him a second to pause.

Because he didn't know. He didn't know, until he sees the look in her eyes as he adds, "You did all that, and you're living here for Sam -- and what does he get?! What does he get from -- "  
  
And then he knew.  
  
"Wait. Eliza -- "  
  
Victoria slaps him. He lets her. Right now, he doesn't care. Especially as the nurses come back in, start fighting to get her back into the cot. Hand holding his red cheek, Devin hears another penny drop. Angel was Harper Brackner...he wasn't dead, all these years they thought he was...  
  
He knew, he knew, he knew.  
  
"Eliza's alive." He says to no-one in particular, "She's alive, and Sam turned you in for her."  
  
"It's the damndest thing." Victoria mocks, telling him he's right.  
  
Devin is ignored by three orderlies and one exasperated receptionist. The only one who seems to hear him is Victoria; she scowls with eyes filled with the accusation that he was right, and then turns away from him, laying stationary on the bed. Oh, he could sing.  
  
And then his phone rings. Devin hears Lynn's voice in his ear, and scurries out of the hospital, floating on the glares and angry jabs at the signs. Cartoon cellphones smile with him.

 

 

{*}

The cathedral, at the very least the lower parts of it, their lair, was in a buzz over the acquirement of a new prisoner. Gustav himself had not authorized any new prisoners, and several of his higher ranking 'officers' for a lack of a better word had authority to bring whomever they felt was well suited.  
  
It wasn't one of them that brought the prisoner, however. Young Eliza Culpeper had managed to reign in a prisoner of her own. It was only the identity of the prisoner, relayed to him by his third in command that stifled his original desire to confront her insubordination and he was still debating on it. Not many people knew Angel's real identity but Estbury his third in command was privileged with that knowledge and upon seeing with his own eyes the identity of the prisoner he relayed the information to Gustav immediately. So Gustav made his descent quick and hurried.  
  
It had been the wolf pack's job to bring the boy to him; it was just another matter they had failed to deliver on. How powerful were they really when two girls could do the job they were sent to do? No matter. Ricard would feel his displeasure soon enough.  
  
"Maurice," he spoke up as he reached the entrance to the dungeons. "What can you tell me?"  
  
The brown-skinned half giant snorted and scratched his neck, making him look more troll than giant, before he remarked. "He's got a mouth on him," he began, letting Gustav know the big had made a comment on Maurice's weight. He was lucky to not have a bashed in skull then.  
  
"A familial trait," Gustav remarked with brief distaste before he gestured for Maurice to continue.  
  
"Lil' bitch's got a good handle on him though," he added with a sneer and then shook his head before he stepped aside. "Fuck him up real good, sir."  
  
"Well," he corrected bored but then quickly smirked, "and that's the plan."  
  
Gustav walked down the length of the cavernous dungeons, unaffected by the gripping cold that never saw sunlight, past the rest of the prisoners, the cattle that remained who waited for slaughter; he knew which room the Brackner boy would be held in.  
  
He opened the door, well aware that the boy's enhanced senses would have heard him approaching. The evenly paced steps echoing down the long and winding halls that so many had run from in an attempt to escape, not knowing the possibility of escape was entirely orchestrated.  
  
He reached the door and without turning the knob, pushed it open with his index finger. The heavy wooden door creaked, the hinges worn out with rust and revealed a sight he was all too familiar with. He stared through his horn-rimmed glasses and then smirked briefly. "Alcott, it's been a while."  
  
Oh this was just too sweet, it really was. He stepped further into the room and closed the door ) behind him with a deep thump, locks snapping into place.  
  
Tearing his eyes away, he looked at Eliza now. Gustav knew the reasons that were going around but he wanted to hear it from her himself. The potion wasn't supposed to allow her to extend mercy, then again, this was hardly a mercy. Still, during the first few months of ingesting the potion, it was difficult to convince those who were taking it to spare a life. His own son had disposed of 7 muggleborns in the first week alone and Eliza's body count was only two.  
  
Something of note? Perhaps, but this was her best friend. If there was still some kindness in her he wanted to know so he could squash it.  
  
"Explain."

 

{*}

Walking down the row of pews, D'Grey's finger is still to his lips, tapping, tapping. He's counting on down the line of patrons he goes, each engaged in their own little exchanges. He's counting whose innocent, who he needs to lead to the secret entrances in the back. Lyndsi stays behind him, her arm tight on the forearm of a girl with black hair in a ponytail -- Sienna, he thinks. They were pretending to be mother and daughter, a roll D'Grey thinks they must have done before, they were such naturals at it. He could only let these people in small groups at a time. Harper was on the Eastern facade, doing the same thing.  
  
As much as he knew Lyndsea and Harper would both be upset that she'd come from the western, D'Grey couldn't help but be glad. They'd be distracted by their reunion. Though speaking of distractions --  
  
He chances a glance at his phone, but there's nothing there new. The pack was downstairs already, Daniella was awaiting him, and Hans was en route. Eliza would let him know when Alcott was in place. Sliding the phone back away, he can't help a nervous drum of his fingers against his thighs. _Cazzo,_ he thinks, _Antonio, where are you?_  
  
Perhaps he should be glad his brother wasn't answering: this beautiful holy symbol was about to be desecrated in worse ways than how often it had been already - but the carnage alone would have tempted an out-of-control Tony.  
  
(It was going to tempt him, Olivier knew. That was why Daniella was awaiting him.)  
  
Lyndsea proves she's as observant as her husband when she meets his eyes with sharp, knowing ones of her own. Ah. So, she'd seen him look at his phone. She takes a step toward him, hands behind her back, those bloody eyelashes still going, and he shakes it off with a head shake. They had too many things to focus on. Tony had proved a long time ago he could take care of himself.  
  
They slip past the next corridor, entering the crypts side. There's a line of people here: most idle tourists, but one - oh, one. D'Grey leans casually against the wood near him, eyes lit up. The patrons were with either God, family, man or secret bottle engrossed, and here is where this little unawareness is going to cost you, mates. Turn your back and --  
  
He slips the dagger into Severio's back after only a word in greeting. Holding the man collapsing in his arms, his hand slams over his mouth with one of the priests scarves stuffed in his fist, dousing him as he bleeds out so he couldn't scream. They couldn't sound the alarm just yet: he hadn't received word that Gustav was properly occupied. Sienna gasps, then slams a hand over her mouth, but Lyndsea just watches him with wide, steady eyes.  
  
Down, down, down he goes.  
  
The other tourists don't seem to notice the man who'd been there when they walked in was suddenly stuffed into a closet, but then, no one watches security guards too closely. They turn the corner and were thankfully as ever alone in the small archway that led below on this side. The gall of these disguises rose in D'Grey's throat. Or maybe that was the -- there was blood on his fingers.  
  
The warmth. That's what he always notices first. Past your teeth, over your tongue as if it rolls already down his throat, into his belly. Chokes a little if it flows too quickly; take a breath, pause for a beat, listen to each pulse of the heart.  
  
D'Grey stiffens, rolling back his head to hide the blue calligraphy veins and empty demon eyes stretching, threatening to pull out with his hunger and want. Feeling flesh stiffen, his throat shudders. He wants to revel.  
  
Lyndsea is still staring at him, while Sienna moved quickly to follow the instructions: which stained glass to move into place like a jigsaw Jesus, until the statue they were near shifts. Sienna descends first without a word, wand now out, visage determined. D'Grey holds Lyndsea back, speaks quietly.  
  
"Alcott is already below." He has to shush her at this, for she looks enraged. At least she seems to understand there was nothing to be done besides time to waste if she snaps at him. Still, he squeezes her shoulder. "You're going to find someone else you know too, Lyndsea. I hope it's sooner than later."  
  
She opens her mouth a half inch, rosy lips parting like she wants to ask him something specific - but seems to guess that she shouldn't ask. And then.  
  
"What are you -- D'Grey?!"  
  
Ah. Spotted. D'Grey straightens, puts a finger to his lips and steps back with a nod to Lyndsea. She doesn't turn around, but draws her wand all the same, slowly as you like. As the man behind her was trying to figure out what was going on, why he was watching D'Grey let someone in to their secret haven, he only steps forward, casual.  
  
"That's my name." It's pleasant, his acceptance of the fact, as if he wasn't smirking with the awareness it was far more than his name. In this moment, it was who he was. He picks up the candle-stick in the nearby holster. Toys with tossing the iron back and forth to himself. As the man tries to ask - who Lyndsea was, what he was doing, D'Grey whips his hand out, slams it back into the man's mouth, through teeth to tongue, and what a shame, this ironwork he was holding was exquisite, an antique, and now here it lies splintering this pathetic human throat.  
  
He apologizes, "Mate, go on then, have yourself a good cough -- there we are, that wasn't so hard, was it? Let me just clear that for you."  
  
He yanks back.  
  
The man falls, spits his blood across the holy statue, gurgles and slumps forward. D'Grey he looks up to Lyndsea quickly, face taut as he says, "Go. The alarm's going to be spread."  
  
All she answers with before she flies down the hidden steps is, "It's kill or be killed. Do _not_ treat me like I'm made of glass."  
  
D'Grey chuckles. Kill or be killed.  
  
Here was the problem with that for him: he knew if he enjoys it just a little- if he savors the blood on your tongue and the heat in his throat, if there is a little tug somewhere down deep, a tingling, a yes yes yes more more more, isn't it ok, for just a moment, to indulge this savoring and this heat and this little tugging somewhere down deep- shouldn't he embrace what he is, what he was born to be -- ?  
  
(His phone buzzed again. Ah. In the nick of time, it seemed, Gustav was thoroughly occupied by one new "prisoner" down below. Well, of course he would be - Eliza bringing in Harper's son? Later, perhaps, he'd think how sad it was she'd come up with that plan so easily: how sad it was a sixteen year old girl he knew he cared for could come up with that. Just as Nadia should not have had to be part of this, or --  
  
But these were thoughts for another time.)  
  
D'Grey wipes his hand behind him quickly on the scarf, hidden in the shadows of the archway as he spies a little girl, leading no doubt her father. She came around the corner and stops to let out a high-pitched squeal like only little girls could give.  
  
A riot breaks out near the door, women and men climbing over each other, battering at each other to try and get through the stone arches as people appear - why, as if from thin air? He flashes to block some of their enemies from immediate escape, turns a pew and slams it down to bar the door with the oaken mass the moment the girl and her family were out.  
  
Overhead, bells ring. He could almost hear Tony singing: _sing, the bells, bells, bells, bells, of Notre Dame...now here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame, who is the monster, and who is the man?_  
  
(Except these at the moment were playing the tune " _fr_ _ere jacques_ " weren't they? Oh, Harper Brackner just thinks he's so _clever._ )


	63. You.

**Harpe** r: *'You?!'

The exclaim from Marlon brought a smirk to Harper's face. It had been just a few weeks since he had threatened the man, wiped his memory but left behind the subconscious nagging of how the entire altercation made him feel. The poison slowly and painfully shutting down the Death Eater's organs wasn't the only reason for the sweat on his brow.*

Me. *He stepped forward bringing his wand down, putting all his anger and loathing behind his efforts, with a flash of red, Marlon raising his own wand to block and counter. Stepping sideways, arms raising and slashing the air and scattering the surroundings with deadly spells until finally one found its mark. Marlon's body fell forward, but the head rolled off backwards. The sick sense of satisfaction didn't feel so sick after all.

As the maimed body hit the ground, Harper, breathing heavily, saw Hans finishing his own kill further down the hallway, his eyes the bright red of his wolf.* Thought the pack was staying out of it.

 **Hans** : *Notre Dame smells of clean air and ash and blood all at the same time. There was some screaming, ringing with the bells and echoing through the cathedral, but most tourists and priests had fled already; silencing such warnings that might send Gustav running. Hans sidesteps a curse, clucks his tongue, and shakes his head just a fraction of an inch at the assailant.

A second later he sinks his teeth into their shoulder, rips his hand through their chest and lifts his hand to his mouth to taste their heart. Wiping the blood from his mouth and their skin, he lets them drop with a smile he's practiced too long.

Then he sees Harper. A curl turns his lips up, stalling dark in the pew and tilting his head as he watches the man kill, eyes red (he's sure). Why, Harper, you sly dog (well, perhaps that was more him). Hans was no less dangerous, the line of his shoulders were predatory even as he flicks his nose with a claw returning to a finger. Taking a step, he calls easily, hand dropping into his jeans pocket to curl around that precious, precious ingredient,* Aren't you quite the angel of death now yourself.

*Far from threatening or insulting; he hummed it with a hint of respect as he walks forward. Sidestepping the falling lectern from a wayward spell in another room, he's next to Harper in a flash of speed inhuman. His hand clenches on the vial in his pocket, but outwards, he remarks only,* And let you and D'Grey take all the glory, mate? *His eyes fade back from red to blue,* No chance. Besides, *he taps the nail on the glass, living it to show him without letting go*, you won't be the only one freed today. Provided you are a man of your word after all.

 **Harper:** *It figured that he would have earned more respect from Hans for taking a life than for the countless of ones he had saved. Couldn't exactly say anything against it now could he? Not without being a hypocrite and while that had normally not stopped him, there wasn't time to waste here. They were on the same side for now.

In a blink Hans was next to him, and had the man not taken every available opportunity to show off, that might have been impressive. Now it was routine.* I don't want any glory. I just want them dead.

*After his simple statement he raised his eyebrows and then questioned* So you acquired it then?

 **Hans:** *Dropping the ingredient back into his breast pocket now for safe keeping, the moon dust resting over his heart, he pats it once as he says lightly,* You shouldn't say 'just', mate, least not when it comes to vengeance. When it's over, *he cocks his head, licking his finger tip clean and then smirking, but saying honestly, candid if blunt,* leaves you with nothing else.

*There was a shout quickly silenced from somewhere nearby (well, if he focused he knew precisely the distance away those heartbeats were), but he didn't flinch of move from Harper's gaze. He nods, short.* Acquired, now there's a word that covers all manner of sins really, but yes. *His hand lifts, now clean of blood from his pocket and open-palms as he gestures,* Shall we, then?

 **Harper:** *His eyebrows rise.* Hans if there's one thing you know about me after all these years I hope is that I choose all my words very carefully. My statement stands, though your concern is touching.

*He exhales after keeping from his gritting his teeth and then just takes a moment to let the destruction that was currently under way stand.* Your timing is unfortunate.

 **Hans:** Oh, I would hope I know more than that... *It's a dry little chuckle he offers himself as his hand drops from the air, landing on his heart again and he shakes his head idly as Harper lets their present ...circumstances, sit in (as he was evidently considered deaf and blind). He arches his own eyebrow in return.* I would say my timing is perfect, actually.

*He wasn't going to lie: but the truthful reason didn't have to be...spelled out, per say. With the Death Eaters about to be defunct (that, sounded strange even in his own subconscious, as they had been the better part of his own last twelve years) -- he wanted to be absolutely certain that he could still control his transformation. Not just him, either: he wouldn't let Rachelle go through what she had a month ago either, never again.* Deal's a deal, mate. *He cocks an eyebrow.* Besides. D'Grey mentioned your reunion with your son - *his back teeth grit for a moment* - if he's drawing Roswell out, Al could use the potion now, certainly?

 **Harper:** Mmh, *he tilted his head with a purse of his lips and then shook his head* Not much more. *Was it childish and petulant to say so? Perhaps. Did he give even the smallest shred of a fuck? No, not particularly. Yet the man spoke sense about Alcott, so he relented with a curt nod.* Very well.

 

 

&.

"Oh -no-," Eliza's index finger drags down his collarbone as she murmurs to him, sickly sweet in his ear, "fun's over for now..."  
  
Fun, yeah, that -- but he didn't mind anymore the marks and wrist burns as he sees who'd opened the door. Gustav Roswell. With horn-rimmed glasses.  
  
"You." Alcott hissed first the word, and then from pain as Eliza slapped him. She needed to stop doing that. He didn't care if it was an act, because he knew the wolf inside him didn't care and if he was about to transform, he needed to care about Eliza's life. Even if she kept hitting him.  
  
Which come to think of it--how the hell was she doing that without breaking palm bones? There were more bones in her hand than anywhere else, how could she possibly smack a brick wall and not break anything? Eliza didn't even look fazed. Was she wearing a shield spell? Or was she just...that used to pain?  
  
He shiver at that thought and decides yeah all right fine, for a second he can be quiet. Even in his thoughts. He wouldn't think, he'd just pretend he could lift the wrists she chained to a wall and do a shot from the flask in his back pocket.  
  
"Explain what?" That fake, high, sugary mean-girl voice echoes in the silver cell. Because yes, that's right: the walls were silver. The floor was silver. The chains were. The bars were. Eliza had fucking put him in a cell where one move would poison him. And then she'd taken his shirt off! Not that he usually minded that but Hols wasn't here so what was the fucking point?  
  
(Hols, where. are. you?)  
  
"Thought about killing him," she shrugs, her stilettos echoing on the silver as she steps back, "was going to, actually."  
  
Eliza was looking Roswell, Gustav Roswell, dead in the eye as she continues, "But it was just so much more fun," she bounces now with a smirk, clapping her hands together and winding fingers tight, looking at Alcott with cold, brittle blue eyes, "to pretend I was still the person he knew."  
  
A cold breeze turns hot in his throat and for one moment he thinks with fear it might be true -- before remembering, if Eliza had broken, his Dad wouldn't have let her bring him here.  
  
(Because if his Dad was there, no one could hurt him? Oh Al, he chides mentally, haven't you stopped being six yet?)  
  
"You--"  
  
But Eliza speaks over him, with a warning narrow of her eyes at his chest.  
  
"And then I kind of just - remembered," as if that was just a casual thing, deciding not to end his life, Alcott thinks bitterly as Eliza's gaze turns back on Roswell, "you were looking for him, weren't you? Hans wanted him for some reason, and hey, not my problem." Her elbows jut from her waist as she shrugs again. "I mean, he's pureblood, and a wolf too - you use them, and if Hans wanted him that means you wanted him, since he just does what you say. So, explain what?"  
  
For a second, Alcott sees her swallow tightly and he realizes for all her nonchalant girly bravado - she was scared of this man. He knew Eliza. It didn't matter for that instant what the act was, he wanted to protect her - and he? Oh, he wasn't scared of him.  
  
He didn't look at her, didn't tear his eyes from Gustav as he repeats, " _You."_ His words were quick, and he darts Eliza's hand, too angry in reality to care, "You were there. Nine years ago. I _saw_ you."  
  
"I see," Gustav remarked as he watched her through her explanation. He kept her gaze for an extended moment before turning away from her. There was nothing special in that description, well nothing that varied from the mentality of any one of the other Death Eaters, but one that took rookies some adjusting to.  
  
"I'm certainly glad you didn't kill him dear," he remarked as he looked at Alcott for a brief moment as he remarked seeing him. He'd be with him in a moment; this was all on his own time after all.  
  
"But I will advise you against a repeat," he lifted a finger as he took another step forward. "Unless you want to join the next prisoner in chains." His smile turned from Eliza again this time to survey the young wolf once more.  
  
"That's quite the impressive memory, boy," he remarked after adjusting his glasses, cold blue eyes piercing before he chuckled.  
  
"Forgive me," Gustav said after he composed himself; the words were of course empty of the usual meaning. "I just had a sudden surge of dejá  vu."  
  
A repeat. Eliza stalls a shiver in her toes as she says, "Do you know I can't think of another pureblood werewolf that _would_ be worth repeating with?" The words are followed by her high-pitched dismissive chuckle (and fervent nod and eye-aversion the emphasize she understood) while what she thinks is: a repeat would require you to live past the hour.  
  
He won't, her chilled gaze promises the back of his neck, but she keeps herself still. Gustav hadn't dismissed her; she wouldn't be able to leave until he had. Besides, the longer they were there, the better he'd be distracted. Her hand slips behind her into her pocket, silently pressing the smartphone 'send' button while Gustav faced Al.  
  
"Yeah, I know." Alcott smirked, "I'm gifted."  
  
She tries not to snort, hand freed already from her skirt's hidden pocket. Then she drops her hand to dangle behind her, seamlessly, letting Olivier know - ' _Go_.'  
  
"Dejá vu?" Alcott's brows furrow together and he sniffs up, chest puffed out. "You know what? I don't care -- there isn't a thing in the world that could make me forgive you."  
  
It was easy not to snort when she thought about how angry she was.  Alcott's smirk was more impressive than his memory.  
  
"So I've heard." With as much modesty as Harper used to possess. Gustav could already picture the look on the man's face once he brought him here to see what his precious son had become. He could hardly wait to begin!  
  
"Fortunately, I don't need your forgiveness, Alcott," he stepped forward just one more step and then clasped his hands together on front of his lap.  
  
"It doesn't eliminate my desire to help you." That brought a smile of genuine amusement to his lips.  
  
"The silver potion has run out by now, hasn't it?"

 

 

&.

**Harper:** *He began walking without a second glance towards his room, dealing with any Death Eaters they came across. Reaching his room, he walked towards the small cauldron, the silver potion bubbling inside. He held his hand out for the ingredient and finally looked up afterwards.* How much were you able to get?

 **Hans** : *He cocks an eyebrow as he responds equally petulant and childish,* Until recently there wasn't much to know, mate. *Of Angel, any way and after all-- ever since he'd learned he was Harper, it wasn't like the man was all that deep. He had basic wants and needs (mostly centering on the wife and son), limited (by circumstance) hobbies...and as everyone from here to Japan knew well by now, he was brilliant.

On the other hand, Hans cocks his head as they move through the halls: watching him cast and realizing slowly, the different gag spells were clearly lifted, and perhaps...he wasn't as easily figured out after all: damn, the man could cast. Hans didn't have to--well, he did intercept one spell, aimed at the back of Harper's head, but it was as much (aha) 'guard-dogging' as he'd had to do in the end.*

Impressive. *He comments idly, mirth in his blue eyes. The room they entered, Hans was mildly surprised to see nothing packed (the photos and research anyways); clearly the attack plan took him by surprise as well. Hans watches a spell burn on his forearm healing before he answers, calm and steady,* Twenty-three milligrams. Your friend Brandin seemed to have need of seven for some blasted time travel device. *He holds it up to Harper, asking lightly,* Are all geniuses infuriating?

 **Harper:** *Oh he'd never been happier to hear Brandin had gotten the upper hand over by having already used that ingredient. Not that he would say it out loud, especially not to the man.* Its in the job description. *He countered just as lightly.

Harper took the bag of the ingredient from Hans' outstretched hand, before reminding him.* I'll make it stretch for as many as I can, but don't hold your breath for more than 5.

*This needed to be precise. Like the waning and waxing of the moon, he had stir once for every 24 hours, starting from the new moon, until he reached the full moon. With the stir that coincided with the full moon, he added the moon glitter. The potion bubbled, dark smoke rising before dissipating quickly enough.

He put the potion to a simmer, grabbing the necessary herbs that always needed to be added at the very end. Turning the asphodel into paste in the mortar, he added that last. Then the stirring began again, counterclockwise, almost as a book end of sorts to keep the potion stable and in constant cycle, like the lycanthropy itself, never ending.

With another trail of smoke rising, the amount of potion left was less than what had been in the cauldron. He knew it would be, that excess would evaporate or be burned away by the moon glitter. Though the ingredient had been a grey powder, not luminous in the slightest, it be gave the usual silver color a subtle glow.*

It has to cool naturally, then I'll divide it into the vials. *He finally looks up from the intense focus he had paid the potion to look at Hans.* Then you're free. You and your favorites at least.

 **Hans:** *He chuckles under his breath, nodding his head as if to say 'point', but fell silent as he watched the man work, lest he interrupt his concentration and ruin the only available substance of the planet. It was a subtle art, potion-making: one he'd never had much patience for, having first always had access to Wolfsbane in other methods and then of course, Harper took over.* And your son.

*He says that first. The fact that he would be free the same day that Harper would be was, honestly, for the best in that regard: he knew damn well that whatever might be said now, Alcott and the man had no interest in providing him with another vial of this potion, let alone the entire pack. The thought that there could only be four of them to take it (plus Alcott, naturally) was leaving his chest cold: Zach, Melissa, and Frank deserved control as much as any of them. The simple fact of the matter was that there was an...order to the pack, and whatever ended up happening, Alcott even as a pup was never the omega: that was Frank (or Zach, it depended on the month, the pair never did stop challenging each other).

Rachelle was his sister, first and foremost, not to mention he...owed her, after letting her down for so long: Ansel, similarly, was his second, his right hand man, the first person he'd ever bitten. Allison was plain crazy, he knew that (liked it), but honestly, if you asked Hans, the reason she consistently was unchallenged had nothing to do with her sanity or the order she was bitten. It was the fact that Allison, simply, had a heart when it came to victims. Sometimes, Hans thought, she was human more than any of them.

"Favorites", though? Hans grit his teeth at the remark, eyes flashing red for a moment and then shaking his head a fraction of an inch.* I don't have favorite siblings, Harper. We have an order, to maintain peace: that's all there is to it. When four of us have taken this potion, our first priority must be obtaining Wolfsbane and a safe location, far away from here, for their transformations.

*He breathes out, but he's calm now whatever the fights he knew still were loud overhead (he couldn't hear them, which meant Gustav couldn't, so it was all right). He was just looking at Harper, hands in his pockets as he adds quietly,* Rachelle has mentioned more than once, how thankful she is to your wife. *Only to him, he knew, and perhaps maybe she'd told Ansel as well -- but he wasn't sure. (Ansel...the next few days were going to be difficult, he already could tell). Pulling away from the table, Hans leaned against the shelf, arms folded on his chest and remarking calmly,* If you'd be so kind to pass her, and my own, gratitude along, I'd be very appreciative.

*A hand lifts, he rubs hard over his face and lets an awkward, heavy kind of silence fall: the air felt thick for reasons that had nothing to do with the simmering cauldron or heavy smoke. When his hand drops, he hadn't looked away from Harper; his expression almost contemplative.* You know, I do understand, *his lips were twisted wry*, why it is you loathe me -- honestly, I do. It's just...a damn shame, mate. And I'm sorry, for any of my actions that put your family at risk -- that was never my intention. I did think Al needed help -- do, to an extent. *He shrugs a shoulder, and adds still calmly,* And - if you were wondering - I don't know who bit him, but it wasn't anyone of us. I was sixteen when I was bitten, Harper. *He squeezes his shoulders, shakes his head and says very simply,* I wouldn't do that to a kid.

 **Harper** : *Good, he didn't need to remind the bloke then. Harper appreciated that Hans seemed like he was going to uphold his part of the deal after all. But seemed and would do were two entirely different concepts, and until the moment Alcott received the potion, Harper would not be able to breathe easily.

As Hans replied to his comment with the fact that the pack had an order, Harper had to admit a genuine curiosity for the social structure of werewolves. For they were human but nearly all sought out a pack (of course because they also felt ostracized from the rest of society) and in that pack animal instinct took over the human understanding of government. People called them sired or brainwashed for following the words of 'alpha' but that was their natural way. But alphas didn't stay in power forever. And after the rest of the pack learned that a few, regardless of order, would have the permanent potion and the rest would never have it again (he'd make sure of it), Harper knew that the phrase 'the claws will come out' had never been more accurate.

At the mention of Rachelle he looked up again from the desk. Alcott had mentioned Rachelle as well. It seemed he had come to respect and understand the young woman. He believed her made of something different than the rest of her 'siblings'. And if she was expressing gratitude for his wife, his heart both stopped and never had worked so hard, maybe that was the truth after all. Harper couldn't trust Hans' word but he could trust Alcott's judgement.* I'll tell her. *He would tell her everything and a message from Hans wasn't the priority but eventually, he would tell her. That he could soon tell her everything made him grow anxious and excited.*

Do you? *That he remarked with a hint of amusement. He wasn't even sure if Harper would describe it as hate anymore. Just a month or so ago he had imagined killing the man with the same move that he had killed Marlon and it wasn't because 'he had put his family at risk' for if Harper truly believed that, he'd kill the man still. The object of Eliza's growing affection notwithstanding.

He could believe that in some way Harper didn't understand (a miracle) that Hans wanted to help, could even believe the man knew nothing about who bit his son, but the last sentence was all evidence to the contrary.* I heard one of your brothers bit a 16 year old boy at Hogsmeade. And he'll need as much help from you as my son does- none of it. You teach kids to become monsters and disregard human life, Hans, to live an entirely selfish life without taking responsibility or care about who they hurt cause that's what you taught yourself.

You're not an alpha, you're just a bully. And everyone hates a bully. *He shrugs* That's why I hate you, did it match up to your own belief?

 **Hans:** *There was a dry chuckle in his throat as Harper first echoed in, and it puts thoughts of the fact he'd inform Lyndsea out of his mind. Well, perhaps he did not know the personal reason from Harper; he just...well, he happened to know the reason someone -would-, intimately. The mention of the attack on Hogsmeade makes his eyebrow arch, and he finds his lips tightening in the smirk, his hands clenching behind his back. Then he arches an eyebrow.* I confess, it did not entirely. Entirely selfish? I'm selective, not exclusive. You are right though, in the end it turned out that Alcott did not need my help -- or yours, however much that, *he nods to the cooling cauldron*, might make things easier. He might have, as others have -- but see, however cruel life has been to him, it has been immeasurably worse to others. And here I feel oddly compelled to point out that I was actually not present in Hogsmeade, too... *He laughs dryly, shrug as small as Harper's was. Wasn't that funny? Why should he care what Harper thought?*

Ah yes, of course, the sanctity of humanity, *the scoff buries in his throat, rolling his eyes,* how dare I tarnish that platter of silver. *Aha, oh, silver. Poisonous, wasn't it? That amused him. Still, his voice was idle, as he was speaking honestly and hadn't moved.* Harper, *with a head tilt, a tiny smile on his lips,* you are quite a wonder, aren't you? Was it animal nature or humanity that deprived you of your freedom the last decade? See, it occurs to me that if it were the former than I would have every intention of subduing you myself - *he takes a step forward, but only that,* right now, as others have already pointed out to me I should, to ensure the continued supply, and after all. *Hans smirk cocks.* Our deal only was in reference to this potion: neither of us our bound by it the moment we take that. *He stares, searching deeply in his eyes, the growl in his throat echoing, reverberating deep with his hum.*

What a duel that would be... *Harper wasn't easy prey (he knew that, he understood that), but he'd long learned to make himself as invincible as Harper was: it would be, he thinks as the beast in his chest stirs with excitement, a match of ages. A clash of hero and villain; the likes of which were close to the titans. There's a red glint in his eyes, and then he cocks his head, shakes it and steps back. His eyes have faded to blue.* Yet...I think not. Your inventions, great as they are, have been used as by this organization: a true waste. My own abilities were similarly engineered. We even share, I believe, the creator, our *he chuckles now, hands coming up and reaching towards the ceiling as if to indicate the cathedral or heaven,* our patron goddess, hm? Laura.

*What flashes across his gaze was not red this time, but deeper blue and he ignored it as much as he had the first. Another chuckle comes out of his throat,* Our lot was once the same, Harper, but you know me no more than I know you. Monstrosity is as much in the eye of the beholder as beauty, you know, the latter is just the more optimistic saying.

But of course. *He shrugs to himself, lifting a shoulder, grin wide and head shaking as he gestures up and down Harper,* You are the better man.

 **Harper:** No, he doesn't need it. *He agreed easily, happily even, with pride slipping in to lace his tone. Meeting his son after all these years was still in the front of his mind. As was what Alcott had told him.* But he wants it, beyond just the potion. *It was a happiness which he didn't quite now what to do with just at that moment.*

No I suppose you weren't. *That did not mean he was absent of fault and that's what bothered him the most. Well, of them anyways.* I didn't say animal nature, I said monster. A monster is a human invention, a human term. Animal would be too kind a word for you, as there is no difference in my eyes between the Death Eaters and you.

*That was, until the step Hans had taken forward eliciting a smirk from Harper, was taken back again. For a moment he almost wanted the man to try. To give him just one reason. But he didn't. Hans merely commented on the nature of the duel if it ever occurred. It very well still could: he wasn't a seer.*

She's here, you know. *He didn't know what to say besides that. Harper wasn't born or created anew by Laura.* We might not know each other but she knows us both from the ah, lot we shared. *An understatement to be sure.* I imagine you much better than I.

*He picked up a dropper then, bringing his gaze back down to the potion that had begun to cool and began to transfer over the potion in the test tubes on the rack, stoppering them when he was finished. The potion filled up five, like he had promised.* I don't know about being the better man, but I am the better looking one. Scars and all. *He pushed the vials towards him, looking up.* And I am the least repulsive but I suppose that depends on the beholder as well.

 **Hans:** Father and son both...look out world. *What began as a mock turned oddly genuine as he speaks pleasantly.* Most sons do. *It slips through his lips before he thinks, his hand leaping instantly to rest over his slow-beating heart as he says idly,* So I've been told.

*The only help, he had ever wanted from his father, was a will to offer directions on how he should be buried--and the man hadn't even done that properly. Hans hand dropped, going to idly flick over to the books. A nail digs into the green-spine...but all he does it straighten the pile. His jaw had clicked at the first mention; as he mutters under his rolling breath, chin quavering under it,* Why Harper, you couldn't possibly be calling me too human, could you?

*Gaze lifting from over the top of his nose, like he'd put invisible spectacles on, he lingers straightening the pile and letting the moment sit there. If animal was too good for him and monster a human invention--well then.

Then he stills. His eyes glint. Throat revolves, the name of hers stuck deep within it. And he sighs, a long moment later to straighten up.* Yes, I surmised she might be. Laura is, *he chuckles without mirth at the moment of irony,* not one to break promises. *His hand drops, leaning over to snatch the potions up. No different than the Death Eaters? Hans grits his teeth at the insult, but makes no other comment beyond,* Well, you showed me.

*He nods, resolutely, with blinking away, and then starts slipping the vials in his breast pocket. Until Rachelle had it, until Ansel and Allison did, it was not something he'd do on his own. Let that stand as a difference for Harper; if he was living an entirely selfish life, would he have cared? As he straightens his collar and fixes the length of his sleeve, he shakes his head correcting quietly.* She did. She thinks so does-not unlike yourself.

*He drops his hands back behind him, cuffs his risk as he swallowed a growl. A wide smirk crossed below blue eyes hooded,* Yet as I recall, if we have agreed upon any one thing, it is that after today we both are free, yes? *A brow arches as he shrugs, stepping back.* Laura doesn't know me at all.

*And then--almost suddenly, he finds himself laughing honestly, a lighter smirk playing on his lips as he remarked easily,* Ah, well, you do wear your scars well, mate -- a talent most do not share, I'll grant.

 **Harper** : *How unremarkably expected that Hans should have father issues. Then again, seemed everyone and their brother was suffering from some form of abandonment and neglect issues. Children having to grow up too soon and not have enough time to be children, or they were dying. War made orphans of us all.*

No, not too human, just all the bad parts. That must take some great effort. *There was something human in Hans when he mentioned Laura's name, a flash of indescribable emotion and then it was gone. Better that way actually, Harper had enough on his mind. He was right though, ghastly thing to admit to even in his own head- Laura did come back just as she had always meant to.*

But unlike myself she actually seems to care while I couldn't give a rat's arse. *Not about these death eaters at least, and not about the pack, no matter their beginnings.* So it seems only fitting that you know even less about her. *Tilts his head* Can't say I'll miss these bizarre relationships. Definitely won't miss you in fact *he slips his hands in his pockets* if I never see your face again it'll be all too soon.

*He shrugs it away and then is once more far less serious as he replies* Very few possess my numerous talents, Hans. It's not easy being this perfect. *There was a pause before he took his hands out again* Now, if you don't mind, I have a date to get to.

 

 

&.

Alcott was trying very hard not to think.  
  
He could hear the remarks -- Rivers would gasp her faked shock, Hols would be brilliant and sarcastic (he loved that), Devin would chuckle and say "too easy." His Dad...he didn't know what his Dad would do, because of this bastard mocking him right now, because he'd taken him --  
  
Was it any wonder he was having difficulty not thinking?  
  
His brows furrow as he scoffs when Roswell walked closer. Eliza was just standing there now, huffing a blond hair (straight, her hair was so straight it was eerie) away from her, but otherwise apparently refusing to move.  
  
At the question he frowns, but only briefly as he points out, "Yeah, and so much for friends having a refill -- you're just going to stand there, Liza?" He calls over the asshole's shoulder, not breaking eye contact with him, "You aren't dismissed, is that it? And you're calling  _me_ the pup right now?"  
  
Eliza just laughs, but it's chilled, lacking any amusement and barely containing breath. Alcott bites down on his tongue as he looks at Roswell. He shuffles his feet, wanting to rip the chains from the wall, scourge the man with the flames in his chest, burn him alive. Hissing under his breath with heat, Al's eyes flash amber with his words.  
  
"You're deluded, as well as psychopathic, if you think I'm willing to bow and scrape to the man who killed my father for some silver drug."  
  
His eyes flash, and honestly, he doesn't need to act at all now. He was looking at the horned-rims on the glasses, the watch, the shoes-- it had been him. He was certain. This man - too kind of a word - hurt his father.  
  
"The only thing I'm going to do to you," Alcott promises without pausing for breath, jaw clicking, "is pull your spine out through your teeth, one vertebrae at a time. So go on. Offer me the silver potion, I'm _dying_ to have it now. Or - " he smirks, stilling, and realizing he hadn't felt the silver burn his hands this time as he moved forward," hold on wait - my bad,  _you're_ dying for that."  
  
Eliza scoffed over his shoulder again and he adds as false-cheery as she was, "Never could resist a bad pun."  
  
Gustav remained quiet throughout his entire little speech. The boy certainly could talk though that was expected and therefore unsurprising. It didn't stop it from being any less annoying, like an insistent fly buzzing around his ear.  
  
Rather than responding to any of those statements directly, he chuckled as well and remarked casually. "How remarkably like your father you truly are, Alcott. I wonder if in the end, you'll beg for mercy on your knees like he did." Gustav shrugged and then stepped backwards and sideways to look at Eliza.

"Damn straight. Thank you," Brimming with macho-pride and breathing hard, his voice remains low as he snarks mid-smirk that clearly reads 'i know something you don't', "Greatest compliment I could be given."  
  
Eliza was breathy as she snapped first, "Shut up", in french and quick, rocking back on her heels.

  
Her gaze was darting along the lines of the small cell, as if looking for an escape. Then she goes still, allowing a note of confusion in her voice as she asked Roswell,  
  
"What are you talking about? His father's dead." Blunt, she lets those words swipe through the air, a cudgel in silver poison. Alcott cut over that just to add his own bulleted, "And he didn't beg. Gifted memory, remember?"

Alcott chuckles with no mirth. He's rocking on his heels, blood fire in his veins, head pounding with a heavy heart. Twisting his body, ignoring the rippling chains, his head swims sideways through the air as he took a step towards Gustav when the man retreated. For all the loose arrows and flickers, for all his tense, manacled self -- his words were light as feathers.  
  
"He told you he expected flowers and chocolates next time. Blinded one of your men. And to get the fuck out of our house. And you listened to him. You disappeared the moment they attacked, you ran away," he spits on the floor, smirking as his chin lifts, eyes flashing, "like the coward you are."  
  
Dad wasn't dead either, Alcott longs to exclaim, but he goes stiff abruptly like the request was unexpected. His eyes dart to Eliza, but she didn't look at him. (He was glad, it would have given it away).  
  
"Eliza, he seems desperate for your attention. Please, indulge him," Gustav extended his hand out to motion to the boy. The girl might not care about him any longer, but he knew better than to expect this teenager to dismiss a girl he had mourned for weeks and loved for longer.  
  
"Show me what we've taught you." His meaning was plain.  
  
"Really?" Eliza lets fake-excitement color her voice, a smirk twisting up her lips and hands clapping together. Alcott lets himself draw back a step, arms held spread-eagled in the air and wrists alight, rubbing salt in wounds as he snaps, "The hell are you--"  
  
But Eliza didn't wait; she didn't even wait for confirmation. She struts past Gustav, just lifts her wand and whips her arm down. Scarlet streaks appear on his chest, torn there and Alcott hisses as convincing as he could, gritting down on his teeth. They grind and jab into his chapped mouth before she lifts her wand again, and smirks at him.

&.

**Olivier:** *The burn lessened the moment he appears, abrupt in the middle of the alley, but his hand stays glued to his throat and eyes shut anyway. Breathing in and out, he finds himself praying (ha) that Tony was not in the headquarters. The temptation was choking. He shouldn't be though--his brother was in Rome, he hadn't picked up his phone, and then of course...Alcott threw them into the plan without double-checking with him, and now there was no time.   
  
Frankly, he'd rather like Tony and Stefanie to stay in Rome. He'd deal later with Tony angry for not being able to get a punch in --better than his brother being in the middle of bloodshed when he was already so on edge.  
  
Olivier breathes out, nods to himself and then walks around to the side-entrance, intending on finding Daniella so they might hand her two over to the sheriff. When he sees the display before him, he blinks. Idle, he leans against one of the shelves, arms folded and says lightly,* I take it, then, it's good that I did not bring the sheriff with me.  
  
 **Daniella:** *One eye peeked open while her nose and the side of her lips screw up with it. She was resting on her knees in the middle of the circle they'd drawn in chalk, hands on her thighs--but at that she chuckles, squeals and gets up again.* Took you long enough.  
  
 **Olivier:** *His head tilts, his eyebrow lifts, as he gives her one of what she's decreed many "patented sassy D'Grey smirks."* I was a bit hung up by an old friend, I apologize.  
  
 **Daniella:** *She pauses walking at that, her hand goes to her hip.* ...just don't say you stopped for a drink.   
  
**Olivier:** *Swallowing an abrupt an honest chuckle before he chokes, he shakes his head.* Ah, no darling, you know I wouldn't have left you out then.  
  
 **Daniella:** *After leaning to kiss his cheek, she pauses, beginning indignantly,* Left me-*ou-*  
  
 **Olivier:** Dani, don't be rude-- it seems, *over top of her,* you've brought a friend as well--Mi dispacie cara, I've neglected to introduce myself. *he smiles and moves towards her, hand out,* Olivier D'Grey.   
  
**Amalie:** *She was deeply immersed in her grandmother's tome when the door swung open, her heartbeat skyrocketing before she realized Daniella knew him. No doubt one of the brothers she'd been talking about, the ones that were able to hand Daniella this information. She closed the book and set it on one of the crates before moving forward, waiting patiently for their little...inside jokes and flirting to subside.  
  
And Italian too? Oh Daniella. She smiled taking a step forward and let it be evidence of her amazingness that his last name didn't make her falter in her smile, step or shaking his hand (though her eyebrows did rise, that she couldn't help nor the look she threw her friend).* Amalie Avenier. I would say pleasure but *they had Death Eaters chained up though was the least of it wasn't it?* this situation is not very pleasant.  
  
*Idly* Daniella neglected to mention she was dating a crime lord. *She looked at Dani now, with a small smirk and then lifted her fingers* That's two. *Strikes, she meant. And that was generous!*  
  
 **Olivier:** *There were three main ways people reacted to his last name (all of them the reason that Tony neglected it and he was often sure to say it). Panic was the most frequent -- falters, breath skips, eyes darting around. Less frequent (and less all the time, if he had his way, and he usually does), but still often enough to be common was anger--anger over some past grievance they weren't aware he likely had no involvement in. The last was attraction, an abrupt flash of delight in their recognition with a smirk, before they began either attempting to seduce him (with sex, money, other favors). That was his preferred reaction, for reasons obvious. Hey, he was only human. (Well...)  
  
Ms. Amalie Avenier did none of them; she didn't falter, hiss, or smirk. Yet it was obvious she recognized it, in her blink and look-to-her-friend. As much a puzzle as Daniella then--well, it would explain their friendship. Olivier smiles, lifting her hand to kiss the top of it and letting it go as he remarks pleasantly,* I should hope this, *oh what a laughably small word for their situation,* isn't a pleasure, Ms. Avenier.   
  
*It was for him, actually, but not because of the men and women tied up. That was only more evidence of the fact today was going precisely according to plan and of course -- by the time midnight arose, his city would be  _safe_ (and his) again. That was a pleasure. It was a new moon tonight, the metaphor had amused him. (He was ever aware of the moon's cycle; having best friends as wolves did that).  
  
Then his eyebrow arches. Aha. As he looks at Daniella, the side of his lips curl up, his hand sliding easily in his pocket. Yet he's sure to look at Ms. Avenier when he responds to the thin-veiled remark.* I'm sure no offense was meant by the omission.

&.

The chaos was well underway. Wizarding duels never took long, but they always felt like an eternity and a battle even more so. This is what this was, what this holy place had become: a battlefield. The casualties were spread all over the place (none from their side so far, thank goodness), and blood was running from wounds inflicted on both sides. Spells light up the air like rockets and bombs would have done the same in a muggle war. Not for the first time but probably in the most poignant moment, Harper thought of the phrase 'hell is empty and all the devils are here'. As true as that was, Harper was also confident they were sending a few of them back to the hell they came from.  
  
Harper was clearing out rooms, knowing how dangerous a stray enemy could be, how easily they could sneak up on someone and how pivotal a single casted spell could be. He'd already had the immense pleasure of dealing with a few of them attempting to hide or run because in the end, all Gustav had managed to breed were frightened cowards.  
  
Thoughts on the man made him quicken his step, itching to get to him and end this once and for all. Harper was so close to freedom, so close he could almost see it, could almost taste it! Taking all of their friends out of here and returning victorious, speaking with his son again, and finding Lyndsi. Seeing her again.  
  
In the back of his mind he wondered where she was right now. He hadn't seen her come in and then things became so hurried and chaotic while he finished the new potion (because apparently it -couldn't- have waited until afterward no doubt because Hans had feared Harper going back on his word) that by the time he was out again to rejoin, their 'army' was scattered. He only hoped they were all safe. After clearing another room, he walked quickly out of it with his wand held high and in front of him. Turning, he headed towards the direction of the dungeons, rounding a corner before colliding with someone hard. Harper's gaze had set into a furious glare, ready to attack even as he struggled for balance by grabbing hold of their forearms and then realized a second later with a whisper.

"I know those eyes. **"  
**


	64. It's Just A Small Apocolypse, I Swear.

Viscous, the potion poured slowly, this one so shiny it looked more milk white than silver. Every vial of the silver he keeps away, in the locked little box that was bigger on the inside. Harper was right (what a shock for the genius): five vials of milk white were as far as it went.  
  
He still waits until he's alone to separate them, not trusting that Harper wouldn't steal it back.Hypocritical? Yes, he was, but Hans was distrustful for a good reason. You could say it was engineered in him, as much as anything else was.  
  
"Is that it, then?"  
  
Well, almost alone. Ansel was leaning against the tapestry, eyes grey and canines extended in a slow smirk. Hans only smiles to himself, not looking up. He hears the approach of each of them for a mile off, and every pack member has their own scent: Harper he won't trust, but the pack was different. The pack was his family.  
  
"That's it then." Hans echoes him, voice low and dangerous with glee.  
  
"Just the five doses?"  
  
Hans nods. Ansel's nose wrinkles as he remarks drily, "A shame."  
  
That tone Hans recognized, but he turns and only extends both arms to his side, head tilted, eyes flashing crimson and smirk smug as if to say 'well, what can you do?' Ansel answers him with a chuckle and head jerk. Life sucks, they were saying, but we make it fun anyway.  
  
"I'll take it last." Hans offers, as he hands Ansel the vial, ear swiveling as he hears the heartbeats approaching I.  
  
"How generous." Ansel muses, his hands sweaty as they clasp the vial he's given, "that way you don't take it if anything goes wrong, brother."  
  
"Alpha's prerogative."  
  
Ansel's eyebrow twitches with a vein. Grinning, he adds without turning around, "Hello sisters. Oh, now that's a delectable scent -" now he turns, as he licks his sharp tooth, surveying the blood with a wicked grin, "who would have guessed the bastards would taste so delicious?"  
  
Hans licks his bottom lip too as he answers.  
  
"Deep set self-loathing does sweeten the taste...though not so much as victory."  
  
Mm, Ansel's chuckle reverberated through their throats.  
  
"We leave you alone for two minutes," Rachelle began, licking the blood from around her lips, "and the testosterone takes over." Truthfully, she had to make it a joke otherwise it'd be a matter that was seeming to grow more and more serious if Melissa was to be believed. Allison would know more, obviously, but because the woman seemed incapable of answering a simple question without baring teeth-  
  
"They all do in the end," Allison answered not Rachelle's comment but rather her brothers'. And they were right, no matter how twisted the person had been, they all tasted just as sweet. Their shock at being betrayed by the 'dogs' was more of a visual benefit than a gustatory one.  It was still no less delectable.  
  
She sucked her finger clean and then released with a pop. "Not as much as when we're finally out of here."  
  
That Rachelle agreed on wholeheartedly. It was a whole different thrill, a lighter than air feeling in her chest that threatened to make her float, even more so than giving the Death Eaters their just desserts. Damn, she had missed this.  
  
Her red suede Gucci stilettos, picked especially for this occasion, made a clack as she took a step forward, eyes on the potion vials. Five of them only.  
  
Beside her, Allison stood straighter as well, her own eyes falling to them, before Allison asked, "Who gets the fifth?"  
  
The question wasn't unexpected. In fact, under most scenarios, Hans would have been perfectly willing to answer: he doesn't hide things from family. Not the family he made for himself, the exceptions they were to his every rule. At this moment, he found himself in the curious position of wanting to snap that he didn't desire being questioned.  
  
Ansel clearly noticed. He brushed the back of his hand off on his jeans the same way he did when they played poker and he'd figured Hans' hand out. With only an arched eyebrow offered at him (seriously, Ansel?), Hans picks up the fifth one for himself as he answers just to be contrary.  
  
"Alcott." The word was smooth, in a no-questions Alpha tone. Hans wishes he was surprised when Ansel -- and of course it was Ansel, as if his answering when he was under no obligation to do so wasn't enough -- immediately responds. But he's not surprised. As Rachelle said: testerone levels were running high. And the poor boy clearly still doesn't understand why he couldn't be a general if he thought this was the opportune moment for a pack struggle.  
  
(Not to mention he was a fool if he thought he could take him. No one could take Hans. Three alive perhaps stood a chance -- Harper, Laura, and Olivier -- but not in the pack).  
  
"The _pup_? He's not even --"  
  
Hans cuts this off here.  
  
"He's Angel's son. Or to be more accurate, he's Harper's son." Because the son of a bitch wanted to keep the name that had made him weak the first time.  
  
Ansel rolls his eyes, but looks sideways to Rachelle at the news. She'd know, Hans reasons for the look.  
  
"Why, Ansel are you looking for confirmation? It's as if you don't trust me." Hans says, drily.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, dah-ling," Ansel says, but now his eyes were on Allison.

 

 

&.

At that particular moment, she hadn't been thinking about anything at all. Her son was down below, that much had been made clear to her by D'Grey, as had the fact that evidently there was someone else here she should 'look for', as if that was comforting or informative. He got that now though. She thought her face had made it pretty clear (or maybe that was her wand pointing at him, but details). The point was that there was bloody enough to worry about, and if she let doubts creep into her heart, she would be worse than useless all over again. As it felt she had been for years; she wasn't letting her son down again, never, goddamn again.  
  
The flying spells, the scarlet tracks of blood and communion wine, the fireworks of exploding stained glass and the overturned pews were enough to clear anyone's head, she figures. Even as she hurries. She was wearing her old Quidditch trainers; heels would never have let her run fast enough. The slacks and shirt were tied up but her hair had fallen loose and she gave up on that as a lost cause; appearances did not matter to her, the reality of her family's safety reigns supreme.  
  
She ducks a spell, blasts the rounded board that had recently held hymnal suggestions until it hit the one who cast at her - strikes them in the jaw (ow), but Lyndsea just sprints over flying pages, and disappears down where D'Grey had pointed.  
  
Silence.  
  
It was bliss, for the moment or two that it existed; her heart pounding in her ear fast and hard, as if echoing in the empty chamber that she figures was a passage to the downstairs rooms. Gripping a wand with her hands sticking with sweat, she breathes through shaking lungs, steels herself and then resumes her running. There was too much at stake, and too many people to find and too much to do and too many t--  
  
Smack. She smashes into someone moving apparently as quickly as she was. Hell, ow, that--  
  
A hiss of surprise leaves her parted lips and it must be because she was busy trying to tug her forearms free and staring at them that she doesn't look up - not until she hears his words, "I know those eyes" and she wants to smack anyone who comments on them because it hurt so goddamn much - it had to be because she was- has no moment of recognition until what she could only after describe as _the_ moment of recognition, the be-all and end-all of moments, alpha and omega, her sun and stars and moon and all of the above because in that moment...she found her husband.

Harper's throat began to close as contrarily his mouth opened wider, eyes widening with the awe. He'd dreamt of this moment, thought of this moment, longed for it and grew anxious for it at the same time. His heart struggled to pump blood through the skipping beats and his lungs threatened to collapse inside his own chest, leaving him unable to take an inhale.  
  
Those eyes, those perfect eyes were just as he remembered them. They had been hard for a moment, sharp and icy but they melted into the cooling water he knew them to be. It was so familiar that he thought at first this must have been a dream but he still held her forearms and they were warm against his fingertips, very much real and very much here.  
  
His face broke, shattered, and ceased being the force like the Great Wall, built to keep all enemies away. Instead he felt himself slipping out through the cracks in the mortar and stone as tiny breaths molded together until they finally spoke her name.

"Lyndsi?"  
  
He hadn't meant for it to end on a question. And the question itself wasn't questioning her name, her identity, or whether or not she was truly there, but instead was a failure to encompass nearly a decade's worth of momentous loss and doubt and seek an answer to that which he was so ashamed to ask and did not want to think about. That important question of whether she was still his as he was eternally and forever hers?

It was something she had seen before, too many times, more times than were healthy or sane by any competent psychologist (they were all idiots, and they had never been in love)...but he couldn't be a ghost. He had her forearms. Fingers she knew, bearing down on all sides of her, imprinting deep in skin he'd already marked a decade ago, marked a body that was ever his.  
  
Lyndsi won't even blink. From stubborn, implacable elder wood to willow, she thought, her eyes melting with a sight too big to ever take in. She was searching, searching with her gaze for comprehension and her lungs for breath, her heart for beats, her lips for his -- her ears, for him to say that, her name, her real name, dammit, over and over again, for she could never tire of hearing it. She won't blink, but she would evidently tear up, because the shock was fading and her searching gaze was taking in scars; angry lines in scarlet on his arms, one across his throat, a twist in his lips and she seems to know just as instinctively as she believes it's him...oh, how he had suffered.  
  
Was it possible for her heart to mend, burst, and mend again in one moment? That was a scientific question for --  
  
"Oh my god."

She spoke, and his heart swelled to hear her voice. A simple expression of astonishment, of disbelief, of joy, and of something indescribable that ran through them both. His own voice seemed to be failing at the moment, trying to start up again, so when she repeated the expression preceded by a half-started question that would have questioned whether or not it was him, he nodded. He nodded and nodded, to clear any thought that might think otherwise from her head. I'm here, his whole body wanted to shout out, it's me!

Wait one moment here, she could ask. She could actually ask him. He was standing in front of her, near her, pressing thumbs near her pulse, holding onto her and he was breathing out her name. Tears slip down cheeks that had already been reddened by the sprint, but now turn up in there own smile. Her heart skips like a child with double-dutch ropes, squeezing under lungs that filled to burst, balloons so full of joy that no needle could ever puncture them, let alone her throat. A hand jumps to her lips, even as all doing so does is bring her closer to him (but not close enough, never close enough).  
  
"Is it really--I--oh my god."

His mind and his heart only agreed on the emotion, not the proceedings, and so it was in the emotions that he threw himself into. The welcome weight crushing down on his thorax, his eyes watering because they refused to blink (and because he would never lack tears), and the shakiness of his limbs all just continued to remind him that this was not a dream, that he would not wake up anytime soon and be forced to curse himself. It was real, it was real, she was real,  _she_ was real!

Even so heavily marked as he was by his scars that were only living proof of his suffering, Harper had never felt so whole. It wasn't true that he was a whole man, not anymore, but fuck whatever emptiness there had been before was ceasing to exist. Lyndsi was filling up the spots in him that his son had began to with their reunion.  
  
As he took in her gaze, he quickly realized that must have realized the extent of his scarred condition. After all, it was now the most predominant thing about him, all those angry lines, but he couldn't allow himself to think about that; he didn't want further doubt letting this get to his head otherwise he might cower in shame.

He hadn't reached the point of smiling yet. He didn't know how to, Harper could only in that moment just stare. She used to tease him for staring, he remembered. And one day he simply divulged that staring was the only way you could understand completely. A look was never enough, a gaze too fleeting: it was with a stare, prolonged exposure to her, that you really understood how beautiful she was. Not just physically, because that she was, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but mentally and spiritually, Lyndsi was such a beautiful person. Staring was the only way it made sense.

He had to say her name again, like an exhale, like a whisper, like a prayer.

"Lyndsi..."

The breathy exhales were stuffed with hope more than turkey would be with stuffing. Her gaze darts across his eyes, wide with her awe, wide with her happiness and panic. God, it was a good thing that he had her arms. For all the strength she had been hoping to portray this afternoon...it had disappeared; she'd broken, because Harper was holding her and she didn't know how she was still vertical, except that collapsing would mean letting him go. Never again. Never fucking again.

And then, she just smiled, as he repeats her name, the hand she has on her mouth brushing tears away as she nods, nods fervently and fierce, eyes hardening with the force of her immediate promise.

"Yes."

It was hot, an answer the question she'd understood just from how he'd said her name (and from fourteen years of being united, from being born to be his; that was what happened, when you were with someone that long...you understand their verbal ticks and it didn't matter it had been almost a decade since she'd seen any of them: _it's called marriage_ ).

"Yes, Harper, Harper...I -- yes, oh my God I can't -- "

Now he did smile as it was her turn to nod as she smothered down the flames of his fears with her deep understanding of him even after all these years. There was no one who knew him like she did, who said his name like she did and that hadn't changed, gods be good that hadn't changed! There wasn't time to consider which tears he would wipe away, his or hers, because that much thinking was distracting right now and that was something he never said.

He had her forearms. In the next instant, her hands had his neck and while her lips may have claimed his, it felt the other way around with the shiny, wonderful, warm relief swell from her toes up as she meets them -- a feeling she could only name as "belonging." For, that's what it was. He had her, and she has him, and that was where they always were meant to be.

He could have sung (that was always better suited for karaoke nights she dragged him too but which he'd always enjoy), he could have leaped (but that would take him too far away from her arms which he would never willingly part again), and he could have cheered (the same way he did at her games) but instead of any of those, he took a step closer and then another. Now her hands held him, sending a million sparks running down his spine. And as her lips found his, he felt the shock travel throughout his body, bringing him back to life again. His hands moved up her arms to hold on to her cheeks and he would later be happy to realize that her face still fit perfectly in his hands despised how thin and bony they had become. Right at this moment, however, that didn't even cross his mind. His lips moved with urgency against hers, hard and breathtaking. Molded perfectly together like two puzzle pieces interlocking, he took her in. Nothing made more sense to him than this, right here, right now, in her arms.

Her body felt tectonic plates shift, drift, pulling the contents of her being apart. It was fully okay, because except lately, except around her (their) son, she hadn't ever liked who she became without him. The knowledge that she had been tricked, that Harper had been alive all these years, all these long years waiting, smashes into her over and over again, as if she couldn't comprehend anything anymore but small things. The seismic tremor was relentless on her seams, pulverizing. A thunderous crack, reverberating against their hollow bones. There goes Atlantis, there goes Pompeii. There goes the holy symbols that lied to them both for so long, they were on fire overhead. Goodbye marble stone she'd carved his name into (good riddance) and hello quidditch field with the wooden stands and that place behind the posts where once she'd embossed: H + L Forever, in a heart.  
  
It was just a small apocalypse, he was giving her, she swore, and she didn't mind. She just tried to focus on the small things, the little things, for she wavers from the intensity, shivers in sight of enormity.  
  
First, there were his tears. (Hers too, but then they'd always shared everything). He was crying fast and hard, salt water landing on broken skin mapped by scars she didn't recognize and it hurt. It hurt, deep in that way she couldn't translate to words or thoughts or breath. It hurt, not because she thought him any less than she ever had (he was just her Earth, just that small thing), but because there shouldn't be any part of him she didn't know.  
  
Harper's hurt, he's suffered, bruised, battered. Standing there, they were painted in the shadows underneath a Church on fire, the color the light has in the space of where it's not night anymore and yet not morning either -- and it was wrong. He had the wrong shape, and it made him a stranger, and all she wanted to do was take his misshaped body and make it fit around her anyway because she needed him. She needed him like she'd always needed him, and now she knew how he needed her too. Could she make a coat of herself for him to wear, warm, tight, fitting? Winter (life) is too cold without him...and that was the glorious part. That was the living part, because as he swallowed her mouth, all she could hear screaming in her ears was the word: alive, alive, alive.

Harper thought he could love her no more, that it was already an infinite amount that stretched beyond the reach of reality itself, but as she pressed her lips to the curved line that left that corner of his mouth upturned, he swore he loved her even more. He swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, like he was trying to comprehend how she could still love him the same way but he realized he didn't want to know. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to uncover the reason, just accepted it as it was.  
  
That brought the next part: the joy. Her husband was here. Breathing against her, looking terrified and happy and broken and wonderful. The man who gave her the stuffed panda bear sat on her bed still, the potion-vial shot glasses on her vanity, their son, and every first that ever mattered to her selfish heart. They were living in a supernova, burning too hot and too bright but glorious -- glorious.  
  
Then there were his lips, his kiss, and those she realized she knew. With perfect clarity, she recalls every instance they'd met before, like their mouths were two children who met once every summer vacation, grew into adulthood apart and yet every time they press together, they were back on that lake side. Sometimes they were languid, quiet kisses as they clutch desperately to each other, tucking herself into his cheek, like she was his personal chocolate-covered too-ripe strawberry, plucked from the vine too early and while he savored the taste as she melts, she lingers in the moment of purpose. Her mouth waters, and it's swallowing too-full of all the words she'd wanted to tell him, all those goddamn words of love and loss and longing, ready to burst out of her lips and trickle over his chin. If he got those words from her, in her gasps and murmurs, then good -- she knew her fingertips were leaving swipes of them on the nape of his pale neck -- but if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. She knew he understood. His mouth told her that.

Breaking for breath, words came out to pepper her lips, "I'm here baby, I'm here." Harper leaned back in, drawn and pulled towards her like a magnetic force he held no interest in resisting, kissing her with all the love he had for her.

Other times there was no time for such (any) thoughts, their kiss moved too fast. They plunged words into the other with their tongues -- a dart past their lips, a quick lick over their teeth -- and they pinned them there, solid, on the roof of their mouth. They claim: I take this territory and when you breathe out the air from your lungs will not dislodge me.  
  
Either way, as they kiss and clutch and cry and laugh, it says: I have been living, I have been waiting. Either way they say --  
  
But that she must say aloud, and as she offers up a slight chuckle for his words, those fast little mutters over and over again reminding her he was there, she wasn't dreaming, he wasn't a ghost. God, she was dizzy, so dizzy (it was a day for that). Lyndsea lets him dry her eyes and murmurs in response, "Mine."

"Yours." He repeated almost instantly, nodding once before taking a hand back to place it on hers over his chest. His heartbeat was erratic and currently trying to pound out of his ribcage, as if the organ was jealous of the fact it couldn't experience Lyndsi's touch firsthand. But it was all hers, it had always been hers, every single thing about him: mind, body, and soul. She was the air that filled his lungs, the water that quenched his thirst, the firm ground that kept him upright, and the sun that warmed him and lit his way. In that moment Harper understood that that day 9 years ago, he had died. This was him, coming back to life, coming back to her.

 

 

&.

"Liza..."  
  
Al didn't need to fake his astonishment. The look in Eliza's eyes made his surprise real, as the blood was real, even if he'd felt no pain. (He'd said his father wasn't going to send him somewhere he'd be hurt, didn't he? And Dad just so happened to have this handy little potion...)  
  
"Don't call me that." She snaps and whips the wand down again. The cuts on his chest were already mending before her eyes of course. So, this time she breaks his wrists. One, then the other.  
  
All Alcott feels is a light tickle and -snap-, but tears appear all the same as the silver rips at previously undiscovered skin. He drops his eyes down, chin hanging as he breathes out, eyes tracking around as he hears a brilliantly loud echo of her stilettos. Then warm hands grasp his neck, green nails digging into his spine -- and he realizes what she's going to do.  
  
"There was -one- thing I've been dying to try, you know."  
  
"Wait a minute -"  
  
When they got out of this, he and Eliza needed to have a little bit of a chat on what was acceptable in the realm of "play-acting", because seriously - this would -  
  
Well. It would mean he was out for long enough that the attack would be well-underway, but Gustav could crucio at a corpse all he wanted -- he wouldn't feel any pain.  
  
"Eliza, wait --" He gasps out, hanging on the chains and realizes -- oh. His wrists broken..he could slip out of them. Clever girl. Clever girl, he could kiss her - once he was done wringing her neck. Like she was wringing his right now.    
  
"Wait?" She asks, high pitched still, breath tickling his ear. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she bats big blue eyes at Roswell and lets a smirk crawl across her face. "Should I wait? Because," her voice was dispassionate whatever her smirk -- but Alcott could hear her heart, hear the pounding off-beat and feel her sweating palms -- "I don't care." Little liar, Al thinks as his eyes shut and he gasps out, trying to keep his spinning gaze from the bastard across from them.  
  
"Sooo..." Eliza hums in his ear, still looking dead-pan at Gustav, "If you have something to say I'd say it - because he's going to be dead in fiveeeee, fouuur, threee---"  
  
"Eliza!" His voice shatters through the bars until they reverberate with his growl. It's the shout of a six year old, of a ten year old -- not of a six and ten year old -- the shout a little boy gives when he wants more cookies, and he feels her nails slip on his clavicle. There's a skip in her chest. Eliza was afraid, he realizes, but his face is contorted anyway because -- well, fucking small comfort, all right?!  
  
"Twoooo-"

 

 

&.

Allison opens her mouth but quickly shuts it again, biting on her bottom lip to keep from shouting out that which Ansel was already bringing up. The pup? Out of all of their entire pack, one teenage boy who had refused their help and spit on their offer to join them? What could possibly be going through his mind?!  
  
And then penny dropped, and Allison was left speechless? Angel-- Harper's, son?  
  
Rachelle was surprised, but only pleasantly so. She knew her two siblings were the exact opposite, but she smiled briefly as she looked at Hans even if the expression was gone in another instant. Ansel looked towards her as Hans told more news of the parentage and she nodded slightly, restraining herself from wincing as Hans' questioned Ansel, and in turn Ansel deflected.  
  
"Without Harper we wouldn't even have the silver potion to begin with, it's fair-"  
  
Allison scoffed, her arms crossed in front of her chest and after a glance at Ansel she interjected. "Since when have we ever played fair?" Her narrowed eyes turned from Ansel, to Rachelle, and finally to Hans.  
  
"Why does this boy get preference over the rest of the pack, your family? Any one of them are worth -twice- as much as the Brackner kid, who has done nothing but spurn you every chance he gets."  
  
"And since when," Hans growls under his breath, "is what I say up for discussion?"  
  
He was speaking to Allison, but his eyes were on Ansel, who hadn't moved or blink. Their eyes were hard and flinty like charcoal left to burn as they hold each other's gaze. Rachelle's words were comforting, though this has nothing to do with fairness, but it was his brother he wasn't looking away from.  
  
Ansel's voice is still low.  
  
"Allison's only speaking the truth. Are we not allowed to do that now?"  
  
His second in command, the first he'd met and chosen. He, was saying this.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, dah-ling," Hans echoes in a smooth, mocking tone, "The truth is simply that I tell you as a courtesy, not invitation."  
  
Ansel wasn't flinching away, even if all of them heard the uptick in his heartbeat. Hans smiles in response to that flicker of fear. Nice to know his brother hadn't become a complete moron overnight.  
  
"I gave my word." Hans continues, still very courteous and low as he puts the vial away.  
  
"And you never break that, do you?" Ansel  speaks in a similar mocking tone, spine tense. Hans would be incredulous later. Now, he was too busy thinking about the fact that any man who has to name himself leader is no leader at all. He would not engage in this: it was his decision to make, his deal with Harper.  
  
Still to Allison, "It isn't a question of fairness, though I thank you Rachelle. The deal we struck, which includes that delicacy you've been enjoying this afternoon, ensured that his son received the potion as well."  
  
This time Ansel doesn't challenge the use of his alpha's tone. In his mercy and easily showing his dominance, he gestures at the glass on the table for Ansel, forcing the younger man to finally break eye contact as he picks one up.  
  
"Drink." Hans orders, and so Ansel did, through gritted teeth and in quiet disapproval. The alpha doesn't look away from him, even when he started hissing at the fire traveling through his veins.  
  
There was more at stake than a broken word for Hans. Eventually he might even understand what.  
  
Allison bristled, tilting her head and looking at the floor for a moment as she pursed her lips again to keep from saying anything else. If Hans thought they were ganging up on him it would only make matters worse; everything had its own time.  
  
Harsh, she found herself thinking as she tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing. Hans' authority had always been obvious; he was alpha, he had bitten all three of them there, and no one questioned him because everyone trusted that he would do what was best for the pack because he always did. Rachelle could understand why Ansel and Allison would be thinking differently.  
  
Curiously enough, the explanation that Hans' had given his word would have been enough for Rachelle. She knew her brother well enough to know how much value he placed on it, and there was a growl deep in her throat at Ansel's quick rebuttal followed by a whisper of his name through clenched teeth.  
  
All son would not have been surprised if there'd have been a showdown right then but Hans' patience won out. He answered her directly even if he didn't look at her and Allison only narrowed her eyes, but accepted the information. She only wondered how many other parts of this deal actually existed, and how would it affect them.  
  
As Hans ordered Ansel to drink, Allison and Rachelle turned their attention to their brother, both nervous and excited about the prospect of being able to turn at will forever. It was a gift, one they owed to Angel, Harper, whatever he desired to be called now.  
  
Worried that somehow the genius could have hidden a poison they'd be unable to smell as she gauged Ansel's reaction, Allison let her arms fall to her side as she took two steps, asking in concern, "Ansel?"  
  
Heat was something a werewolf had to get used to quick. From the moment they were bitten fire floods their veins, dries their throat to ash and breath turns to smoke. The constant temperature was a blessing in the winter, just as the healing and alcohol tolerance were blessings. The bite was a gift, Ansel thinks as he grits down on sharp canines, pierces flesh, cuts through to bone beneath his lip. He would not cry out. If this potion was going to kill him, it would do so without getting a whimper from him.  
  
Hans had been too smart for that, Ansel thinks as he folds towards the table, sweating palms flat on the smooth marble. He didn't divide the doses until Brackner (explains a few things) was gone; there was no way for their heavenly angel in disguise to know what his son would drink, provided he trusts Hans would give the blasted pup the dosage.  
  
(Harper was a fool if he thought Hans would break that word, whatever his genius. Even Ansel knows that.)  
  
Heat he could have borne. This potion was ice instead, milky and thick as it shot down his spine; his toes shiver in their suede boots. Still, Ansel feels a grin slow and steady spread across his lips: whatever was freezing deep in his steel bones was power inert and forever. Despite hisses and gasps he buries without vocal complaint and an ache in his muscles...he knew it would work. Of course it would. When did Hans not come through for him? Ansel chokes on the shadowy thought.  
  
But his brother was putting others above half the pack now. Harper's selfishness wasn't something Ansel has any plan of tolerating, whatever he has to do to ensure the silver version of this still be available to their younger siblings.  
  
Feeling his sisters near him, his hands lift as if to say 'ladies, please' (and only beckon them closer), but his smile is genuine. If only for a moment.  
  
"Magnifique." He says, leaning over to kiss Allison's cheek, then Rachelle's.  
  
Hans smiles behind him, even if his eyebrows say 'don't question me again.' Ansel rubs at his throat and reports simply,  
"It's like ice. But I think that's..."  
  
"Freezing the moonglitter in your bones." Hans says this lazily, as if it's just so obvious.  
  
Ansel looks amazed before his eyes darken. It's easy to know what he's thinking. If he could have had this control all along...there was a blonde in his wallet that might smile from more than a memory and wood photo frame.  
  
Control comes from within, Hans could tell him, again. He won't. Ansel has to grasp it on his own. Yet he was glad for his brother. For the first time in a near decade, Ansel wasn't reliant in a dose taken every week...or more frequently. Take as needed for pain. Ha.  
  
Then Hans nods at Rachelle and Allison, smirking as he almost playfully teases, "Bonne appetite then."  
  
He was itching to down it himself. The thought he never again would have to rely on a potion to turn, could not ever be controlled again thus, could not be used was-- glorious.  
  
They had held their breath until Ansel was standing straight again, a hand up to prevent any fussing about him, even though Rachelle was more inclined to whack him on the back of the head before hugging him. She settled on a kiss to his cheek as he placed on one hers and Allison's. Whatever hesitation there had been before, it was replaced with nothing but excitement and hunger.  
  
Allison stepped forward first, never one to hesitate and always the first on e to leap off the tallest ridge, both literally and metaphorically, she gave Ansel a squeeze of his shoulder (marveled at the difference in strength between them already, but not for long) and took the vial, tilting her head back as she lifted it to her lips, drinking it as it flowed into her mouth.  
  
"Hmm," Rachelle snapped her fingers, "missed the opportunity to make a joke about swallowing." Allison flicked her off as she shuddered, and Rachelle stepped to take her vial as well. Exhaling, she lifted with a smirk towards her siblings, before chugging it down, the ice creeping immediately down her throat to her chest before spreading out and sinking further in. The sour taste was negligible to how the cold set in, and Rachelle found herself having to close her eyes to prevent panic from setting in. There was only two instances she associated with feeling frozen, and they both involved her being locked behind bars. The wound was still too raw, and she found herself shrinking back from all of them, hugging her hands to her chest.  
  
Allison composed herself first, the cold didn't fade away instantly but it could be ignored when she felt this good, this great. Her smirk from before turned bright beam as she practically bounced on her toes and laughed, throwing her arms around Ansel in newfound glee that finally made her look her young age.  
  
Her smile now turned thankful as she looked at Hans again (she was a woman, she was allowed to be as changeable as she wished), before expressing, "Hans, it's, it's-"  
  
"Wonderful," Rachelle finished, nodding with a similar and incredulous smile. "Not the taste, the taste is shit," she added, smacking her tongue, "would a little vanilla flavoring really have hurt it?" Probably, but she made the joke anyway, smiling again.  
  
It was really happening. They were free.  
  
Letting out a bright laugh as Allison hugged him, Ansel hoists her higher and swivels, and only a quarter because he wants to inhale that oh-so-mouthwatering taste. Oh, it's so easy to imagine turning now, as his body temperature starts to stabilize. Easy...maybe a little too easy, but he beams as he sets her down. And for a brief moment, he even has to be careful not to squish her. That was how strong they were going to be?  
  
Hans stays behind the table, delighted as he sees his siblings rejoicing as they stabilize -- he can hear it. He'd been a wolf the longest (all his life, to tell the truth) he can discern each of their different heartbeats begin to settle.  
  
And speaking of heartbeats --  
  
"Zach." He wasn't the only one to say the name, low.  
  
"I'm sorry-"  
  
He doesn't get to say more, and this was a growl of desperation. Hans turns, and then curses under his breath as he realizes in that second, the potion still on the table was gone. So quickly, smoke was still swirling over where the vial had been. As he spins, disapproval reverberating deep in his throat and keeping company with his heart, he lunges without a thought.  
  
Zach slips sideways, a bright flash and then howls as his arm breaks, but he shoves the stolen potion into Melissa's hand.  
  
"Drink-"  
  
"Now-"  
  
"No-!"  
  
"Missy-!"  
  
Hans shout was inhuman. Primal, visceral rage and shock pours from his raw throat and tears stick in his eyes. Melissa holds the silver goblet in shaking hands, her blond curls frizzy and mouth clean of blood. She was their youngest, impulsive but needy, and her gaze was shaky as it darts between Zach, Hans, and back...and then a bat. Where Ansel had fetched his favorite toy, Hans doesn't know, doesn't care, his ire burns.  
  
"Don't you dare. Or I will rip his heart, " Hans starts, and Ansel's almost helpful as he uses the shiny aluminum to point at Zach, "from his chest and feed it to you."  
  
He was being serious, but he knew it didn't matter. Melissa's eyes were made of adoration, a look Zach has ten fold as he implores her to drink from Hans wrestler's hold on his neck.  
  
But of all his anger, hatred, heaving, heavy hurt and aching horror -- the one thing he's not, as Melissa tips the drink down her throat, is surprised.  
  
 Love, Hans could spit, it always cuts him the deepest, and how cruel a curse that was.

 

 

&.

**Daniella:** *Olivier would introduce himself with his name like that--hell, she was more surprised he included 'Olivier'. But then, she realized, considering the location he must have realized (as he was annoyingly, wonderfully intuitive) that Amalie meant quite a bit (the World) to her, and thus it was likely she'd given his first name already.  
  
Well, she usually had given much more than -that- by now with other boyfriends, but then...this was, aha, a bit...difficult. Her nose wrinkles up, her lips pop open and she gives a lamentable (guilty) sigh as she looks at Amalie and says first, hand on hip still and swaying,* All right fiiine, three, *she holds up three fingers,* boxes of macaroons and, *the three fingers become one, and she swipes over her,* I'm taking you shoe shopping.  
  
 **Olivier:** *Lightly, still smirking,* Oh, shoe shopping--do forgive her, cara, the fault is likely mine in any case.  
  
 **Daniella:** *With a tiny scoff,* You are hard to introduce, yes.  
  
 **Olivier:** Really? *His hand goes to his chest as if resting over his heart,* I quite enjoy it.  
  
 **Daniella:** Ye-ahh, *she chuckles brightly, false, just once,* I bet you do.  
  
 **Olivier:** *He shrugs a shoulder, looking back to Ms. Avenier,* Crime lord, though, bit...lofty, I think. And is unfortunately a bit of a melodramatic overstatement--at the moment. *He gestures at their captives, and his smirk stays small, his sparkling blue eyes still on her,* And any close, *he adds this qualification more to highlight an approval of their obviously thicker-than-thieves acquaintance,* friend of Daniella's may feel free to call me simply Olivier.  
  
 **Daniella:** *Smirking behind him, she twirls a curl and adds,* Not Olive oil?  
  
 **Olivier:** *He chuckles, but only once; as the name sounded...odd, from her.* Ah, no, I believe that's reserved for my brother.  
  
 **Amalie:** *Such class, definite smooth talker if that kiss on the hand was any indication (that and the fact that oh yeah, kind of a requirement in order to be a mafia boss, an Italian one at least). She took her hand back gently and then added* Whether offense was meant or not, *she places that hand on her chest and looks back at her friend* that hurts.  
  
*Her smirk was back as she started nodding along with these new terms, especially the shoe shopping date. She beamed.* You're forgiven, then. *She looked back to Olivier, and liked that he recognize that she was close, thick as thieves, they practically shared a kidney. And as much as she would have gotten a kick out of telling him he could keep calling her Ms. Avenier, Amalie was one to play nice.* And call me Amalie. I'm too bourgeois for formalities. *Waves her hand, stifling a small giggle at the nickname* Tony? Dani's mentioned him too, even if not by last name.  
  
 **Olivier:** *Too bourgeoisie--oh, he approves. A genuine lift to his lips and eyes as he says simply,* Oh? I like you already.  
  
 **Daniella:** How could anyone not. *It wasn't a question. Or actually the playful tease she phrases it as either, walking back, squeezing her friend in a quick hug and kissing her cheek.* No, but seriously.  
  
 **Olivier:** *As she mentions Tony he laughs under his breath, eyes coming back from observing with clear curiosity the chalk-rune and spell book.* Yes, Tony and--aha, well in his case, I believe he'd prefer that.  
  
 **Daniella:** True. *Yeah, Tony would. Another thing she understood really, though maybe she was...between the boys in this as she both used "Faye" to make her life easier and...well, omitted it for the same reason.* Isn't he--  
  
 **Olivier:** \--still in Rome, I believe. *Actually he hoped, and that was uncomfortable for him.*  
  
 **Daniella:** *Brightens, whistling,* Woah, Stef, look at you cheri.  
  
 **Olivier:** *As he's walking around now, too interested to feign otherwise in the markings; he responds idly,* Would you, look?  
  
 **Daniella:** Just because my best friend in the whole world is here doesn't mean I won't smack you, Olivier D'Grey.  
  
 **Olivier:** *His glance perks up - he looks sideways at Daniella in an expression that clearly reads "i probably shouldn't like that about you." What he says instead is,* I thought the plan was to imperiuse them, Daniella.  
  
*Wait a minute. He recognized that rune. Holy--actually, un, holy--* ...what are you lovely ladies up to?   
  
 **Amalie:** You're sucking uuuup, cherie. *She giggles and hugs Daniella back, maybe a squeezing a little tighter than she would have but she needed a little reinforcement here. Besides, she didn't like Olivier as immediately as he claimed to like her, she was wary even if Dani hadn't been able to stop smiling(/smirking) the whole time he was there.  
  
She didn't know the people they talked about personally so she resorted to watching Olivier look around with interest, only taking a moment to chuckle at Dani's description of her. She looked back however and disentangled herself from Daniella to step forward, making the book fly back into her outstretched hands before she spoke easily* The imperius wasn't working very well, I brought the alternative. Hence, why she initially owed me. I keep tally.  
  
*She opens the book to the page and reads it through again (she was very exact, as this required it to be) and then spoke up to Dani.* I know you had so much fun tying them up but I'll need them untied and placed on the circle, at 12 and 6. *She looks up from the book to Olivier and explains.* Mental transference. Relatively easy enough, especially as the blood bond will be anchored by their dark marks, making the connection more stable.  
  
 **Olivier:** *His lips quirk at "sucking" before he nods,* Fool, I am not.  
  
 **Daniella:** Also true. *Her heart had skipped a beat at "sucking", and she looks sideways. Clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth she points out rather quickly,* It is so not, my fault though, they bloody were clearly trained in occlumency even while unconscious. *Her fingertip came up.*  
  
 **Olivier:** *He ignored that. That is to say, he took quick stock of Daniella's statement and proceeded to decide it was of amusing context rather than something important to respond to. Instead, he was looking at the book -- well aware of the symbols on the side of the old oak hide and cocking an eyebrow slowly, very slowly. Amalie's words were much more...well, how to put it. Intriguing, certainly, dangerous - that too. (So naturally, he was smirking as well).*  
  
 **Daniella:** I did have fun with that. *Her eyebrow pops up expectantly as she moves, makes a face, and clicks her thumbs. The cables drop. She looks to Olivier, adding almost-casually,* Nice cables, you know.  
  
 **Olivier:** *..ah, yes, he thought those had looked familiar. Curiously lifting his gaze from the book to her for a moment as she started waving her wand to move them as if they were dolls, he commented equally casually,* They come in handy.  
  
 **Daniella:** With ripping people's skin off, yes, they would. *She rolls her eyes even as they narrow, her words bright but smile flickering.*  
  
 **Olivier:** *Still casual,* They aren't mine. Nor do I appear to be the one using them.  
  
 **Daniella:** *She pauses, having let out a breath of relief of that fact and then stiffening. Monica flops unceremoniously to the ground near "six" position. Serves the bitch right though, so she doesn't bother lifting her.* Well, it was in the interest of insuring another knife wasn't thrown at me.  
  
 **Olivier:** A worthy goal. *That had made him more serious a moment too, surveying Daniella as he adds softer,* Are you all right?  
  
 **Daniella:** *Patting her hands off, she chuckles under her breath, but softens too, nodding,* I will be. I also will enjoy this.  
  
 **Olivier:** *He smirks, but his eyes fall back on the book flying as Amalie continued to explain. His brows were furrowed fully by the time she's done--* You're going to...put your -own- minds in--* -- at which point, they leap. His chin lifts as he takes a beat.*  
  
 **Daniella:** ...ah, right. Blood...bond. *She'd been wondering...several of Amalie's book spells did require that, yes. Exhaling, she looks worriedly to Olivier, screws up her lips to survey critically, like he was a mildly interesting art piece in the Hermitage.*

 

 

&.

Zachary had never been one of the most level-headed of them, actually the complete opposite. So for Zach to be here, to grab the potion, that wasn't surp rising to either of the two women there, and neither was surprised to see Hans lunging, breaking bones.  
  
Wolf to wolf violence was different than human to human violence. Fighting and wrestling is how they settled things in the pack, it was part of their nature; none of them flinched as the arm broke, but they all stepped forward when Zach managed to hand it off to Melissa.  
  
Allison and Rachelle were rarely on the same side about anything, but they were both fuming with anger as they stepped forward, speaking through growls that reverberated from their chests.  
  
"Melissa, arrete!" Rachelle warned, canines elongating. That was the last potion meant for them, for Hans. The sudden panic was only subset by the anger which seemed to rise even quicker than before.  
  
Allison said nothing, torn as she was. She understood Zach's desperation to get the potion for Melissa, for himself. And she feared for Zach and Melissa both. By the time she had moved behind the girl, she had already drunk it. Grabbing Melissa by the hair and yanking back, Allison quickly raised a hand to the younger girl's chin and held it in place, knowing how the potion felt as it sunk in, how it took all concentration, and she didn't get to ignore what was going on right here, stupid girl. Stupider, man.  
  
"Maldita sea, Zach! You braindead fucktard." Allison held tears back as she looked forward. "You have no idea what you've done-"  
  
"Hans," Rachelle spoke quickly, taking a step towards her brother, ignoring Zach at the moment, feeling like she could rip him apart herself and that would be counterproductive. "Hans!"  
  
"Oh," Hans waits until it's deathly quiet in the room, until they all can hear the shouts and spells going on above them, until they all can focus in only on Zach's wild heartbeat, "he knows what he did."  
  
He can feel that beat between his fingers, taste it in the air between them as heat turns to sweat rolling between them. Zachary's breaths were numbered, and Hans was right (that wasn't unusual): Zach knew it, they all knew what he did.  
  
"It's worth it." Zach whispered before Hans squeezes his throat and hauls him up to stare at the girl. Allison - good girl - had Melissa staring forward as she shakes in her hand, swallowing that icy shot. It doesn't take a wolves supersonic senses to realize she was frozen with tears in her eyes for a reason that had nothing to do with the pain.  
  
"You have one more," Zach took advantage of Hans standing still in his fury. The hiss snakes around his spine. As if he needs the reminder he has another potion, another potion he had just finished putting Ansel in his place over saying it was promised...  
  
Hans could take it. Who in this room wouldn't follow whatever it was he said? If he told Harper that they'd saved one for Alcott and Zachary stole it...  
  
It would even be true. Zachary had stolen a potion. That ice milk was everything they'd bee. striving for. It meant never having to be afraid of a moon fat and full in the sky. It was the certainty that no one could hold him. Their personal weapon, brutalized, bent and broken until he was molded for their perfect use. It wasn't a foul-tasting shot. It was freedom. His.  
  
Bloody hell, he deserves it. He actually properly deserves this chance: it was he who saved all of them in this room. From death, from rape, from addictions and insanity -- he saved them, made them his. His, dammit, his. Of course he hadn't taken the potion before them - his sisters, his brother...(though of course, he thinks rueful and spitting, that's not what they truly were) - they deserved it first. It was he who worked with Olivier to find a way to free them from the chains of the Death Eaters; he who didn't take Eliza when they ordered, he who protected Ansel when Courtenay wanted to 'play' with him for not taking Irene. Everything he'd done was for the pack: to ensure they could be free, they could be safe. His compassion, wielded as Laura taught him, was the reason he hadn't seized Harper as Ansel suggested. The man who spent years arming the Death Eaters, healing them, making them indestructible to save one woman and one pup. You have no right to judge me either, Brackner.  
  
And it's for that reason Rachelle was speaking in an abruptly mothering tone -- oh she had spent too much time with those Brackners, he thinks savagely.  
  
Rachelle knew him better than any of them in the end, it seems. She knew, he can tell in one look to her as he growls  under his breath, he wouldn't go back on his word. He would bloody give the potion to Alcott. The kid hadn't done anything against him to deserve the years of torture he'd have to endure. Nothing I haven't survived before, Hans thinks as he squeezes neck tighter. Maybe his head would snap and implode, like a blow pop. Alcott hadn't done anything to lose his chance, but Zach had. Hans had been merciful to him once. He won't be again.  
  
He silences Rachelle just by looking at her, the wild-eyed frenzy in his gaze crimson and raw. As Hans heart steadies to a relentless thump-thump-thumpthumpthump of a drumbeat march, Zach's skyrockets. The terror visceral, Hans savors, licks his lips slowly and waits until Melissa stops shivering in Allison's wrenching grip.  
  
Then - and it could be as if they practiced it, an echoing crack rings. It deafens, aluminum smashing blonde strands matting with blood, hair-spray, and concrete as the girl sprawls.  
  
Zach cries out, but Ansel jabs the bat under Melissa's throat, holds it in place. The Frenchman was livid in all black. With eyes dark, lips twisted in a snarl and limbs braced as a panther all curled in sleak-smooth fur and preparing to spring, he was at his most dangerous. And also, as he makes clear on a tone of silk being taken apart at it's seams to speak --  "Relax, dah-ling," -- at his most charming.  
  
 _You would never know_ , Hans will think later, _that ten minutes before it was Ansel challenging him._ That was different. Challenges to pack order were honorable matches, upfront. This was betrayal - this was theft.  
  
Hans loosens his grip on Zach only to savor his whimper, those delightful little pleads of 'just don't hurt her; she didn't know.'  
  
"Oh Zachary..." He muses, hot against his ear in a hiss with such a wide, toothy grin that a Grandmother in a nightgown might be his next stop, "I won't kill her."  
  
The idiot relaxes in his arms, but hey! Hans was telling the truth.  
  
"You see, and now you believe me." His chuckle had lost all mirth, good humor a thing so past it's corpse is cobwebbed and crawls with white maggots, "I am after all, a man of my word."  
  
A gentleman, Hans squeezes again abruptly. It was like a game, seeing how squeaky and desperate for breath this chew toy could get in hand. Alcott would get the potion, and his father back. Hypocrisy, judgment and watching a stunning woman run back to her golden-boy -- that was all that awaits him now. Never mind a full moon.  
  
"You know luv," Hans continues to breathe against Zach's ear, licking the tip of it with a spongey flat part if his tongue to luxuriate in his sweat, "There are worse fates than dying for love. Oh, hold on. You do know that. I should just send you back in the Congo."  
  
If there was anything he could say to terrify Zach, it was that. Hans almost wanted to apologize for it. This was his brother.  
  
"But no. I won't." Hans continues, and now he lifts Zach up effortlessly in the air, potion or no potion. Trainers pretending to be white kick around his waist, strike and scream at the air. His brother, he thinks. Tilting him down, he tossed him atop Melissa, ignoring the amber gaze on Zach's face as he clutches at his chest, rubs hard back and forth, then starts shaking her instead.  
  
Hans was too livid. It would be a mercy to kill Zach quickly, as much a mercy to let them both die and reunite in whatever afterlife awaits them. So he merely stands, hovers as Zach manages to wake her-holding a single finger up to keep Allison, Rachelle and Ansel from interfering. Ansel's taken Allison's hand. Hans knew if he didn't have his bat, he'd take Rachelle's too - but was too busy standing over the doomed.

Melissa curled in Zach's arms the instant she startled awake; the young girl sticks to his chest and clings to a man who burned with unrepetent shame and wouldn't look at Hans. Hey, he almost could respect that. He would have, if the transgression wasn't against his single most wish.  
  
"Hans, please."  
  
Ah, interesting! Melissa was pleading with him instead of cherishing: at least one of them respected his authority. An eyebrow cocks and Hans only tilts his bemused smirk at them, crouching. Arms bridged over his knees, Hans responds in a fire's hiss.  
  
"I told Zach already, luv. I won't harm you." Melissa shivers, shakes, and Hans knows why. She wasn't concerned for herself. Oh, was it time for the martyring for love part already? His favorite! Death would be a kindness. Hans learned that a long, long time ago. Back when he was still called by another name and Steffie was roaming the world trying to find him, not run away. It was too simple. Hans tuts.  
  
"No, no. I am not and never can be, that kind." Hans hadn't been built for anything but cruelty. That was the reason for his twisted little smirk. What else could such a creature enjoy?  
  
"Do you know," Hans posits as they curl together and Zach hides her protectively from his view, "I actually genuinely believe there is no worse fate than having to be seperated from who you love? I _know,_ " he stretches the word out with an ill-hidden laugh behind it, "... _so_ maudlin."  
  
Zach got it faster than Melissa. He must have, for he turns quickly to her, shushes her crying as he brushes water off her cheeks and kisses her, kisses her and kisses her. Then leans in, whispers, "I love you" in her ear and she clings to him, white knuckled, sweaty from ice and crys anew. Hans ignores it. He'd give them the moment. More than some people got in a lifetime - dear God he _was_ bloody going soft.  
  
"Just don't-"  
  
"She'll be unharmed, on my word." Hans promises. There's one long, brutal bright coast as their eyes hold each other's gaze. Then, almost sorrowful as he thinks of card games and dart games, he offers a somber, "Good-bye brother."

His hand crashes through flesh and bone, skin and sinew, red and brown and black. Squish. Then he has Zach's heart in hand, and he sucks the aorta dry without breaking eye-contact. Hans was not ashamed to say he shed a tear later. It was his family.  
  
(His family never wanted him. When would he learn that?)  
  
Melissa screamed, one of those awful gut-wrenching things, and he let her. It was how Hans felt. It was how he felt his last chance at freedom went down her throat. It was how he felt when he was fifteen years old.  
  
"Scream away." He says, sounding so defeated it shocked Melissa to silence.  
  
Hans knee creaks as he stands up again, and sees Ansel look bewildered at him. My, my. Was that fear in his second's gaze? It aches him to see, but he only brushes a tear off his cheek, and looks at Rachelle.  
  
"Stay with her."  
  
His voice was thick with emotion. Rachelle would let him go yet. Please, sister, his wide eyes beg. They're blue.  
  
"You can't mean still to give that to Alcott -" Ansel starts, and Hans is in front of him in a flash. The Frenchmen stops breathing, but doesn't blink. Small victories.  
  
"I gave." Hans hand squeezes over the glass, sweat sticking on the vial, and his voice was made of bullets. "My. word."  
  
Rachelle said nothing else. She didn't move from where she stood, didn't even blink as time stood still for the few precious moments that could be wasted before it lurched forward again with breakneck speed. Zach's heartbeat soars, Ansel's favorite toy makes contact, and Melissa hits the floor.  
  
Allison swallows on a dry throat, as she does nothing but stare down with eyes like frozen mud: deep and dark with glassy glint unable to offer any real reflection. She looked up to Zach, their brother who had risked his life for love. Stupid, idiotic fool, she nearly spat out, now she has to watch you die. You get the easy way out, for you, this is all over soon (and Hans' gaze left no doubt about it). Melissa will be the one who would have to endure your death, who will have to live with it for every single moment of her life. Because you couldn't trust us.  
  
None of that, she didn't say any of that. Just looked on, wondered how it was Hans could do this to one of their own and make it look so easy. She looked up at Ansel, and her icy expression broke for an instant. That could be me there, another voiceless thought echoed through her mind, that could be you. Lifted in the air, kicking as a last attempt for their life.  
  
Come on, Zach. She looked back at him again, cold stare returning. Grab his elbow, wrap your legs around his neck, twist your hips to the left, his elbow to the right, pull him down, slip out of the hold. I taught you that, maldito. I was teaching you that but you never paid attention.  
  
He was better than this, better than a just struggling, grueling, piece of meat. She knew it, she'd seen it, and now here he was. Pleading for Melissa's life, fear creeping into his heart, helpless to stop his fate.  
  
In the end, we all taste sweet.  
  
She didn't even realize Ansel had moved towards her until his hand slipped into hers, and she immediately squeezed it back. She might have interfered otherwise, seeing Zach cradle Melissa to him, wake her up, watched them hold each other close. A part of her wanted to protect them, protect what they had; she needed to cling on to the part that grew furious to see that which she had never experienced in her life. It wasn't fair. Her words from before echoed in her mind: since when are they fair?  
  
Fuck, he did smell sweet.  
  
Hans hadn't just carved Zach's heart out of his chest, Rachelle thinks dimly as she feels herself go hollow, he had done the same to all of them there, his own heart included. The joyous feeling from before, the overwhelming feeling of relief, gone. The victory of stepping away from the Death Eaters, being able to live their own life, vanished.  
  
All of the accusations, judgments, and insults she had heard about his brother during her captivity came back at once, her own defenses and justifications as well. But she couldn't justify this, and it didn't need to be. Could it have been handled differently? She thought so, but there was a reason she wasn't alpha, a reason she wasn't even beta. It was a line, and he hadn't crossed it as much as he'd pirouetted over it. Werewolf to werewolf violence was different, but fratricide was fratricide everywhere.  
  
Or was it? Weeks ago, would she have just lamented Zach's loss but ultimately seen that he'd deserved it for betraying them? If so, then did she even belong here anymore? Could she even manage to survive with them anymore, or was she next?  
  
And they wondered, all those aurors, the psychiatrists, the Brackners themselves, why Rachelle had been so vehemently opposed to caring. Why should she open up her heart to have it be ravaged? She wished she could back to before, it would have been so much easier.  
  
Hans, the man who saved her, and cared for her, and never stopped searching for her when she was taken from them, who had killed for her, was the same man who killed one of their own for betrayal, and countless others. She's done the same; they all had except Ansel whose count remained at a steady two, the heaviest two. They all loved each other, as much as they were all capable of being cruel.  
  
Rachelle didn't meet Hans' gaze with fear, surprise, or distaste, but rather a loss that was echoed in his own eyes. She didn't need to be told twice; Rachelle would have gone to Melissa either way; the only one of them who hadn't hurt her directly, but who had done nothing to help her.  
  
Rachelle knelt down with Melissa who was covered in blood as she stared at Zach's corpse, and held her, just held her in blind hope that she still belonged there, as if that could keep her family from turning to shambles.  
  
Un.fucking.believable. Allison looked at Hans as he stared at Ansel, repeating those words as if they were the most important thing in the world, as if somehow that would just make all of this worth it. A werewolf, a murderer, a psychopath, the worst out of all of them, who had just killed their brother who was lying heartless on the floor, but at least he had kept his word!  
  
Allison laughed. She laughed, and had to wipe her eyes as tears pearled at the corners. The hand covered her mouth as she attempted to control her irrational laughter as she looked between Zach's body and Hans.  
  
She laughed because this was Hans' worst fucking mistake. Because he held on to twisted versions of principles even now! Always a gentleman (except when he ripped your spleen from your throat), always polite (except when he was snapping your neck in half), and always kept his word! He was insane, and they called -her- crazy?  
  
She slammed her hand over her mouth to try and keep laughter at bay, didn't work very well. Allison shook her head and then took her hand back, stepping away from all of them in giggles still. She swore to God, she needed to kill someone, and break some promises.  
  
Why couldn't he?  
  
"Break it! Just break it, like we break necks and arms and spleens and hearts, and families, and hope, and futures just like we break everything else!" She moved forward again, more like snapped forward, her eyes wide and bright as she cupped Hans' face. "That's what we do. We break things. Life declared us unfit to live, so we have a little fun instead, right? You taught us that!"  
  
Her voice dropped to a whisper as she asked, needing to know, desperate to know, desperate to make some sense out of it, "Why is your word the one exception?"  
  
“I am the only exception.” Hans corrects merciless and rigid. He wraps his fingers, (don’t touch me, don’t touch me), crawls them one by one around the wrists shaking to grasp his cheek. Eyes of smoldering ice hold Allison tethered to him; they’re reflections, looking at each other through a looking glass. Flames flicker from ancient torches behind her as Hans dares them to breathe. Or, maybe they weren’t ancient, they just look that way. Maybe it was all a facade. Most things are.  
  
When Hans was seven, his father had taken his siblings and him to play at fencing and learn the family history. Stefanie claims it was so they did not make the same mistakes of their ancestors. He knew better, called her foolish, because she was. (A gentleman always told the truth).  
  
Father had wanted them to learn their history, so they could take revenge if they had the opportunity. Only if they have the opportunity. “If you won’t have the stones to kill your enemy, never draw your sword.”  
  
It was the only lesson his father taught that Hans ever took to heart.  
  
He’d made the threat. If he didn’t follow through, they would never take him seriously again. It was mercy, then, that he hadn’t shoved the heart down Melissa’s throat. (It went down his own long before he ripped it from his brother’s chest.) As he stares and stares in rage and panic into Allison’s eyes, he presses until he feels her bones. Growl buried in his throat, he thinks how ungrateful they were. The hell they could have lived in – Allison wouldn’t be alive, or if she was, she’d be locked in a khaki jacket, thrown in a cell. His eyes were wild now as they search around the room, see Melissa cradled in Rachelle’s arms, sobbing with a purple egg on the crown of her head. Rachelle wore the same look he did; utter loss. Maybe he should leave. See how well they did without him. Leave the restless natives to their own pedestrian lives and eventual domestic undoings, pick up the scent, follow the trail, and feed his inner wolf until he pukes up bone and gristle and his own undigested heart.  
  
The repetition of his words makes that terrible smile on his lips wider. The girl (for she wasn’t Allison, not really, and only he and she knew what name she’d had) had learned from him after all. Oh, how sweet that was.  
  
“I did.” Teach them that, he says this agreeably, uncaring. He taught them. As Laura taught him. He truly hates that it seemed to keep coming back to her lessons – and his fathers now, for the first time in a decade – but he only laughs. It was what he always did when at a loss; laugh when the world burns, laugh at what you hate and know about yourself, or else there was nothing, nothing, nothing at all.  
  
“I -am- the exception,” he repeats to them all now, hands prying off Allison’s wrist piece by piece to take her waist instead. “I am the -first-. And I chose you – chose to save you – all of you.”  
  
The words were knives, sharp as their nails, the four of them changing in ways now he never would. Saved because of him, as sure as if he crossed the river Styx and hauled each one from flames and hell. Salvation for himself rests in his jacket pocket, and he was going to give it away if he has to force it down Alcott’s throat – but oh, he was the monster. He made his own choices. He always had. The Big Bad Wolf, a child’s nightmare come alive, and Hans deserves no sympathy.  
  
“Kill whoever you want, break whatever you want,” is what he says to them now. He shrugs as he speaks, and the misleading gesture makes the wolf in him seem domesticated (don’t fall into that trap, press control-alt-delete and quit the game); his hand raises from her waist to Allison’s cheek. He runs his thumb over the bone and then smooths her hair back. The soothing gesture was fatherly more than brotherly now.  
  
(No wonder he was so terrible.)  
  
“You’re right. So have fun. Collect the souls of whomever you choose. It has naught to do with me; it’s your own choice, Allison.” He says the name purposefully. He made them, he could break them. “They all are. We follow our own laws, a code of loyalty” he whispers this now, heated near her lips as he holds her cheeks too, “And I won’t be betrayed.”  
  
Never again. It was his choice to give the potion to Alcott instead, and the ungrateful brat would never thank him, act as if it was inevitable. It wasn’t. But get no ideas that was the right choice, that Hans was doing the “right” thing then. The easy choice – to down the potion now – that would be right, for him. Right and wrong were societal constructs – good and evil by another name. As Allison says, they make their own. Tear society apart and gorge on it’s flesh.  
  
Still whispering, he brings her in, draws her near his chest and cradles her wrists to his heart, where she can feel the steady beat as he speaks. Water wavers his gaze as he looks at the torch behind her, looks so hard he remembers abruptly standing in this very corridor with Eliza when she was so terrified. She calmed in his arms as he wills Allison do now. He was so good at that, he wants to tell her again: pulling someone back from the edge. Sometimes he thinks it’s all he knew how to do.  
  
(How could he save someone who wasn’t broken? Well, you break them first. )  
  
Create, destroy, reimagine. Always shifting, always changing, but always was it him deciding – always, always was he in control of the game. He has to be. As he told them: he was first. It was done to him first. What else was left for the one who starts it, but to help the others behind him? They were his responsibility. A heavy burden, one that breaks his heart, but they were his. His.  
  
(Couldn’t anyone see that was all he wanted?)  
  
He hadn’t broken Zachary first. He pulled the boy out of a life as a child soldier, gave him the opportunity to find love, and see how he was repaid. The broken toy on the ground they’d honor in a ditch later stole his freedom from him.  
  
Hans looks sideways at the rest of the pack, knowing they’d hear him.  
  
“The laws we make, the code we keep – they aren’t broken. Only bent, shaped for us. If I didn’t keep my word, Allison,” Hans words were fire against the shell of her ear, a tear slipping down his cheek as he admits on a mouth of cotton, “then what would I have left that was truly mine?”  
  
He lets her go now, the ungrateful and ill-received organ in his chest reminding him he was surviving, always surviving, never worthy enough to thrive. Ansel has his bat near his foot, tapping in anxiety. Rachelle doesn’t appear to know what to say. Melissa sobs. Zach…he won’t look at Zach. When he turns from them, there’s blood dripping down his eyebrow into eyes navy, and empty. So empty.  
  
Then he turns on his heel and in one bound shifts, effortless, graceful as he lands on four black paws. The wolf looks at them, crimson gaze a ghost in the dark hall, and disappears. Hans knew where to find Alcott. He doesn’t need help. He never does.  
  
(Hans keeps his word, because he lies.

&.

**Olivier:** How long does the spell last? *He asks Amalie instead, back teeth grit.*  

 **Amalie:** *She caught a quick glance between the two as Olivier asked about Daniella's welfare. The question itself did little to mollify any part of her but the sincere look in his eyes did. A bit. She looked away from the both, smirking down at the book and shaking her head as Daniella comments she'd enjoy this. Amalie would too, they both enjoyed this magic, the rush of power unlike anything ever felt. This was very powerful magic. And yet, it was the talk of skin-ripping cables that chilled her most.*  
  
Yes, that's right. Once in their body we'll have access to everything, and can make the calls ourselves. *She nods as if it was the most normal thing in the world and then her brows furrowed as she looks as Daniella repeats the words blood bond with hesitance. Eyebrows arching with curiosity, she nevertheless looked back to Olivier who seemed much less at ease. He couldn't possibly be squeamish could he?* It depends. Their minds are unconscious but they're highly trained so they'll fight back against the intrusion. I've seen this last hours. For me personally, practicing with my grandmother, 30 minutes has been my max. You break the spell when you want, it's like *she searched for the word*...pulling on a safety cord, to bring yourself back to your body.  
  
*She turns back to Daniella now.* Emotional transference is a possible side effect but its temporary. And you might want to clean up the wounds, cause if it hurts, we'll feel that.

 **Olivier:** Access to everything. *He exhales, as if it was a question despite it just being a statement. Memories, predominantly, was what was on his mind (and as Amalie proceeded to mention 'emotional transference' too, he was well aware she'd already answered his question.)  
  
 **Daniella:** *Half irritated that he'd cut her off, she figures he'd tell them if there was a serious chance of risk here and is stirred back into action, nodding in agreement.* Right, right, I remember.  
  
 **Olivier:** Remember? You've done this before? *Was it possible, oddly, that he was the one who should have reacted to Amalie's name? He was certainly doing so now, and likely shouldn't be falling in the "attraction" category, except, well, he was. There was wariness there too though: look, he'd been around such magic and supernatural creatures all his life. And he was too well aware of the...potential consequences. Emotional transference was the...first chapter, honestly, prolonged exposure to another person's psyche -- not to mention, what it would do to the two they were holding down unconscious right now. His gaze flicks curious to Daniella. For all her nagging about his likely-did-not-exist-but-maybe soul, right now he was a little more concerned for hers. She looks back at him calmly and with a shrug; both of them were acting like there was nothing to this beyond a rush of power.  
  
Maybe that was what concerned him. 30 minutes with a clear goal in mind was one thing -- but slippery slope was his middle name. His mind was awhirl with what such a skill could make easier for him, and if it would make it easier for -him-...  
  
 **Daniella:** Once, *she nods, gesturing sideways with her elbow as she was propping Monica up and healing as she talked,* just practicing. We tried it with Lila.  
  
 **Olivier:** *See, on the one hand he could understand that: playing around at a sleepover (oh there was an image-though he'd never met her sister, the two in front of him, well), but then on the other hand? He could never do that to Tony. Even as an experiment. Still, he just nods.  
  
This wasn't the time to have this discussion. He blinks, straightens and then rubs over his face. Taking a few steps away from the circle and moving towards Amalie as Daniella worked (he was grateful for that; she seemed to get that he wanted a private moment), his hand comes out of his pocket. Reaching towards her, it hovers near her arm as if to touch, but without daring, asking in a bit of a lower tone,* How  ...much, blood are you talking?  
  
 **Amalie:** *She nodded as he repeated her, they were like parrots he and Dani, honestly. He was concerned. She briefly wanted to ask what was so much more surprising in what they were doing than what he was used to. They weren't going to harm them...well, more than Daniella already had in tying them up. And yes, invading someone's body, she understood the ethical grey area there, but they were Death Eaters.*  
  
Yes but with Lila it was a mutual transference, and they're already blood related, so it was much simpler. They basically swapped bodies. *She nodded and then took a step backwards to set the book down again, looking at Olivier as he stepped closer, his curiosity and hesitance not yet faded.*  
  
Not much at all. Especially with the dark mark, it's powerful enough as it is, and its part of their very being. Normally you would have to anchor the connection with a meaningful physical object, if there wasn't already a blood connection like with Lila and Dani. *She turned her arm so that the palm of her hand was facing up and drew a line down her forearm* A scratch, not too deep. And then we hold their arms by their elbow, *she mimicked it with her own arms* so that the blood and dark mark are in contact. If you're uncomfortable for whatever reason, *she suggested, a bit concerned by the look on his face* you could wait outside.  
  
 **Daniella:** *Grinning idly for a moment in memory,* Yeah...didn't tell Dylan or Noah either, remember? Finally got them back for their damn twin game...well, Lila did, anyways. *She chuckles, lowering Monica's hand and sitting her up the way she remembered sitting herself.  
  
 **Olivier:** *Nodding along because, everything they were saying made sense even if it was still a bit shocking (that wasn't his issue, after all), his lips quirked up at the last remark.* Ah. *His hand came back, rubbing at the edges of his lips as he shook his head.* I think the problem is rather being...too comfortable. *He says that apologetically, adding,* Mi dispacie, again cara, I know we just met. *And oddly (well, for him) he wasn't mentioning all of this as a ploy or trick; but genuine concern. (Eating Daniella's best friend seemed a bit counter-productive to a relationship).  
  
He shakes his head, dropping his hands behind his back, cupping his wrist and saying easily,* A scratch though, that's fine. *A scratch, for a half an hour. Well, he did need to test himself anyway, hadn't he said that to Tony? And he'd sit far enough away it wasn't readily apparent, but other than that, besides, once they were sitting up, making the calls, it would be fine.*  
  
 **Daniella:** *She stands again, moving to Amalie, clapping her hands together.* Right, so, don't remember - which swaps with three o'clock and which with nine o'clock?  
  
 **Amalie:** *Too comfortable around the blood. Well, the word was that D'Grey was a vampire. If this was the same D'Grey then it would stand to reason...oh  Daniella fucking Faye, what the hell are you getting yourself into?  
  
She pursed her lips and then nodded* Alright then, if you think so. *One move towards her neck though and she was de-teething him. Turning towards Daniella, she twirled her finger counterclockwise.* 12 with 9, 6 with 3. Pick your poison darling *She pats Dani's shoulder and moves towards the circle again, double checking the rune drawn in the center and the ones around it.*  
  
Bring Bluto over here.  
  
 **Olivier:** *He nods, still keeping his hands behind his back. And he still stayed a decent length back. The proceedings though... he was more than passing curious (and besides, he was stronger than having to leave the room because of a scratch). Truthfully, at this moment he was more than passing curious less of the ritualistic spell--and more of the girl that Daniella calls best friend.  
  
This did explain a few things though. Primarily, why it was Daniella had not freaked out the first time they shared blood. Exhaling, his smile is easier now as he adds,* Si, grazie.  
  
 **Daniella:** *Pulling a hair band off her wrist, she was gathering her hair up with one hand, honestly not at all bothered by the idea that Olivier stayed - she knew perfectly well he could control himself around her when it came to blood. And besides, this was all to get the Death Eaters destroyed, Harper home, Eliza home--Tony, safe. There wasn't anything that mattered more to Olivier; he wouldn't jeopardize their spell.  
  
When Amalie put her hand on Dani's shoulder though...she still paused, put her hand on top of it and said easily under her breath, after a quick look at Olivier,* Not sure what he said, but he's not a vampire. That was his father, he's dead, *she pats her friend's hand, still whispering but now a bit louder, matter of fact,* obviously we'll be watching the whole movie later, after shoe shopping, with macaroons. And white wine, yes.  
  
 **Olivier:** *He hears the end as he sits against the table, still looking curious at the purses and little herbs there. The addition makes him laugh.* Sounds tasty.  
  
 **Daniella:** *Her hand falls from Amalie's, eyes narrowing before she says lightly,* If you say you prefer--  
  
 **Olivier:** *coughs, immediately over her and saying simply, relaxed with his arms resting over his chest,* Amalie, has she given you the locations we'll need to send them?  
  
 **Amalie:** *Not a vampire then. Well what a relief! Obviously he would just be too comfortable with blood for normal reasons. And yes, she understood the hypocrisy here, for she -was- comfortable with blood but then again she chose to think she wasn't normal in the slightest. Either way, she hadn't liked that comment and she gave Daniella a look that said they -would- be talking about this later on in absolute detail. Over her box of macaroons and bottle of white wine and a movie, apparently.*  
  
Yes, she has. *She nods, helping Daniella set the male Death Eater in place opposite the female one, perfectly in place and then looks up at Daniella.* You're transferring into Monica, yeah?  
  
 **Olivier:** Excellent. *He wasn't going to write them down, as frankly, anything in writing was a mistake - even more so for magical folk. You didn't just have to destroy the parchment, but the quill too. Quills could have long memories. And the only pen he had on him was one he'd hate to have to incinerate; it was one of those soft gel-tips you get so attached to when having to write for hours on end. Resting comfortably back, he was nonetheless still as a statue, like his spine was curling slowly, eyes gleaming with his curiosity and intrigue.* And then too, Amalie, grazie. *He nods his head, words simple, but honest.* For your help.  
  
 **Daniella:** Yes. *Her nose wrinkles as she turns Monica's arm again, exposing the pale, white forearm and...the dark mark, which she wants to rip off--but would have to wait.* Should be fun, *she says drily, but brightly* let me just quickly jump into character as Cinderella's stepsister. *She was gratified by Oli's snort of amusement,* The second one, *she continues, smirking at Amalie,* she had nicer hair. *She looks back at Olivier as he added 'thank you' and swallowed on a dry throat. Yeah. There...yeah, she really should have let them meet before this. It was...she was waiting for the right moment! Amalie...well, she knew everything (else); had been the shoulder she cried on when Dylan slipped off, when they fought, had helped her scour his room when she turned into "Mom" on them.  
  
Olivier, on the other hand, it wasn't so mhch the blood and controversial ritual here she knew (though both were clearly contentious as well). Olivier didn't trust...well, anyone actually, but his brother. Her bringing Amalie there without informing him...she had to admit, she was grateful for his apparent relaxing even knowing he would be anything but.  
  
Especially if he only-believed- that Tony was in Rome (yes, she caught the distinction). Fights were breaking out in the headquarters any minute now and he didn't -know- that Tony wasn't there? After murmuring her own little prayer for Tony's sake she slips into kneel where she's supposed to and says to Olivier,* Yeah, we'll share a celebratory toast later, with Tony, *she winks at him, even though it was plain she understood,* Right now? *Slipping her little stiletto knife out of her jacket sleeve, she rolls her own sleeve up and without cutting, looks back at Amalie, smirking and batting shadowy, lined black eyes.* Bring it, Hecate, the red curtain's already lifting and we've got a sold out full house to perform for.  
  
  **Amalie:** *A petulant thing to say was that she wasn't doing it for him, but that was only obvious and the fact remained that no matter who she was doing it for, she was still helping them. Not entirely sure who the 'they' was but it was just something to interrogate Daniella about later. Still, she added with a smile.* I'd do anything for Dani. Taking down a few criminals in the mean time is just a perk.  
  
*She flashes a grin to Dani as well and then goes to sit opposite the girl with a chuckle at the evil stepsister. This would be unpleasant, to have access to a mind so evil and what was worse, be able to understand it. Casting the thought out, she made a knife appear in her hand as well, wiggling her eyebrows at Daniella's reference.* Then let's begin.  
  
*Without another glance to Olivier, Audrey began to chant the spell as she brought the tip of the knife against the top of her forearm and dragged it down , splitting skin in a thin line, blood red as wine came up to the surface. Shallow enough, it didn't run or continue to flow. When Daniella did the same,she reached for the man's arm, lifting it and then gripped his elbow, pressing their arms together.  
  
It was like a jolt of electricity traveling through her veins, bringing a dying fire from flickering embers to roaring flames. That was pure energy, raw magic, ready to take the shape of whatever they chose. A smile grew on her face before she then grabbed Monica's free arm to complete the circle as they continued chanting the spell in a language older than the Latin used for most spells.  
  
As the chant continued, the rune in the middle and the ones all around them began to glow a dark red the color of the very blood they'd shed. The magic built and built, almost to bursting before she felt herself being pulled. Used to the sensation, craving for it, she let herself go.  
  
It wasn't like a feather floating off a nest and making its slow descent back to earth. It was jumping off the top of the earth, and falling through the middle of a waterfall. The only thing that ever come to even a hint of what that felt like was one of those nearly vertical fully enclosed waterslides Daniella had dragged her to one summer. They went on it five times in a row.  
  
All that energy transporting her, enveloping her, jettisoning her was the single most thrilling experience in her life. And as Amalie's eyes rolled into the back of her head before her neck slumped down, Conrad's opened suddenly as Amalie took in a sharp inhale through his lungs.

 


	65. More Than My Heart Can Bear

Apparently they had not taught her well enough. He ignored the comments on Harper's fake death, thinking it better to let the boy's thoughts stew on it even as he remarked with perfect clarity Harper's actions that day, as well as his own.  
  
"You know what they say," he had began after a chuckle, his lips twisting with a cruel smirk, "live to kill another day." Of course he knew that wasn't how the saying went, but he didn't particularly.  
  
Like he didn't particularly care if Eliza killed him right now. He'd been informed the 'resurrection' was extremely taxing and jarring. Gustav himself had wanted to see how much a werewolf body could endure constant dying.  
  
It wouldn't be with this werewolf though.  
  
He raised a hand, that was all it took to stop her and then after another quick look at Alcott, Gustav shook his head.  
  
"Poor form, Eliza," he commented, voice drawling with boredom. Maybe he should have killed her after all. She was only half pure blood and wouldn't have been missed.  
  
"Did you so easily forget what pain feels like? Get creative," he summoned a Cat's Paw that hung from a chain and swung it to and fro, "something like this." Whipping it like he would his studded whip, the silver sharp edges dug into Alcott's shoulder and as he yanked it free, came away with skin and muscle, blood splattering the floor.  
  
But he had no time for a proper lesson for the girl.  
  
"You can leave us now, dear."  
  
When first pushed past, Eliza has to stall herself from attacking. Oh, she wants to - but he'd take it out on Alcott, or heaven forbid call for reinforcements and discover the attack upstairs.  
  
"I'm anything but poor, dah-ling." She retorts, rolling her eyes (and trying to hide her smile as Alcott smirks). "I'm just bored now."  
  
Or, maybe sixteen year olds shouldn't learn to torture. Maybe sixteen year olds should be in a boarding school with their friends worried about boys and make-up, maybe fucking sixteen year olds aren't weapons, you psychotic, deluded, rapist -puttana-.  
  
Eliza moves out of the way, torn between her anger and her disappointment -- which she makes no effort to hide, because she was disappointed, she was disappointed that she couldn't spare Alcott whatever the puttana (thank you Antonio for the word) tried next. Harper's potion might keep him from literal pain - but he still had to act accordingly.  
  
The anger crossing her face was real, but she buries relief. She didn't want to hurt Al. She didn't want to fake-hurt him. If Roswell wants her to be creative, she had a few thoughts - if he didn't mind standing in.  
  
"Oh." She settles for instead, shrugging a shoulder as Alcott's tan skin, bloodied red ligaments and blue veins fall to the floor with his battered howl, then sticks her hands behind her back. Her nails dig into her wrist hard enough to bleed before she found her phone again. "I see." Tap, tap, tap - ha, it was wonderful to be able to do that one handed. Okay, fine. She had that message lined up too.  
  
Her words were sweet as Alcott swallows his pain and mutters another Spanish death threat that makes her smile (Gustav wasn't looking at her).  
  
"Later then."  
  
She tosses hair over her shoulder and looks at Alcott. He was on his knees now, huffing and puffing like he wants to burn the house down, eyes shut in pain as the skin repairs itself over the whip. Hand smacking her lips, she blows a wet kiss and then stalls at the door as she unlocks it with a finger snap. The hinges creak back and reveal Hans.  
  
A...significantly bloodier Hans than she'd expected, but he was wiping his own hands off as he smirks, then tosses the rag at Eliza. She catches it only in case of a secret message - when she sees none she huffs and towel-snaps him with it.  
  
"I'm not a mai--what happened?!"  
  
With utter nonchalance to hide his barely-restrained ire, he only remarks, "Spot of trouble with a subordinate. They won't be causing any again."    
  
Eliza can't help her wide-eyes, and look of anger so striking he feels it in his bones - hears her heart jam like she means to make him deaf. Ah, yes. _Well, sorry darling_ , his eyes say for him with an eyebrow arch -- _you knew who I was all along_. Hans thinks it's a very good thing in that moment she was turned the other way around.  
  
"So you killed them." Eliza's mouth is in a half oh, but she sounds ... more irritated than furious, as her heartbeat would entail. The stench of blood and ripped flesh still fresh enough for his mouth to water, he licks blood from his finger tip and winks back at her.  
  
"Waste not, luv."  
  
Hans tuts, not looking her in the eye (she knows that's to protect her but sue her for being annoyed!), and remarks over her shoulder.  
  
"Heard we have a guest."  
  
Sighing at the mess of blood and flesh on the floor and shaking his head, he pushes past Eliza to look Alcott in the eye. To be specific, crimson eyes look hard into amber ones, reassuring with their hard look as much as he smirks.  
  
"Roswell." Hans eyes narrow, trailing up the whip with a hiss under his breath and looking the man in the eye. "What are you doing? Last I checked, our little arrangement meant you leave all wolves for me."  
  
"You can get the fuck away from me too," Alcott swears, but his shivering is more from a sudden blast of relief - he sees Eliza's wand at her side and marvels. How did she cast without moving her wand or lips?  
  
Holy hell.  
  
As an eyebrow arches with his little chuckle of dismissal as Alcott swore, Hans cups his wrist behind his back, palming the potion, and stalls in front of Alcott. Oh, how interesting. For all the huffing and teary-eyes -- there was nothing in his heart, no contraction in muscles...ah. He wasn't actually in pain. Harper truly was a genius. A genius, and he only took the one look at Alcott to know it was no choice at all. For all his anger, for all his struggle himself, he knows -- fuck, he'd keep his word. Smirking to himself, he looks back to Roswell - notes that Eliza hovers near the door (well, he can't blame her, she'd want to help rip Roswell apart too) - and only asks, light with his own irony,  
  
"Are you breaking our deal?"  
  
He might have choked her for her attitude and he nearly did. How easy it would have been to outstretch his hand and close around her pale throat and squeeze until her eyes started bugging out of their sockets. Instead Gustav allowed her to walk past him and to the door.  
  
"Self-healing, I did miss this," he remarks casually and then his eyebrows rise briefly as he hears Ricard behind. Ah, excellent, even better.  
  
He turned back to the boy and after placing the Cat's Paw on a table, snapped his fingers to clean the specks of blood off his hands.  
  
"Welcoming our newest addition," was his simple response before placing his hands in his pockets and chuckling.  
  
"This one's special, the son of a mutual friend of us. A friend," he turned to look at Ricard directly now, "that I heard your pack was planning to steal away from me, no doubt under your orders or are you losing your handle on them?" He overheard the problem with one of his subordinates.  
  
"After how generous I've been to you too. Pity."  
  
"I'm well aware who he is." Hans speaks without lifting his gaze from Alcott's. They were in another of their staring contests, he thinks with a twitch to his mouth; they could be on a playground, if the chains were ropes and the game wasn't tug o' war with one's own flesh. Eyes still crimson, he doesn't trouble to keep his voice down. What was important to him was only that Alcott take this damn potion from him before his resolve fails and he's forced to break his word.  
  
It was the only thing left that was his, sometimes. Roswell makes the idiotic mistake of reminding him of this, and a furrowed brow arches as he licks his bottom lip. He still won't look at him. Alcott, as much of a nuisance as the little pup had been, he deserved his respect. The fly behind him just needs to be squashed.  
  
"Ah, yes, I've heard that rumor as well. Troublesome thing when underlings believe they can sow such enmity between great friends such as us. Or are you telling me," his voice was bemused condescension as he speaks to the nagging fly, "that you believed that drivel?"  
  
He takes a few steps forward to Alcott, eyes flashing as he brings his hand up and wipes blood dribbling off his lips to be clean before lifting the little potion. He speaks in a low hiss but with an oddly honest lilt to his tone.  
  
"Oh," he tuts, "Gustav, you wound me. Why should I turn on you? I do remember your generosity." He looks around the silver room - oh how he remembered this silver room, oh how his muscles ache in memory of it - and he looks just for a second at the blonde through the doorway. She stands in leather and heels with eyes ice blue, now in worry; a statue of understanding. He looks back with similarly blue, hard eyes as he continues, "I remember it all. I just came to give our friend a little gift, and then I'll be on my way.  
  
Now he speaks in heat to the chained pup.  
  
"As I told you. I'm a man of my word. Trust me, Al."  
  
And though he can see that Alcott wants to spit at him, though he sees the furrowing brow and curling lip in anger and pain, there's something that breaks through the facade. A penny, perhaps, isn't that the saying? Alcott nods, slowly but resolutely - as if he signs his warrant with the jerk of his neck.  
  
In a flash, Hans has tipped the pup's chin back, lips open and poured the last silver potion -- the last one that would last forever, down the ungrateful throat of his enemy. He'll laugh later at the irony of it, as he lets the vial shatter on the floor. Hard gaze over a smirk meets Gustav's gaze once more as Alcott's spine convulses on itself (oh, Eliza darling, calm down, gracious you'll give yourself a heart attack) --  
  
"Ah, wait." Hans snaps his fingers. "That was Laura. I'm sorry mate, I seem to have mistaken you for a girl."  
  
Eliza giggles once behind him, even as she tries to make herself as condescending as Hans.  
  
"And what's wrong with being a girl?"  
  
"A woman." Hans corrects in a flash, smirking as he pulls back - Alcott's started coughing on his knees, the potion reverberating fire through his veins, the chains rattling on the wall. "And truly, I don't think I've ever paid you a higher compliment, Roswell -- but I'm afraid I'll have to take it back. You're not one iota, of what Laura is and was -- and you never will be."  
  
His own jaw snaps teeth too big for his mouth together -- he still had the silver potion in his veins and at the moment and it was Olivier who had given his word that Harper could be the one to kill Roswell. Hans didn't have to break his word now, and he'd be damned if he didn't get a taste too.  
  
Gustav looked on with eyes narrowed behind his glasses and arms crossed in front of his chest. Ricard always had that smooth disposition; he hid behind a charade of gentlemanliness. Chivalry, courtesy, honor, style; Gustav despised it. And he didn't need werewolf hearing to know the man was spinning his charm and attempting to lie to him.  
  
"But you did betray me, Ricard," he took his hand out of his pocket and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Which is why Gina's paid a visit to your sister's apartment in the city. Don't worry," his eyes narrowed behind a cruel smirk, "she'll take good care of them."  
  
The meaning laid plain in the thick air, Alcott finds himself shooting an unwarranted glance around, first to see Hans lip stiffen, and then to see Eliza likewise forgetting to act. Her heart had started a riot, but Hans beside him was curiously empty of anything.  
  
And 'them'? He remembers Stefanie - remembers her holding Eliza back when he half asked her to do so - but he wasn't sure who else 'them' could be. The pack? Who else did Hans Lawrence Ricard give a damn if they lived or died? And there was blood sticking to his hands - you could scrub, scrub, and scrub away and it wouldn't matter: the scent was still there.  
  
The all-too-important reminder to act came in the sudden shout that turned growl in an instant as the potion he'd swallowed rips through his insides. Maybe he shouldn't have trusted Alpha Douche after all.  
  
(Eliza clearly did, and he was adding that to his list of questions when they got out of here -- but with the sudden -snap-, he ceased giving a damn).  
  
Hans just stared at Gustav, unmoved by the threat despite his stalled breath and the flicker of unease in his spine. Oh...they were all fools. Tsk, tsk, Roswell, shouldn't you know better? You wanted me to be a beast; how did that saying go? Be careful what you wish for? It would be your end. In this case, a delicious slow dine as he pulls his insides out. If Gina did have Stefanie and Marcel, that was only ever more her folly. He might have spared her life before (Olivier never would, so it wasn't his problem). Now...  
  
The chains were rattling louder now - and that was a bone cracking, a growl inhuman. Hans only smirks as he looks at where they're bound on the wall, feigning a moment of a shocked - 'oh no!' and covering his open lips with his palm.  
  
"Eliza -- darling, did you reinforce them?"  
  
Eliza's eyes were wide and shining but her smirk was brighter.  
  
"I-- no, I assumed you would have --" She's almost teasing, almost playful as she twirls her wand between her thumb and forefinger.  
  
"Ah. I can see of course," Hans nods complacently as he zips to her side, takes the opportunity to land a kiss on her cheek before zipping forward again. Now he claps his hands together, "Why you would assume that...but I'm afraid mate --"  
  
There's a riiiiip, yank, clang. There goes one.  
  
"...I may have made them a little loose. Oops. My bad?"  
  
Eliza looks like she's torn between laughing and saying "seriously?!" in that high-pitched incredulous grin she does so well, and he can't decide which he'd rather here.  
  
"Seriously though?!"  And then she laughs, and he smirks as he thinks: _Ah. He got both for once. About time._

 

**&.**

"Sorry,...so sorry, I'm late." Harper speaks, his shaky breath exhaling against her lips before he pressed against them once more, his thumb finally wiping tears from her face even as his own fell quicker than ever and a sob tried to work his way out of his chest.

"You didn't think," he breathes, "a little thing like death, "he exhaled with a smile against her lips, "would stop me, did you?"

Her hand fell from his neck and presses over his heart, like she thought she could push into it, fall into him, and has to settle for the steady, reassurance of it's beat. And then she laughs, bright and fast, like the laugh knew it would get stuck in her throat as she chokes if it didn't hit the air hard, strike his lips. Beaming at him, her eyes flutter from his lips to his own, she thinks, she was looking at something -- listening to a voice say words so beautiful and perfect it hit her right between the lungs, left a sharp ache in her chest and she found herself digging the heel of her hand against her own heart, clutching at her skin, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Oh sweetheart," Lyndsi kisses the upturned corner of his mouth, "I love you. Truthfully, Harper," she couldn't stop saying his name, and those three words would bear repeating nine hundred times too, "I was beginning to get," she breathes out and rubs a tear from him too, "just a little..." exhale, "worried. What sort of time do you call this?"

She kissed him again, because she was laughing and crying and shocked and she couldn't think of doing anything but that, the world could give them a few minutes, after it stole half their life.

"Past time." He revealed breathlessly before her lips met his again, inhaling her. "Way past time." His other breathless mutter escaped from the side of his mouth without pulling away as their lips met for an eternity wrapped in an instant. They were capable of that, capable of everything and after defying death itself, Harper felt like anything else would be easy.  
  
"I don't -- I don't understand." This was a soft murmur, as her ever-inquisitive mind forces her eyes back open, to gaze at the man who'd always known more than she did, yet never once sounded condescending when explaining to her. (To her, anyway). The soft pad of her fingertips brush against his lips, his cheeks, his throat, tracing lines as if she could erase them, drawing herself instead.

"I just, how...how are you, here --"  
  
All at once, as there's a momentary shift in his eyes, she understands. She looks down to his hand on her, pulls it back, seeing the tell-tale wedding ring and she murmured, not sure if she should laugh or cry.

"Oh...no wonder D'Grey said I had a guardian angel. ...well, bloody hell, I think I was feeling envious of myself."

Finally pulling back, though no more than a few inches, he looked back into her eyes as she finally put voice to her confusion and wonder. The truth must have been apparent in his eyes for she seemed to realize the truth or at least, a part of the truth. Holding back a snort as he realized how many people exactly had been privy to that joke, he shook his head and murmured.

"He thinks he's so clever."  
  
Her eyes dart back to hold his, wide and stubbornly clear now, because yes her body was going to listen to her and make herself savor the fact that she could look at him again. She explains a bit sheepish, in a softer smile, "When Rachelle said that Angel was trying to get back to his wife, I kind of hated the woman who could get to have him back. Goes to show you.. ...something, I don't know," she breathes out in quiet, exhausted wonder, "something..."

Harper smiled again, the joy bubbling up simply couldn't be restrained any longer. Cupping her cheeks again, he laughed silently as her explanation drifted into 'something' and 'i don't know' and then nodded.

"Only you could manage to be jealous of yourself, baby." He pressed another kiss and then pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, screwed shut as he exhaled again. "There are no words...no words--

"None," she agrees in an instant, the hand he didn't have grasped lifting to squeeze around his shoulders, pull her into his embrace, as if she's trying to give over all her heat, "- none at all."

There weren't. Her heart felt fit to burst. Her throat was dry, her eyes were filling again. She wants to bury herself in him, burrow in his skin and hide from the world, from reality, from everything.

"Oh, Lyndsi, so many days...so many nights--"

"Too many." She retorts that instantly, as her heart soars and eyes widen with the wonder of being called Lyndsi again, the delight of having him stare at her. The weeks after he'd gone she'd spent snapping at anyone who, she felt, looked at her too long: he was the only one who was allowed to stare. The only one who was allowed to -- but -- oh, God...

"And now you're here!" He squeezed her cheek and pressed another kiss. "And you're  _real."_

And then Harper squeezed her cheek and whispered that little word "real" and she nods abruptly, thinking: nothing had been so real in nine and a half years. A terrible nightmare only, and even those have some warm highlights (it's what makes the rest so frightfully awful) -- but this, this was real, this was Harper, her husband, and even as she knew they couldn't go back it didn't matter: they had each other.

Pulling back to gasp, her blue gaze flutters bright up at him as she adds quickly, suddenly, "I have -- I have scrapbooks for you, though, just --" 

Scrapbooks. Lord, had anything so cheesy and and ridiculous (as he had often called the hobby of scrapbooking before) ever sounded so amazing? If he hadn't been smiling before, he was certainly smiling now thinking of looking through pictures, of mementos with his family around him. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that he had missed almost a decade of their lives but he would make up for it. This decade was a chapter, just one chapter of their lives. They've had many more and will continue to have many more. Each day from now on would be a chapter of its own.

" --well mostly of Al, oh baby, our son, he --"

Speaking of no words. Her chest expands and then she gives up, she just falls quietly, looking at him, look at him, he's here, he's holding you, he's really, actually, properly real. Lyndsi wants to fly. Lyndsi wants to get her broomstick, drag both husband and son onto it, and soar.

"I know, I know, I saw him baby, I saw him." Harper nodded, exhaling, with a bright and proud beam of his face, "He's so wonderful, Lyndsi! He cracked my tricks just like I knew he would, he found me, he brought all these people here- he's amazing."

His throat was closing up again, fresh tears spilling from his eyes but he continued to hold her gaze with a smile. "Our son, he's brilliant."

He holds her closer, unwilling to be too far from her side forevermore. Every breath now was a sweet reminder that he could spend every moment with her again, with their son, with their family.

"And too many nights," she added, a hint of her loneliness in her eyes even as she smiles, and so the words sound perhaps a bit more like an order as she adds, "Don't you ever let me sleep alone again."

"Never." He shook his head as he promised fervently, kissing the tip of her nose.

"You know I do so hate to sleep alone, my love." His exhale turns into a small gasp as his lungs continued to struggle to bring back steady breathing, the shock of having her back was too deep in his bones that only shuddering breaths and tears and peppered kisses against her skin could calm him down. Then again, he supposed, coming back to life after a walking death took some energy.

"I love you. I love you more than my heart can bear right now," he chuckled, "as it's trying to claw its way out of my chest."

 

**&.**

"If this is some kind of -" There's a growl on the other end that shuts her up. Her hands jerk as Hans replies, "you really think I would joke about our brother in mortal danger, sister?" and she feels her mouth moving, but no words come out. Screwing her eyes up, she draws a breath and feels nothing. Exhaling slowly to ask, "What did you do?"  
  
Hans was so silent on the other end she thinks in surprise she might have broken him. At least, that must be why he sought to break her when he replies, "For once, dear sister, I believe my crime was doing what you call 'the right thing.' "  
  
"Hans." She breathes out, feels her lips curve and her slate stare but when she hears the hitch in his voice - that tell-tale arch to it that means he's going to jerk away from her she says instead, in German, "I'll find him. Don't worry, brother, I'll find him. I won't let anything happen to him."  
  
This time it's Stefanie's turn to hear her name in a warning, heartbroken exhale and her turn to pull away from him. She paces hurriedly, picks up silk, saying crisply: "Go keep on doing the right thing."  
  
She clicks the phone off. And she screams into Tony's pillow.

 

**&.**

Another roar drowns out her chuckle and Eliza turns to see Alcott, amber-eyed and hunched, fur sprouting over his back, imploring her with a single look to...well, -run-. Run, run, run. A little sooner than planned, perhaps, but the lack of remorse from Hans already had skipped their plans ahead.  
  
Forcing a spin around a dank, dark column, Eliza grabs on to watch a green light spin by where her skirt left, burning a hole through the Valentino.  
  
" _Bitch._ " She snaps, and it occurs to her sounding like a teenage girl was as unhelpful now as sounding like the demented Death Eater she had been pretending to be.  
  
Another spell - this one purple, and oh she remembers that agony - graces her scalp and she ducks, slamming her neck into the stone. As if in homage to the missed spell, the egg that raises instantly on her spine was purple. Double bitch.  
  
With every intent to kill, she raises her own wand, casting two spells behind her at Roswell -- two short, sharp green snaps without words. They miss too, fire-works into mist into nothingness against the silver of the cage, and she starts running again. Clattering, she opens the doors as she goes - shoots spell after spell and tosses the knives she'd hidden down her ruined skirt and ripped bodice into the cells.  
  
The prisoners in there deserved to draw their own blood before they were rescued, Eliza thought.  
  
Her hand seizes on the railing, and her eyes widen as she looks up above her, the spiral seeming never ending. Swearing in Italian under her breath, she kicks her heels off (Hans owes her a new pair), and starts climbing. She'll have to ask Harper later how it was she found the energy for that.  
  
Remembering the Walrus atop the door, her wand stays up, and she forces her huff to still so he won't hear her coming. Maurice blocks the entirety of the entrance...but his back should've been to her. Instead, Maurice looms into the dark, blocking the faked light and offers her a chilly, echoing laugh.  
  
"Sweetness," he says, or rather starts, "I was hoping it was you who betrayed us," before whipping down. The black leather snakes around her waist and hauls her up. Eliza smacks him as he pulls her close.  
  
"That was just for your breath."  
  
The smirk that answers her as his face nears tells her; ah! This was one who didn't feel pain.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Her wand might have fallen onto the steps, but she didn't need it. The hand she smacked him with lays one finger on his pouting, squirmy lips, tapping to silence him. She stops wiggling, stops attempting to knee him. Hans was right; the perfume she wore did take too long. Impatient, Eliza pouts her own lips in plump purple, leans up to his ear, and whispers in Latin, that deplorable spell Harper taught her.  
  
Maurice lets go - and boy, when she said that, did she mean it: he let a screaming, rippling, roar of agony as the potion he must have been downing by the gallons turns to poison in his veins. She lands on her tight-covered feet, soft as a cat and straightens, her wand zooming back into her waiting palm.    
  
She doesn't wait to see if the poison kills him or not. (Maybe she doesn't want to know if she'd turned literal maneater on the day that was meant to be liberation). Smirking to herself, she starts running down the hall again, finding the silence eerie. It lets her heart pound too loud to harmonize her fierce retreat.  
  
Gustav would give a merry hunt for the pair of transforming wolves; she, had to get the hell out of there, insure that Harper knew where to go. While the wolves kept Gustav busy down here, and Olivier dealt with the deserters and runaways (she prays that Nadia got the safe house information to Shane and the Aurors in time - not that she could see what help the Aurors would be, aside from Hols father) -- Harper was letting in their army on the ground floor. An army that Alcott had told her with a single look includes....  
  
...his mother.

 

**&.**

A few hours ago he had opened the storage space and had landed in the shock of his life. Tony expected it would be someone he knew, had prepared himself for it because otherwise why would Gina bother taunting him about it? But he had been surprised to find a familiar face he juuust couldn't pinpoint, until a few seconds after when he finally did.  
  
'I know' Gina had commented with a fake sigh and a tilt of her head, 'I told the boys to leave his face but they got a bit carried away'. Tony had spent the next half hour envisioning ways of best killing her. It kept him from doing the actual deed given that she had left him behind with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass, who wouldn't hesitate to kill Tony if he even so much as tried to move towards Marcel.  
  
The shock dissipated as he took his position guarding, but when Marcel awoke for a moment and stared him right in the face it resurfaced. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Stepping away, phoning Hans, that would let these Death Eaters know. And he couldn't bring his brother here, he had bigger fish to fry.  
  
He also couldn't leave. Couldn't try and take down two by himself and then take Marcel and run because now he knew who Gina was looking for. She wanted a pair, she'd said, and had taken Marcel from his sister's apartment. No, Tony had to wait until Gina returned, to kill her if she returned having found Stefanie (he prayed she wouldn't) or...to kill her either way, actually. It's been a long time coming, and Tony had run out of mercy without any time to recuperate any of it.

In (too long dammit, too long, was it two hours? three?) - Daniella's sister Lila is crinkling a piece of paper in her hand with the address, promising her to be careful. A smile, tremulous at best, shaky and pushing tears back spreads across Stefanie's face. She waits until she sees Lila's believed it - and in the lapse, learns to believe it herself. There's wickedness in the smirk now as she leans over, kisses her cheek and tells Lila she'll see her soon.  
  
"A storage unit?" she mutters under her breath barely, when she stands on the edge of it, "for fuck's sake, really? Cliche and horribly insulting all at the same time, oh they do sink to new lows."

The wards alerted them on an unauthorized person in the building with a subtle beep in the room. Feeling his heart rise to his throat and stay there, he moved without a word to the others to check it out. Tony would say immediately that it was because he wouldn't kill an innocent person like these psychos, but a subconscious part of him knew he couldn't stand Marcel's gaze at him anymore, even (especially) if it couldn't focus for very long.

He took a few corners silently, followed the sound of faint footsteps as he heard them, then he saw who it was and stopped breathing.

Her stilettos had made eerie taps down the metal alleyway, so she took them off. Waving her hand, small loafers appear instead, and she's quick to double-check, insure she could run in them. It drove her nuts in the horror flicks when the girls didn't have demon-hunting shoes. Eyes narrowed with determination, she draws her wand, unzips her faux-leather and proceeds slowly - walking down the hallways as she searches what looks like endless garage doors. Self-defense classes on her mind, she thinks: I really should have gone to more of those, and adds mentally: but I've handled Ansel. These would just be Death Eaters - scum who didn't know yet their time was up, and only one or two. Yes, two - her spell confirms at least that there are three people down one particular way. One would be her brother. A glint flashes across her clenching eyes and she grips her wand tighter. Walking slowly, she realizes rather -- abruptly, she hadn't cast the spell right. Three guards then.

Hybrids didn't register, apparently.

She bites down hard on his palm anyway.

In a blink he was behind her, hand to her mouth to keep her from screaming, another at her waist to move her backwards and sideways against a wall. He 'shhhed' against her ear, managed a murmur of one syllable of her name before she bit down and he tears his hand away from her with a hiss.

"Are you trying to get us killed?!"

He whispered with urgency as he grabbed her upper arm, his voice barely keeping from breaking, his worry palpable.

 _Tony -- it was, Tony,_ _one of those holding her baby brother captive._ She'd known he was undercover. She knew what he'd say now: could even picture it in his shadowed blue-eyes, heavy with regret and torn between two worlds.  
  
But this was her brother. How could Tony not have -- it had been two hours, he couldn't have found a way to send a bloody text message?  
  
The whisper of half her name -- not a nickname, not a title, but an urgent "Shh-" turned into "Stef-" -- steals her breath. The betrayal felt sharp, sudden and fades in the second, in his taut embrace that anchors her even as she struggles. There's comfort in his fear and anger: not an apology, but something better. Something she won't identify, but finds herself basking in anyways.  
  
He rips his hand from her mouth, and her spine tightens at his whisper-shout. In the exact same voice,* What are you doing? *Her hand dashes across her lips, cleans his sweat and her saliva and she realizes briefly she was grateful nothing was copper. Her eyes meet his, flashing with hurt and confusion and anger in the dark but mostly panic -- because she wasn't that confused, and honestly she wouldn't be angry (she knew why he'd gone undercover) -- but only once Marcel was safe.*  
  
"Tony, let me go --" She exhales, still breathless and struggling against his grip on her arm now, wrenched back. For a moment she's still, just staring at him.

"Please. He's my brother, Antonio." And then on a revolving throat, still staring at his eyes, her voice breaks too as she asks, "Why didn't you text me?"  
  
She knows - at least, she thinks she does - that he hadn't known when he got that call who it was they wanted him to "babysit," but it had been hours. Not a word?  
  
Making it up as he went would have been the sincere answer just now but saying that out loud would have only filled him with more shame because indecisiveness and confusion where it concerned her brother would have been more insulting than anything else. It was supposed to be easy after all: grab Marcel and run, that would have been the right thing to do but he hadn't done it. He just, he hadn't.  
  
He lets go as she wrenches back because if he kept the grip on her not only would he have left bruises, but she would have possibly left her entire arm behind as it would have wrenched from its socket. That image was still ingrained in his mind from just a little over 24 hours ago. Suddenly it had become especially difficult to focus on what this day had actually been (but no, he had already declared it over to preserve the memory, his birthday officially passed even if in reality he hadn't born yet, he came into this world at 11:59 p.m. because yes, even as a newborn he had to be that damn difficult).  
  
"Gina's looking for an excuse to fuck and kill me, or kill then fuck me. If I so much as picked up a pho- one of them will come searching now anyways--" Tony brings his hands back in after having been waving them around the place, taking a step toward her again when he realized she'd taken one back, "fuck, Stef, you can't be here, she's after you too!"  
  
 **"** Marcel can't be here either," Stefanie steps forward as he does, even if that was contrary to the goal of actually getting away from him, breathing hot and her arm slams down into the air, "he has nothing to do with any of this!"

"I know." He whispered still, looking around quickly, wondering how in the blazes he was going to get her out of here. He was sincerely beginning to consider knocking her out and storing her into one of these empty storage rooms. He couldn't leave the premises, otherwise he'd take her home but-- no, she couldn't be here. Not her, not right now, anything, anything at all but this.

Stefanie bites her tongue, and somehow still manages to speak, snapping, "I said before I'd cut that bitch in half, I meant it -- Tony, I--"  
  
Only then did it seem to sink in: Gina, the one who had some psycho crush on him, the one that was even too sadistic for her darling brother -- she wanted her too? Her eyes go wide, her mouth dry and round. Heart thudding, the loafers shake across the cement and then she jams her knees together.

"Oh my brother really did do something right, didn't he?"  
  
About damn time, her eyes say for her before she screws them up and she lifts both hands over them, rubbing at her cheeks and jaw and - ow, her arm hurt, how hard had he gripped it?

"I don't know what he did to piss them off," Tony says, though actually, he had an idea, if the shit was going down and they were starting to realize it-- but if they were still keeping Marcel alive then obviously they didn't yet know the severity of how sincerely ass-fucked they all were.

The tiniest bit breathless she mutters, "Consider me jealous, then. I'll rip her apart."

"If anyone gets to rip that bitch apart, it's me- Stef, I'm serious!"

He grabs her shoulders, exhales as he looks at her. 

"Please, if anything happened to you--" His breath cut off, as if his whole body rejected the notion to begin with and simply refused to give voice to the possibility.  
  
Tony squeezes so tight she actually had to take a second to breathe. Goddamn him. Goddamn all of them, blatantly: it never mattered how many crunches she did or weights she lifts, she'd never be stronger than Tony and Olivier (especially when they were on blood) -- never be stronger than Hans or Ansel -- just, goddammit. And damn him for his hands being so warm and comforting as they lock her down. Or, maybe that was his words. _Please, if anything happened to you_ \-- her heart skips a beat and she licks at dry lips relentlessly, peels them open.  
  
"Oh, Tony." It escapes before she thinks about it, because she knew he tended not to like that phrase. Even when she spoke it so soft this time, so filled with sudden knowledge? Unclenching her fist, she lifts her hand as best she can, the arm he hadn't grabbed and cups his neck, saying fervently so it strikes his lips, _"It won't."_

She couldn't promise him that. She couldn't promise him that nothing would happen to her just the same way that he couldn't promise her that nothing would happen to Marcel (not only because something already _had_ happened to Marcel). But fuck it, he could do his damnest to ensure that it wouldn't happen. He and Stefanie were just currently disagreeing on how to best go about it.

There were other addendums she thinks her tiny two words could have had that shine from her eyes for just that second -- thank you for caring for me or that's what I meant too and I let you go, being the simplest of the hundreds. Instead, her eyes harden with steel edges to her round ice-blue. She says quietly, "You wouldn't leave if it was Olivier.  
  
It wasn't a question, because there was no question of that fact.  
  
He did agree with her on one thing though, that if he were in her shoes (oh hey, where did her heels go?), he wouldn't have been moved either. Now, does that make him a hypocrite for not letting that affect him in the slightest? Yes. He was fine with hypocrisy at the moment if it kept Stefanie alive. He releases his grip on her again, realizing on tightly he'd hold on and then exhales, nodding.

"You're right. You'd have to knock me out and drag me back home." Like he said, he wasn't particularly against doing so at the moment- shit.  
  
Grabbing her again, covering her mouth, he moved them again in a flash through some corridor.

"No, I'd have to --" Only the end of the sentence was swallowed as the hand she'd already bitten once slams back over her mouth. Stefanie couldn't even hiss. It didn't stop her from trying. Breathing out, she tries to imprint the words in his skin: offer to help you instead. Yet, how shocking was it that he was just trying to get her home instead? Wasn't that what everyone did? Poor, helpless Princess Stefanie - time to lock her up in the tower again (and if it was made of glass as much as D'Grey manor was, why was he throwing stones?)

Further away from the noise, he halts, exhaling hot and hard through his nose.

"Something's wrong."  
  
Though she couldn't deny the skip in her heart when he yanks her in to him. The heat from his breath tickling the edge of her ear, the instinctive and insistent hold around her waist like she was a shield to him as much as a teddy (and he already had one of those). His hand moves, cupping tangled strands of her hair and he breathes into her ear now. Stefanie blinks away hot water.  
  
Gasps out, "You think-- fuck --" Well, at least he wasn't treating her like she was made of glass; otherwise she'd certainly have shattered in the hasty retreat and slam against his hard chest. Struggling seemed useless, especially as his arm moves from her waist to resting under her chest, like he was holding her to his heart. Her own was betraying her fear, skipping beats and -- and whatever other emotion she wasn't going to name.  
  
Stamping down on his toes, she forgot: she wasn't wearing heels. For a moment, she blinks and smirks, remarking near his hand, "Okay, that might work better with stilettos." Her eyes narrow though, as she hears the noise again and realizes what it was -- and fill with tears.

"Marcel..."  
  
Tony winced without a sound when she stomped on his foot, and was very glad now, instead of curious as he had been a moment before, that she had left her heels at home. He scrunched his eyes together, let his head fall back to hit the wall in anger and in growing fear. As he hit his head into the wall with clear fury, it shook his hold on her so tightly it jars her thoughts. At least that had to be why she remarks crisp on her Saharan-desert throat.

"That seems counter-productive." Hurting himself, she means.

"Cazzos! They're not supposed to-"

Then the scream rings out again -- her brother's scream -- and a shaky gasp smacks the desert on the way out, sucks it of all water and leaves only dry air parting round lips. Her eyes were a mirror, tears too hot to fall and fury too tight to let anything by.

Tony let her go but then stepped in front of her and raised a finger to her face as he finishes, "Stay behind me."

Now sending her home would be detrimental, but he wasn't promising that he wouldn't knock her out and put her in a garage if he found that was better. He turned around, wand in hand and then walked at a brisk towards where they were holding Marcel because a run would cause suspicion. The screams only grew louder and louder the more as they got closer. She barely notices (strange) that he let her go, but it's hard not to immediately leap - panicked - even when he points at her like a baton conducting the orchestra of the panicked, vengeful, selfless siblings. Selfless in that they'd die for them, she means.

"Thank you." She whispers it, or maybe it didn't make it's way out of her throat, maybe she just says it with her eyes locked on his, both equally dark, panicked, and expository of feelings.  
  
With her wand out, she whispers, "See, was that so hard?"

Anything to get her to stop listening to those screams for a moment anything. As she follows, quick and silent, the loud screams snag breath inside her like a faulty zipper. What she sees at the edge of the hall stops her cold, and her hand slams to her lips to stop an exclamation.

&.

Breathing hard, hand slamming over her heart, she comes to a sudden halt at the edge of a hallway, immediately grateful her heels weren't making a sound on this carpet. Candles flicker in the faked moonlight, for it was always night under Notre Dame, even when the bells were ringing. The swell of alarm that rose in fear of two wolves transforming at will with bloodlust in their eyes -- the disgust as she wiped her mouth clean from Maurice's breath -- everything slips away from her, too happy at the sight to do anything but clap her hands together and squeal.  
  
Harper had his arms around his wife. Mrs. Brackner -- no, Lyndsi -- had the most radiant smile on her face that Eliza had seen in all the years she'd known her. Relief spills through her veins as she thinks for one beautiful, shining moment it was possible to find what you lost and go back.  
  
Harper sees Eliza approach, but first he had heard her approach. The squeal and giggle, while not something that he'd been used to from her (there was very little to be happy about down here before today), was a sound he felt that could solely come from her. His lips flicked up in brief amusement, and a secret abash that he was careful to hide. Tearing his gaze away from Lyndsi made his wife follow suit, knowing there were very little reasons on this Earth for why he would turn away from her eyes right now, even for mere seconds.  
  
The smile on her lips turns sheepish, like a little lost lamb, as she sees Harper spot her and she approaches in a silent crawl now, giggling under her breath as she apologizes. "Sorry -- so, so sorry, I don't mean to interrupt --"  
  
Mrs. Brackner looks at her with shock but, Eliza thinks, only for a moment. Like she was already so blown away by the man she holds, there wasn't anything that could bring her down now. She can see the hold they have on each other only tighten when she approached, like they were willing to fight nature itself (like, say, come back from the dead) lest anyone try to tear them apart again. Eliza thinks later she's going to sob over the sight.  
  
  
"Eliza?" Lyndsi whispers and then beckons her closer. Tears glisten in her eyes, and Eliza's grateful for them: Mrs. Brackner could cry for both of them then. Nodding, sheepish, shy and delighted - she tiptoes a little closer to the waggling fingers until an arm's around her waist too. Lips weirdly clean of paint smack her cheek. Oh. The lipstick was more on Harper than Lyndsi; she could see that close up.  
  
"Don't apologize," Lyndsi orders her in that way she did sometimes and Eliza only smiles more at the familiar commanding tone.  
  
Not one to easily forget details, Harper nevertheless forgot Lyndsea would be ignorant of Eliza's true fate until he saw the look of surprise on her face. One person returning from the dead was enough to shock anyone, but two in one day? Yet Lyndsi took the revelation in stride, allowing it only to add to her happiness as she took Eliza into a quick embrace, somehow without disentangling from him completely.  
  
Eyes flicking from Mrs. Brackner to Harper, she stops walking immediately, hands and wand up as she adds, "I just -- he's there, Harper. Hans gave Al some potion and they both started transforming, attacking Roswell, he might-- he might have one of Hans siblings? I don't know, he seemed to know he was betrayed anyone, though how I don't -- don't know --"  
  
"Man of his word after all," he remarked dry enough, if only to have something to say as he processed (though it didn't take very long).  
  
They mean to take Angel, is what Roswell said, but no one was fucking taking Harper without going through her, Al -- this fiery, fearless, smiling woman that had replaced the ice queen Eliza remembers so dimly -- and most importantly, Harper himself.  
  
"Maurice is down though." She adds, something flickering in her eyes that might be regret later or maybe triumphant, but was deadpan reporting the news now.  
  
The surprise gave way to the beginnings of panic, one he was sure to subside if he was going to be of any further valuable use.  
  
They had Gustav down in the dungeons. Maurice was dead because if she activated the potion, given the weekly intake of the large man, it would take approximately one minute and twenty-three seconds for all vital processes to shut down.  
  
"And I let the prisoners out. So you can get there..."  
  
If you get there fast enough, Eliza says with her eyebrows (thank you D'Grey brothers), knowing that there was no way Lyndsi would stay behind since it was her son too -- you might even have a piece left to kill.  
  
The prisoners were freed (he was choosing to avoid bringing up the fact that out of all of them there were maybe only 37% that had both the ability to fight back and the will), and it seemed like Gustav was in danger of dying before he got there.  
  
Squeezing Lyndsi's hand as he turned to look back at her, knowing there were many questions she deserved the answer to, and needed the answer to, but right now their son was transformed and in the middle of tearing Roswell apart.  
  
Roswell had a few more Brackners to answer to before he left this world for good.  
  
"Let's go."  
  



	66. Daggers in the Dark

It was as normal an apartment as any Hols had ever seen. It had a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room with nothing extraordinary about it. Except, of course, all those hidden compartments for weapons Hols didn't even know the name of. She found most of them, hopefully all of them, and vanished them with a wave of her wand. A couple of them looked interesting enough for Hols to consider keeping, but she'd only considered for a second or two. Who knew how many innocent people had suffered and died at the end of these blades and whips. And besides, she knew better than to think they weren't protected by a spell to ensure only the owner could touch them.  
  
But everything else, everything else was normal. There weren't any skeletons or torture chambers; no body parts stored in jars or cauldrons brewing with poisons. The apartment of a criminal and murderer looked just the same as any other person, neater even.  
  
At Hogwarts, things were much easier, or at least they used to be. You knew who the bad people were, they wore silver and green, some of them wore blue and bronze and a few even wore red and gold but they were tolerated because they were in her same house.  
  
Last year, things have been put in perspective for her, with Nadia being the first one to speak up before anyone else. Most people didn't talk to Hols like Nadia did, not without walking away with less teeth, but Nadia had never been afraid to call her out on her bullshit. She had said something, loudly and snapping, that had stuck with Hols more than she cared to admit because thinking about it now, it seemed so obvious.  
  
Nadia had said that out of Hogwarts, 'in the real world', people don't walk around with a set of colors embroidered on their wardrobe that pointed out their traits to the world. Houses didn't matter, and then she went on to say how outdated a system the Hogwarts houses really were and that she was going to make a daycare for wizard children and teach them to love and respect each other before they got to school and were pitted against each other. Nadia wanted to make the world a better place, one person at a time.  
  
Hols was more concerned with protecting the Earth as she tended to have very little patience with people, but there was always a group of people she would risk it all for: family. Her family had been attacked: Nadia, Chace, Lynn, Devin, Zoe. Al and his family. No one got away with that.  
  
As they had wheeled Zoe into the emergency room, the healers told Hols that she was half-conscious (a good sign) and kept muttering and mumbling but they were able to make out two words, 'pink' and 'bitch.'  
  
Hols had already been tracking her down from the moment she saw that short bob of pink hair exiting out of Eliza's room minutes before she had died. Zoe's 'accident' only accelerated the process. She had decided to stay with Al the night once he told her about Zoe's accident, arriving after the pack had showed up to take Rachelle back (a good thing too because if she had seen that pretentious, murdering, _dog_ , even Alcott's superhuman strength wouldn't have held her back), but in the morning she was gone; she had things to do.  
  
Hols already had her name easy enough, pink hair was a telling feature, and with a name, especially a pureblood one, the location came easy. Hols had spent weeks systematically disabling every ward one by one, keeping track of the woman's schedule, and looking for valuable evidence to give her father so an arrest could be made.  
  
Last night had made her speed things up significantly.  
  
Confronting her directly was her first instinct, long before today. Nick, her voice of reason, had someone managed to find a way to follow her around everywhere inside her own head, so she had sat back and been careful about it. That ship had sailed now.  
  
When she entered the apartment, there were still several wards and jinxes awaiting her, but after years of reading the Aurors' confidential files (sorry, daddy), she knew how to take care of them. She better know how to take care of them, she was only taking four classes by now and one of them was Defense Against the Dark Arts. As a student in her last year, as the daughter of Aurors, it would have been a shame if she didn't know how to hold her own.  
  
That didn't mean she had come away entirely unscathed, but she was alive, and now properly furious.  
  
Sitting in a lounge chair, she looked at her mobile again out of habit, even if it was turned off. Hols detested having it off knowing how perilous everything was at the moment. There could be news about Zoe, or Nadia, or Lynn, and she was never going to hear the end of not being able to be contacted, but it was going to be worth it.  
  
She stuffed her mobile in her pocket and picked up the dragon claw she had found in the reserve in Bulgaria when she visited her kind-of-uncle Gavin Arlette a few summers ago. She'd gone to a metal worker and had a small hilt installed so she could hold it the palm of her hand, the claw protruding from between her fingers like a dagger. It was sharp enough, and would always remain sharp, such was the magic of dragons. In her other hand she had her wand, and there was absolutely nothing else she needed; no gun, no crossbow, and no whip. It was just her claw, her wand, and her fists. She was ready.  
  
A few minutes ago she had undone the spell that prevented a ward from alerting Gina that she had an intruder in her home, now it was just a waiting game. This took away the element of surprise from Hols, but she had to be sure that Gina would arrive here as soon as possible.  
  
Her own apparition wards up, fireplace blocked, and windows locked, the only way in here was through the front door, the door she was sitting ten feet across from. Her heartbeat was quick, expectant and excited, much like it got before every Quidditch game.  
  
Hols had been made captain of the Quidditch team this year. Her last year at school was supposed to be full of practices and games, of showing her boyfriend no mercy on the field and reaping the benefits of it later, of getting to know her new friends better, of gradually getting to a point where she could bury the hatchet with Sienna (and not in her skull), of sneaking out of the castle for parties, and of joining Alcott in the forest every month to help him through a night she hoped to make at least tolerable.  
  
Apart from the discovery of this new potion, every single thing so far had been for the worst. The loss of a friend, the kidnap of her baby sister, and the coma of a boy she'd grown up with, was draining. Oh, she knew what Nadia would say, ever in her positivity (and thank God, thank whoever the fuck was up there watching out for her sister that that was still true), Nadia would remark that they're only the stronger for it.  
  
Really? Because Hols only felt drained. This fury was going to sustain her for a time, the triumph of getting the bitch would help for an additional amount, but she didn't see an end to this darkness. Hols wasn't ashamed to admit (to herself and to absolutely no one else) that she wasn't as strong as she made others believe she was.  
  
The door opened with a crash, and Hols' instinct was immediate the moment she saw the door begin to move. Her hand went up, a non-verbal disarming jinx left the tip of her chestnut wand sending Gina's wand flying out of her hand, and another non-verbal spell split the wand in two. She knew Al would find the action a sacrilege under normal circumstances, but she was confident this was an exception.  
  
"I want to t-," she moved her head to the side, breath leaving her chest in one exhale as a knife sunk into the cushion where her left eye had previously been. She stood in a quick movement, hands tightening around both wand and dragon claw.  
  
Fine.

 

**{ &}**

Tony barely registered what he was sure was either sarcastic or witty comment, and he purposefully didn't want to hear the thank you. There wasn't anything to thank, if anything, she should be doing the opposite, but there was no time to dwell on technicalities and details.  
  
As they reached the corridor he saw with growing horror what was making Marcel scream and yowl in pain and horror. Next, he smelled it. The pungent stench of melting flesh mixed with the gasoline used as an accelerant as they burned Marcel alive.

It's been said so often it's a meta-joke on itself at this point, that cliches were cliche for a reason. Stefanie hated being trite; she wasn't in a horror flick, she wore decent shoes and pants, she had her wand out. It was clear in the way her back straightened and her whole body clenches, pulled together around her chest and stomach - that she hates beyond reason, being ordinary..but it slips from her anyway. That damned, loud-mouthed gasping whisper turned scream of -

_"No!"_

It echoes in her ear, like she was casting a terrible spell herself, watching flames lick at her brother's already mottled skin, watching the fabric red with blood turn white from heat and melt off. The carefully-aimed bullet tightens a ghostly hand on her heart, and she struggles against a vice grip around her waist - her hands scrambling to peel herself free - _she could save him if she could just get away._

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass noticed them, their faces which had been contorted into malicious smirks now turned to them with renewed excitement before they started firing. Gasping as he moved sideways and ducked, dragging Stef with him as his wand slashed through the air.

With blood in her mouth from her teeth gnashing down into pink flesh, she gasps out a spell. Forgets the wand is still pointed the wrong way from the unnatural bend in her arm, even as Tony casts one handed at the two who set her brother alight. Water splashes uselessly at their sides, drenching her and she thinks: _maybe if I just can get to him, the water on me could dry him out._

She had broken her promise: Stef had immediately stepped forward with a scream of her own and he has to hold her back with one hand, grip her waist as she struggles to free herself against him. He had broken his promise too, the promise he'd never made out loud because he feared he couldn't keep it; his fears had become true. 

Sickness in her throat, she can hear the air clotting in Tony's from his senseless echoes of her shouts. Why was he whispering "no" too? There's a flash in her face - but whatever curse the bastards sent at her, Tony had dragged them away from it in protest, and she watches the curse explode the door behind her. It barely registers it would have torn her apart.

He sent spells flying, trying to keep their distance away and moving them further back, which Stefanie protested more and more. She wanted to move forward and he was the force keeping her back. His rage surged and in the midst of his whispers, he fired off two fatal spells that found their mark. Tony's grip loosens and Stefanie launched from behind him to run at her brother, dowsing the flames. The blood held no sway to him (it was the smell, he knew) but as he kept staring his eyes widened in horror anyways as he watched Marcel take his wheezy, final breaths.

She sees blood, she sees fire, but as she's finally pushed back (why did they stop casting? who the fuck cared?) -- all that matters is she finally gets to Marcel's side and casts the spell to stop the flames. Her hand reached to grip his burned, bruised cheek - she cups and squeezes it - mutters his name near his ear and kisses his forehead, tastes ash and copper. Stefanie was forced to only find solace in the recognition in her baby brother's eyes, he gasped something she thinks sounded like "danke," or maybe that was wishful thinking. But he saw her. She could tell herself later. He saw her - he knew she put him out - there was relief there, and there was love, and then there was nothing.

Tears slid down her cheeks, but there was not an ounce of fear in her system -- and nothing left in her copper-coated, ashen face for even the cliche now. He looked away from Marcel to Stef a few seconds before she turned her gaze to his.

"Stefanie, I'm so sorry."

Stef feels only as if the flames hadn't been put out at all, for they were burning in her chest, rising from her throat as she turns her neck to look at Tony. His voice bent over her name, almost soft. She doesn't dignify that with an answer (though she goes and maybe loves him a little harder for not seeming to notice). Her eyes were vacant but twirling with tears and nerves, furious and unshed want, hatred and loss that she's moments from cursing him with. But her voice is too raspy with the weight of it; scratches at him like sandpaper as she speaks.

"We could have saved him. I could have - but you...you held me back, you jus-- "

"Stefanie," her name left his mouth again in something that resembled a plead more than anything else. She spares a moment to look at the bodies, voice only quiet from the lack of breath, "you just killed them, you could have - you could have done that a half an hour ago." The rasp is gone in her breath simply as she couldn't breathe.

"You could have saved him."

 "I had...I couldn't know. Stef, they weren't supposed to kill him."

He shook his head slowly as accusations started flying from her, trying to shed them away, despite the fact that they were all true.

"Why do I -" Gasp, "Antonio, my brother is dead(!)," her finger jabs at the chair she won't look at, "why- why do I care what you meant to happen?" His eyes shine bright, a darker shade of blue and for a moment she fights the overwhelming urge to knot her fingers in the shirt he wore - the shirt she'd worn that morning - and pull him closer. The words wash over her as much as hers did over him. They burned her, his pleads - scratch at her ears with the thought that she should be grateful. He chose her. Whatever reason, he only cared that she wasn't hurt. And now Marcel was gone.

"And Gina was looking for you, I-I couldn't.."

"I told him -- I told him I'd see him later - I told him not to give  _you_ a hard time when we got back from -- " No, she couldn't think about that, though Stefanie had never been the kind to shy away from blunt words. Her hand slams into her chest, rubs over her heart as she struggles to keep tears from falling.

"He's my little brother, Tony -- I would have rather died. I would have wanted the option! Instead you -- you just made the choice for me."  
  
Stefanie starts to shake.

Marcel had never pleaded. He wish he could say that, tell her something positive. That despite him recognizing Tony, because he could see it in  the blue eyes all the Ricard siblings shared that Marcel recognized him, he never once begged for his life. Then he realized, what kind of person was he now...if he thought that was positive in the slightest?

"I'm so sorry...you could have died."

He pursed his lips and then bit down on them as he tried to reach for her again; it wasn't only physical distance he felt growing and the thought was suffocating him, leaving him barely able to say a word: but still he tried.

"You could have died." He repeated, because it was the only thing that made sense to him.* I couldn't let that happen, that could be you!"

Frantic headshakes have her blonde hair tangle in the air, as her crumpled fist hovers near her lips and fails to stop herself from breathing. Air slips through the cracks in her fingers. Tears fall thick. His shaking hand gestured to the chair only unlike her, he did look at Marcel again, not that it helped. His heart failed in his chest. _How many times did he have to repeat that she might have died? How dare he point at her brother now?_

"Yes, I could have!" She snaps, not realizing she's let him pull her in now, not able to see anything through her haze.

"And if I had blown my cover, it...everything we've worked for..," Tony exhales.

"I could have -- I could've--" Fuck, he was right, and not just because he pushed her away from a spell. Her voice breaks over the word, "died."

"I couldn't...I didn't..." his words died out.

Why? It was senseless, it was mindless and cruel. Why Marcel, why her? Why did they take Hans in the first place? Why did Tony have to go -- "I could have died," she whispers it, almost to herself, wide-eyed with the shock and not looking at anything in the room. Quieter still was, "and you saved me."

Yes, she could have. If he hadn't been there she would have probably died. The words seemed to sink in for him at the same moment that they did for her as she repeated the words over and over again.

She was shaking in his arms now she realized, taking some solace in his warmth even as if she wants him to wrap her in flames. It makes her feel sick and dizzy. He held her shoulders now, gently, thinking of the way he had gripped her before and thought of all of the bruises she would sport that, until they faded, would be a visual reminder of the day her little brother had died.

Too weak to pull away? Fine, then - her fists hit his chest again and again as she shakes her head, gasping.

"It still was my choice to make, not yours, Tony -- it wasn't, you aren't my father, you aren't my brother -- who are you," she hits again, "to make that call for me?"

And then she started to hit him, clenched fists striking his chest repeatedly and he allowed her, barely moving in place. He felt like a rock. Punching steel, that would have been as useful as hitting him was, but she couldn't stop. Her fists were bruised (but wasn't every part of her black and blue?), but every time her hand met the steel she felt herself steady a little more. Her tears fell a little slower, a little heavier - her chest felt as if it had imploded, her heart collapsed from within and she only stands there. Blinking.

"I'm..."

Tony faltered for a few moments before he shook his head with the knowledge. Nobody, he was just a friend with...benefits, god that's so fucking cliche.

"I'm just a guy," he whispered, "trying to do the right thing. Who fucks up, everything I touch, and I know, I know I shouldn't have taken that choice away from you, Stef, but when I said if anything happened to you..." he exhales, incredulous, "I meant it, I couldn't let you die!"

When he speaks again, when he whispered, words in such a quiet hush she wasn't sure how she heard them. (Oh, as if they hadn't been a small stiletto knife like the heels she wasn't wearing straight to her heart).

"You -- Tony, you -- ...I've never thought you were just a guy."

Her hands fall from his chest and they leap to her face, cover her eyes, bury the sight of Marcel's broken face, the light in his eyes she'd watched fade as she presses against them, and against him. For a few moments she says nothing. Does nothing.

If anything that just made him feel worse, not better. Maybe that was because he couldn't imagine being the slightest bit happy at that moment. They were standing next to her brother's corpse and he had inadvertently helped to put it there, by choosing not to do anything about it for the hours he had been there.  
  
He held her to him; held her because there was a part of him that knew she'd likely not let him do that again for a time.

She gave up, on trying to explain it; she gave up on trying to make sense of the idea that her little brother was never going to wake her up early for cinnamon buns he made (and burned) to share with her - that he was never even going to know Hans was trying to change, that he would never...

"He told me he'd walk me down the aisle." She hears herself speak as if it's an after thought, a whisper into her hand, eyes on the floor. "When...when our father died, he found me outside the memorial just - just sitting there," her breath was quick, gasp incredulous, "in this beautiful black gown I could never wear again, and he said, that I could still count on him to give me away and now..."  
  
The world spins; she brushed tears away with a chuckle that turns to a cough and both die off before her mouth even opens. She sniffs. Gross. She was going to be sick. Her eyes flutter as they open again. She looks at him, tempered between confusion and anger and gratitude and hurt - and so overwhelmed, she doesn't think any of them wins. Nothing wins. She gives up.

He swallowed on a dry throat as she spoke memories, what was only natural, having them wash over you like a waterfall. Tony didnt know what to do, or say, and figured it was just best to keep quiet, keep her turned away from the sight.

"You did let something happen to me, Tony." Her voice was muted, and she doesn't move. Whether that was because she couldn't breathe or couldn't bring herself to pull away from him physically, when he was holding a puzzle of Stefanie together piece by piece, she didn't know. Her breath cuts out, but she sounds monotonous as a broken clock as she continues, eyes locked on his, head shaking very slowly.

"You let my brother die. And now I have to live with it."

"Yeah, I did." Tony found his voice several seconds after she spoke, and looked her in the eyes, his jaw clenching and hardening before he spoke honestly. "I panicked, I worried, and I feared for you so I made a choice."

She wasn't the only one who had to live with it, but he hadn't been the one to lose his brother. If he had acted before though, that would have been at stake too. Tony didn't know when the plan was going to go through, but if he had screwed it up before they were ready, Gustav and Gina would have realized what Tony was up to and then in that same line, Olivier.

They weren't supposed to harm Marcel, those weren't the orders, Tony would have found a way in the end, he knew he could have.  
  
His fingers uncurled from around her shoulders despite his mind screaming at him for his folly.

"I let your brother die to keep you safe. I would do far worse things than that."

"Worse?" The word leaves her breathless (as if she had breathed properly in minutes--no, hours) and she just blinks. He exhaled, it felt like he had just thrown a punch.

"But I can also do far better, just know I'm so sorry...and tell me what you need."

 _Worse_. His grip had been comforting, now it seems to make her skin crawl. Stefanie wasn't sure if he'd smacked her or embraced her with that word, and after a few seconds thinks of a better image: that of the boa constrictor squeezing all air and life from her lungs. There was a brief smile that flickers across her lips as her gaze stays on his. Her hands drop from her ashen, tear-stained cheeks to hang limp at her side. Then her gaze falls to her toes, the little leather conjured-flats, soft like moccasins and she grits her teeth, feeling anger rise again.

"So this is what, a grand, gothic-romantic gesture, Heathcliff?" Gaze flashing as she lifts her chin, she shivers as she pulls back and holds on to her own arms now, incredulous. "You're sorry, but you'd let my family dies around me as long as you still perceive I'm safe?"

There's a hot scoff in her throat, and she thinks she's speaking over hot coals.

"Oh I'm sorry! I should be falling over with gratitude right now -- "

"I don't want your gratitude." Tony whispers.

"-- rip your clothes right off you -- do you mind if we use the wall?," she gestures furiously, "The only chair in the room seems to be a little preoccupied with my brother's corpse."

"No, as tempting as it might have been earlier."

He kept calm, speaking without raising his voice because that would only make it worse and because he couldn't tap into anger anymore. The anger was gone from the moment he had seen Stefanie kiss her little brother's burned forehead and come away with ash, blood and burnt skin of his.

"I'm just saying it like it is. And what I'm saying is that I'm sorry that you lost your brother, I'm sorry you're hurt, but I'm not sorry about my choice."

It was no use trying to breathe. She survives on flames instead.

"And so I'm safe now? Gina's still out there looking for me. According to you, she might come back here anyway. So what are you going to do, Tony, knock me out? Lock me up, truss me up to one of these," she looks around shivering (strange, she didn't know you could do that on fire), "bloody storage bins and wait until they've killed Hans too to let me out -- yeah, yeah I can tell how sorry you are, Antonio, about as sorry I am for not being willing to play gratified princess in the tower for my fucking knight in Italian leather."

He chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head as she continued to yell, letting her. She had every right and hey, he had already established his masochistic and guilty nature here. Tony could find a way to feel guilty about Bambi's mother if he wanted.

"Then what do you want, hm?" He didn't want her gratitude? No, it seemed he was perfectly content to let her rage and cry - masochistic as ever, Antonio D'Grey - but all she feels is fuel to the fire, as mad as it is. Or maybe her mind wasn't present at all -- she thinks her internal organs had been replaced with such devastation and wreckage that all there was left to do was let it burn.

"What do you want from me, Tony, because that's all that seems to matter to you -- your worry over my freedom, your panic over the chance for my brother's life! Your choice, over my choice. So sorry I thought for a second I should maybe thank you for the one fucking decent aspect of it, clearly I shouldn't, if that's what you don't want."

When she thought he wanted her gratitude, she was angry, now she was angry because he didn't want it. Yet Tony knew it was the grief, he was a lot more understanding than people thought. He'd let Stefanie yell at him, and cry at him, and blame him because her brother was dead and she had lost another person. If his own brother were dead...  
  
"I don't want anything from you Stef. I made a bad call, that doesn't mean I'm trying to....control you."

Her hands slam together as she paces and mutters under her breath in German, too quickly to bother translating. She was damn near singing the lullaby her mother taught the three of them to fall asleep.

He exhaled and spoke plainly.

"Now, I'm going to do whatever you want me to do. Then, I'm going to go find Gina and I'm going to crush her throat and watch her suffocate, cover be damned."

Only then he said he would do whatever she wanted him to do, and she stills altogether, eyes flashing, limbs going stiff again. Her eyes were on Marcel's, before she hurriedly takes a step forward to shut them. Her hand lingers on his closed eyes, murmuring with an uneasy chill on a broken voice spells to clean his face of blood and burns. After a few moments, he looked --  
  
Well, he looked like her baby brother after he'd been tortured and burned alive, with a slip-shod job of fixing his face enough that she could pretend he was sleeping, if she squints through the hazy tears and tells herself it's true. She doesn't, though. Stefanie hates denying reality. Telling it like it was, right?

He shook his head and watched Stefanie try and clean her brother up, make him as...presentable, as she could. She appeared more mother than older sister at that moment. That's what mothers would do, right?

Tony finishes.

"Soon as you're done yelling at me for caring about you."

Her heart skips a beat, and her eyes narrow, even as she fixes her hands to the shirt Marcel wore, mending it and bending herself towards it even without bothering to clean it, not caring that she got blood on her cheeks. Voice ravaged, she shakes her head and finally replies to Tony.

"You do that. After all, can't be bothered to save someone, at least be bloody sure to avenge them. Learned that from Hans a long time ago."

Her voice breaks at the end, she falls to whispers and she shakes her head again and again, more tears falling. Her head buries in Marcel's chest -- so still, but he was still warm on her cheek -- and she clings. She breathes out, and mutters.

"Yelling at you for caring about me, yeah, that's right, that's exactly what I'm doing. A+, Tony. D'Greys always do know how to put a spin on it, don't you?"

"I want to help you." He whispered finally, after refusing to respond to the comment of refusing to help and avenging, the comparison to her brother (damn that stung more than anything else she had said; his priorities were definitely in order here), and the comment of 'D'Greys'. The irony of all of this was he seemed to be doing more and more things that would make Remington proud after his death. Somewhere below their feet, hopefully way below, that bastard was probably laughing.

"I believe you." She tells him in her sandpaper voice, because she does: she believes that he wants to help, believes even that he needs to.

"Tell me how I can help."

"I believe you, I do." That he needs to make this okay, but his voice is dead as her breath because he already knows he can't, as she knows he won't.

"There's just... nothing you can do."

He had a feeling that would be the answer. Because what could he do to make it better? Bring her brother back? He didn't have that kind of power, didn't have any power to begin with he just did what he could, what he thought was right. He wasn't sure whether it made him feel better or worse to hear he couldn't help aloud, just knew that it didn't matter, at least not right now.

(Though it did make her feel a tiny bit better to hear him say he wasn't trying to control her). It just can't be okay. It gives her too much feeling, and she drowns in it, not knowing how to suffocate it, how to stomp it down. Struggling for breath, her lungs gasp and stretch against an impossible constriction and she keeps her hand on her brother's chest.  
  
It's only when she realizes she's breathing in his blood and burns that her knees must have given way, that must be how she's bent into his chest now and nosing the newly-mended fabric. She was kneeling. Like her brother was the fucking messiah and she the women outside his cave. Only Marcel wouldn't wake up.  
  
How does one breathe? Too many years it had been an involuntary function of her body, she didn't know how to force it to do it. The thought causes a bubbling laugh she swallows and thinks quickly of something else. How could he help? (He couldn't). That was the question. (The million dollar one). How could...

He pursed his lips, taking a half step forward as her knees gave out  and she collapsed on her brother's chest. Tony could only watch as she sobs and then laughs.  
  
She turns around, standing slowly, but she doesn't look at Tony. The look in her eyes betrays what she's going to do about a second before she does it; he summoned their phones first, needing to know if they had gotten the all-clear to kill Marcel.

They had.

Her eyes - the fire behind them - they were reserved for the other corpses, and as she stares, become reality. Flames leap onto them both without her muttering a word. Stefanie just watches as they turn to ash, still as a statue, the orange flickers reflecting in her eyes of glass. When there was nothing left, she looks to Tony. This man who says he wants to help her, the man she'd woken up with, had been seeing...  
  
Stefanie says quietly, "I need Marcel out of here. My...flat, I suppose. If that's not safe, than your house, but," she clenches her teeth, "that's what I need first."

He slipped the phones in his pockets as he watched the bodies disintegrate into nothing but ash, and swallowed before looking back up to Stef.

"Okay."  
  
Tony picked Marcel up in his arms, and walked out of the storeroom garage with Stefanie beside him, disapparating to the manor.

 

&.

Wandless spells left Gina's hand, none of them lethal which was exactly what Hols was counting on. If the amount of disturbing and creative weapons she had found in this apartment had anything to say it was that this Gina enjoyed prolonging the process of death.  
  
Most of the spells bounced off her shield, the rest she countered, aiming jinxes directly at them so that they cancelled each other out, resulting in small explosions that were ripping apart furniture and decorations. A mirror exploded behind her, sending shards at her back, and a small gasp of pain left her mouth, leaving her open a split second for her own wand to go flying.  
  
Both now without wands, and Hols at a disadvantage as far as wandless spells were concerned, she lunged forward, barreling into Gina and sending them stumbling into the wall, a crack sounding when the back of that pink skull collided with brick. It was much more satisfying knowing the house wasn't made out of drywall.  
  
A knee came up and made contact with Gina's stomach, and she gasped out as the wind left her. Hols pulled the fist that held the claw back and aimed it at her face. Gina's hand parried the blow and another as Hols' other fist came up quickly after. The older woman grabbed her wrist and twisted. Hols slammed the top of her head against the woman's forehead to further disorient her.  
  
A wandless spell sent Hols flying backwards, rolling as she fell on the floor and popping back up quickly, unwilling to give Gina enough time to steady herself.  
  
A flurry of fists and feet came flying as the two women came together, aiming at whatever open space they found. Hols' dragon claw made both shallow scratches and deep gouges, the apartment floor and their clothing staining with blood, but it wasn't only Gina's blood being spilled. Hols was unable to dodge a few hits of her own. A gash was bleeding above her eye, and her lip was split, but she was undetected.  
  
The fight continued until eventually it reached the floor as a well-aimed kick to Gina's chest had her falling backwards, her legs sweeping to knock Hols off her feet. Hols' elbows took the brunt of the force, avoiding hitting her chin.  
  
Gina jumped on top of her, a large shard of glass in her hand ready to slash down. Hols slid further down, the glass sinking into her shoulder instead of her chest and Hols used the scream and pain to bring up her knees and feet to push off and flip them over.  
  
"This," she growled through blood-stained teeth as she held Gina's hands down and sat on her chest, "is how you pin someone down." The women's knees kept coming up to hit her back but they lacked the proper force to really do anything.  
  
"Bitch," she slammed her head against Gina's face again, and then lunged quickly as she saw her wand under a pile of torn cushions and turned, shouting a spell to wrap Gina in ropes.  
  
Once the woman was unable to move, Hols started breathing again, inhale and exhales coming in pants.  
  
"You think you've won?" Gina finally spoke in a raspier pitch than Hols would have expected her to have. Maybe it was just the amount of pink, but Hols always thought her voice would be high and sugary in that poisonous way. It was still poisonous but more resembling a scorpion than any snake. Scorpions could die of their own venom. You poured acid on their backs and they would use their poison sting in an attempt to save themselves, but they only accelerated the process. Gina was like a scorpion.  
  
"It's nice to dream, nice to have hope," Gina spoke condescendingly as she giggled, looking at the ceiling, not even trying to fight her way out of it.  
  
Hols stood, pulling the shard out of her shoulder and then wincing. Well, ouch. She would let Lynn look at that later.  
  
"I'm not the one tied up here, Gina," she reminded her, walking to lounge chair she had been sitting on and pulling the knife out of the cushion. It was a beautiful piece of work, really.  
  
"I'll get out of here eventually," she smirked, confident, and Hols repressed a shudder as she sat again.  
  
"We almost recruited you," Gina spoke again, as if her nose wasn't bleeding, as if those ropes weren't chaffing and rubbing open wounds. "You've got quite the violent streak, and you're already trained."  
  
"I would have rather died," she admitted plainly, her eyes narrowing. Gina sighed and nodded, as much as she could nod while bound.  
  
"Figured, and that would have been a waste," she tutted her tongue after a shallow breath. "Shame, shame. So we didn't target you, kept you alive."  
  
"Only one of your many mistakes," she spat out, rising from the chair. "So you just targeted my sister, my friends. Nadia, Lynn, Irene, Devin, Eliza."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But you failed."  
  
Gina chuckled and hissed. "Momentary setback."  
  
At that Hols had to laugh once even if her chest seemed unusually heavy, difficult to move up and down. "I don't think so." She stood up and then continued accusing.  
  
"You were at the Gala, you killed Eliza, and you caused Zoe's accident," she growled.  
  
"Guilty, kind of, and yes." She giggled again.  
  
Hols' eyebrows arched. "Kind of?"  
  
Gina only giggled and Hols glared before she shook her head. No matter, she got what she wanted. Exhaling, she slid a slim recorder from her pockets and pressed the stop button. For the first time since she had walked in, Hols saw fear in Gina's eyes.  
  
"That's what you get for bragging. You want me to play it back for you?" Hols clicked the rewind button before hitting play again. Thank God the spell to amplify the microphone had worked; she got the confession clearly.  
  
Hols clicked the pause button and put the recorder back into her pocket, chuckling and then walked over to Gina. Sinking the knife on the floor next to her head, she grabbed the ropes and heaved her up to Hols' eye-level.  
  
"You know, I feel we really bonded," she whispered, smirking at the woman before adopting a bright tone. "So you should really meet my father! He's a barrel of laughs. Like," Hols laughs, "the vein that pops out of his forehead when he's angry? I can just see it now when he sees the state his little girl is in because of you. Wow, you've got to let me know if you find it as funny as I do."  
  
Gina spit blood on her face. Hols wiped it off and then let her fall back on the floor again with a thud. Bitch.  
  
A cellphone rang and she frowned, knowing hers was off. Stepping over Gina, she walked over to where a phone lay under pieces of broken glass and picked it up.  
  
The caller ID only read 'Boss' so she frowned before smirking. The boss, huh? She answered it with a touch of a button and brought the mobile to her ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
She heard pants, a grunt of pain as what she thought was a heavy door closed. "Gina, tell whoever you got with the Ricards to get rid of them now and to get their asses back here, we're being attacked, the fucking dogs turned."  
  
Hols' heart dropped into her stomach as she quickly processed the information. Hostages, an attack, the do- the werewolves?  
  
The Death Eaters were under attack. Hols smiled and had to contain her excitement (and also the sudden fear) as the voice over the phone growled again, making a lot of noise wherever he was. Hols thought he must be limping, or stumbling.  
  
"Did you fucking hear me you bloody cunt?!"  
  
"That's not a very nice way to speak to your subordinates," Hols replied easy, breathing steadier now.  
  
"Gina's a bit tied up right now, can I take a message?" There was a growl on the other line from the man, and Hols couldn't help but to be smug.  
  
"I'll leave a message then, bastardo. You're going to lose, and you are going to pay for every single life you've destroyed. It's judgment day, fucker!" She ripped the phone from her ear and clicked 'end' putting the phone in her pocket for evidence and then turned around.  
  
She gasped as a blade pierced her stomach to the hilt, her eyes widening and her mouth filling with blood. Brown eyes looked into hers and smirked.  
  
"You really think I can't get out of a few  
ropes?" Gina pulled the dagger out, letting it fall to the ground. Hols stepped back, her knees faltering and then brought her hands up in an attempt to block herself as Gina stepped forward and lifted the rope, wrapping it around Hols' neck and pulled, and pulled, and pulled.  
  
She gurgled and gasped for air as her lungs began to constrict, cut off from air, choking on the blood that had risen. Hols coughed as tears welled in her eyes and slid down her face. Her hands reached backwards, reaching for eyes to gouge and hair to pull but found nothing.  
  
Her fingers went to the rope, nails scratching against her own skin as she tried to grab under it and pull it off her skin for some relief. Panic took her as she struggled, as her vision started blurring at the edges and growing dark. A cruel laugh haunted her ears and that's when something else filled her chest, replacing the air that had been missing, until it exploded.  
  
Hair turned to fur, nails into claws, hands and feet into paws and a mouth grew wide with fangs. The rope snapped as a neck grew too thick and too strong, and a loud roar echoed through the apartment as the lioness landed on all fours and turned to her prey.  
  
The pink haired woman backed away but the lioness had no interesting in prowling. She lunged immediately with another growl and sank her claws into soft flesh and sinew and her jaws clamped around the woman's throat, cutting off her scream and giving her a taste of her own medicine. She struggled and struggled until finally, the human lay still.  
  
Retracting her fangs, the lioness stepped back and turned human once more, Hols falling back to the floor and crawling towards her wand again. Spitting out blood again, she pulled herself the last few feet before resting against the wall, bloody hand reaching for her wand and pointing it at the wound, muttering the spell to close it.  
  
It didn't close.  
  
Her heartbeat spiked as she tried again but yielded the same result: nothing. So she tried something else, muttering a spell that made her wandtip glow red hot. Bringing a fist up to her mouth and biting on it, she pressed the tip of the wand to the wound, screaming into her fist and biting down as she tried to cauterize it.  
  
She looked down and saw skin charred but still split open and still bleeding. Hols swallowed, breathing heavily and slowly as she closed her eyes, tears continuing to fall. Hand trembling she conjures bandages and wrapped them around her stomach tightly, the white fabric stained through almost immediately, but she continued, tying it off quickly.  
  
Mungo's, she had to go to Mungo's.  
  
Trying to pull herself up to standing, her knees gave out and she fell back on her bottom, out of breath. Closing her eyes, she grabbed her phone out of her pocket instead and turned it on.  
  
Fifteen missed calls, five voicemails, 23 text messages. She went to the text messages first, most of them were Lynn and Nadia, telling her what she already knew from the previous phone call.  
  
The voicemails were from them too, and one from Al, another from her dad. She had picked a really bad day to turn off her phone. Hols chuckled, but no sound reached her ears. She rubbed her throat as she coughed afterwards, feeling the ligature mark around her neck.  
  
Through the pain and the tears she lifted her phone to her ear and dialed back. He didn't answer so she decided to leave a message.  
  
"Guess we're playing phone tag," she remarked first, wiping at her eyes. "Sorry, I've been..." Hols looked around her, at the destruction and then exhaled, eyes filling with tears again as she realized how difficult that was getting.  
  
"Never mind, I'll tell you about it later," she nodded, licking her split lip and restraining an audible wince. "You're probably busy kicking ass, taking names, all that jazz." She smiled, that was a nice image. "I knew you were gonna figure it out, baby. Your head's disproportionately big for a reason." That was Hols, here to control his ego.  
  
"I'll be there soon as I can," she managed, "Be safe...see you in a few."  
  
She hung up the call, closing her eyes again before a sudden deep voice stirred her into motion again.  
  
"What, no 'I love you'? You're dying."  
-&&-  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" Hols questioned, lifting her wand again and pointing it at his heart.  
  
"You're really quite brave," a rugged and well-dressed man stepped out of the shadows. "Taking her on yourself, trying to cauterize the wound, can't imagine that was easy. I've been listening."  
  
"Not another fucking werewolf," she groaned without taking her eyes off the tall man. Her words seemed to insult him though as he exhaled, shaking his head.  
  
"Wrong kind of monster sweetheart, sorry." He shrugged and then paying no attention to the wand, stepped forward with a vial in his hands, blood-replenishing.  
  
Hols recognized it and sat up, wincing.  
  
"Bleeding out on the floor," the stranger continued to remark as he stared at her curiously, "and for famous last words you choose 'see you in a few'? Ironic, don't you think?"  
  
"I think I can discuss this in better detail if I had that potion," she gritted her teeth, trying to sit up again.  
  
He shook his head and then pointed at the wand. "You going to stop pointing that in my face?"  
  
Hesitantly and begrudgingly, Hols lowered the wand and left it beside her as she extended her hand out for the potion. It wasn't as if she had anything to lose, except of course, her life. But if he wanted to kill her, he should have just waited a little longer.  
  
The man handed it to her, placing it on the palm of her hand and watched as she unstoppered it and chugged it down.  
  
"That's not going to save you, you know. Just keep you from dying for a little longer."  
  
"So do the decent thing and take me to Mungo's," she suggested in a dry tone with a throat that was still hoarse.  
  
"I'm not sure they'd be quite able to help, then again, they could have made impressive progress since the last time I was here." He seemed to consider for a few moments before Hols grew exasperated and then asked.  
  
"What do you want then?"  
  
"Information," he pointed at Gina's corpse. "Forgive me for overhearing-"  
  
"I'm used to it."  
  
"What exactly did she do to you?" He tilted his head.  
  
"I thought you said you overhead," she replied back easily, putting her hand to her side again as the blood that was being replenished just started slipping out again, staining her fingers read. "And why would you care?"  
  
"She was an associate of mine."  
  
Hols hissed, looking back at him with a glare. "You're a Death Eater."  
  
He chuckled, shaking his head. "God, nothing so low, no. All this talk about pureblood and mudblood," he shook his head, "but in the end, you all taste the same."  
  
Hols shivered and then realized exactly what he was, a vampire. She began to worry, seeing all the blood around her, most of it she was sitting on, but he cut off her thoughts with a lift of his hands.  
  
"You're safe, sweetheart. I fed a fortnight ago, and I've got commendable self-control."  
  
Hols' eyes widened. A whole two weeks without blood, and he was fine? How old was he?  
  
"I apologize, I failed to introduce myself."  
  
"That is obviously your most grievous action, not intervening or spying or refusing to find me medical help, of course not."  
  
The vampire smirked. "I'm Marcus Ellwood."  
  
"Hols Graft," she answered, eyes narrowing, "previously known as the girl bleeding out in front of you." And yet there was a part of her that felt like she should know that name. Why was that name sounding so familiar.  
  
Marcus nodded and then crouched down, looking at the bandage appreciatively. It was impressive work, she obviously had been taught well survival wise. Not who it was that taught a young woman all of this at such an age, Marcus could only wonder. Paranoia probably was a key component there, but it was for the best it seemed. She might not have survived this long otherwise.  
  
"You've just killed a woman," he spoke, gauging her reaction.  
  
Hols looked at the corpse for the first time since she had lunged on her and then frowned. She had.  
  
"It was self-defense."  
  
"You seem very calm about it," he tapped his chest with his index finger, "here too."  
  
"That could just be the loss of blood," she countered quickly, glaring.  
  
Marcus smirked and then nodded. Yes, that too. Her heartbeat was low and fading but it was actually better than when he had spoken up to her. She would last another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. He would wager closer to twenty, she had already proved she was stronger than most.  
  
"The Death Eaters are under attack? By werewolves?" His eyebrows rose.  
  
Yeah, that was the thing that didn't make sense. The bitch on the phone had said that the dogs had turned on them. Did that mean the pack were on their side? Because she didn't fancy a world in which she had to be on the same side as mass-murderer Ricard and his merry band of self-created psychopaths.  
  
"By my friends," she answered, "I've got their texts. They found out where it was that they were hidden," she breathed again, in and out, "and they've got help from some people on the inside."  
  
"The werewolves?"  
  
"What do you care?" She groaned, letting her head fall back on the wall.  
  
"Paris," he began, "has always been the vampire's territory, under my friend's...," he chuckled as he searched for a word, "unofficial reign."  
  
Hols groaned. Great, underground societies of vampires? Why couldn't they all be nomadic instead of organized?  
  
"So talk to him then."  
  
"He's dead."  
  
"One less vampire in the world," she opened her eyes and shrugged, shaking her head, "I'm not that bummed about it."  
  
Marcus licked his lips and then continued surveying her until her gaze eventually flickered. "Tell me what you know about these werewolves, and I'll save your life."  
  
"No thanks," she spoke, narrowing her eyes; she was protective of werewolves, or at least, one in particular.  
  
"Do you owe them anything?"  
  
"A life sentence in a maximum security prison."  
  
Marcus smirked, "So what's the problem?"  
  
Hols didn't get to answer, because in the next a phone started ringing. She was excited for a moment until she realized it wasn't her own.

 

&.

It wasn't until Marcel was laying on the couch in a parlor like room that had a hole in the wall that Stefanie could think of anything but her footsteps. The strangled whistling of her breathing. The image of the men on fire. Her first conscious thought is that she's soaked. Oh, right. She'd tried to cast water in her animal panic, screamed it and on the asthma tightness of her throat, only succeeded in drenching herself and Tony's side instead.  
  
Her clothes were damp because she'd stood in front of two pyres already, but neither were enough to make her dry. Reaching for a hair tie on her wrist, she snaps her blonde hair up in a messy bun, casts a spell to dry, wipes blood off her cheeks. The alcohol looked tempting but - no, because she had to find Hans, and Gina (and not necessarily in that order).

Stefanie didn't want anything to drink, but he poured himself a glass. Out of that storehouse and back in the room where he had his own breakdown (one of the rooms, the last one), the blood had finally began to take the toll on him, and a glass wouldn't help much, but there was no time for anything else.

Scraping under her eyes, she looks back at Tony.

"Tell me."

Her voice was hard, that 'Mistress' tone she hardly ever noticed until he brought it up with her for comic relief.

"Tell me, why they had him, what they asked him. What he said. How did they take him. You've never lied to me, Tony, but you left plenty out. Why it is I couldn't tell Rene that Eliza isn't dead. Why they want _me_. And one damn good reason I shouldn't just call this Gina myself right now, because if she wants me, it seems like it's a damn good way to draw her out."

Some of those questions, he thinks, are unfair. She couldn't tell Irene about Eliza because that wasn't their secret to tell. He didn't know they even wanted Stef until a few hours ago.  
  
"They didn't ask him anything. They just hurt him, and they would have hurt you, to get back at Hans. Hans turned on them, made a deal with Harper, the one who makes the silver potions and along with my brother and the Scooby Doo gang from Hogwarts, are taking the Death Eaters down, it might be happening right now. Marcel didn't say anything. He didn't beg or plead. Didn't ask why, or what was going on...not from what I saw at least."

He took a drink, feeling his throat closing up and needing to make it work by swallowing.  
  
"And because if she knows you know her intention, she'll take Hans' appearance or someone else, someone random, anyone at all. Because you'd be giving away the element of surprise. But," he shrugged, "you do what you want, right?"

He took out one of the guys' phones and held it out to her.

"Call her if you want. Won't stop me from getting to her first."

The phone lands in her hands so hard she feels it smacked her, even though all he did was hold it out to her. Stef rubs the tear from her cheek and holds her ground. Goddammit, he didn't get to do that, he didn't get to just turn around now and snark that she has autonomy over her own bloody actions. Not now, not when less than a half an hour ago he'd--"Happening now?"

That would explain a few things. If the Death Eaters were being attacked... Stefanie turns around, and around until she concludes no. There was no television. Of course not, fucking D'Grey manor and what not, it probably had it's own room and a personal servant to change the channel for them. Stef scowls, then pulls her own phone from her back pocket.  
  
This was good, this was something she could do while she watched Tony drink, while she thought about whether she was glad or not that Marcel didn't plead with them. Her heart arrested. Tony saw, Tony could tell her because he stood there while they hurt him, and he did nothing.

Her eyes go wide as she clicked the first button again on her phone, and then she threw it to Tony too.

"Yes, I'd say it was happening now. Or rather, I don't know why else Notre Dame would be on fire - that where they are?" Her web browser was open to an image.

Tony took her phone and looked at the image, his heart falling into his stomach once again. Olivier could be there, Claude and Eliza and that damn Scooby Gang could all be there and he was here? He had to join them, he had to help.

"Yeah, that's where they are."

Her heart skipped a beat as he confirmed (was that where Hans was then?), and her eyes flickered over to Tony's - fingers tight on her elbows.

"You gotta love social media though, even the great Olivier D'Grey couldn't keep that one secret." Her tone biting, she breathes out before locating Gina's number on the phone he'd handed her. He made sense, she shouldn't give away the element of surprise with a shape-changer -- but Stefanie was impersonating herself now, wasn't she? Pretending to be the one on the phone (Pretending she was still Stefanie Ricard).

"All I need is an address, Tony. GPS track on her phone will do that - well, I say GPS, I mean the witch-ly version of that of course -- it's a neat little spell."

He ignored the comment about his brother and just watched her dial the phone and bring it to her ear. He couldn't leave her though, not until he knew.

She speaks while she's dialing, and then holds the phone to her ear, breath hot. Someone picks up on the other end, she hears the click - but doesn't say anything. Stefanie's eyes narrow, her hand curling around the bar near Tony (and then lifting to her neck when she realized there was still blood on her, rubbing at it with a sweaty palm).

"Hello?"

-

Marcus looked down as a phone started ringing, eyebrows rising. By the look on the young woman's face, it was not her own.* Do you mind if- *he smirked as she cursed and ripped the phone from her pocket and handed it to him, her hand going back to stem the blood flowing from her wound.

"Thank you."  
  
Having been crouching, he now stood, recognizing the phone as belonging to Gina and then secondly noticing the number was unknown. His curiosity won over. He answered and measured the breaths from the person on the other line until they spoke.  
  
"Good evening." He responded after the woman's seemingly annoyed greeting. "How may I help you?"

-

Stefanie stands still, until that moment, someone does answer the phone. Only a very...mannish, voice, for this Gina - unless she was shape-shifted at that moment?

She knew Tony could hear too (knew he'd drank at the battle the previous day, from Tony's lips and from Daniella's sudden urge to do laundry - knew how much he had, considering the strength as he held her back), knew all those little vampire-hybrid extras he had were revving. So she looks at him, as if his eyebrows could tell her who it was, but all they say was that he didn't know either.

A man? His brows furrowed as he drank from the glass, shaking his head briefly to answer Stefanie's unspoken question. No, he didn't recognize the voice to begin with, but he could hear something else behind the voice. Someone...struggling, or in pain, he couldn't tell, not this far away and not when the man spoke up again.  
  
So, she answers as briskly as they had, catty.

"Bit of a manly voice, Gina, who are you impersonating now?"

-

"Ah, I can see we've reached a dilemma." Marcus turned around and walked to the other side of the room, crouching down again.

"For you've no reason to believe I am not her, save my word, the word of a stranger. So I'll do my best to be persuasive, love, Gina's dead." He turned the cheek of said woman, staring into her blank eyes. He smirked and tilted his head to look at the other woman.

"Cat fight."

-

Her lips press together as she looks at Tony's confusion, listening intently all the while. If Tony didn't know who he was - why did he look concerned? What was he hearing that she didn't? Or was it just the blood? (Realizing there were still a few drops on her palm, from her neck - she reaches quickly for a towel and rubs off her hand). Then her breath catches, abruptly. Could it really be that simple? Sandwiching the phone between ear and shoulder, she asks coolly.

"Is that so, love?" Her eyes narrow, "Marvelous, this new wishing power of mine, ability to have someone drop-dead on command. Unless you're lying, Mr...?"

Yes, there was someone else with him. Tony had distinctively heard what sounded to him a hissed whisper of 'clever'. He scratched his ears and then took another sip of the alcohol, swishing it around in his glass. If he was telling the truth, if Gina was dead...who was he?

-

"That's quite unfair don't you think?" Marcus stood again after moving a brown hair out of Gina's face. She had turned back to her original features on her death. In reality, she was unremarkable as far as physical features were. But, he supposed, the ability to turn at will canceled out her plain features.  
  
"If you wished her dead then I can only assume you are aware of her associations." You could say that Marcus was one of those associations. "And a name is a very powerful thing. I'll give you mine, darling, if you would be so kind to grace me yours."

-

The moment this silk-smooth voice said "darling" she shivers, too easily reminded of another who called her that, and she turns away from Tony to breathe. (She keeps an eye on him sideways though; he was still jittery and nursing that alcohol, and while before the hour she'd never have expected Tony was able to hurt her...)

"Stefanie. Ricard, that is."

She answers at once, her arm slipping free again as she hides the blood on the cloth as she folds it and tucks it in her back pocket.

"And I'm in no mood for games, schatzi, nor do I believe my name is a kindness at the moment. It seems to be getting people killed."

-

Ricard, that last name was familiar indeed. If not now, then a century ago at least. He noted the bitterness in her tone and could only imagine the mess that Gina had created for this young woman. She was particularly talented at that, which is why she'd been such a valuable asset.

"Sorry to hear that, love. Nevertheless I believe I owe you mine. I'm Marcus Ellwood."

"Fuck me," Tony says, beside Stefanie. Why did that name sound familiar? Her head tilts, breath still shallow in a hollow, empty chest. Her hand curls and uncurls at her side, as she wants to snap - wants to _scream_ \- she has no need for false sympathy. No need for even true sympathy, she thinks with another loud echo of her heart in her throat.

Marcus chuckles, licking his lips and then turns to the young woman, eyebrows raising.

"My reputation precedes me."

That son of a bitch. Tony gritted his teeth and then gulped down the rest of his drink. He shook his head and then stepped in front of Stef again who had turned away from him and then made the 'cut-it-off' motion by dragging his hand under his neck with a quick jerk.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your friend's invitation, though."  
  
Tony scoffs. "You wish, honey."

Whatever it was she couldn't place, Tony obviously grabbed instantly. It seemed a day for that. The resolute thuds of her heart seem to get stronger as she ignores Tony's quick motions to cut off the call. How many people were going to die today? (The images of flames scramble across her eyes again). Two she wanted to burn, and then she picks up the phone and another every nerve in her body wanted to rip apart was already dead as well. Worse, she's glad. Marcel had vengeance if not justice - and she didn't even have to worry for confessional on Sunday: they were not her spells.

(But they would have been, Stefanie knows that. If Tony had given her a chance, if he hadn't been so bloody alpha male, she knows she would have torn them to shreds with her bare hands and teeth. Slowly.)  
  
Oh, she realizes abruptly at the little scoff: this Marcus had heard Tony, just as Tony heard Marcus...that was why she knew the name. The vampire. The one that turned his..father. Right then. Her breath cuts out again.  
  
Stefanie curves an eyebrow up, as if he could see it.

"Marcus Ellwood. Pleasure, I'm sure. Do you mean that, that you're sorry? Because if you are, I only ask one thing. Besides that you don't let anyone innocent for associating with her get hurt further. " She waits a moment, turning slowly. Her eyes fall back on her brother, and she thinks for a moment she might tear up again - but only feels herself grow colder. Her voice is firm, her words in that Mistress' tone, her eyes ice.

"Once you've sucked her dry, burn the bitches' body. Thanks, schatzi."

She clicks the phone off, regards it for a second.

-

Marcus' chuckle of amusement at the man on the other line turned into a smirk at Stefanie's question that she didn't really allow him the time to answer and then at her request. Oh Gina, what exactly have you done? He chuckled again as the phone clicked off and then pocketed it before he walked towards the girl again and crouched down.

"Now, where were we?"

-

She's breathing heavily, eyes wide. This was the phone of the man who killed her brother - one of them, the phone whose text messages include "all clear." She sends herself the number, even if Tony has her phone still, then turns and smashes the thing into the wall, a digital firework.

Any other circumstances, this would be a major turn on. But, it wasn't. This was Stef dealing with grief and...as attractive it might be, definitely wasn't the most healthy. Now that he could talk but-

"Here." He gave her back her phone and then after staring at her for a few more seconds. Sliding her phone in her back pocket, she turns her haunted eyes on to Tony and stills. For a few, expanded seconds she just looks at him, fingering the back of her dark jeans and brushing her thumb over the top of her phone. She was grateful he didn't say anything about the call, or the broken pieces of phone, or about Marcus Ellwood at all -- but her chin lifts as he starts pulling back from her.

Tony walks backwards, reached for his jacket again.

"I'm going to the church. You coming?" 

Breath starts coming faster, as if his retreat was accompanied by trumpets, each inch a mile and she swallows tightly. Keep it together, Steffie, she hears in Marcels' voice internally and drops both hands from her back, nodding.

"Yes - but - wait." Something flashes across her gaze: hot. "You looked concerned - before you heard Marcus' name, why?" 

"Because he wasn't alone, there was someone else in the room. Possibly in pain, possibly about to be his next meal." He restrained a shudder. Fucking vampires. 

She'd actually been on the phone with Marcus, and she hadn't been able to hear whatever it was Tony had. Hybrid thing. Her vision tints green, lips pressed together with her irritation of her own inadequacy, and she just nods - a quick jerk of her head.

She clenches her back teeth together too as she realizes: Notre Dame.

"The Death Eaters. You said -- you said they were in Notre Dame. Is that because I asked specifically, or could you suddenly tell me because whatever spell they had on you, broke?"

She arches an eyebrow, taking a step towards him, even as she zips her jacket up and rubs another cloth over her face to keep a clear head. Her hair she keeps in a wild, messy bun. He put on his jacket a sleeve at a time, focusing on not ripping it.

"...I guess the gag is down then, yeah."

"And, if this is - this Scooby gang, you're talking about--it's Nadia, her sister, boyfriend, his sister - what about Irene?" She arches an eyebrow.

"Because I bloody well think she has a right to fight as much as they do. You need," another step, "to tell me, who this gang is, Tony, so I know who I'm firing at - and if you can say where the headquarters is, then you can tell me who  _did_ this too now, can't you?"

Tony exhales, nodding before he reminded her.

"She's in the hospital, Stef, Buffy'll forgive us for benching her in this game, that's if she didn't already find her way to Notre Dame."

She stops walking, realizing how close she is again and her face falls. She forces it steady as she remarks on a raw throat.

"Please, Tony. I need," her voice breaks, and she catches it quickly, "to help Hans.  So I need to know,  too, that you --" searching his gaze, she asks plainly and fast - she knows they have no time for soul-deep conversations right now," -- I need to _know_ that you aren't going to leap in front of me or hold me back."

He exhales, passes a hand over his face and nods (as if he could deny her anything now).

"Yeah, yes, okay, but have to admit- the more we talk, the less time we have to actually go help." Tony pointed backwards with his thumb, sighing.

"Lightning answers- Nadia, Alcott, Devin, Rory, Lynn, Nick, Hols, maybe Irene and Dillon, maybe some other friends I have no idea over and the guy who fucked us all over, the guy who Harper already has dibs on killing by the way, is Gustav Roswell."

Tony was making exasperated grunting sounds in the back of his throat, but he answers her. At least he hadn't said "shh, it'll be okay," now or in that garage: whoever it was that could own those words, neither were in his living room. Realization hits as hard and fast as his bullets of replies, like he shoots off a to-do list one-two-three -- in that moment, he'd do anything for her.

From guilt he called affection (the two were too tightly bound to tell apart any longer), Tony would do anything she asks. The thought is tattoo sharp: it brings clarity to her devastation. A blade that cuts through her saltwater burned eyelids and focuses her haze of pain and blood. He looked sort of beautiful, cut wide open for her. She curls her fingers around her wand and wonders what letting go will feel like.

He grits his teeth together and then he purses his lips and shakes his head.

"I won't hold you back, but I can't promise...I mean, fuck Stef," he was whispering again, "what am I supposed to do otherwise, let you die?"

Then she shakes her head, a strand falling loose from the mess on her forehead. Her words were raw as something in her shifts. The tears had stilled, but these words were still broken.* You're supposed to believe that I'm a competent enough witch that I can protect myself. *Not that she blamed him for thinking otherwise. Odd enough, but she doesn't. No one ever had believed that about her, so how could she ever have shown them?*   
  
"Warn me, don't choose for me. Like I did, when I said to look out for daggers in the dark." Her voice chokes off, "I don't want anything to happen to you either, but I trust you can defend yourself."

He just, saw the world, saw all of this as so black and white! It was infuriating.

"There were hundreds of things you could have done to try and help Marcel, but you just...stood there. You just stood by while he was hurt, because "they weren't supposed to kill him," and because otherwise, I'd would be dead. It wasn't a "would," though - it was "could" - and however real and frightening the possibility, it wasn't certain!"  
  
Gina hadn't found her in Rome, had she?  
  
"I could have evaded her - or I might have noticed when I was being kidnapped, maybe gotten away. Even if I hadn't, maybe the attack on Notre Dame would be over by the time Gina had me - or Marcus with his cat could have killed Gina before she touched me - there were hundreds of things entirely out of your control. You didn't have to stand by "to protect me." You didn't have to hold me back. You just chose to.   
  
And even if it was that cut and dry? If there is only that moment between jumping in front of me and watching me die? Why in the seven hells do you imagine it'd be better for me to watch you die too, than die myself? You were paralyzed by fear, Tony, and you acted like a coward."

Difference being, he almost said, that Tony was trained for this for years and years, in wand and hand to hand combat, and he was a lot more durable than her! You were supposed to protect the people you care about not let them walk into a death trap. No but choice that was more important, letting her die as long as it was her choice, that's what was right? Bullshit.

Didn't say any of that out loud though, how could he when ever word she said just served to rob him more and more of breath. He had to hand it to her, she really knew how to get worked up. How ironic that she'd been the one holding the daggers in the dark to begin with. Tony wasn't sure he even felt the last one. At the end, he could only think of a single word: _brat._

She steps back, surveying him as she fixes her hair. (A game, and very little else, that's what it was.)

"But thank you for your honesty. You don't have to worry then, though - I'm not going with you. So go, find your brother - I pray to God he's okay." Her voice broke with the honesty, but she continued. "Oh, I'll be there, just not with you, Tony."  
  
I'd say I'll watch out for flaming arrows but," her eyes dart to the couch to her brother, then back, "you sort of already struck me, didn't you?"   
  
A part of her registers that she'll regret saying that later. Probably the same part of her that knew it wasn't his fault, hadn't ever been his fault. He was just a guy (except he wasn't, not to her, he hadn't been for weeks) doing the best he could (that was never good enough, and he knew that too), who fucked up everything he touches (oh, how well and good he'd fucked her).

Grief, yes, anger too and desperation that's what she was feeling but lashing out at him like that, he just remembered the bratty little girl he'd met at a party and for a moment almost smiled. Instead it twisted and he let the pained smirk stay on his face for as long as it could before it fell with an exhale that sounded like a mumbled version of her name.

Maybe later she could find a way to explain that to him (the same day she could explain it to herself). Her heartbeat echoes in her head, like there was nothing else to listen to in it, like she was given over to emotion. Clearing her eyes of gathered tears as she watches him break again, Stefanie turns on her heel. And right now she burned so very hot and bright as she disapparates with a crack, like sunlight on ice.

She was already gone and he shook his head, his hands curling into fists that he clenched and clenched repeatedly. Steadying himself, he looked down once more where Marcel lay on the couch and then exhaled.

"Coward, yikes right? I think I would have preferred another comparison to my father." Tony walked over to the bottle he had poured from before and decided to take it with him.

"Why am I even talking to you? You're dead." After taking a swig, and dripping some on the floor for his 'fallen homies' the list which seemed to keep growing every day, he spun and was gone too.


	67. The Gold(-enhaired) Dragon Has Three Heads

Was walking supposed to feel this hard and easy at the same time? It felt like he was floating and yet every step carried a thousand tons of the world's most fucked-up, ridiculous, shit that he was breaking through and shaking off. It was still ringing in his years, all he shouted on his throat. Raw, rubbed and scraped and peeled, he felt exposed to a world too big -- and yet, like a newborn snapping through a metal cocoon fashioned by Satan in a moment of spite, free. Max rubbed under his watery eyes, breath battered, cold and gravel, harsh and visceral --   
  
Guttural, that was it, that was the word he wanted. Buried in his chest was a heart mended and bleeding from the fixing. Like it's just coming from this place so deep inside him where he believed for so damn long and he's so vindicated and he's so fucking furious he's closest to committing murder he's ever been in his life, probably, and he would have killed Gustav if he saw him right then, but he also - because it's Max, and Max knows he isn't a killer (could never be a killer)  - just is so relieved that it's finally, finally, just... out.  
  
And he doesn't let Kevan get away from it. He doesn't let him walk away and not hear exactly what he's thinking about, exactly how not fucking accepted his apology is. Yet he also recognized that he'd likely have done the same thing in Kevan's position (except he'd never have been in that position, as his brothers weren't you know, bleeding violent perverted psychopaths without a soul.) (Well.) (...no okay, even Harper hadn't been, but you know some of those potions he'd wondered if --  
  
\-- all right, Max was kidding.)   
  
Was it actually possible he would be able to do that for real now? Or in that instant had his sanity snapped and he was just believing in something he .. actually always had, he just was really fucking good at ignoring a truth until it smacks him in the face. Usually accompanied by a face full of ice and vodka, then a napkin, then a "fuck you" and -- actually speaking of truths that had smacked him in the face lately.   
  
Even as he goes to the station (there was no way, none, that Lynds and his nephew were not already on their way to Notre Dame -- it was Alcott who had guessed the location, after all) -- he's plucking his phone from his back pocket, snapping a suspender over his white wife-beater. And yeah, he's not surprised when he gets her voicemail (or maybe that was her voice for a second, he's not sure, his mind is traveling too fast) -- she was in the hospital, cell phones were supposed to be banned. If it weren't for the implosion occurring at Notre Dame, he would have headed straight for Mungos himself.   
  
"Hey Zoe," Max started, ripping the locker door open as he bends  neck, awkwardly bracing the phone between shoulder and chin. He peels his shirt off, changing it and throwing that to the bottom. "First, I am so, sorry that I am not there to tell you this in person. I hope you're feeling better. I know I'm not supposed to say that because of course you're doing fine and I know that but I'm still going to say it because I love you, Zoe, and so tough. I wish you could be here. And I do wish I could tell you this in person. I mean, I'm going to sound like an idiot, and if I'm wrong, you'll know the moment I see you, so I'd like to pretend this phone call never happened then - but if I'm right...well, just remember, you love me, you know it, and we will laugh about this later. Maybe with a copious amount of alcohol involved, but we will. Because...fuck," Max misses a button in his haste and pauses to fix it, "Zoe, only I would send you a voicemail like this," he missed another button, "tell you something like this over a, fuck, what is wrong with this shirt?"   
  
He rolls his eyes at himself, rips them all free again and reaches for his deodorant anyway. Then he breathes in, out, seeing the look in his eye in the mirror that Zoe made him put up in the first place. And...damn if he didn't look like a little kid on Christmas morning with a bright, shiny new racing bike package still stuck awkward under the tree. Max takes a second to breathe, tearing away from the hope in his eyes, and leans his head back against the locker.   
  
"It's -- I'm gonna tell you something, and it's gonna sound insane, and that's because it is but I also know...I just know. I know it's right and I don't even know -- fuck, Zoe, it's...miraculous, and it's also completely unbelievable, so maybe that's why I like it so much, because that's how impossible I am. Well, you know.   
  
So Kevan fucking Roswell came to see me in the Ministry, and I was already -- he told me, what we already knew that night nine and a half years ago, babe. Handed me a shit-load of evidence and resources to use, only asked that I didn't go on a solo vengeance mission which...was kind of tempting for goddamn once, but it's too late even if I wanted to."  
  
Seriously, this goddamn shirt.   
  
"There's something happening in Paris, France because, Alcott did it. Well, of course he did it. That's one of the reasons I have to be right. Because Alcott's the one who understood the clues, the only one, and that was because it was all my genius brother's research -- and then, I told you about that wand that looked like his on the outside? Why would they take his fucking wand, with the two cores? Unless they replaced it because it was with hi -- and another thing, I am pretty sure  that the song, Frere Jacques, is about a brother," his hand was now shaking through the air and he couldn't stop it, striking, swinging, hard and hot, but certain - he was certain, he had to be certain -- "Like it's friar, and that makes sense because it's in Notre Dame, but it also means brother. And there's the - the one they call genius and Angel, that did all of that with Nadia's memory and got Alcott the potion out of nowhere to help him? Rachelle mentioned he has a wife and son, and he always was playing with his goddamn wedding ring. And angels play the fucking harp!   
  
So I can't even explain how I know I'm right. Because...I was never right, I never get anything right, that's his domain, Harper's." Wow, just saying the name, his brother's name, aloud again in the present tense was terrifying and exhilarating. He felt wonderful. And he didn't want to let it go. "And the thing is if I'm right, then I still wasn't the one that was right, it was still him ... feeding it to me somehow, all along, because...ah, fuck."   
  
His head was beating methodically into the metal. Give up on the shirt, Max, spit it out. Let it hang open, let it all show, he didn't fucking care anymore. Breathe in. Breathe out. In --   
  
"Harper's alive."  
  
There. His chest seemed to unclench the moment he said it. So he said it again. The shirt was on now, fixed with a spell (one of Harper's invention, of course, a joke to pretend he, Max, couldn't get dressed on his own and oh - okay, ignore the fact he was proving him right), and he swivels to shove everything back into the locker, his radio resting on his belt. Then he swivels his old tag necklaces from a Christmas forever ago over his heart.   
  
"Harper's alive. He's in France, he's the one that did all of this, because that is him, that is my goddamn genius brother, there's no-one else that could be this infuriatingly brilliant on the entire planet because there was never anyone this good, this aggravating, not one who could hold a candle to him, there,  never was, never could be, " he slams the door, locks it, preparing to disapparate, "another fucking Harper Brackner."

**&.**

Those, assholes, those little jerks, none of them were getting Christmas gifts this year, oh no, they would  _all_ feel her displeasure.  
  
How dare they? Who did they think they were- who did they think she was?! She wouldn't talk to any of them for a week, and she could do that, she definitely could and it'll hurt her more than it'll hurt them, but she would cut them off from all Irene communication for this!  
  
They thought they could just leave her behind while they went to risk their lives? No, fuck all of them, she wasn't staying in this bed, failing liver be damned.  
  
Yes, she understood the irony there, and no she didn't want to talk about it.  
  
And Nadia! Ha! That little fire-cracking jumping bean, this is what she does with her memory back? Command her to bed rest and then lock the door on her? Irene liked it better when Nadia didn't remember what a over controlling freak she really was. No, she did not mean that, but no, she would not take it back either!  
  
Frowning through the whole time as the nurses were in there checking up on her, she waited until they were out of there again to move. Gritting her teeth together, she threw the covers back and swung her feet off the bed.  
  
Oh no, her pedicure, it was ruined.  
  
But, priorities, yes she had them. Stepping off the bed, she headed towards the little closet and then scoffed as she realized someone had taken all her clothes to prevent her from changing! Even the bloodstained ones from the attack were gone.  
  
If her friends thought she wouldn't just march out of her with her fabulous toned ass showing, they didn't know her at all.  
  
At least her wand was still there. Other priorities now, pain control. They couldn't keep the pain killers out of the room, and no one had been able to keep Irene out of a locked cabinet before either (though they were mostly all liquor cabinets.)  
  
It only took a couple of minutes to get to the potion, another to put it in a syringe so she could apply it directly to the area. A smirk bereft of any actual amusement crossed her face as she thought about how maybe this was genetic after all.   
  
Lifting the gown and peeling off the bandage they had put over where the spell grazed her, she sunk the needle and then pushed the plunger. With her mother in mind, she hummed a familiar tune: anything you can do, I can do better.  
  
Okay, that was off the list and now- the door was opening. Turning abruptly and scurrying to hide beside where the door opening would cover the wall, she was prepared to push the nurse out of the way and make a run for it when she noticed who it was.  
  
"Stefanie?"  
  
Slinking around the hospital made Stefanie feel better. Her heart, heavy, didn't beat seems not to beat until she's in the shadows. Behind doors, supply closets, the dark corridors - they all feel like a sudden home. The knowledge she was doing something illegal - maybe immoral - (maybe more immoral than illegal), that makes her heart skip, her skin light aflame and smile widen. Backwards, a nagging feeling in her mind told her, but it was good to feel something again, good to put her anger to a good use.  
  
Or maybe it was just a nostalgic yearning - the memory of Hans and Marcel debating art, the memory of when her brother's say she has a poetic soul. Stefanie thought it was beautiful then. In homage to Marcel then, she was in the shadows in grieving with a furiously beating heart.  
  
The herbal jars beside her in the closet stunk, mixed with the sterile ammonia scent but she only breathes deep to inhale the crazy scent of dirty and clean and bury it in her lungs. When the wheels stop squeaking by, she darts back into the hall, fans her blond hair out down her back and slips into the room labeled Burns.  
  
It took her only one second to figure out where Irene was, and a wicked grin crosses her lips. See Antonio, she thinks mentally, Irene didn't need men or doctors telling her to stay home. No glass towers for her.  
  
"I was staging a breakout." Stef smiles, though it doesn't reach her haunted eyes, "but it seems you've got that under control."  
  
Irene beams as Stefanie explains she was here to break her out. At least someone was decent enough to realize she shouldn't miss out on the horrible, personality-altering, and gruesome danger.  
  
"I knew I liked you for a reason!" She stepped forward again, keeping her hand on the doorknob to stop it from c losing entirely; it locked from the inside. The Tudor twins were a formidable force when they decided to stop showing those cute dimples and put on their angry eyes.  
  
"Apart from your general fabulousness, I mean," she added before crouching down, "and great sense of style."  
  
She used the syringe to hold the door open and then after stepping up again, frowned as she felt something off about Stefanie. Obvious exception aside, Irene was good at reading people.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
Liked her for a reason. It makes her smile flicker. That was nice to hear. It occurs to Stef she had once threatened to stab a fork through the girl's hand for talking about her brother. See what happens when you treat someone like a competent, capable human being who knew their own capabilities better than you did? Why, you'd never know they'd argued. It reminds her, she has to ask Mark about Irene doing a spread for him.  
  
Work. Work sounds like a fabulous idea. Maybe she could go there after she ripped a few of those bastards heads off, burns them to dust. Her fingers drum around her wand on her waist, her toes wiggle in her boots.   
  
Tony would already be there, she thinks. He'd be fighting. A sickness suddenly twists her stomach, concern for him constricting her chest.   
  
(Why should she be concerned for him now?)

He'd be fighting for peace, like screwing for virginity...  
  
(Because she cared what he was? His soul?)  
  
There'd be blood everywhere...  
  
(What about Marcel's soul?)   
  
He should just drink it, she nearly spits aloud the savage thought. Let the monster within rip free; his hiding and denying it didn't mean he doesn't have one. Revel in it to control it.  
  
Be what God made you to be, and then you could be...oh, you could be glorious. If you just would seize the opportunity.. you wouldn't have to be afraid of what you are anymore. You wouldn't have to be afraid, period. Stefanie didn't realize how fast her heart was going until she stills at the question.   
  
"It that obvious?" She asks, tucking a blond strand behind her ear. She grits her teeth.

"I pay attention," was the brief explanation she offered to Stefanie, in a quiet voice as she prepared to listen. Irene was a good listener, no matter how often her thoughts strayed and how self-centered she seemed to appear. Because she was devoid of modesty, Irene could say she was a good friend, a great friend, when she was given the opportunity. When Stefanie mentioned a brother that wasn't Hans as the very first thing, Irene prepared for the worst, sergeant.

"I'm..." her throat aches, "...capable, not okay. My brother...Marcel, that is, he'd...come to see me for Christmas. And see, Hans, Ansel--the pack, they're leading the insurgency with Al's father and D'Grey. Both of them." Her teeth grit, breathing hard again as guilt flicks through her gaze before hardenening.  
  
"They wanted to take me in retribution, but I wasn't at home. Marcel was. He came for Christmas." Had she said that already? Stef could feel it behind her eyes like chipping ice: she would cry, but there were no tears left. Her voice shook. He came because she begged him too.   
  
"So, now, my little brother is dead."  
  
Irene was right to prepare. If the hospital was cold before, it was freezing now, and the plastic gown didn't do anything to hide the sudden appearance of goosebumps.  
  
In a second she had her arms around Stefanie's shoulders, giving her a hug. "I'm so sorry, Stef."  
  
Her younger brother, a family member, gone. An innocent, taken as retribution, not even a person who was in the attack himself! She'd been thinking lightly of the danger, and of the consequences for this exact reason: if it got too real, that her friends were in deliberate danger, that people like Eliza and Marcel had already died, and that the list of casualties would only grow until the sticky end, then a panic would take over and she'd be of no help to anyone like that.  
  
Stefanie needed her help, and recalling the woman who had strutted up to her at the Gala, the same one who had threatened to put a fork through her hand for insulting her brother, Irene pulled back with a glare already furrowing her brow before declaring, "They will suffer for what they have done."  
  
There was a time and a place for everything, and the tears would be for tonight when they were all alone in bed and trying to fall asleep while at the same time just wishing to finally wake up.  
  
Or maybe that was just her. Irene was only 16 after all, she was allowed to curl up like a child and pretend the monsters couldn't get you. But like she had said, there was a time for everything.  
  
Her fingers are wet and sticky, Stefanie realizes as Irene wraps her in a tight hug. Better her fingers than her eyes, she thinks as she shuts them, the look of sympathy in Rene's eyes burned in her mind. Blown glassy pupils and wide, when what Stefanie wants are eyes narrowed in triumph. The way they were when she watched those who killed her brother burn. Her entire being right now was an exposed nerve of unending feelings, every aching want she damns and denies to focus. Sadness must be put away right now.   
  
"They are suffering." She whispers, staring forward as her hand suddenly slams into Irene's open back. It's only then she realizes she probably should get her friend clothes. "But not enough."   
  
Irene gets that. The promise, fervent and hot, curls a spider's smirk back across her lips. Stefanie thinks of Shelob, unfurling her web and now it's easy to walk again. Especially as she realizes, remembers, she might have good news for Irene. (She's not surprised she'd forgotten. Just the word "good" seems to make her heart stop and chest sore).   
  
As she turns to cast her wand, making a jumper and jeans appear on the bed for her, she adds, "I have better news though. We're not just aiding Al's father -- there's -- Eliza, too. They faked her death," now she throws shoes on top and wonders at her monotone, "just as they did Harper's, just as they planned to do with you," but Ansel stopped that, Stefanie thinks. That makes her stop throwing clothes, and she turns back.   
  
"Turn-about is fair play." She says, eyes gleaming. Vanilla and jasmine invade her nostrils, "So, no I'm not okay." The perfume replaces the phantom stench of smoke and she snaps her shiny gold curl around her nail.   
  
"But we will be."   
  
It was the right thing to say Irene realized, and was both pleased that she could offer any single form of help she could, and sad that the form of help had come from such violent beginnings. What was it that Dillon had told her once about this whole situation? These violent endings have violent delights? It was something like that, and she was 99% sure it was Shakespeare. It was always Shakespeare. Irene pulls back, eager to get going and thanks her quickly before she peels off her gown and grabs the jeans, grateful that Stefanie hadn't bothered with undergarments, there were more important things!  
  
As was made obvious when Stefanie revealed that Eliza was alive just as Irene finished doing up the zipper and button; her hands flew to her mouth as tears pearled in the corner of her eyes. She had such overwhelming happiness that it left her chest in an outburst of, "That bitch let me think she was dead all this time? I'm gonna kill her!" And she laughed once, before sobbing once, before taking in a deep breath and wiping the tears from her eyes. Okay, she was good.  
  
Jumper on, shoes on, and all with limited pain (damn, strong stuff). She didn't really care about what they were going to do with her, that didn't matter, she just knew who she had to thank (and it wasn't as simple as it sounded), because they hadn't, and they would never have the opportunity to do so again.  
  
She stands again, looking at Stefanie with her deadly and heavy gaze and has to inhale again. She looked, in a word...haunting. Maybe it was because she knew the demons she was carrying on her shoulders now, or maybe it was because they were going to head to these bastards looking for blood and they were going to get it, but her whole aura just had a macabre feeling to it.  
  
It was why hers couldn't.  
  
"We will be," she repeated, adding in her own mind eventually, "let's go gut these bastards." She picked up her wand again, heading to the door.  
  
"We'll talk later about how it is you knew my trouser size, you saucy wench," she added under her breath as she pulled on the handle, kicked the syringe out of the way and stuck her head out to make sure the coast was clear.

**&.**

Zoe’s mobile rang from the nightstand, belting out a chorus of ‘Everybody Loves Me’. Bianca moved to see who it was but Zoe already knew from the ringtone.  
  
"Oh that’s Max!" She held out her hand for Bianca to put the phone in, but first Bianca just looked at her with raised eyebrows.  
  
Zoe explained, “He chose it."  
  
Bianca chuckled and then nodded, believing that easily enough.  
  
"I’m going to the cafeteria, I’ll be back soon." Bianca said to give Zoe some privacy.  
  
"Yeah right!" Zoe clicked the answer button while she continued to call after Bianca, “You’re gonna slice off a piece of that milk chocolate cake! Get it girl, I know you want some!— Hi, hun!" She finished, referring back to Max, “Bianca’s a dirty little s- fuck, hello? Hello? What do you mean ‘call failed’ iPhone?! What good are you for, you untrustworthy piece of shit?!"  
  
Bianca closed the door and shook her head, nevertheless smiling, glad to hear Zoe was doing so well.  
  
Searching around quickly, for no particular reason of course not, Bianca suddenly startled to hear her own mobile go off. Eyebrows furrowing, she picked up quickly once she realized Alcott was calling her.  
  
"Alcott? Que paso?" She asked, worried and then exhaled, “Espera, slow down, dimelo otra vez." He repeated it for her again, a little slower but nevertheless hurried and heated. Bianca didn’t need more than thirty seconds before she headed for the exit, wand in hand.

**&.**

Notre Dame was on fire, her twitter page said. Notre Dame was on fire in the photos flooding the net. So she was warned. She warned Irene. They were still ill-prepared for the sight of the golden arches choked in flames, and there was nothing that could prepare her for the smoke flooding her throat. Flames, she thinks with narrowed, watery eyes flashing with the images of her brother. Rubies and stained glass rain down on the altar. The holy beacon engulfed in ruin fits in her mind. And a Khaleesi would not be afraid of fire.  
  
She struts more than runs in, ignoring the policia calls telling her to "Attente! Attente!", spins a spell and instantly shoots back into the fray. Nice of their enemies to wear masks. Not only did it make it easy to pick them out, it made them resemble the monsters they truly were. Blonde hair flies over her shoulder as she and Irene fight side by side in smoke.   
  
The bones of a monster are just as brittle as those of man; though they may re-knit, stitch themselves back together with no improperly-healed bend, no arthritic twinge to hail winter's sharp white arrival, shatter they will, fracture they do. And the pain of it- well this is where man and monster do not diverge.  
  
The man screams and she smiles. It makes her finally feel alive again as Stef spins, snapping her wand down with a crack in her wrist. She stills abruptly, eyes locking to the sight of Tony aisles down from her. Gazes lock for a second. Her breath arrests. There was, as expected, blood on him but she's amazed (and she'll think later, proud) - none of it was on around his mouth. It's only ever more evidence that she can't help but think seeing him like that - as a scarlet-stained warrior for what was right - but she almost smiles. She knows it's smug. She knows she wants him to see it. Her capable, and fighting. Turning again, red shoots from her wand, not green. Stefanie has no intention of killing if she can avoid it.   
  
Death is too simple, even for monsters.

**&.**

He had arrived at Notre Dame with a pop. Tony later realized he should have apparated outside after he threw himself sideways and slid across a floor that was wet with blood to avoid a falling burning beam. His eyes widened momentarily as he took in the flying spells, the burning pews and altar, the shattered windows that had once adorned the walls, shining light that was colored by the tinted glass of the mosaics.  
  
Tony lifted his hand to sign the cross across his chest, muttering a simple, "Ma liberaci dal male." Amen.  
  
In the next moment he was turning to deflect a spell, moving at a pace faster than human behind the Death Eater, kicking in their knees and then snapping their necks.  
  
Arrests, he had said days before, and he believed wholeheartedly it was the best choice before his brother had revealed his intentions to spare those who had been loyal to him and the D'Grey business. Not one person stayed in Parisian jail for long if Olivier didn't want them there.  
  
Lord forgive him.  
  
Tony pocketed his wand again, his anger and guilt was too great for long range fighting. He dodged spells as necessary to get as close as he could. Tony killed them all with his bare hands. He was able to ignore the blood amidst the screams, the heat, and the smoke. As long as he didn't taste it, he could keep from it.  
  
And then the very reason for his guilt was there, just as she said she would be, Irene in tow. They had only met gazes for a moment because any longer would have been certain death in this once holy place, but it had been enough to see everything. The determination and anger in her eyes, the need to prove herself, the bloodlust...that she somehow managed to control, shooting red spells instead of the fatal green.  
  
Beautiful, was a word that came across his mind. So did dangerous, vengeful, and wounded, that one too.  
  
He kept his promise, Tony didn't run to fight by her side or hold her back; he didn't throw himself in front of her, just let her fight, looking like a golden-haired Valkyrie. Artemis. Khaleesi.  
  
(But the dragon had three heads. Irene was there, so where was Eliza?)  
  
He tore his gaze away and continued with his carnage. Eventually, he'd make his way to the bodies she'd stunned and kill them too.

**&.**

A chunk of flesh spat at the ground serves as offering. Hans passes, coughing out the sickly sweet delicacy until his throat and lungs forgot what Gustav Roswell tastes like. With time, he thinks he'll forget what the man looked like. Remembering those you kill was a curse -- but he took only a piece of the bastard's arm before leaving. Alcott could feast (or die, he isn't sure which) just fine on his own. Pup made it clear he wasn't needed -- and long before he knew his father could only be an Angel on earth. The irony tickles him until he chokes on it.   
  
Notre Dame looks like Candyland, he thinks as he emerges paying his way into a holy hall where he doesn't belong. A playground for killers and men holier-than-thou. Lord knew he they were holier than him. When this day was won, he couldn't be here. Anyway, how could the day be won, when they have stolen his ability to change at will? He considers, a blinding hot moment, doing what Ansel suggests. Find Harper, disappear with him, force his further aid...yet words his own haunt him and aching chuckles bury in his gut. This man's already survived hell...  
  
And how could the day be his, when they have his brother? He slips mobile from his back pocket, locks it to his ear. In thirty seconds, his sister manages to exasperate him and break his heart as he tells her. Someone's broken, someone's bleeding again - was there ever another reason he called Stefanie outright? He shouldn't blame her for being unhappy to see him, honestly.   
  
"They have Marcel." Was that his voice? He needed a beer, something that reminds him he was glad to be doing this: glad to be throwing off these shackles.   
  
"If this is some kind of -"   
  
Hans cuts her off with a growl, "You really think I would joke about our brother in mortal danger, sister?"  
  
Then she asks him what he did. Aha! He laughs. Or rather, he tries, it seems to burn out in his throat. How strange. What did he do? Decide that the monstrous organization who had stolen him all those years ago shouldn't own him? (Anymore.) Made a deal with their captured angel that broke their (un)holy vows? (Yeah, look at his reward for that.) Fucked Eliza? (Oh, don't go there).  
  
"Go keep doing the right thing," is what she tells him, a heartbreaking warning in her voice. Then the phone clicks dead. Oh great. Stefanie was going to do something reckless, something stupid, something heroic. If he knew where she went...  
  
Well, what could he do? Of people who were too holy for him, his sister topped the list. His record of saving family members was nil - a brutal reminder of his failure. He remembers her words when he punched his father - when he broke his neck - when he killed him. Tears had rolled off cheeks pink and runny black. Saving, the decent thing to do, that was Stefanie's territory.   
  
Good old fashioned brutality and barbarity...that was Hans old playground. Say anything to stay out of a silver cell (he wasn't talking about jail) and leave the bloodied room in disgrace. Of course, that was about to change wasn't it?   
  
He considers it again, what Ansel suggested. And again, he hears his own words of response: _The man's already survived hell..._  
  
Had he? The question echoes in his mind as he stalls in shadows of colored glass. Here is Hans, standing with blood-painted flesh, amber-eyed, shy of six feet as he was shy of anything that might perchance make his father proud. Half his nails were scarlet talons. His gentleman's suit stained and shiny as his shoes. Today wasn't for him: he knew that now (maybe he always had). They were arresting the men who broke; if they fought, the pup's army kill them and reign in triumphant hypocrisy of -- oh, of the best kind. Another chuckle breaks his face.   
  
If you cannot beat them, join them. Wasn't that advice from a playground? Father, please, I skinned my knee. There's dirt in my eyes, blood dripping from my crooked nose. I was too weak to survive in hell. There was a woman, see, isn't there always? She cleaned my lip, brushed sweat off my brow and her smile, oh, that radiant, wicked, wicked thing. That's what I lived for, Father. With flames in her hair, she smothered me to kiss it better.   
  
A cross bars Hans path. The light behind it is too bright. It burns, and so he turns away from gilded gold bearing judgment to rain fire on his skin (it's hot, so hot). Crouched beneath a tablecloth is a crystalline jug. Water for the altar, he thinks,  amused. Heart skipping beats, he washes his hands. Hans licks blood from his lips, eyes downcast and smirk wide as he passes under the arch. I was too weak to survive in hell, Father, so hell I became.   
  
"Nah." He replaces the jug on the shelf and wipes off hands pink. The words were a little chuckle of disbelief: only the Angel had broken. Harper hadn't. So what would the man have to fear from him? "Well-played, mate, I never could master chess. Take it up with D'Grey..."  
  
(The day was his friends' more than it would ever be his. But what that meant for the people of Paris, well. That was a whole other story...one Hans knows, he has little part in.)  
  
But -- Hans thinks of a girl with blue eyes cooler than the arctic, so icy he's burnt, a girl with the sun in her curls, who smiled at him -- I will not sacrifice my queen. A curved nail points at the dome above his head, as he swears it. *That much at least is mine.*  
  
Steady heartbeats beat out the sound of silent footsteps behind him. Question marks write into Hans' brow. Oh, don't you know by now, you can't watch a predator? He watches you. Listening to quick breaths, as if measured to maximize lung efficiency -- ah, Hans realizes. Curling his lips up at the corner, he steps forward to pouring a goblet for himself of the house wine. There's no point to turn around as the crimson falls into gold, he knew the man wouldn't be fool enough to approach, knew this conversation, this confrontation -- well. It has to take place.   
  
"It's like something out of a mystery novel, isn't it?" Hans asks as a nozzle levels in the air behind him. The words were in such a sweet tone, anyone would think they were having a friendly conversation, not exchanging barbs. Well, exchange would be too hopeful of even footing, something this pair would never have. Hovering the goblet beneath furling lips, he takes a drink. It's deep enough to stain only the shallow flesh of his teeth in violet.   
  
Hans would say this for Jensen Stone. The marine would rob you of your life, but never of your last drink.   
  
"A great title, anyway luv. The uh," Hans turns to look him in the eye, brow twisting into a knot, "shooting in the reliquary?"  
  
The shot deafens as it rings in famed bell towers.


	68. A Breath of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (whose side am i on, whose side am i on...?)

By the end of the day, Shane would be able to count out the number of white hairs and wrinkles he had added to his numerous collection in the past twenty-four hours. This was assuming he would make it to the end of the day, because that was going to prove to be one of his most impressive feats to date, and he had accomplished some pretty impressive things. The press didn’t remember those, however, they printed and re-printed his mistakes so neither did the public remember. It was at a time like this when Shane regretted (even momentarily) that the Prophet was no longer under the Ministry’s payroll. Freedom of press should be free! What kind of pompous moron thought that up?  
  
It had been him.  
  
In the midst of calling for Abi, Tyler, and Shawn to hand them the locations of Death Eater safe houses, he had lost the one person who had provided him the information in the first place. Nadia had slipped out, no doubt able to see Shane’s intent to send her down to the Auror offices to keep her safe written all over his face, and Shane at the moment, could do nothing for her. He had a country to run, a country that was running, amok that was.  
  
With a folder under his arm that he had already made plenty of copies for and distributed to those that would continue to investigate. The folder provided by Kevan Roswell, through Max Brackner, which confirmed what Nadia had told him, would either mean the man’s narrow escape, or downfall. Shane had no time to be angry at how too little too late the information really was; he was moving out of his office, though not as quickly as he wished. He was calling out directions, answering questions as soon as he heard them, and making decisions on the spot. Decisions which would have repercussions more extensive than he had time to contemplate with the time allotted to him. Like rapid-fire, words left his mouth to find their targets.  
  
"Is our ambassador meeting with the president yet?"  
  
"No, sir-"  
  
"Tell Tissar to call the moment she’s in the meeting." The order was met with a brief nod, and Shane continued, snapping his head to the other side, asking.  
  
"Where’s the injunction?" Before he had even finished the question, Candice handed him the scroll, freshly written by a member of the Wizengamot, and a pen which he quickly signed with a flourish and returned it to her. "Send someone to the Prophet with this personally to explain if they print anything about this in the next 36 hours, they’ll be spending more time than that in a cell for interfering with a criminal investigation."  
  
Yes, he was well aware it was a gag order, but at least it wasn’t a permanent one.  
  
"Where’s Cortez’ legal representation?" If Symon was choosing today to arrive fashionably late, he might just have to hex his older brother into kingdom come.  
  
"On his way," someone responded. As he walked, he couldn’t see who it was.  
  
"I’ve got Tissar!" Shane walked forward, taking the cell phone from Chris and then put it to his ear, speaking.  
  
"Ursula, put me on the phone with President Gillier," given that he was too busy to answer a phone call from Shane directly. He tried not to be annoyed, Shane understood what was occurring in his country as well (someone in the background reported on the status of Notre Dame, and he had to hide a wince), but this could’ve had the ball rolling a half hour ago.  
  
"And don’t leave that office without a signed proof of jurisdiction," he finished, waiting until the president was on the other line before speaking. He walked, keeping his train of thought even as he received other questions, which he could either answer with a yes or no, or refer back to Chris or Candice. He breathed out as Jana returned, unable to exchange more than a squeeze of hands that were joined for too little a time, before they turned back to their work.  
  
"Monsieur," Shane continued in French, recognizing more than half of the hurried and erratic French words that had been sped through in his ear, but that was more than enough, and Shane could relate to the man.  
  
"These Death Eaters, these vermin, aren’t just your problem, or my problem, it’s Europe’s problem. They’ve been plaguing our streets, poisoning our lives, and are currently under the orders of one of my citizens. Orders that have led to the death of 34 people in the past two weeks alone, to numerous injuries, and countless damages, some which can never be fixed." He finally took a breath, but feeling the fish on the hook, Shane decided to reel it in. "This is not just your mess, it’s mine, and I clean up my messes. You’re not in this alone."  
  
Shane had never even gone fishing before.  
  
Four minutes later and a variety of exchanges later, he was off the phone and moving quickly, instructing Candice again.  
  
"Tell Deputy Head Noel-Carter she has official jurisdiction in Paris. I want a joint force at Notre Dame in the next ten minutes! We need as many of our Aurors there as we can to meet up with D’Abugine’s. Get them there!"  
  
He turned and faced Symon as he walked in, his suit crisp and his jaw tight as always. Symon and he were always butting heads, but the past couple of weeks have been particularly gruesome. Representing the man who had crucio’ed your son and basically-nephew, which was a life sentence twice over anyways, could do that between brothers.  
  
"Yes, Minister?"  
  
It was funny how ‘yes, Minister’ sounded a lot like ‘you rang, little brother?’ when Symon said it.  
  
"I’ve got new terms for you to take to your client, walk with me." Shane started moving to after a nod to Jana and Chris. His pace was brisk, but Symon matched it step after step, immediately throwing legal jargon at him.  
  
"You’re under obligation to confer with the Wizengamot, and receive a majority vote no less than 51%-"  
  
"And so I have done, Symon. I’m sure you were just following policy by informing me of what I already know, and not because of any doubt in my ability to follow legal procedure."  
  
Shane turned his head to look at Symon with eyebrows raised, saw his brother smirk and nod, and looked forward again. Maybe he should have more accurately said that Shane had new terms for Symon’s client that he would be delivering personally, but couldn’t do so without Julio’s legal counsel present.  
  
"We’ll need a room," Symon began as they reached the floor, turning to prep an interrogation room before Shane shook his head to stop him in his steps.  
  
"No time."  
  
"My client-"  
  
"Your client’s lucky he’s not rotting in a jail cell in the middle of a rock at sea with a two life sentences. I should have known this particular trick came from Kevan Roswell."  
  
That made Symon frown. Was it possible Symon hadn’t known that? Then he remembered who Symon worked for and realized, yes, it was all too possible. Not to mention, Symon needed only as many details as what he would use to win a case, and when you were a defense attorney, sometimes the less you knew, the better. Shane liked his brother when he was prosecuting.  
  
"Oh, yeah, by the way, you’ve been defending Kevan’s nephew, and guess how the kid got started? A little father-son bonding."  
  
"Julio’s agency is in question in this case, and you know it, Shane."  
  
"Here’s what I know," Shane stopped briefly, turning to Symon, "Julio Cortez, under his own volition and full awareness, used an Unforgivable Curse on my son. Your nephew." Shane turned away and kept walking because they had already had this argument and they weren’t going to repeat it now.  
  
"I also know now that Gustav Roswell is the one calling the shots with the Death Eaters, and that more likely than not, we’re not going to get him alive, so, time to find out what Julio knows now after he finds out no one’s coming to get him out, or kill him for talking."  
  
"You’re going to offer him a full pardon." Symon actually sounded surprised.  
  
"If he has enough information, yes." Shane lifted the folder he had under his arm and then handed Symon a page, and pointed.  
  
"Read this," Shane instructed as they kept walking and then looked sideways while Symon quickly came to an understanding.  
  
"The Death Eaters have operatives in other Denmark and Portugal. Who’s to say how many other countries are slowly cultivating a Death Eater infestation without their knowledge? I want these bastards gone, Symon. Every single one of them. I have no idea how Gustav’s reach could have extended this far, but I’ll tell you something," Shane stopped in front of Julio’s cell, his eyes narrowing immediately as they met the younger man’s seemingly carefree gaze and wide grin.  
  
"Notre Dame is a battle, and this war is far from over." Now it was Shane’s turn to offer a smug grin and Julio’s to frown.  
  
"Time to decide which side you’re on Julio."  
  
"…Can I get a drink first?"

**+.**

All Sienna wants was a shot at Hans. When the policia nacionale had arrived in their squeaking old autos, descending on masse in lights and sirens as if they meant to open a show at the Moulin, she'd ducked around a column. Sure, it's engulfed in flames, but she prefers the sweltering heat to being told to leave. Or rather, they'd push her, grab her elbow, yank, pull--anything to get the poor little girl out of the way. Didn't they know she'd been let in by D'Grey? As far as she knew, that was all she'd have to say to make them let her by. No, she thought irritated, snapping her hair band with a heavy abrupt click. She wasn't leaving. She would be seventeen soon enough! And besides, they could give Mum a call: she'd let her by without even blinking.   
  
Yes, she understands it's an idiotic move to want the shot. It's only the latest in a long line of them for Sienna West--tracking down the werewolf who she'd trusted, who she'd spilled her guts too, and who used every bit of the information to stalk her best friend up until the day she died. Killed eleven people with his bare hands, so she heard (so Alcott saw). Hans had facilitated Nadia's kidnapping, put Devin in the hospital doing so -- where he was drugged by her own self. If it wasn't for Lynn, he'd be dead. Her reluctant, unlikely friend who -- well, speak of the devil, there was Lynn.  
  
The policia nacionale had nothing on Lynn Rivers and Hols Graft. Even Sienna, who still remembers wanting to gnash her bunny teeth every time she laid eyes on the girl who took Alcott could admit that. Maybe she'd eventually tell Hols too. The same day Sienna admits to her she hadn't actually stolen Alcott either (so a long while off then), but truth was it didn't actually matter. Hols Graft and Lynn Rivers didn't care who saw, who thought what. Hols had blood on her clothes. It looked dry, but dear God -- Sienna winks and throws a thumbs up towards the cross -- that was a lot of scarlet. They weren't hiding behind the columns either; they were fighting straight out, back to back. It seems Lynn blends into the walls; her hair was whipping with the same speed and intensity as the fire-in fact when the light caught her, even Notre Dame on fire kind of paled in comparison.   
  
Sienna wouldn't tell them, but she could admit it to herself because as she swivels, for a moment she's fighting joined with them. Her ponytail smacks her lips as she ducks a spell; she stays crouched as the man approaches her, and then she kicks out his knees while Lynn struck him square, Hols covering their backs. For a moment there, they were all in the same team. The thought was echoed in a smirk on Lynn's lips as she points off, as if to say 'go that way.' A look tells her why. Whoever the hell that was - they weren't friendly. Go, go, go. One ice-blue jet streaked across Sienna's cheek, a scrape cauterizing before the window behind them imploded. Hols and Lynn jerked the other way, opposite to Sienna, but she thinks again, hissing in heat while she rubbed down on the bloody burn: for a moment they were on the same team.   
  
(Oh they were going to hear from Alcott later. Sienna could tell Hols was thinking the same: he'd bemoan and groan 'not getting to see'.)  
  
Yeah, because this was a show worth purchasing tickets too.  
  
Actually, Sienna wouldn't mind an audience to taking down Hans. The man had hundreds of enemies there (probably) (maybe thousands in the world, as he seems the type. He was ten years her senior after all--ruthless, spiteful...he left without saying goodbye. And never apologized! For someone guilty of so much, how could he never apologize? What, did he really think those pretty blue eyes of his were going to make everyone all right for him again?  
  
(Bastard).  
  
'What *was* she thinking?,' she could hear it in Eliza's voice as they used to say it together when out in Paris when shopping and fashion-people-watching. Those shoes (to run in)!? That skirt (to fight Death Eaters in)?! Seriously!?  
  
Yes, well, Hans deserved to be attacked on all sides, from every angle. Should he see it coming? He'd never expect it of her (no one ever did). He'd never thought she was worth a thing - or else he would have apologized. Unless...he couldn't think his going on the run meant he couldn't? Because all right, Sienna would have turned him i--wait! Stop giving him the benefit of the doubt!  
  
(Eliza would have though. Eliza did that for all manner of scumbags.) Sienna was just...not as forgiving as her friend had been. Hans had chewed her words up, swallowed whole, spit her out. See how deep the bullet lies? Understanding better would help the gouged wound in her chest, the metaphorical one that was--ouch! That was going to bruise; a wayward spell knocks a giant illuminati Bible into her, like she needs that sign. At least her breasts protected her.  
Honestly, Sienna just doesn't want to understand because buckling under strain and heartbreak would render her heartless. Living with Miranda West as a mother had taught her one thing after all: becoming a shallow, vain person callously dismissive of one's heart was the worst thing you could possibly be.   
  
(You'd never be happy.)  
  
"Sienna?" Alcott's uncle appears, his wand out too as she coughs. Max hits her with a spell without asking, inadvertantly making her choke more -- and then her lungs are suddenly, miraculously clear. Blinking water away as she sees his sheepish look, she shakes her head with amusement.  
  
"Thanks. You don't have to sound so surprised."   
  
Max's eyebrows furrow, and he begins to mumble his way through 'er' or an apology--Sienna isn't sure, because he suddenly sideways. Crumbling ceramic falls near her toes, more sparks and flames disappearing as Max casts. It saves half a tapestry, the metal rod clanging and clanking as it lands, then rolls away.  
  
Oh, that explained why he was over here. Max was putting out the fires.  
  
"Help-" He starts that too. Max wasn't really big on finishing sentences was he? The corner of Sienna's curls up and she follows, darting around the broken marble and glass Max had swept so neatly aside.  
  
Ash erupts near her face as she tries to cast what he did and hit his spell instead. A strangled growl buries in Sienna's gut to keep her from saying 'oops' aloud, testy (hot) and sure her cheek is bleeding. Or maybe she thinks it would be inappropriate to giggle - maybe that was what that noise was - because she hears a call for aid that sounds from a very familiar voice behind the smoke, and this person finished her sentences. And punctuated it with 'seriously?!'  
  
"Yeah!" That came from over Sienna's shoulder;  Max is about to go as the smoke starts clearing, but Rory appears instead, cheeks dirty, shirt ripped off and damn that boys abs. He tells Max quickly he had it. Sienna jets another water stream to extinguish their way, then darts behind him.   
  
And nearly barrels into him.  
  
Squeaking to her toes to peer over the tall shoulder, Sienna blinks as she catches on to him.   
  
+.  
  
With hands held tightly together, Lyndsi and him were running down the hallway on Eliza's words, running to reach Alcott, their son. It would not matter ilities to both be focused on the swirling inferno the cathedral had become, and still be able to smile to himself. Once he stopped running, once this was all over, then he could smile more, and continue with his amazement and awe. Once they reached the dungeons, and there was the door that led to a thousand steps, once he killed Gustav, he didn't have to look away from his family any longer.  
  
Lyndsi had one thought in her mind, just one, as she pounds the ground: she was never letting Harper go again. And naturally, the second she finishes for the hundred and sixth time, her hand gets ripped through the air, sweat unsticks and she dodges a falling part of ceiling as he darts the other way. They knock into each other trying to stay together against the wall before another beam - this on fire from above, evidently - and she squeaks, small, more irritated to have lost her husband's hand (her -husband-) than she was scared by the flames that erupt in front of her face. What did Lyndsi have to be scared of anymore? (Anything that Lyndsea had been was null and void.) Harper had beat death; what was one falling beam?  
  
"Baby?" She called, trying to cut back around the smoke where she could just make his outline out. For a moment she thinks it must have been the smoke that cut her words off  - before she feels the hand over her mouth.  
  
"So *you're* the wife then?"   
  
Idiot, she thinks, elbowing backwards. Hard. The hand scrapes over her scalp, nails dragging through curls, but as it slips off her mouth she tries to call out -  
  
"One second, Harper."   
  
"Shi-," his curse gets lost in the noise of the collapsing ceiling as his sweaty and ash-tainted fingers slip from hers in a instinctive move to keep from being crushed. A heavy gasp left his lips as his back made contact with heavy stone, but he had little time to catch his breath as a wooden beam encased in flames came down. Harper lunged away from it, rolling on the ground and bringing himself to stand again.  
  
Hand waving over his face to make it impervious to the smoke and debris, he responded immediately to her question, trying not to panic in these brief moments of separation.  
  
"Lyndsi?"  
  
And then his panic became reasonable as he took his wand out again in one swift movement and had it pointed at the Death Eater in another, or he tried to at least. The only smoke he could see through was the smoke in front of his face, not fifteen feet away, as flames licked up the wooden beam as they continued on their journey of righteous and indiscriminate destruction.  
  
As he stepped closer, extinguishing flames as he did, he had his wand pointed more steadily at the woman, but soon found that wholly unnecessary.  
Flames disappear in front of her and only then, does Lyndsi realize she was being boxed in by them before the extinguishing spells - as she understands her role as a hostage. With a cough into the sweaty hand that slaps down again, she furrows up her lips in aggravation. Taunts and curses were filling her hair faster than smoke as the bitch holding her was apparently more concerned with pretending it was amusing how long she and Harper had been separated than escaping from the fire.  
  
The thought swells in her mind until her chest aches from it as more catty calls bellow through her curls, high-school intellect shots lobbed at her husband on apparently why he needs to let both pass. Nine years. Nine years, five and a half fucking weeks since she had seen her husband. Nine Christmases. Nine anniversaries spent in separate prisons - one literal, one emotional frozen hell of perpetual drowning. Nine and a half years she was lied to, nine and a half years Harper was hurt, Harper was forced to work for them, forced to sell out his values and life -- all to keep their family safe. Safe, ha. The word mocks her as much as the notion she could ever have fallen in love with someone else ever did. Was turning their brilliant baby boy into a werewolf and poisoning her safe? And anyway, how could their family, however small, be safe so long as Harper was not with them? This wasn't even counting the word 'whole.'    
  
"Touching. You thought you were going to be reunited again, weren't you?"   
  
Yeah, taunting them, pouring salt into the wound, that was a good idea. Suddenly, the wrench of her arms seems easy against the vice grip and her smirk appears. Stamping down, hair flyaway, she ignores the sting of pain, the potential burns on her arms and the bruised bones in her side. The bitch could break her bones; Lyndsi has Harper back. He'd just regrow them better than before.   
  
"I'm not afraid of you," she hisses against her captor's torn, soot-struck sleeve. There's not even a tremor in her voice.  
  
Lyndsi was pissed.

**+.**

"The door's jammed," a girl with hair blonde was saying, holding the other side with her wand. It looked like there were curls peaking out, fuzzy at the edges where the heat was revealing what a straightening iron had burned away. She finishes, "There's a girl in there, and I can't move or it'll cave in on the marble."   
  
Sienna's slaps a hand to her mouth. Rory slipped away from her (or maybe she shoved him forward?) and she nearly falls, bouncing off his heels before she spins to take her wand out, helping move other rocks. The girl was still speaking through the door, not apparently noticing that Rory was two inches from her, freeing her way. "Jade?" The gjrl calls, falling on her hands and knees with a smirk sheepish (and familiar) on her lips, "Come on, I got you--pardon, please, I won't let anything else happen to you, I swear, it was an act before because--" her voice broke, "they'd have killed me, I wasn't as valuable as you. But I was - Tony too - I (she coughs), we both were undercover to break everyone else out too."  
  
Whoever 'Jade' is appears under the door, crawling her way out coughing, bloodied and barely clothed. It's distracting to Sienna, but Rory has a blanket conjured in an instant, letting it flutter down.   
  
"Thanks," the curly-straight blonde says, still without looking around. Her eyes - blue - were fixed with anguish as she wraps it around Jade's shoulders. She was apologizing, repeated and on a voice aching -- but it dies off before Sienna thinks 'Jade' even hears her. The blonde heard a different name. Her chin lifts without real belief, bottom lip suddenly quivering.   
  
"Eliza." Rory barely breathes it, wiping tears, sweat and blood from his face. He starts to come down to the broken marble floor (all the flames were out, a teary Sienna was seeing to that), but Eliza -- and it was her, it was -Eliza-'s face breaks open, she shakes her head (sets free a cloud of ash off her cheeks and hair) and bounds up, rising to throw her arms around him.   
  
"It's me!" Eliza says it joyously even in unfamiliar clothes that soon would wear the Madonna eye shadow as it spills from her eyes and cheeks. God, how much was her friend wearing. "It's me, oh my God, Rory, it's true, I swear to God, I'm here, I can explain --"  
  
Somewhere along there, the boy finally managed to make one coherent decision. His lips seal hers, cut her babble off, and his arms wrap around her waist, lifting her, spinning with her.   
  
Sienna drops to the floor next to Jade to help re-secure the blanket as she tries both to aid and...well, give her friends a moment of privacy. Jade pushes her hand away at first, but reluctantly let's her help her up. Up close she realized the girl was older than her -- a lot older, twenties at least. She was just..small, and dirty at the moment but man - the fire was in her eyes. The bruises on her cheeks and broken nose made it hard to tell but Sienna is stuck with the fancy to point out, "You're really pretty, you know that."  
  
Whatever snippy remark Jade had been preparing dies suddenly with that and she smiles. Sienna echoes it, encouragingly, calls "Max!", and it isn't until he appears that she realizes Jade was missing teeth.  
  
She's still really glad that she hears, squeaked and bright, mumbled into Rory's hot, exposed shoulder--"I see you too Sie, I love you, I love you so much, oh my God you don't know how much I've missed you--"  
  
" _Oi!_ "

A helpful non-sentance addition, Sienna thinks.   
  
"And Max!" Eliza squeals, but the rest was buried in Rory's mouth, then jaw, then chin. She clings to him, a lifesize teddy bear.  
  
Max was helping pick Jade up (oh, her ankles were broken, that's why she'd crawled out). Sienna realizes as they all dart out of the way and let the ceiling fall down. The noise of smashing stone to marble rings in her ears as she dances around the fallen balustrade.  
  
"Oh my God Max, wait--" Eliza's voice peaked out again, and Sienna turns as her friend is set down. Despite her words, Sienna didn't pause for breath even -- was she crazy!? How was she supposed to wait!? Striking her arms around her friend and holding on tight, Sienna feels a tickle in her nose. It's a loose hair strand. Not tears. No. Sienna wouldn't cry over something so happy.   
  
(Rory was beaming, and he hadn't actually taken his hand off Eliza's shoulder, Sienna realized with amusement.)  
  
"Wait though, Max--" Eliza spins when they break off. Sienna's eyes are drawn to a bracelet; diamond, dangling off her wrist, and familiar -- not in a way she wants to think about. It rested next to the teddy bear silver charm one.   
  
"It's all right, Eliza." Max winks at her, Jade apparently as -heavy- as a teddy to the muscle-man. "I'll be right back -- and I already know."  
  
"You do?" Her face cleared in relief; she stepped forward, shaking Rory and Sienna off her to bring her wand up again.   
  
"Yeah. Well I think so. Don't tell me; I want to...be proven right."  
  
The moment he was gone, Sienna proved she didn't have Max Brackner's restraint. Or patience. Or ever could keep her nose out of business that wasn't her own.  
  
"Proven right about!?"  
  
"His brother." Eliza says; her eyes were shining and wide as she looked back to Rory. Oh my God, Sienna thinks. Rory and Eliza were blushing. Actually blushing! They don't get to blame the flames either.  
  
Hold on, wait a minute, --  
  
"His brother?"  
  
"Yeah." Eliza murmured softly. Sienna's amazed she could even hear it, a whisper into a ruined shirt and sweaty shoulder curling around her again. "Harper. He's alive too."  
  
That seems to jar Rory out of staring (and only for a second).  
  
"Wait, Harper, as in --"  
  
"Al's father. He's been here the...entire time, fighting to get out. This is his plan too." Eliza smiles, like she's proud. Sienna feels her knees go weak, a smile fluttering across her lips and her hand landing on his throat. Harper Brackner -- she remembered him, barely. He put a flower in her hair once.   
  
(And it was his research she'd been watching Alcott inhale for years and her relief for her friend...friends...is palpable.)  
   
"Is it?"   
  
Sienna wasn't the only one who had amazing hearing, she realized as she's suddenly thrown back into the wall. Bleeding hell -- the prim, proper curse was across her lips before she could decide if she gave a fuck. Room spinning, she hears a snap, scuffle, and then realizes who it was. Rory was on the other wall, already getting back up, reaching for his wand in the rubble. Sunlight and snow falls through the cracks in the ceiling to light the only one still standing.

**+.**

For all of her intelligence on the Death Eaters, and the numerous amounts of speculation, Laura never expected for there to be so many of them. She thought it was going to be a cathartic experience, to walk back in and face the people that used to be her family but all she saw was unfamiliar gazes, staring at her with loathing and disgust, the last thing they would ever see.  
  
Jensen’s words resonated through her mind, and now she realized that he had been correct, and that she had been foolishly, childishly, hoping otherwise. Everyone she had personally saved, dozens of them, Gustav had gotten rid of. It wasn’t difficult for her to figure out why he had done it. To ensure none of them left on their own free will, to spite her, and to ensure that none loyal to her could contact her were just one of the many reasons why. When she was younger, the ease with which she understood people like Gustav had frightened her, now she grateful for it.  
  
Gustav had built himself a new army of teenagers, the oldest no more than in their mid-twenties, with a few highly skilled veterans, men like Estbury and Severio.  
  
Murder was her job. They were assassins who made the difficult decisions, but for Laura, killing those two men wasn’t a chore, and it wasn’t difficult at all. She had smiled as she severed spleens as easy as she breathed, maybe even easier. Maybe it was all the sorrow she felt that made it easier to smile, even as people died around her, as the cathedral burned, filling all their lungs with smoke and ash.  
  
None, absolutely none. Not in the men and women she faced, and not in the litter of corpses she stepped over. Not one familiar face. Only Harper, who had allowed her, Jensen, and Eamon entrance, who could scarcely meet her gaze, and a boy who used to go by Lawrence, who had looked at her with a coldness that left her frozen that night. Laura couldn’t decide between taking it as a tragedy or a disguised blessing that she didn’t have to face the people she had saved, and then abandoned in Budapest. Ever the masochist, the former seemed to crawl along her veins, feeding her with a cold rage, that helped her ignore the truth.  
  
She hadn’t saved anyone, nor could she. She had been a survivor for the first decade of her life, and since then, a killer. Whether a slayer of innocents or an assassin of people marked too dangerous to live, there was nothing Laura was better at than taking a life.  
  
(That wasn’t true. She was equally adept at causing pain, even if she no longer tapped into that part of herself.)  
  
Passing through the smoke without tearing up or coughing, she kicked down a door as she continued to clean out the rooms, and found herself walking in on Eamon standing over a man chained to a chair. Swallowing, she stepped forward, slammed the door behind her and then walked forward, gun poised at her friend.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Nice to see you in one piece too, Laura," Eamon replied, not raising his eyes to meet hers, or the gun, just kept looking at his…prisoner. His eyes were screwed in concentration and realizing what he was doing, Laura burrowed into the man’s mind and pushed Eamon out of it.  
  
Eamon jerked back, eyes wide with disbelief and then narrowed in anger, between them, the man exhaled sharply before taking irregular breaths. Eamon had always been so blunt at this, too used to brute force, a jackhammer instead of a scalpel.   
  
She finally lowered the gun from Eamon to the back of the man’s head.  
  
"Stop! I need him alive."  
  
"Yes, you said it," Laura countered quickly, moving around the chair, closer to Eamon, “you need him alive. I have my instructions, and it’s a clean sweep. In and out."  
  
"I pity your sex life."  
  
"Don’t make me regret letting you come along, Eamon. This is not a part of your personal vendetta."  
  
Except it was, Laura recognized, it really was. The only thing that had saved Eamon years ago when she and Jensen were first assigned to analyze him as a potential threat, was the connection the two men had found between them, otherwise Eamon would have made the list of highly volatile, and they would have had to eliminate him. Eamon had never stopped being highly volatile, even if his attack on the mob families in New York had become more discreet.  
  
There was one particular family that was highly connection to the organization in Paris.  
  
Eamon’s square jaw clenched and unclenched as he struggled for words. When in doubt, he resorted to smirks, and that was no different here. Smug and sure of himself, Eamon was one of the most infuriating men she had ever met.  
  
"You’ve got your mission, I’ve got mine." He turned to the man and then continued to grin, “Right, Blanc?"  
  
The man groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head before he coughed violently, shaking his head back and forth. Interrogation was something all of them were very good at, and Eamon was no exception. If he was using magic to access his mind, it means that Eamon couldn’t get him to talk with other methods. He reached out a hand and Laura immediately knocked it away with the handle of her gun and pointed it back up at him.  
  
"Eamon. Leave."  
  
"Come on, La-La. You’re not going to shoot me."  
  
Laura raised her eyebrows and then cocked her gun. If there was one thing Laura hated, it was being challenged. She just couldn’t help but to rise to it, and no, she didn’t want to shoot Eamon, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.  
  
"Okay," Eamon nodded and took a step back, “so maybe you would."  
  
Eamon waited for Laura to put the gun away again before stepping closer to him, not the man named Blanc and then took her hands covered in fingerless gloves she used for a better grip in his.  
  
"For all the love you have for my brother, and for all the veiled love you have for me, please," Eamon implored before looking at the man next to them in disgust and returning to Laura who stood rigidly still.  
  
"I need him alive. This could change everything."

  
**+**.

"Is it?" Is it your fault, Sienna hears echoed in the question as her mind spins. Eliza's retort is harsh.   
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"You know, I had a feeling it might have been."  
  
Eliza's smile has turned unrecognizable--but there was no fear in her eyes as she looks back, wand steady and pointed forward, the other hand raised. Half fighting stance, half surrender? Poetic.   
  
"Drop your wand, Sam." Eliza says warily, then adds with heat, "You don't want to do this, just--"  
  
"Oh," Sam shakes his head, but it goes eeriely well with the fact his own hand was shakes, as Sienna struggles to break invisible bonds on her wrists and ankles, Rory doing the same (one free hand still scraping the ashes after his wand) -- "Yes, yes I do."  
  
"Sam." Eliza's voice pitches, but her hand is steady. "Let them go, and I'll --"  
  
"What? Come willingly?" His scoff was high.  
  
"You made sure that would never happen." With Eliza's snap comes one from Sam, but Sienna enjoyed his more for once. Her best friend had broken his wrist.   
"Ah-fuck!"   
  
He swore, but the spell didn't break on her. Sienna stops her  struggle as Eliza had suddenly darted to squeeze a her free hand around his. Clasping ring and forefinger, she begs in low heat.   
  
"I honestly won't warn you again, Sam. Please, drop the wand--you can come back with us, your uncle will hear you out--"   
  
"My uncle will be dead." Sam said. Sienna's amazed at his eyes. Did he always look that insane? God, she'd known the boy was pathetic but --  
  
"Shane." Eliza said. "The -Minister-. You remember him, right?"  
  
"The one who beat my father? You think that'll insult me?" Sam's voice was sardonic now. "He deserved it."  
  
"Put. the wand. down, or I'm going to make you do it." Eliza lets his broken wrist go. Sienna is almost impressed to realize he didn't flinch. If she wasn't busy about to be sick. Why was Eliza trying so hard to be so lenient? Sam didn't deserve it.   
  
"Oh, no you won't. Put yours down, or I'll kill them both." Sam said, but now Sienna's looking at Eliza's eyes and realizing why they looked so familiar. In an instant, she understands. Why mercy was so appealing. It wasn't something Eliza had been shown. Gritting down on her teeth, rage breaks in Sienna's chest: the hell had this monster done to her best friend!?  
  
'I can explain', Eliza said, but she was breaking bones, apologizing to a girl who looked ravaged and ruined like it was somehow her fault (and Sienna had noted the mention of 'Tony'; it was clearly the D'Grey, and both of them owed her a serious apology for letting her think her friend was dead). Explain what?! How he had faked her death, or why she was so apparently unbothered with violence?   
  
Sam had always been pathetic, but Sienna hadn't realized how sick he was. His father, of course it went back to that - and his uncle, apparently. There was a coldness in the boys eyes she could feel seeping in her chest from his spell. Eliza might not realize it (or maybe she did, maybe that was why the begging and haunted gaze) - but Sienna knew. What they were doing today was freeing people broken, freeing people bent out of shape, sick, wounded, stolen.  
  
She doesn't know how or why (besides sick awareness of his obsession) Sam was there - but she knew he wasn't capable of leaving. He'd been shaped into an instrument of torture, a weapon, and he wouldn't hesitate to take Eliza, kill herself and Rory. He could still do that, his wild eyes said and she honestly is going to vomit but -- no, no she wouldn't fucking let him do that.  
  
Her hand was free and she shoots a spell - simple, clean.  
  
The red jet must just pass Eliza, for she yells, stumbling to try and push Sam out of the way.  
  
"Sienna, don't--!"  
  
And then Rory (freed now too, of course, Sam had dropped his wand when the stunning spell took his chest) yells --  
  
"Eliza!"  
  
He darts forward, grabs her hand and pulls her back, away from encroachjng flames. Eliza shouts, punches at his shoulders, once, twice -- then falls silent.   
  
The screams would have drowned anything out anyway.  
  
Sienna gasps, but it burns her throat as she watches the stunned Sam fall into the fire. She just wanted to stun him, she thinks. Had Eliza pushed him in? But she was just pushing him away from the spell--her spell--  
  
" _Fuck_." Eliza snapped into Rory's shoulder again, reaches around and yanks on Sienna's hand. "Sienna, we have to move --"  
  
"But I- I didn't mean, I just--"  
  
Oh, God, she was spluttering. Shutting herself up, she let Eliza grab her hand.  
  
"I know," Eliza says, and there were tears in her eyes as she looks back. She turns away again, and abruptly they're gone. There's nothing now but concern...for her, Sienna thinks. Rory looks relieved and stricken at once when they start to move. How she kept one foot in front of the other was a mystery to her she couldn't solve later. But now, now they had to find Max again or - preferably - Al and -Harper-...(show me more life, Sienna thinks, and realizes: she's praying.)  
  
"There wasn't anything we could do for him," Eliza will tell her later, much later, curled on her bed together, and Sienna knew she was right -- and she knew too, her friend wasn't talking about the fire.

**+.**

It's not as if the thought of Max hadn't crossed her mind; Lyndsi simply blamed that on these bastards as well. Without them, there would have been no... ...affair, God help her, and without them, Al and his friends would be safe, human, back at school...bloody hell, Lyndsi swears as she bites into the bitches hand. She's just -- infuriated.  
  
"We  _are_ reunited." She half spits, feeling a burst of magic swell in her chest. There's a snap in the woman's hands and they fall off her burned and blackened. Lyndsi barely notices the spell she never used. "And you'll never keep me from him again."   
  
Smack. Crunch. Whatever spell she used could wait. It was too tempting to pass up punching her.  
  
"I learned a long time ago," Lyndsi adds as the bitch bends over near the wall on fire, "when you find someone worth fighting for," she is near yelling it now, "You never give up. I'll fight for him. I'll never stop fighting for him."   
  
Harper gripped his wand tighter as he was forced to not move a step closer when Cassandra tightened her grip on Lyndsi's hair, using her as a hostage to get away. Harper wasn't going to let that happen. There was a growl deep in his chest of a wounded animal that's had enough. Enough of the leverage against his family, enough of the taunts and mocks, and enough of the separation.   
  
But before he could even properly think of the right non-verbal spell, Lyndsi took matters into her own hands. He watched on in both worry and awe, wand still raised, as she fought back. Awe turned into being impressed, which turned into pride as it kept rising from the heavy ball that had began in his stomach into a feather-light feeling.  
  
It had not occurred to him that just like he'd fought for nearly a decade to get back to his family, his son, and his wife, Lyndsi would fight just as hard for him. How did he ever forget that? How did he ever forget that his hope wasn't the desperate illusions of a man in love with a woman who was too good for him (even if she was), but that it was a feeling returned with equal intensity? How could he ever had thought Lyndsi might not want him back?  
  
A second later he's found himself next to Lyndsi again, risking burns of his own. His heart pounded in his chest as he took her face in his hands again with a whisper of her name before he quickly looked her over.  
  
"Are you hurt?" He barely managed as he ascertained the truth and then with a look back to Cassandra who was struggling now to stand once more, he lifts his wand, the intent for the spell to be fatal written all over his face.

"No," Lyndsi whispered, though the truth was she knew bruises were spiraling up her spine, her arm has burns, her neck might have whip lash later and bloody hell, she needs to learn how to throw an actual punch. Were her fingers supposed to break or was it just a right of passage to feel the ache?  
  
But what could hurt when Harper held her?  
  
Then he spins away, even for an inch--and she exhales hot, suddenly, "Wait--"  
  
He meant to murder; the intention was written on a face abruptly unfamiliar. Harper could barely have hurt a terrier puppy before; animals had flocked to their house at times she'd felt like Snow White. Her hand went out to yank on his wrist, the angry red scars seeming to leap out at her as she shakes her head hard, fear in her throat.   
  
"Don't--just--please--Harper--knock her out."   
  
It was all Lyndsi could stand to gasp out. But she knew Harper (dammit, she does), and she knows he'd read the terror, the guilt, the surprise -- and so much more, in her wide blue gaze. Don't taint us with her, she seemed to say. Please.   
  
He'd seen the burns with his own eyes, but he would have to heal them later. They had to get rid of Cassandra, and they had to find their son (and he had to kill Gustav, to end that bastard's life once and for all.) He was about to slash his wand down when Lyndsi suddenly tugged his wrist back, and he looked at her.  
  
It was her expression, more than her words that stopped her. The proof of their separation had not been as poignant as it was now, as she looked at him and wondered how he could be about to kill someone. His hardened face immediately lost its edge, and he exhaled, nodding suddenly, wanting and needing to wipe that fear away.  
  
And without saying a word a red spell shot out of his wand, hitting Cassandra square in the chest and knocking her out . He even extinguished the flames around her, and looked back at Lyndsi, feeling like he should ask for understanding, beg forgiveness, or plead for her to still mean her previous words. Instead, he grabbed her hand again, because he couldn't handle space between them anymore, he just couldn't.  
  
Lyndsi honestly didn't know anymore which was worse: watching Harper's scarred face turn to stone, eyes dead set on murder -- or seeing him understand her fear, his eyes crumpling, the upturn in his lips turned down abruptly. As red struck the woman out, Lyndsi was locked on his gaze -- breathing in smoke as she steadies near him, hangs on and tries to calm her racing heart. He looked...so, afraid. It felt like he hit her. Twice. First as she realizes her husband, the man who once tried to do push-ups to impress her and fumbled over the words 'I think I'm in love with you' -- had become a killer. Again, when she sees he's afraid she doesn't love him.  
  
Oh God, and with Max --  
  
Lyndsi cups her (free) hand, ignoring the burns and cuts, just as she did his scars, goes on her toes and collides her lips to his. She meets them only for a hard, hot second, letting tears clear from her eyes (they shut, she doesn't want him to know her pain of guilt) and brushes under his. Then she pulls back, breathing harsh as she murmurs quietly.

"Thank you, love. I jus-- thank you."  
  
There was no doubt that Lyndsi could take his breath away, she always had been able to, but now she had done it a touch more literally. The kiss had their lips locked, his lungs closed, for that brief second. If Harper thought about it too much, he would surely have to stop himself from moving altogether in order to regain himself. There was no time for that now, they could have all the time in the world after to deal with his picnic basketful of issues.   
  
Lyndsi was thanking him for sparing a life, as if that was such an outstanding display, as if it was an uncommon thing. Sparing a life, saving a life rather, that was the kind of man he had been. He had forgotten that in here; here mercy was a weakness, and a fatal one at that. He hated that, hated who he was forced to become to survive.  
  
In those moments where he was unsure of what to say he quickly bandaged her arm with a spell. It was a focus for him to he able to think things through. Looking back up at her, he nodded, knowing there was just so much more that he wanted to say, but that it would have to wait.  
  
"The dungeons, Alcott, over here, we have to hurry."  
  



	69. The Uncrowned King of France

_December 14th._ Devin sees the date in placards, white Helvetica font on black plastic sticking to a bulletin board in the front of the reception hall. It's followed by a list of irrelevant activities that had been planned. Fitting they were spinning through the air, falling on the floor, Devin thinks. Had he the time to pause, he'd add to the board "eradicating the devils inside the walls." Or was that redundant for the Catholic church? Weren't they always doing that?   
  
It's been a year. The Winter Gala, an annual tradition that likely had been cancelled next year now, was the twelfth of December last year. That wasn't when this story started. Devin was forced to see that now, squeezing Nadia's hand so sweat sticks their palms together tight. They dart back as black smoke sneaks under cracked marble. Nope, don't go that way. The arch falls behind them. Sirens blare. Shouts for more water echo in his ear.   
  
His parents were around here somewhere. Nadia's would be with them: their mothers were, no doubt, making themselves known as the Don't Fuck With Us MILFs in Paris now, as they'd been dubbed in the English tabloids once. One of the only times The Sun got things right, Lynn had said before chucking the paper at him with a chuckle, as if it was oh-so-hilarious their mother was such a sex object to the non-magical world.   
  
Better that, Mum said later, than the tawdry scapegoat the magical one pretends she is. A year ago the magical world decided to snub Dad by denying her an invitation to the Gala. Or maybe, as Lynn snarked sarcastically in his ear when he sat on the stair that night, they got tired of Mum snubbing them by refusing to go and skipped the affair. Devin had rolled his eyes. Lynn hadn't understood how badly Devin wanted to go.   
  
Dad brought him, though. Dad saw him sitting on the bottom stair already dressed (though he hadn't been able to fix his tie yet) and asked if he wanted to go and so sure, yes, yes there were dozens of people fighting, rescuing, being rescued -- killing or being killed around him. This story had been happening before his mother and sister disparaged of a Gala. Hell, this story was happening before he was born, before his father's father was born, but it had been a year since Devin had forced his way into the fray. Devin, the bookish political nerd in the back of the classroom, forced himself to the crossfire. How ironic was that?  
  
The tale since the first time he accepted Victoria's invitation, had been one of discovery for him: a discomforting smack of the mirror into his own insecurities, inner darkness, and the inferno he felt in his gut at the thought of injustice. Dad might have raised he and his sister to love the law (even if Lynn pretends otherwise) -- but their mother's rage against the machine was inbred. How many times had he sent his cousin to the hospital? That was before they drew the mark spiraling up his wrist, the one Eliza's Dad claims denotes him 'Hunter.' Killer of the supernatural, defender of humanity - it fits, Devin thinks. It's only more brutally ironic that his best mate's a wolf, his girl's sister a lioness. The black tattoo burns as they fly through Notre Dame's halls, searching out their friends, saving who they might. It pounds in his head. His heart beats like a piston. It drove him to do more. Kill, a flutter in his breath might whisper in his ear. Kill, as if that's something sixteen year olds should know how to do.   
  
That's wrong, he wants to tell the mark even as he thanks it for lending his arm the strength to punch one of the Death Eater's out cold. That's what they were there to stop: the program he once almost joined. The organization his cousin nearly seduced him into. And wasn't it true he'd have killed Señor Casanova, even as it was true that Julio now was helping them? Devin thinks he is, anyway. That was the last he'd seen his father, before he slipped off in the Ministry. Heavens, he became more like his sister every day. Nadia subsequently told him her suspicions on the boy. Devin trusts Nadia. Chains (metaphorical, sure) broke off him as he turns to her now, a small smirk on his lips in the ecstasy of being able to look at her and have her know him.   
  
"Which way to the dungeons again?" He asked her, though his stomach twinges at the reminder Nadia knew all this because she'd been in them.

+.

Fury simmers under his skin, itching, burning - fury borne for the sole purpose of fueling bones splintered, skin torn, blood spilled. He wants to rage and rip the Man in front of him to shreds, pull his heart out and make him eat it. The wolf breathes out, -How dare he-, a too human thought for the growl that accompanies it. Jaws yank back as he misses, before he clenched on thin air; the human inside the wolf knew the act would smash his teeth to bits.   
Blood was matted on his curled upper lip, fur missing in clumps ripped off his left side and a back claw was retracted, broken. None of that matters. The hunters instinct was only amplified for once by the inner boy - so much for the idea an animal could be the worst beast. The prey of the moment had held Alcott's father prisoner for almost a decade. And now they'd gotten the green light, the only thought left on the mind, boy or wolf, was murder.  
  
At least until he suddenly sees his mother. The sight's jarring: his mother hanging on to his father's hand. What's even freakier is the fact he knows abruptly he's the same height that he was when he was six. The same height the last time he saw his parents together. Of course there had been significantly less fur--  
  
A blast barely streaks over his head; the wolf drops abruptly to the floor, paws flattening ears. He spins even as his tail shoots up: if his father and the prey were finally meeting face to face, he wanted to see it.   
  
There was only one slightly positive thing Harper would think about Gustav Roswell. Positive only at this moment, and only in his own mind, but a small positive nonetheless. Gustav Roswell had the good sense to stay alive long enough for Harper to get to him and enact his own sweet brand of vengeance.

+.

No matter how hard she had fought otherwise, there had been no keeping Chace away Notre Dame. Nadia supposed that later on he'd be able to forgive her for keeping him in the dark for so long, just like he hoped to forgive him for involving himself and risking his life. Nadia wasn't usually a hypocrite, but in this she couldn't help but to want everybody to be safe, even as she journeyed into the belly of the beast herself. It didn't work out very well. All her friends were fighting their way through the smoke and fire, teeth bared and claws out (for some that was all too literal).  
  
Everything was so different to her now. Even if Notre Dame was still the same, she had not been the same person when she had walked these halls. Ironically enough, the place had been much more stifling back then, despite that now all the breathable air is replaced with smoke and ash. It was because now her purpose and motives were clear. She wasn't fighting for faces shown to her on pictures that played in a loop, Nadia was fighting for real people, and for herself. Nadia was described as a saintly, fair, and good person by nearly all of the people who came in contact with her, and not one to disappoint, that's what Nadia strove for. Now it was personal.  
  
She had already told Devin what she wanted, no needed, to do and that was to get whoever was left in the dungeons out. The screams that she heard as people ran away in fear, as they dodge the falling ceiling and avoid roaring flames -- they had nothing on the constant screams and groans she had listened to on a constant basis while she was imprisoned here. The problem was getting through everything and everyone to reach the dungeons. It would have been more difficult without Devin's rune giving him more strength, more speed, and more stamina. Now he was like...her own personal Batman.  
  
When they were finally out of all of this, hopefully safe and unharmed (but there was no alternative, there couldn't be another resolution and admitting there could be was as sure as defeat right now), she wasn't moving away from Devin's sight for one moment. She squeezes his hand, coughs a little and then points, jerking her head in the direction.  
  
"This way, come on," she coughed again, feeling like she could find her way down there with her eyes closed. It was like she had a line anchored to her navel and it just kept pulling her there towards her unfinished business. But as they rounded a corner, it seemed her unfinished business found her. One-eyed and nine fingered, Rhys stood at the end of the hallway, drawing a thin red line across Wallace's throat with a knife.  
  
"Wallace!" Nadia screamed, her throat burning as hot as everything around her due to the sudden surge of rage. She had spared him from the wrath of Rhys once already, but had been too late to save him now. Rhys' disfigured face looked up and an angry smirk widened; Nadia's wand was already up as she casts spell after spell, but Rhys flicks and bats them all away with his wand. Her anger bubbles up, tears hot in her eyes and quickly evaporating as they hit her cheek from the heat.  
  
Confusion etched in his frown as they round the corner, but Devin wastes no time on finding clarity. For all his want to be different, to reach for justice over vengeance -- warring internally with that ebony scribble of a mark on his chest -- Devin could no longer find it in himself to care. The sight would have enraged anyone. Even if they weren't in love with Nadia (even if he can't remember, abruptly, if he'd said it to her - he had, surely? when she remembered him?). It was common, human, instinct. When you see a teenage boy fighting for his life, succumbing to a knife in the throat; when suffering from images of relentless cruelty, screaming seemed logical.   
  
Nadia's scream cuts his thoughts, a silver knife to mercy.  
  
He really couldn't have asked for a better opportunity either. Fate was a better friend to him than it had been in the past. Rhys' blood on his hands might even be better than if they were clean. The monster smiling at them as he mutilated a boy - stronger, faster, with a wealth of experience in bloodshed at his command - he was only a bigger, more pathetic version of any school bully that said Devin wasn't one of them.  
  
(Devin said that once before: _I'm not one of you, I'm never going to be one of you, and I'm just so fucking glad I'm not._ )   
  
He sends spells out, but none find the mark. A muscle clenches in Devin's jaw. Rhys was playing with them, letting their spells cluster around him before they explode just out of range, slam the closest surface and make him glow. Fine, he gasps out without actually bothering to form the word; or, wait, no. Rhys must have silenced him.  
  
What, did he think they couldn't cast wandlessly? Emotional spells fueled explosions -- oh. Ha.   
  
Devin suddenly smirks.    
  
(Fitting, he'd think later, fitting that he'd finally use this when fighting the people who gave it to him.)  
  
He pulls Nadia's wrist back. Then he looks at her. What was it Irene said? Spanish, tiny, tan, goddess? Nadia looks every inch that. She was a goddess, his goddess, his everything. This was her choice, he realizes, the only clarity he wants. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he's forced to spiral. A firework erupts over his head. Debris and dust choke up his throat. Rhys shoots after them. Somehow, he never lets her hand go.  
  
She was a moment from wrenching forward when Devin pulled her back, as if he could see her desire to run down the entire length of the hallway, barrel into Rhys, and start stabbing him full of holes until he finally bled to death. The fury making her eyebrows furrow didn't waver for a moment, but his gaze did remind her suddenly that she wasn't letting go of him even now. Sweating and silent, Devin finally twists her free hand open, slipping his present to her into it. Relying on his gaze to tell her, a growl erupts in his throat as he feels some other spell hit his back. _Cruciatus_ , he thinks as thumbscrews stick in his spine.   
  
'Is that all you've got?', his eyes say for him as he looks back to Nadia. Unimaginable pain or not, bleeding or not, he was shielding her to give her the chance to throw the little vial. Rhys didn't expect him to turn around - actually, Rhys seemed surprise to see him stand. They always were so surprised, Devin thinks. The idea someone can withstand pain, the idea someone could have someone better to hold on to - it was such a shock to them. Devin doesn't know why. As he just thought, as Nadia would shortly prove: them fighting together, them shielding each other, that kind of love? It's _explosive._

She wanted to take out his other eye. Somehow that had become her tunnel vision focus; to claw out his remaining eye with the knife he had taken Wallace's life with. Saint? Maybe usually, but not today. Today she was getting rid of this monster who had broken her bones and forced his tongue down her throat, who had tortured so many and killed countless, and who had her beg for mercy. She didn't get it that day, and he wasn't getting that today.  
  
Angels were warriors weren't they? Soldiers of light? Today, Nadia had her battle armor on. No, that was just from watching Devin being cruciated. Nadia gritted her teeth to keep from biting on her lip, shaking her head quickly and clearing her eyes of new tears. Nadia could practically feel the spell herself; the way it burned your bones and pulled apart your muscles. She remembered too easily how it felt, and how it was feeling right now as her knuckles went white with the strength she held on to her boyfriend.

Ducking a spell and throwing a few more if only to block the ones that were hurling towards them, Nadia's breath suddenly catches as Devin turns them, shielding her and slips something into her hand. A tiny glass vial containing a liquid vaguely familiar, the realization hit her like a knee to the gut. Nadia was momentarily transported to Fourth Year, no more than 10 months ago. She needed help with a Potions Essay, and in the freezing cold she had still wanted to finish it (rather start it) outside. They discussed Erumpents and their horns, and how male Erumpents were always blowing each other up during mating season. That had been the day she comforted Devin when he'd had *the* fight with Lynn. Not just a fight, but the fight, the one that preceded many fights about the kind of person Devin wanted to be.  
  
She knew what she had to do.  
  
Gritting her teeth, she had to shake her head quickly to throw off tears and snap out of the pain her body was too busy recreating.  
  
"Sorry, Rhys..." she spat out completely sarcastically as adjusted her footing and then pulled her arm back, "but it's not going to be an open casket."  
  
The vial was her quaffle, his mouth open in disbelief was her goalpost, and she had a shitty overtime goal to make up for. Nadia didn't miss.  
  
She threw the vial as hard as she could, watching the glass catch and refract the colors of the spell flying around them. Rhys tried to move away but it was too late, and Nadia had anticipated the feint. The moment the vial made contact and shattered, the explosion rang out, deafening her momentarily but not before she heard a disgusting squelching noise accompanying it. Having shielded herself further by hiding her face in Devin's jacket, she pulled her face back now, only briefly hesitant. Rhys was nothing more than a pair of legs attached to barely existent hips. He was gone, finally gone.

+.

Alcott was injured, that fact did not escape him. Harper was a master of details and even if he wasn't, what kind of parent was ignorant to their child's suffering? Yet suffering wasn't the correct term either. Harper had given Alcott the potion that blocked pain, knowing Gustav wouldn't resist the opportunity to torture his son. He only wondered how many of those injuries were obtained before Alcott started ripping into Gustav like a real wolf would a deer.  
  
Gustav had been sent flying backwards by Lyndsi as they had come in and now he lay at the opposite end of the room, struggling to stand. My, he didn't know his son was such an artist. He had made a cubism sculpture out of Gustav, the colors red, white, and black splattered all over it, geometric and harsh instead of human.  
  
For a moment, he hesitated. Despite the growing fury, and the hot anger that had replaced the frozen resentment, he wasn't sure whether Lyndsi would stop him like she stopped him from killing the woman only minutes before.  
  
His doubt was wiped from his mind as Gustav managed to lift his wand and cast in a blink of an eye. Harper quickly sent the counter, canceling it out in mid-air before disarming him. For the second time since his reunion with his wife, he had to let go of her hand.  
  
Harper moved closer, quick steps resonating as he approached Gustav.  
  
"How quaint, the family reunited-" Harper's fist met the side of his face, making Gustav fall to the ground again. Harper realized in that second that he could keep hurting Gustav for another decade and it wouldn't be enough. Nearly a decade at this man's mercy, and there was nothing he could do to get that back. It didn't make him feel better.

Alcott had never been to Disney World. Lynn would be traumatized over that when he told her and the rest of the Scooby Gang how it felt, but just because he didn't go didn't mean he had no idea who Mickey was (was she kidding? that freaking little big-eared mouse was bloody everywhere)--and it didn't mean Al couldn't use it. Lynn Rivers was not from the ministry's Department of Metaphor-and it was the perfect descriptor once he slipped into his human shape again to watching his father punch Gustav. He felt like a little kid in Disney, with an ice cream cone, hands under his chin and a big-ass grin on his face. It probably says something about his mental state. But Alcott didn't care if it was vindictive; it was sweet, sweet justice. Frankly, he could watch it all day.

"Nine years," Harper breathes out, his chest rising and falling as his lungs struggled for air, "nine years, four months, two weeks, three days, and 7 hours. Nearly a decade, you've kept me locked up. Your own personal punching bag-" he kicked his face, the crunch of bone breaking only remotely satisfying and no longer jarring. Harper promised himself to never kick a man while he was down. His word wasn't worth much, not anymore, they'd taken that away from him too.  
  
"But look where we are, Gustav, look where you are!" He hissed, somehow finding strength to not only grip with a hand that protested the punch, but to pull up the man to half standing, his wand digging and twisting into Gustav's throat.  
  
"Look who I have with me!" Did the man manage a wandless spell? Harper's vision was becoming clouded and blurred- oh no, those were just tears. How ironic, Harper had also promised never to shed a tear in front of this man again.  
  
"All your plans, all your scheming for naught. Your lair burns around you, your Death Eaters defeated. You. lost." Harper sniffed and then somehow laughter bubbled up through his constricted throat. An odd, eerie sound that he quickly silenced by repeating himself.  
  
"You lost!" Don't scream, never let them hear you scream, but boy how he screamed now.  
  
"And everything you've taken from me," his voice dropped to a whispered his again, "I'm taking back." Even if a voice in his head spoke his he could never have back those years. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, outings, and firsts. But he could make up for them, he had to. The alternative was too painful to think about.  
  
"And you can die," his gripped around the man's collar tightened as he gurgled on blood that was pooling in his mouth and throat, "knowing just what an inconsequential piece of shit you really are- no, you're worse than that. You are nothing!!"  
  
Somehow, Gustav still managed to speak.  
  
"And you, are broken. Fool yourself all you want, Angel, but you'll never be the same man you were. You're broken, your son is a monster and your wife a frigid whore. Have a nice lif-"

"Hey," Alcott cuts in on a hoarse voice without caring a wit for his impropriety (even as he shushes right away to watch his father's triumph in blatant awe). He interjects because it was necessary. No one calls his mother a frigid whore. As Dad (there was a strange and wondrous word to think) proved.  
  
Harper hated every single thing that came out of that man's mouth. It's past time he lost that tongue. Gustav was a stubborn bastard though, he still managed a screamed. Speak no evil, no more.

"My name is Harper Vincent Brackner, you pathetic bastard," he snapped as Gustav choked on his own tongue, "and the devil will know exactly who sent you." Harper let him fall to the ground again after activating the potion rubbing through Gustav's veins, turning it into poison, slowly burning Gustav from the inside-out. He didn't look away as he watched the bastard die once and for all. 

Triumph was a narcotic. Alcott basks in it, rubbing sweat and blood off his cheeks and finds himself laughing even though he couldn't tell you why. He luxuriates even as his mother threw him a jacket -- even as he suddenly growls seeing burns on the side she doesn't throw with -- there was a silly grin on his face. No fear, no sickness, nothing but glory.

"So is it in poor taste to give a standing ovation?" Alcott grins, lazy. "Cause I'd give two if so--"  
  
At least he starts to say that. Redness appears in his cheeks, sudden as a burning sunset. Coughing out, Alcott didn't blush for his nakedness. His mother has attached herself to his father's mouth. But, hey. He could give them a minute. Or...seven. You know what, it was cool, it was all honestly cool.

Harper turns away once he was certain Gustav was dead, a smirk appearing on his face already as Alcott's words reached his ears. Before he could think of a comeback, before he could even get to worry about how Lyndsi would react to him being a murderer, his wife was in front of him again claiming lips that had always belonged to her and always would.  
  
He cupped her cheeks, knowing in the back of his mind about the extent of her injuries. Harper wanted to kiss his wife, and hold her, and be with her damnit, not cause her anymore pain. His thumbs rubbed the lines of her jaw and continued even as he pulled back from the kiss, but not from her. Never from her.  
  
"Hold on," he whispered as he laid his forehead on her own, reaching to take out his wand again, having pocketed it after casting the jinx on the dead bastard. Now he had to pull back further to treat however many wounds he could, now that they could breathe.  
  
His brows furrowed as he worked even though compared to the injuries he'd had to treat, a few burns were pretty standard. And yet they meant much more, because it was Lyndsi who was injured and Lyndsi who he was treating.  
  
"I don't have my potions with me, I can't regrow the skin right now," he conjured bandages after sterilizing and numbing the burn, wrapping them around her arm and sides.  
  
"I think you'll live," he managed to joke after a sniff, looking up at her again, following with a small chuckle before he kissed her again.  
  
"How are you healing, son?" The word was still unfamiliar to his lips, but he used it anyway, because that was the only way it was going to become known to him again. He looked over Lyndsi's shoulders, noting that he was healing already. The potion was working as expected, maybe even a little better than so.   
  
"Not gonna lie," Alcott answered his father instantly, "It's weird how quickly I'm healing. Or rather, the not feeling pain with it is...bizarre."  
  
Alcott was half talking to himself, considering how his parents were looking at each other. Ma was smiling as if there was no corpse in the blasted silver room as he spent a good few minutes simply clothing himself and finding everything and anything he could to avoid watching them.  
   
"But yeah," he answers soft, "I'm good, honestly."  
  
At the same time? Alcott couldn't tear his eyes away, even feeling the moment for his parents was something so intimate he should look anywhere else. They were his parents. How was this real? Something he wanted so desperately for almost a decade couldn't be happening, not really...  
  
But they were fucking Brackners, so yes, yes it could. It was. They were this lucky. Lyndsi was still (as she could be shaking from excitement and thrill) as Harper works steadily, tenderly, on healing her. Once their son was clothed, he opened the door and made sure to lean against the non-silver frame. He had enough burns to last a lifetime.   
  
Harper was smiling wider now, looking back to Lyndsi and kissing her forehead, closing his eyes. "Let's go home," he whispered. It was half a suggestion, and half a plead.   
  
  
Lyndsi let's her forehead fall against her husbands as tears gather in her eyes and wobble over a grin so vibrant, she didn't know how a single person could possibly feel so happy and not implode. The smile was so buried in her, she forgot it existed until she heard Harper say that wonderful word. Home.  
  
They could go home.  
  
Unlike her son (no, their son, Alcott was theirs)--Lyndsi has no trouble believing that Harper was real. It was the last nine and a half years that had felt like a terrible dream, a nightmare, a living hell. This was the only thing in the last decade that made a lick of sense to her. Since the first time Chris told her Harper was gone, she'd known he was wrong. It wouldn't happen that way, she'd wanted to argue with him; he was too brilliant, too larger than life.  
  
(And yet, she thinks as she grasps his cheek with her good hand and let's the bandaged arm hang between them, yet--she couldn't believe she was actually in Harper's arms at the moment. Oh, it felt right, but how many times had she dreamed the same thing?)  
  
"Home," she whispered near his lips, nodding fervently. "We can go hom--"  
  
"I _knew_ it!"   
  
A voice familiar to them all breaks over their bubble of happiness as they emerge from the room. They were bloody, they were bandaged, they were scarred and hapless as the small family clung to each other -- but the voice was welcome, whatever the small pit in Lyndsi's stomach immediately.   
  
"Uncle Max?" Alcott asked, half in a grin as he rubs blood from his neck. Lyndsi realized with a barely restrained wince as Harper turns with her: Alcott was standing between then abruptly. Whatever his light tone, Alcott couldn't be saying more clearly: _my parents are together, don't you dare interfere._

+.

If that man had torn her dress he was -- well, she would say he'd be sorry but he was already in handcuffs. As she stalks around the building irritated, her hearts blasting in her ears as if it thinks she forgot it existed. As if she could. Harumph. Stalling abruptly, she couldn't honestly believe her eyes for a moment as she watches Olivier grip a man's neck between her forefinger and thumb -- and believes it less when she realizes...she recognizes him   
  
"Merde." Her curse is only an indignant whisper.  
  
"Don't be an idiot." His words were calm, his blue eyes anything but, his smirk soft but wide,"The authorities are only a few minutes away, Pietro "  As the man struggles for breath, he crouches down, his hand twisting on the man's wrist so his arm is bent unnaturally back.* So we have a few options here.  
  
Eerie, she thinks, open-mouthed, as she can hear her own heels echoing in the alleyway now, bouncing off the high metal walls. She calls, more to stop herself from focusing on her breath and clacks from an actual lack of understanding,  
  
"What are you doing!?"  
  
Unsurprised by Daniella's question, D'Grey still ignores it easily; she'd have to wait a moment, as this was important. Eyes hard on the unfocused ones from Pietro, his words were crisp.  
  
"One. You go to jail, wiped of all memories regarding the last decade of your life. Two," his hand yanks on the unnaturally bent arm, squeezing hard, "you die. Or door number three, you yield to me now, and in exchange for your continued loyal service, Pietro," he smiles suddenly, "I'll protect you today."  
  
Tensing with the heavy, strained beat, she blinks as abruptly -- both men were laughing.  
  
"...Oh you must be fucking kidding me." Daniella was curt, too the point, as she always was.  
  
Now he looks to Daniella, thinking her exclamation probably should surprise him less than it did. Blinking, as he took his old friend's hand to help him up, he arched his eyebrow at her, but Pietro beats him to it.  
  
"The sister!" He chuckles on a raw throat, rubbing at it and looking between the two of them.  
  
Ah, fuck. Her nose wrinkles, her hand twitches with the itch to smack the smirk off the bastard's face, and then her gaze flicks to Olivier.  
  
"What are you doing? Let him get arrested! That's what we're here to do, isn't it?"   
  
"Actually," he remarks easily, "what we're here to do is ensure the destruction of Roswell's power, and I have no issue trusting a man I've known a decade." Her scoff falls on deaf ears as he looks between the two of them, curious, "How do you know each other?"  
  
"Ah...she didn't tell you."  
  
She rolls her eyes, huffing and closes her arms over her chest.  
  
"Tell him what? Clearly," she waves her hand over Olivier, taking a ringing step forward, "he already knows who you are, what was I supposed to tell him? We met once, and yet too many times for me."  
  
"Mmm, well, I do apologize," Pietro brushes his hands off on the front of his jacket, fixing the cuff without looking away from Daniella, even as he momentarily speaks to D'Grey, "I didn't know she was your girl -- shall I give Dylan the family discount?"  
  
"Oh you littl--" Daniella starts forward in fire, but stalls as Olivier turns Pietro around in a snap, his forearm cutting under his throat. Holding the man's wrist with obvious strength, enough that he could break it with a flick of his finger, Olivier waits a moment to speak. The words cut.  
  
"Dylan, her brother."   
  
After his breath catches, a quick flick of his gaze to his hand, Pietro just nods.   
  
"Yeah." Coughing once, he steadies his breath. "One of my former best customers for you, D'Grey."  
  
Oh, hell. A single look silences Pietro as his hand is released. D'Grey's gaze flicks to Daniella for a moment. Now he gets the betrayal there. Only for a moment, as he realizes it's for him now. And of course it was. Her brother -- well, he asks under his breath,  
  
"When did you first meet Dylan?"  
  
...yeah, that was the D'Grey-You-Must-Answer-Me-Now patented voice. Pietro shrugs, honestly not recalling, even as a shiver snakes up his spine, "I don't know exactly."  
  
"Your best guess."  
  
"With a nervous laugh, "D'Grey, mate -"  
  
"Was," and D'Grey hisses, yanking him closer while Daniella's eyebrow slips upwards, "my father, yet capo, or--"  
  
"Oh." That silences his friend, so he spins and looks at her. Daniella stands, unmoved, looking fierce and proud (and hurt). He looks back to D'Grey.   
  
"Yeah," he nods, gasping as his wrist is released, and rubs at it as he adds, "he was."  
  
"And did he send you personally, or did Dylan approach you?"  
  
Before Pietro answers, he knew the answer; Ryan Faye had left his father, but they'd been friends. He wouldn't have wanted to simply punish him, only draw him back in. D'Grey grits his teeth, smiling a way that looked more cruel than amused. He breathes out. Then he lifts a hand, gratified as Pietro flinches, and straightens the man's collar for him.  
  
"Thank you, for your loyalty. Tell your men, everyone with the last name of Faye is to be considered untouchable. Understand?"  
  
Eying his collar, Pietro titters, "D'Grey mate, do you know how much mon--" He hisses abruptly, as his friend clenches down on his shoulder.  
  
"I asked," D'Grey waits for a siren, blasting sudden and loud in the quiet alley, before he finishes with the same small smile, "if you understood."   
  
She hisses, brushing a curl that's caught by a tunneling wind off her cheek and bites down on her bottom lip. Pietro exhales irritated but shivering, and just nods firmly.  
  
"Understood, capo."  
  
Eyebrows arching, Olivier breaks into another chuckle. He nods and says easily then, as another siren breaks over them, "Excellent. When you wake up," he squeezes the man's shoulder again, "don't be alarmed by your location shift, as what kind of friend would I be, if I left you here to get arrested?"  
  
"When I--"  
  
Slam. There's a break, a clearly ringing smash as his fist lands and the man's jaw crumbles before his steel-hard bones; he spirals in a laughable way right out of a comic book, and falls all at once. Olivier only fixes his own collar now, eyebrow shifting as he says easily,   
  
"That's for her brother."  
  
"I'd rather see him arrested." Daniella interjects, unmoved, immediately.   
  
He reaches down, pulling a cellphone out of Pietro's front pocket, pulls his wand out, taps it and mutters, Portus. At least he knew where the man called home; sending him there was no trouble. After tossing the phone back on his chest, he stands up, and finally surveys Daniella, his back teeth clenched.  
  
"You should have told me."  
  
"There was nothing to--  
  
"Daniella." There's a harshness in his eyes, but a softness in the brow that makes her pause, even with her arms folded on her chest. For that, he's grateful. Breathing out, he lifts his chin and just mutters again, taking a step over the unconscious Pietro. Yeah, he was furious with the man, but his friend had just been following his father's instructions; there was no need to lose yet another loyal friend. He looks at her, as there was a whoosh behind them both, and she looks at him just as torn between hard and soft. All he repeats, in a heavy whisper is,  
  
"You should have told me."  
  
Should she have? Her heart was wild, breath manic but she swallows both with flames, shaking her head slowly from side to side, bare inches that remind her of the way she uses a pink eraser. Her hand flutters with her breath, like she was blowing the shavings off the page. How could she have told him, she wants to ask in heat, how could she have known she could trust him with that -- especially after what she'd just seen? That whoosh, that was very clear, that was proof she didn't want. Olivier had no interest presently - or if any, it was limited to a point that didn't matter - in letting his father's bloody drug empire fall, the real target she had all along. And if he didn't, she did, and if she pushed him away, she'd never be able to...  
  
Finally, she just says honestly,

"Dylan's been clean for almost eight months, Olivier, and it's his to tell, not mine. You've never met him."  
  
That makes sense, of course. He understands; he hadn't even asked Tony to inform her how their father died, but he'd done that anyway. Partially, Oli knew, driven there by Hans and yet -- it wasn't that simple, his brother had told her because he thought it was important for Daniella to know, for "their" sake. He appreciated the gesture, ever knowing that he'd never have told -- it was Tony's secret, not his.  
  
So he understands Daniella's reasoning, and he'd buy it, but there was something in her eyes that told him not to -- or maybe it was the simple fact that he felt like his own had been opened wide. She'd kept it from him intentionally. Could he blame her? Would he have trusted himself either?  
  
In an odd way, Olivier feels vindicated. All along he'd felt like there was just something off, the promises Daniella made, their lot bound in blood now, and all her repeated little murmurs (or shouts) of "it's okay, honestly--." For, how could she not care? How could someone just be okay with all that he was, had been and might be? More than that, as he looks at her now, anger dissipating in his chest as he realizes he would never have told either -- there wasn't actually much he did know about her life.   
  
She worked as a publicist, she'd emancipated herself at thirteen, her father had been one of his best friends and was the reason that he-- no, but see, that's about himself again. Olivier tries again. Daniella adopted three of her siblings legally, two stayed in England and went to Hogwarts (one with their mother's last name, for Emilie had stayed with her), and one with the last name of Faye, but Rembrandt stayed with his mother too, technically a half-sibling. There was the fact that she liked to be called Katerina or Katherine, that she had a love of vampire fiction and was never ashamed of her erotica collection. He knows she's not religious, but moral all the same (all those nattering questions about saving his soul could not be ignored, after all); he knew how she liked to be touched, where, and that he could never get tired of looking at her face -- queen of expressions, she was and yet, wasn't this still all about him?  
  
She wore dresses and stilettos, had a wicked mind and a smile like a flame...and none of that was anything but surface level. He was looking, but he hadn't been seeing. He'd been appreciating, but he had never been knowing.  
  
His eyes find hers again as it dawns on him how much more she knew about him, and a small smirk finds it's way to his lips, because damn. Damn her, she'd wrapped him around her finger like a black ribbon and he'd neglected to notice, and --  
  
Okay, it was hot, it was just fucking hot; it was infuriating, and wondrous, and hot to think she might be able to take him as an opponent. He swallows the thought back only, only because well...he didn't really want Daniella as an enemy.  
  
Not because he couldn't take her -- but simply because...the thought she was keeping secrets, the thought she might be capable of playing him, well, he supposes he likes it about her as much as she liked it about him.  
  
"You're right. I should meet him."  
  
"That wasn't -- ah."  
  
No, it wasn't what she'd said. The idea of Olivier and Dylan in one room still bothered her...but Olivier knew that. He knew she'd only meant to give a pleasant reason (excuse) that she'd not told him why she hated his father so much. Of course he knew.  
  
A slow, curl to her lips appears as Olivier takes a step forward with oh-so-fervent swag, and she thinks: he was seeing her differently now and hallelujah. There was something about this, this electricity and heat between them that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was unmanageable, she was realizing, even though she contends with her thoughts that it's a delusion of them both. He was looking at her with bottle-glass eyes, and a walk she's only seen on jaguars before -- a jungle cat prowling towards her, his lips quirked in a way she'd seen before when they were blood red and pressed against her skin.  
  
He was watching her with something close to worship in his eyes. Except there's nothing saintly about it or particularly polite in its heat, and she nods slowly, letting him approach her. She'd always been a sucker for the bad guy. Bad girls often are.  
  
"I can't promise he'll be polite, you know."  
  
"Of course you can't." It was easy to see his look was being returned, but that only made his grin widen as he pulls her in, one smooth grasp-yank. She laughs like his overtures are antics, like his hot hands just tickle, but for the first time since he'd met her, he thinks, she couldn't hide from him. (Not forever). He lays one kiss on her cheek. He's more satisfied and smug about it than he has a right to be at the moment (but he was triumphant today, and dammit, he didn't give a damn).  
  
"Anymore than you could make that promise for me."  
  
Gods help her, but she loves it, the easy way he draped an arm around her shoulder, as if it's -- as if he's presuming to own her -- his fingers playing with a strap on her shirt beneath the jacket, a quick kiss and breath hot against the column of her throat. Like she's something he means to devour. (Oh, please). Her hand comes up, and she pushes his shoulder, pats it and says quietly,  
  
"You're always a gentleman though, aren't you, Olivier D'Grey?"  
  
Daniella's called him that before, her eyes affectionate as they were now, and he sees the darker glint in them, like she has a dagger up her sleeve. He knows, and his smile turns marginally sharper, his gaze starting to boil as he looks at her. She was hurt, he knew, by his father -- but his father was dead. This wasn't the end of the argument she'd half started and then pulled away from so abruptly, he knew there was nothing closer to her breast than the things that mattered most to her -- and well, at this particular moment, he was pressed there as well.   
  
So he nods, even as his words contradict it, listening to her heart beating against his right hand, their gazes locked on each other and smirks implacable.  
  
"No, Dani, I'm not. But you know that."  
  
"I do," she hears his warning, and far from moving away, she leans up and presses her own kiss to his lips, swearing to herself to remember that, and remember _well._   
  



	70. I Was In The Dark With You...

"You knew it?" Lyndsi asks over Harper's shoulder, voice prim and rescuing. Her wide blue eyes lock with Max's as she sees Alcott relax ever so slightly. Max sees in them instantly: please, don't tell him, not yet, please. If he couldn't read her gaze nor Alcott's body language (he could read both; he lived with them a near decade) -- it was clear in the way Lyndsi was curling up into Harper's shoulder, letting him support her burned side.  
  
Please, just not yet -- her gaze said, as she curls into her husband's embrace and Max broke into a soft smile. He thinks frankly he's not seen a sight more right in years. There's a half nod he offers. And besides. When could he deny Lyndsea anything?   
  
And this was his brother. He was looking at his older brother. Max's mouth was slack in a half-open little 'oh' before he chuckles once, sheepish answering them both.  
  
Harper looked up from Lyndsi at the sudden interruption. Looking towards the door that was now open, though he wasn't aware Alcott had ventured towards it even as they spoke of getting out of there, Harper found that the grin on his face didn't fade. It changed, because you looked at different people in different ways, but the smile stuck in his face.  
  
Everybody seemed to gravitate subconsciously to him at that moment. Lyndsi curled up closer to his side, Alcott took a step backwards and sideways to be in front of them, and Max just kept walking forward.  
  
"Yeah well-- I mean I figured it out maybe an hour ago..."  
  
Lyndsi relaxes too. She pretends that's simply from latent relief that Max wasn't lying to her about Harper's whereabouts, and does it easily as Alcott tilts himself out of the way. Max was extending a hand to Harper as his nephew offers, "Only took you nine and a half years then."  
  
"A new record," Lyndsi adds, cheeky, and loosening her grip on Harper. She watches Max's gaze slide over the scars on his cheeks with worry -- but she shouldn't have.  
  
The times he thought of his younger brother in here were few and far in between, and for that, Harper was momentarily ashamed. He'd had clung to the memory of his wife and son, but consequently left all others that were important to him fall away from his mind. It wasn't until Eliza realized who he was that Harper actively thought of reuniting with his other family members.  
  
Out of everybody else however, he probably knew more about Max, who had moved back into their childhood home to help his family. He didn't bother going any further on that train of thought as it was going to lead back to the man who was dead on the floor, and how he used to lord that information over him.  
  
Max just rubs over his mouth with a free hand, looking like a lost puppy, and beams back at his big brother as he goes to take his hand. He shakes it firmly once, as if testing Harper's strength and then folds. He pulls his brother in for a hug because goddamnit, they were going to argue eventually, but it didn't gave to be now. The man who gave him his profession, his sense of direction, taught him how to make a Molotov cocktail -- Harper was alive. So they'd fight over the woman next to them eventually and he knew it, but fucking frankly? It had been too long since he'd had a good fight with his goddamn genius older brother.   
  
"Seriously, hermano?" Max asks, knowing tears had flooded his gaze (and yeah, his shoulder was smarting but he ignores it; nothing else mattered right now), "...Angels playing the harp?"  
  
Lyndsi giggles into her palm beside them.  
  
Harper took a step forward to, somehow missing the chance to tease Max about his discovery but his wife and son had already taken care of that for him. He saw the outstretched hand and chuckled, eyebrows raising briefly, before he looked back up, just in time to catch Max tracing all his visible scars with his eyes. Harper would have to get used to that.  
  
His grip was still recovering from the last handshake a few weeks ago, and now without the adrenaline helping him he could really feel the strain in it but he shook his brother's hand nevertheless, and then he couldn't breathe.  
  
Oddly enough, as he hugged his brother, slapping his back and squeezing him tight, Harper found he didn't need to breathe. Another few tears accumulated in his eyes as his heart continued to swell with happiness.  
  
"You wish you were that clever," he replied over his shoulder, grinning and chuckling   
  
Over Harper's shoulder, Max had a few moments for his always-too-expressive-face to cloister with guilt; what had his brother lived with to put that scar on his neck, twist his lip up like that? And from the feel of it? Madre wasn't going to stop feeding him until the new year (oh good, maybe he could sneak a few meals himself).   
  
Then his eyes fall on the floor, greeting him with a welcome -- if, grisly sight of Roswell's body.(He can't wait to tell Zoe.) Max itches to text Kevan: Well, it's not a ditch. That was probably poor form, though, maybe. He stifles chuckles in his chest at the irony. Nine and a half years he hated Kevan, thinking the man's brother killed his and Kevan covered it up. In the end, it's the other way around.   
  
Hallelujah, praise the lord, Allah be praised--look, Max didn't judge. He also never claimed to be a saint.  
  
(Lyndsea mouths 'thank you' at him and he nods imperceptibly, freeing a hand to rub a latent tear from his eye.)  
  
Harper pulled back, looking at him still.  
  
"Ha! You have gray hairs," he teases before he laughs once more and hugs him again, as if he couldn't believe it (being there with all of them that is, not the gray hairs, hell so did he really). So much time had passed, so many things had changed, the color of hair being the least important. And yet many things remained the same. Max was still built like a bull- Merlin, what was in the water back home?  
  
His brother pulled back to tease him, and his face implodes from the stricken joy of it. Harper might as well be giving him a noogie. (Yeah, his brother could try).   
  
"You really want to go there, bro?" Max asked, his chin and eyebrows gesturing at Harper's own hair.   
  
No, probably not, but at the same time, yes. Harper wants to go there, back to teasing his little brother and taking the mickey out of each other, along with their baby brother Sandor. He wants to go back to that, or rather, go forward to that once again. Harper just wanted things to be the way they were. Harper had a good life, a great life, with it's ups and downs like everyone else's but despite his empowered statements earlier, he couldn't help but to worry that he wouldn't be able to have it back. He hasn't been this scared in years.  
  
Thin, Max thinks eying him: Harper had more than a few streaks of grey through it, but he just meets his brother in another tight embrace. At least until he hears --   
  
"It's good to see you, Maxie."  
  
Oivey. Pulling back as Alcott calls, "-Maxie-?!", Max groans once and hits his brother's shoulder (er--maybe he should have done that more lightly, feeling the weakness in the muscle).   
  
"Yeah you too," Max says without any sarcasm for all his effort. His heart bled from the mending of the moment, and he rubs a few more tears from his eyes, dropping his brother's hand. The facts were starting to weigh on him: his brother, his sister-in-law, and the fact that Alcott and Harper appeared to have made piecemeal of the monster behind them. His brother...a killer, and yet Max wants to sing from joy of it. The hell did this say about him?  
  
(But then, he slept with Lyndsea so, who was he to throw stones?)  
  
At least Max's knuckles still seemed like they were made of iron. Harper remembered it used to sting a lot more than it did now, but it was better this way. He didn't have to wince or cradle his shoulder after, and feed into the belief that Harper was as fragile as he looked. He only chuckled again, and took a step back to put his arm around Lyndsi again, grinning.  
  
"Uncle Max," Alcott was saying uncle purposefully, he knew, "Did you see Eliza an-...?"   
  
"We saw Liza." Lyndsi answered suddenly. We, her and Harper, one united entity. Max's smile flicked before he looks at Alcott, watches him visibly relax-mostly. In an instant, Max guesses the other tenseness on Al's shoulders.   
  
"I saw Hols." Max says, hand wiping off the back of his shirt. "Squad and I got most of the fires out above--she was fighting side by side with --"  
  
Er.  
  
Alcott covers him, after rubbing over his face and letting a huge-ass grin appear in relief, "Lynn, probably."  
  
"And Sienna." Max confirms with a nod. That took his nephew by indignant shock.  
  
"Wh--wait, seriously?! And I didn't get to--oh I'm never letting them live that down." Alcott huffed, brushing his own hands off his jeans now. Lyndsi couldn't do the same: one hand was bandaged, the other holding too tightly to Harper to envision letting go ever again, whatever her sweat, dirt or blood.  
  
Harper nodded as Lyndsi spoke about Eliza. Yes, they had seen her mid-fangirling (another phrase he taught her), and after she had freed prisoners and taken down that huge Walrus at the top of the stairs. Harper had no doubt that Eliza was fine now.  
  
And then other names were mentioned, names he recognized but had no faces for yet, (save for Sienna's, but hers was of a five year old girl) names that belonged to people that were important to his son and that Harper was eager to meet. Perhaps not in this place however, he was sick of meeting people here.  
  
"We should start heading up again," he said as his son's relief became almost tangible, "this nightmare is nearly over," Harper squeezed Lyndsi again, smile on his face.  
  
It was almost over. Those words were as welcome as 'home' - at least once the word 'almost' was banished from her vocabulary. Actually from the English language. Good riddance. With it could go the words 'maybe', 'kind of', 'eventually' and 'close enough.' She quibbles over the word silver but ultimately decides it was too precious to all the slytherins in the room to banish.  
  
But still- it was over. Lyndsi felt something in her spine unhinge, her chest unclench and she relaxed with almost imperceptibility -- except of course, Harper was squeezing her and could tell every inch of her relief. Actually come to think of it (a slight blush raised in her cheeks), he kind of has to stop breathing on her neck like that, it was raising a very specific sense memory.   
  
It was terrifying, that power he has over her, and she's never been more comforted in - well, Lyndsi supposes nine and a half years.  
  
"Yes," Alcott says immediately. The pretense of thinking of anything in that moment now but Hols had vanished and put within him a need so innate he couldn't remember wanting anything else so strongly in his life: the chance to introduce her to his father.  
  
"Well, that depends actually." Max says comfortably, all too aware he was starting to feel anything but. He looks at his brother. "The police are swarming; they're arresting and taking statements."  
  
Harper sighed, having forgotten about that momentarily. Yes, he would have to give a statement, possibly various of them and all in tremendous details. And unfortunately they couldn't run away from it. It was already going to be enough of a nuisance to go to court and have them revoke the death certificate, and that was just one item in the long list of things to do.  
  
"So if you want to avoid that and just - give it officially tomorrow...? Last I saw was D'Grey-"  
  
"Which one?" Lyndsi asked, with a smile small. She was resting her head on her husband's shoulder; how could she be anything but overjoyed?  
  
"There's more than one?"   
  
"Yeah," Alcott said, seeming proud to know that. Because obviously a sixteen year old kid connected to the mafia was a thing for all of them to be proud of. "He and his brother."  
  
"Well the one I met then, he was smoothing with the chief a la policia and uh--one of the detectives--"  
  
"D'Grey can take all the credit he wants here, let him take care of the French police, the Aurors and the Minister are a whole other matter." So much to do, but as long as Harper had his wife by his side, he knew he was going to be just fine, better than that.  
  
Lyndsi suddenly sighs; her breath tickles Harper's ears.  
  
"It's Alys, isn't it."   
  
Max's grin turns sheepish, knowing it wasn't a question.   
  
"Yeah. She's with Claude, last I saw."  
  
"Eliza's dad?" Alcott asks, ceasing walking at once (he licked the blood off his hand before he rubbed behind his ears). "Does she know he's here?"  
  
Max and Lyndsea exchanged a quick look, but it was to Harper that Alcott was looking, abruptly and apparently confused. Of course he would be, Lyndsea realized. If Eliza did know the truth of her father's occupation, it was Harper who might know; she and Max had been sworn to secrecy by Mary years ago along with Al's father.   
  
But if Claude was with Alys? Then it was out, at least in some way.   
  
"Eliza knows he's here," Harper nodded, or at the very least she knew that once this went down that he was bound to come here, "And he knows she's here. Eliza saw him about a week previous, ironically as they were trailing the same Death Eater."  
  
"Tailing the same--"   
  
But Alcott fell silent as his father continued. There was something in his gaze that told him he was missing a crucially large part of this story, but it could all be filled in later. It could all be filled in over a drink, on the couch, at home. The last word was one he hadn't realized he'd forgotten the meaning of.  
  
Trailing was not the most accurate word, hunting was, but it was the one that would do.   
  
"No matter what, I just want to leave this dungeon behind."  
  
"Yeah, definitely." Max said, clapping his hands together and gesturing behind him to start walking again.   
  
"Fucking about time."   
  
Alcott thought he was the one to say it until he saw the similar look of surprise on Dad's face and realized it was his mother. His prim, proper, ice queen mother swearing like she was born to it and smiling like in her wedding photo. Alcott couldn't help his own sheepish grin, especially as his mother kissed Dad's cheek again. Dad has a perpetual smirk at the moment...but somehow, he looked two decades younger when Lyndsea was kissing his cheek.   
  
Harper looked sideways, eyebrows rising before he laughed once at Lyndsi's remark. In that moment she was every bit the woman he had happily married. Smile widening as she leaned in to kiss his cheek again, he nodded against her before they started walking out of the room and up the steps. The journey up seemed a lot shorter even as they walked instead of ran up the stairs.   
  
Alcott did not look back as they start climbing the steps; he knew however Dad looked, he was fucking strong. Blistering smoke clearing their way and drawing water in their gaze, he pauses near the top before breaking into his hundredth silly grin seeing Hols. Sure, he was smoke-covered, dirty, with dried blood and other wounds he knew he'd need to replenish and treat from the silver burns. But the scars were just part of sex appeal, yeah?  
  
Cupping hands to his mouth he called, "Hoooooolssss." In his best Quidditch announcer voice, because frankly? He couldn't run (he wouldn't leave Uncle Max with his parents alone) and...even if he could, he wasn't going to, you know, dare interrupt Hols with her own father.   
  
Soon enough they were in the main floor. Just as Max said, the police were arresting and questioning, and the paramedics were patching people up and sending them the ones in bad shape over to the hospital.   
  
Hols wasn't sure if her dad was going to ground her until she graduated or finally buy her that bike she had asked for months ago. He resolved to hugging her after she had given him his statement and told him about Gina. Soon it was going to catch up to her exactly what she had done, but now she could barely think straight, let alone feel guilt for saving herself. They'd send someone for the body at least, it was right where Hols (and Marcus) had left it.  
  
Her hand rubbed the back of her neck as she talked, wiping soot, ash, and blood from her skin. Thankfully, Hols had healed enough so that she didn't give her parents (because of course her mother found a way to get here too) a heart attack, or rather too big of a heart attack. There was still a lot of blood on her clothes, but not all of it was hers. This didn't exactly make anybody feel any better, not even herself.  
  
She wiped at her forehead again, the heat of the fires only recently extinguished had made her sweat, and her nerves about the rest of her friends didn't help. And how was it that no one knew where Alcott was?  
  
Speak of the extremely handsome devil.  
  
She turned her head and exhaled in relief before she ran over to him. Reaching him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, muttering his name like a prayer near his ear. She closed her eyes as she thanked God he was alive, even as she took back the thought before that no one could possibly look worse than she had an hour ago. Wrong, but she didn't care as she hugged him tight and blinked away the one or two tears that managed to escape her.   
  
Alcott had never understood the meaning of the word 'clinging' until he was holding Hols--but he has a feeling he isn't going to forget it ever again. Burying his nose in her neck, he breathes deeply, squishing her to his chest and trying not to forget the fact his wolf strength could just as easily crunch her as love her.   
  
There was no hiding the other senses though; the tear in the corner of his eye as they scrunched up, the heat off his skin sticking to hers, already flushed and warm. Breathing out her name as his hammering heart skips a beat when she says his like a prayer, pride surges in his chest. He hears her pounding heart, her ragged breath; he holds her tight. He forgets all else for a minute-- forgets that he hasn't seen Eliza, or Devin, or Nadia, or for that matter Nick. Although he does see D'Grey with the chief; he does see Sienna standing with her Dad (wait what?!) - he does see Dev's parents with Lynn (oh hell the Minister was here), sees Irene thank God (wait wasn't she in the hospital? oh, he wasn't ever going to hear the end of not getting her out) - and -- that was Hans sister, wasn't it? Fuck...  
  
See, this is how much he was paying attention.   
  
Yet it isn't until he can breathe Hols in that he feels reassured it is actually her. The hell have you been, he wants to ask. I learned how to use a mobile to text you and you don't even answer? Al would mention both later. But right now...he's more confused by her scent. It was Hols. He knew that; her juniper and holly, the crisp scent of the forest that ever harked after her, masked faintly by blood staining her clothes. All of this blood was not helping him keep the hunter's instinct down. Or maybe that was something else, maybe he was feeling an instinctual need to hunt because--  
  
She smelled -wrong-, okay? It was Hols, but it...wasn't. There was something else in her blood. And he didn't have a bleeding idea what it might be, but it had his haunches (metaphorically speaking, er, except for the amber eyes) raised and protective-boyfriend hackles up.  
  
Shawn Graft was giving him a strange look now.  
  
Once her sight was clear, she realized who it was that stood behind Al and next to his mother and uncle.  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
Yeah, okay, he was standing there 'clinging' to his girl and sniffing her. Al let her go as she did, bringing a hand up to fix her mussed braid (it may linger on her cheek, he may look in her eyes a little longer than normal, but look it was where his eyes were pointing and they were sticky at the moment, all right?). A smirk appears on his lips at her exclamation.  
  
"Hols." He says, turning to gesture with his head in a slow nod even though he stubbornly refuses to release her hands,   
  
"I'd...like to introduce you to my Dad." Lyndsi loosened her grip; ceasing doing a mental headcount and frowning to herself when she spies Mary arguing with Claude now. She turned back, brightening almost instantly. Al squeezes Hols hands, adds in a quieter and proud voice, "Turns out he's the one who was helping Nadia too."  
  
Hols wanted to tell him everything, not just the parts she had glossed over while giving the statement, but at the same time she wanted to ask -him- about everything. Like how in the hell did he manage to figure all of this out in the few hours that she had turned off her phone? Speaking of her mobile, or rather his mobile, she was going to have to find a way to delete that voicemail.  
  
And then all of that seemed very inconsequential when Hols was meeting a man that was...back from the dead. She quickly wiped her eyes, unable to pass it off as any other movement at the moment but at least she stopped staring with an open mouth.  
  
"Hello, Hols," Harper greeted, a smile on his face still, though now it carried the added detail of seeing his son even happier. He held out a hand to shake as he saw her do the same (it appeared for a moment that her son and Hols fought over the release of said hand), shaking it once.  
  
"I've heard quite a bit about you, believe it or not." He revealed, recalling with ease the fact that he'd had to grow back an arm that she had separated from Allison's body.  
  
Fucking Brackners, Hols almost said it aloud too. You have the son bringing his own army to fight the Death Eaters, and the father beating death and orchestrating the entire thing. She shuddered to think what a Holy Spirit Brackner could accomplish, and then resolved to never say this out loud after all. So much ego.  
  
"I'm sorry to say sir, but it's probably all true." She smiled as she shook his hand (and her head, just to be able to wrap her mind around this). Harper chuckled and decided he liked her well enough.   
  
"And, thank you! Oh God, thank you- for taking care of Nadia." And coming back, she couldn't finish that either. Thank you for coming back sir, because your son wanted you and needed you around and just- thank God. Thank Brackners. Fucking Brackners, Zoe had it right.  
  
"I was happy to help her how I could, though honestly she helped me a lot more. How is she?" Harper asked, taking back his hand and moving back to Lyndsi's side as a small frown managed to appear on his face. What he'd had to do to her mind was something that he would continue to apologize for, even if technically she had given him his consent.  
  
"I saw her earlier, with Devin," she looked at Alcott, the information before just as much for him as for his father -his father!-, "but I haven't seen them since. Some parts of the church are blocked and caved in so they're working to extract people from them, and there's police all over the place so they could be detained, or being checked by a paramedic." There it was, the brief reminder that she wasn't entirely and totally relieved but this certainly helped.  
  
Honestly, as much as Alcott was irritated he had to let go of Hols hands, considering it was for his father? He acquiesced graciously. Besides, he was distracted by the look on her father's face. The...familiarity, the recognition: it was definitely in bad taste to say what he was thinking now. Which was precisely why Alcott took the time to sidle up next to Author Graft while Hols thanked his father and say casually, "You look like you've seen a ghost."  
  
He has to duck a swat at the back of his head from Uncle Max, but it just makes it more worth it in Alcott's opinion.  
  
Shawn Graft on the other hand, took it graciously--as graciously as he could looking entirely, totally relieved with his heart going twice it's usual pace at least. Alcott estimates. It wasn't like he stands around listening to the man's heart rate often.   
  
"Yeah, well. Never been so glad to be haunted, then." The man nods at his father once, only adding, "And I thank you too, for Nadia."   
  
Shawn echoes his daughter, before leaning in to kiss her cheek and excuse himself to say he would double check on the progress made. Pressing in to an already incredibly awkward situation was simply bad manners.   
  
Alcott's attention draws back as Hols answers them both at the same time: Nadia and Devin wouldn't have left each other's side. The fact Nick was desperate from Lynn was strange though...and he's about to point that out when Uncle Max talks over him.   
  
"The paramedics? I'll check with Bianca too, then." Max seems to look between both his brother and sister-in-law multiple times as if checking permission as much as he was checking that Dad was in fact real.   
  
Alcott tried, he really did, not to throw a look that said 'keep walking buddy' as his uncle ducked around two ropes (they were already keeping reporters away precariously). His hand's slipped back into Hols as Lyndsi's slid back into his father's embrace. There was relief in his gut even as he remained worried now: the sight of his parents together just felt right.  
  
"...Is that -- Daniella?!"  
  
Yup. That was her. The ebony haired Frenchwoman looks the same as when she babysat for him, and just as then, she hears everything he did. She spun at her name, brightened up and popped a hand to her mouth. Waving enthusiastically at all four of them, she seemed to mouth sorry a moment later, and disappear pointing at -- oh, it was another girl. Leaning in to Hols, he murmurs, "Do they give press credentials to pre-teens in France?"  
  
And smirks.  
  
When it was just the four of them, looking at the mess of the floor, Alcott realizes who else was missing. His eyebrows skyrocket; he squeezes Hols hand.   
  
"I don't see Hans. ...Dead or, in custody." Alcott would have been able to smell the man regardless, and he doesn't. Oh hell no. He asks this more than states, looking first at his girl, then back at his parents...at his Dad. He'd made a deal with him, right?   
  
"Nor Rachelle." Unlike Alcott, his mother sounds pleased as she tries to cover her grin with a prim wipe of her lips. So he takes the moment Lyndsi was covering to turn to Hols, squeeze her shoulder and murmur reassuringly, "Hey. I'm sure they're all right."    
  
But he was itching to find them himself: and where exactly was Eliza? He saw Rory with Sienna, giving a statement - was it him or was Sienna completely shaken? - but Eliza...

+.

Nick had needed to jump and roll away as a part of the ceiling caved in and blocked the hallway, separating him from Lynn and Hols. He had shouted he was okay through the rubble and wreck and that he was going to find a way around but wasn't sure they could hear him given that he could barely hear anything over on his end.   
  
That had been like ten minutes ago. The fires were mostly out save a few small ones here and there, but he kept coughing as his lungs tried to expel the smoke and dust away. Surely, there had to be some sort of spell that would help but if it existed, Nick was ignorant to it. 'I do exist' he imagined the spell speaking to him, because of course spells have a physical form and the ability of language in his mind. 'I do exist, and don't call me Shirley.' Apparently the spell also had Lynn's sense of humor.  
  
Nick didn't even have the excuse of a head injury to explain his thoughts. A few burns, scratches, but ultimately, and compared to the Gala, he was fairly unharmed. His lungs protested immediately by giving him a mini cough attack. His lungs had a voice too, they said 'how dare you forget about our suffering?!'  
  
I'm going to cough one of you up if you don't quit, he sent the message telepathically because it was inside of his own body of course, he didn't need to speak it aloud. He kept walking and rubbing his throat in an attempt to soothe it after the lungs' vicious attack. That's it, he was giving up smoking, he got the message.  
  
As he kept jogging through the hallways, Nick had to rethink his non-existent head injury as he saw a girl who made him stop in his tracks.  
  
"Eliza?!"  
  
He sounded like Six-Pack Paulie from back home now, oh great. And the nickname wasn't earned from an incredible physique that was for sure.  
  
Nick jogged to her, his surprise and shock visible. He half thought she was a mirage, if mirages formed in such short distance with no light rays. He was almost glad that there was no one else around to witness his reaction, especially no macho British men who hid their emotions in public. It was bad enough being dubbed that 'one Californian dude', it would be worse trying to explain himself as he sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.  
  
It's just the dirt! He swore, he just had dirt in his eye, and a tiny baby Jesus that had fallen off a decoration on the wall, that was it.  
  
"But...how...?" This was such a trip. Nick had gone to the funeral and he had been there in the hospital when they first found out. He held Sienna after she had yelled and cried, and had seen Rory...deflate into a chair at the news. He drank with the guys in her memory, smoked with Hols, and had wrapped his arms around Lynn for hours and hours without end, all for nothing.  
  
Fantastic!  
  
He half laughed and half grinned, passing a hand over his mouth and through his hair, nodding as he stopped trying to question it and just accepted, no, rejoiced in it. Their friend was alive, it was a miracle! Praise Allah!  
  
Oh, the voice of his mother now resounded through his mind, now you want to be religious? Now you want to acknowledge the fact you're half Muslim- mother, I simply just can't have this argument again when you're not even here, we're just going to have to talk later.  
  
He might be going insane. And he wasn't sure whether the gunshot that sounded out came from his own head until he saw Eliza's head turn with him towards the direction it came from.  
  
Who brought a gun to the knife party?  
  
The fact that Sam was dead had not...fully processed. Eliza was in a daze; one not helped by the simple fact she let Rory's hand go. She repeats simple facts to herself. Sam is dead. Max carried Jade out. Sam (he's dead) - he appears, he cast a spell. It hooked Rory and Sienna to the wall. Opposing walls, Rory broke a bone in his ankle, Sienna has a concussion. Sam pointed the wand at her next. There were flames approaching. Fast. And then he threatened to kill them, to take her, (no one got to tell her what to do now, bloody hell least of all Sam Roswell, you see who's  left standing hun?) - so Sienna cast a spell. To stun him. Eliza (that was her, Simmons, not Ms. Culpeper, except somehow both sound wrong to her) pushed him to try. But Sienna meant to fire a warning shot, and she pushed him into the spell (it was an accident, wasn't it?), and then Rory grabs her arm to keep her from falling in and Sam just...Sam just fell. He looked so small.  
  
Eliza stops walking, rubbing hard over her face to clear her eyes. There were no tears. Smoke was hazardous, to lungs (but she didn't honestly think she'd been breathing for weeks now) and to eyes. Throat burning from the inhalation, her fingers scrape over that too. Clammy, her palm was so clammy. Nails dig into her scalp. Sienna would be giving a statement now...  
  
Rory didn't want to let her go--but Eliza knew her father was there somewhere. So when she saw the cave in, she slips from Rory's side promising to just check it out and return. Her golden lion looked like a puppy dog as she retreated, but one of understanding. Sienna looked almost relieved. Rory would stay with her, help her through the statement (he'd cover for Eliza, he would always do anything for her). They weren't going to tell anyone what Sam tried to do; it just...was too much pain, wasn't it? And her best friend didn't need to be on trial for murder when it was in accident!  
  
(It was.)  
  
But her father wasn't the only person Eliza wanted to look for. Jade hadn't been the only one she wants to save. For weeks she was tortured, weeks she'd been a prisoner of her heart and mercy. She bled. She bruised deeply, but not easily, not anymore. Sam was dead. The world around was on fire, the marble foundation crumbling. It seems to Eliza it finally reflected hell and all...all she wants to do is look for the good. Look for the fact that - like over there, there, look, a stained glass perfectly intact, moonlight streaming through in an ivory little beam that glows in the colorful glass. How beautiful was that, even more so among these ashes? Eliza runs her fingers through the smoky light, and giggles like a little kid. There was beauty out there, see. There was good. You just had to look for it. Or if you were lucky, it would look for you. They'd looked for her; she has to repay the favor. Harper would be with his wife and son still (Alcott, Al, you can say his name now). If Olivier was here, then Tony was. And more than that, if Olivier was there then --  
  
"Nick?!"   
  
Eliza drops her hand, rubs it off on the back of her skirt as she turns around. A wide grin appears on her lips as she sees the same on his. Running her hand through her hair, she finally caves, snaps it up and let's only a few strands free. Some curl up near her eyes, a few straight tuck behind her ear. Nick looks astounded. Oh, sweetie.  
  
"I'm alive." She states the obvious, rather than lie and say she's okay. (But she would get there. Eventually.) Taking a few steps forward, she wraps her arms around him in a tight, abrupt hug. Nodding absently, she says first into his sticky shoulder, "...these reunions are all going to be the death of me."  
  
Then she pauses, pulls back and squeezes both his shoulders at once. Hard. Her smile is sheepish as it is sickly sweet. "Bad joke. I know. I spend too much time with Brackner, honey."  
  
And then she's mid wink when a sharp bang makes her swivel, her nails dig into Nick's shoulder blade. Her mouth is hanging open, but only for a second. Reflexes kick in. She sprints. Down the marble hall, around the stained glass lights and smoke, over a fallen pile placed so thoughtfully by paramedics she imagines and into --  
  
The sight in the reliquary cuts into Eliza's daze with razor sharp clarity.   
  
"No, wait, stop!" Her voice chokes on her words, but she throws a hand up to catch herself on the frame of the door and repeats them anyways. Blood is dripping from his stomach; painting the marble that was somehow untouched by the fires yet in scarlet and yet Hans is smirking that smirk. That goddamn smirk that made her want to hit him (but whoever the stern-faced man is holding him by the shirt collar is did that for her) and kiss him at the same time (of course she already did.) Oh, fuck Hans.   
  
(Wait, she did that too.)  
  
"W-wait." She implores, emotion clogging her voice and building behind her eyes. The man already had; he'd turned towards her without removing his hand from Hans throat. Part of her wonders if she should interfere. Reminds her how many things she knew Hans had done: how many lives he ended, remembers the terror on Kylee's face, the claw marks on Devin's chest, Alcott's broken neck...  
  
"Eliza." Hans spoke in a whisper, but she hears him all the same through that stupid grin, "meet Jensen Stone. He'd shake your hand but--"  
  
"Shut up." The man who must be Jensen shakes him once, and Hans only laughs. Eliza's face hardens. There's a claw mark over Jensen's left eye, still bleeding. She thinks his jaw might be broken, his gun was kicked near her.   
  
He squeezes Hans neck, but it's Eliza feeling her breath shorten.  
  
She remembers other things; her knuckles whiten on the cherry wood. How it felt to be in that cell. The whip Sam's uncle had; how it stung, how it broke your spine until you bled. The hiss against her ear: I've got you, I've got you, you're all right. They'd been coming to rape her. Alcott's body on the floor. Rory's. The marks up Harper's arm. Ice cream sundaes, that he stopped when she asked him to, the lock in his eye when he talked about Laura -- Eliza's eyes lock on his -- How do you think I was bitten? Bonne nacht, Eliza.  
  
"Wait, you can't." She gasps out, both hands going up as she takes a step, not tearing her blue-eyed gaze from Hans' azure. Jensen mercifully listens - she thinks only from shock, but praises the seven kingdoms for it. "You--you can't, you don't understand. Please, listen to me, Mr. Stone. You can't kill him."  
  
The reunion was over much too short for Nick’s taste as the gunshot rang out and Eliza took after it like an Olympic runner, jumping over hurdles in the 200m. Nick had no choice but to follow, half afraid that she was going to vanish and he’d never see her again. Just because she sounded like Eliza and felt like Eliza as she hugged him, didn’t mean it was really her. Nick could be dreaming, or worse, Nick could be dead. Did he really manage to avoid the collapsing ceiling? It didn’t look like heaven to him this place.  
  
Either way, this was a different place than the world he knew. Because in the world he knew, Eliza wouldn’t be speaking out to defend Hans, would she?  
  
Wait, scratch that, she probably would.  
  
Nick’s chest rose and fell as he breathed, catching up and entering the room just in time for Hans to start a smartass comment and for this Jensen Stone to promptly shut him up. Would it be too weird to ask for an autograph right about now? Probably. The man looked all too capable of killing Hans actually, so Eliza’s choice of words weren’t the exact best here. Jensen –could- very well kill him, the question was whether or not he should. Nick was leaning towards voting ‘aye’ at the moment.  
  
His eyes traveled between Eliza and Hans as she spoke, not sure who he should be looking at, or who looked more surprised. Actually, as far as the latter went, it was a tie between him and Jensen. Nick was struggling to understand, and at the same time he was eager to hear this explanation if only so he could stop being so damn confused. No, Nick didn’t condone murder, and no he didn’t want Hans to die, but he didn’t want him to go free either. The man –had- thrown him out of a window (after Nick had shot him twice in the chest, but it hadn’t even made an ounce of damage and that was after Hans had snapped Alcott’s neck so really, it shouldn’t count) there should be some consequences to be had here.  
  
“Eliza, he can’t just go free,” Nick spoke quietly, taking a small step forward, now looking solely at Eliza. What could have happened for Eliza to be on Hans’ side like this? Maybe if Nick had broken his neck in the fall it’d be different. But why should it be different? He had killed those 11 Aurors, and they were people to. Eliza didn’t know them personally but why should that matter? Murder was murder.  
  
And shooting a person in the chest was just that but, let’s all conveniently forget that detail please. It was not his finest hour, no matter what Lynn said about missing him being a badass.  
  
“Not after what he’s done.”  
  
"You don't understand." Eliza's voice was sharp -- a knife of a forefinger directed as a whip jabbing at Nick. Hans' grin relaxes. The man's in lazy enjoyment watching the rebel rocker chica (he knew better than to call her his) and her fire, the ferocity of it surprising Hans perhaps least of all those in the room.   
  
Nick takes a step back as Eliza turned to him and snapped, eyebrows furrowing as he struggled to understand. Because she was right, Nick didn't understand, and he was not one to linger in ignorance on purpose. He read to increase his knowledge of the world, of past events, and of people. He listened to those that knew more than he, and wasn't detained by some sense of non-existant pride and ego. Some people 'ain't too proud to beg', well Nick ain't too proud to question; to say I don't know, teach me.   
  
She drops her hand abruptly, like she burned herself in the air but steps forward again looking past Nick.   
  
Oh, that's right; Hans threw that one out the window. Obviously, she has no idea what he'd done to Jensen, or she wouldn't be looking to the man gripping him for mercy. Mercy, ha! Now there was a word he didn't know the real meaning of. Some (Eliza herself), might say that was what he'd shown the girl - but Hans had to disagree. Eliza had never been at his mercy, and if she had been? She wouldn't be defending him now.   
  
Jensen's face was embodying his last name, how quaint; his squeeze on Hans' neck unrelenting as he looks at her.   
  
"He didn't have a choice, okay?" Eliza has her hand up again. This time it's like she burned Hans. The man groaned under Jensen's thumb, eyes flashing carmine with the struggle to speak.   
  
Nick didn't need to tell Eliza to keep talking, because it was obvious from her face and entire demeanor that she was going to keep talking and that there was no one on this earth (hell? heaven?) that was going to stop her. Her first choice of words were enough to warrant a surprised 'what?' from him. Thankfully, he was able to shut up before he said something else.  
  
"Yes, I did." Hans blisters, spittle spraying an unrelenting Stone, "No one made me do anything."   
  
Odd. Somehow, the latter statement sounded more like an apology than he meant it to be. His ears swivel as he hears a skip in Jensen's chest. Yeah, that's right. For all the granite smile, he could hear the overworked lungs, the rapid heartbeat, the adrenaline flooding his veins. Why did Jensen even bother? Hans took it as a compliment.   
  
"Hans, shut up." Eliza's finger whips again. Her heart was the steadiest in the room, her breath even, if faint. After looking quickly to Nick again, this to hide the urge to roll her eyes -- she steps after Jensen again, realizing he didn't move.   
  
Free will could be a tricky thing. Which was heavily ironic because it should be the simplest thing in the world. Everyone was born equal, and everyone was in charge of the decisions and the life they chose to lead. As far as Nick knew, nobody had pointed a gun to Hans' head and forced him to kill those 11 Aurors or to try and kill Devin in the middle of the night in the Forbidden Forest. He might not have handed Nadia to these people, but his actions made it possible, and easier. He had spent weeks in Hogsmeade, knowing exactly where she was held, knowing exactly what she was going through, and never said anything.  
  
If there was one thing Nick could actually respect from this man was that he quickly owned up to his actions. Good, then he knew what he had done wrong. But that was the ticket, wasn't it? He knew, but was he repentant? Did it really matter? Were murderers granted a lesser sentence by a jury just because they decided to cry on the stand and apologize? How many sins could you really commit before you were past forgiveness?  
  
Too deep, way too deep.  
  
Blood dribbles from Jensen's eyebrow, but the man hadn't even blinked though he looks back to who he holds. He must have squeezed again though, his knee holding Hans thigh and arm down, hyper-extended. Otherwise Hans wouldn't have fallen silent, she'd reason. He never did.   
  
"It's Eliza?" Jensen finally speaks, realizing this time Nick wasn't going to interfere. His gaze hadn't left Hans.   
  
"Yes." She says quickly, "And ignore him right now, because --"  
  
"Eliza." Hans growls.   
  
"They, they took him when he was fifteen."   
  
It was starting to make more sense to Nick. Hans the monster had been Hans the fifteen year old boy. It was hard to imagine him like that. And then Nick had no idea what the hell was happening as Jensen and Hans started to fight again.  
  
"I know," but it's all Jensen said. Hans could have - well actually, he does. He laughs, a twisted little thing that sounds more blustering smoke than joy, but it jumps her her heart to hear.   
  
"You know?"  
  
"Mutual acquaintance," Hans offers, tight-lipped and somehow sweet.   
  
"You know," she's acting like she didn't hear him, "How could you..."   
  
Hans laughs again at Eliza's question. He had forgotten to tell her a few details he thinks, blood in his mouth as his fang tears his own gum. There's deathly silence. Mutual acquaintance. Then realization clouds Eliza's eyes, her mouth forming a word he didn't want to hear, over and over again without breath to support it as she rocks back on her heels. The weight of it was that immense, huh?   
  
No, wait --  
  
"Laura--you, you know Laura."   
  
Goddammit, Hans tries to lift his arm. His bone snaps backwards. Finally. He punches. Jensen blocks, jabs. Hans sees the floor. Hears the crack of splintered wood before it jams into his shoulder. Engaging in a momentary scuffle between blood, bone and vengeful protective ex-Marine slash boyfriend, he manages at least to not think of her that long.   
  
"Oh shit," Nick winces, trying to follow the movements of limbs in the scuffle. Nick had never felt more out of place than right now. Yeah, he really didn't belong here, judging on a man's life and possible death. But he also couldn't leave Eliza alone, and he said that mostly because he didn't want to be alone himself. She was doing mighty fine on her own. He was both astounded with a hint of pride and cautious as to how exactly that came to me.  
  
They're against a wall now.   
  
Eliza's gasping out, "Stop, just, stop! Seven hells, stop acting like little children fighting over a girl!"   
  
That makes Hans laugh, surprised enough by it that Jensen's gotten another grip on him. Damn, Stone. Not even protective enough of her to acknowledge that was exactly what they were? Hans knew. Hans always knew what he was.  
  
"I'm military intelligence, sweetheart." Jensen said instead to Eliza, while Hans chuckles something dreadful and hot near his ear. "And I've been trailing this man's victims for almost a decade."  
  
Yeah, well, that was true. Hans shrugs.  
  
But Eliza had thought of something in that apparently to seize on, her eyes flashing as she looks at Jensen.   
  
"And you're going to shoot an unarmed man?" She fires. Jensen arches an eyebrow at her. Perhaps to say Hans was hardly not putting up a fight, but she knew better, and ignores the eyebrow.   
  
A werewolf is hardly ever unarmed Nick almost said, but he was aware his part in this exchange had becoming that of an observer. Seen, mostly ignored, and never heard.   
  
"--He could have transformed, right?" She has her hand up, smacks the air. The words turn into a bullet, pierces Hans' lung , shrieking to leave a bloody mess in his throat. Or else he'd have spoken again. "He could have transformed and he didn't, he wants you to -- "   
  
"Then he can get his wish." Jensen snaps his wrist, ripping another gun from his side holster and pressing the nozzle over Hans chest.   
  
"Thanks, luv," Hans rolls his eyes to the ceiling.   
  
"Wait." Eliza stops walking, now with both hands up. Her heart had gone silent in Hans ears for a moment. She pleads with Nick silently, asking for help, as if forgetting entirely that he'd been advocating letting him die before.   
  
What could he say to stop this man from killing Hans when he had been tracking his victims all over the world for a decade? Seeing all the bodies, knowing the family of the victims and how much they were suffering, and always being too late to stop it? How could he tell a man to not shoot a murderer and end his trail of corpses once and for all?  
  
He couldn't, and apparently neither could Devin.  
  
"Eliza?!"   
  
Someone else had come to join the party - two of them actually, but sue her for thinking of Nadia and Devin as a single entity. Her mouth hangs for a second seeing the shocked betrayal in Devin's gaze, with his shocked exclamation of her name, but she still screws up her lip. Oh, she didn't want to hurt him, she didn't. But Devin didn't - he couldn't - he couldn't understand it either.   
  
Nadia's joy at seeing Eliza alive, at knowing that Gustav hadn't killed her for Nadia going against him, was slowly diminished as she saw her take Hans' defense.   
  
"Eliza," Devin said her name again. They all needed to stop doing that. Like it was some magic potion. Like remembering who she was would binary flip her back and she could just forget everything she learned here, forget that Hans had been kind to her. Like it wasn't going to matter to her anymore, if someone was murdered in cold blood in front of her, like she wouldn't care if Hans lived or died, could assign absolute justice on penalty of death because she knew of past crimes -- like former sins ever told the whole story and gave her that right. The Death Eaters tried for weeks to break her, to turn her into a monster. If they didn't succeed, Devin Stuart wasn't going to do it.   
  
"He tried to kill me." Devin's voice makes her head hurt; he wasn't accusing her. He looks in wonder, and she turns her head to look at Nadia briefly. Both of them were wounded, she can see - she can smell - but she looks back hearing a sudden chuckle from the man who refused so ardently, bastard, to help himself whatsoever.   
  
"If I wanted to kill you, mate," Hans speaks directly to Devin, whose face goes hard as Stone's here, "you'd be dead."   
  
"Yeah." Devin said. His lips curl, his hand squeezes Nadia's before slipping free and taking a step forward. "I've heard that before."   
  
Hans only smirks.   
  
Nadia's tears of happiness quickly turned to tears of frustration as she saw the scene before her. She has to squeeze Devin's hand just to keep herself in place, especially after Hans' quick comment. Nadia had been about to step forward but Devin beat her to it. The nerve of him!  
  
"Stop." Eliza said, and she digs hair back, streaks it behind her ears. The curl straightens, but try as she might snaps back to resemble an Arby's curly fry before she can get it trapped.  
  
"I know," she continues, surprised they listened to her - or maybe she saw Devin's mouth open and decides to preempt him, maybe. "And if you want to start killing all the murderers in the room, start with me."   
  
That pulls all gazes to her; Devin goes slack-jawed. Nadia's narrowed eyes soften again at Eliza's logic. Nadia too was guilty of murder. In self-defense, sure, but that didn't change how you felt about it; how it sat on your heart and tried to poison it.The only one who doesn't look at her is Jensen. He's too busy holding down the trigger, squeezing, hot and hard as the silver barrel rests over Hans heart.   
  
"Eli--"  
  
"Stop saying my name!" Eliza screeches. "Stop, stop acting like military intelligence, or what happened last October, or like shooting a man in the chest means he shouldn't defend himself - stop saying it like I'm just a little girl who needs to shut up - stop it, just, stop!  
  
Nadia's tears began to flow again (oh bloody hell, she thought she had finally gotten control over that) as she saw Eliza snap at all of them to shut up, as she began to see the toll that being here had taken on her friend. She understood why Eliza was so vehemently against killing anyone else. Nadia had told Hols to think twice before she started aiming to kill. Nadia didn't want to cross that line but hadn't she crossed it already? Hadn't they all?  
  
"You know Laura, Jensen?" Eliza turns, mid-'Stop!'  
  
The silence is an answer, but it gives her one better in the beat. Military intelligence?   
  
"Military int-- you were the one who took her. You --"   
  
That, where nothing she'd shouted before had, spurred Jensen to speak. He still didn't look away from Hans. The nozzle burns a concentric circle through the shirt. It's silver. That would take some time to heal. As he speaks, it's in low heat.   
  
"Took her." Spit strikes Hans jaw now. Payback, he thinks, dizzy. "I am surprised, Eliza, that he actually spoke of Laura - but let me guess, what he said. Let's see. How she abandoned him here. How she's the reason he killed, and killed, and killed. That he did it just to punish her for leaving him. That she's --"   
  
"No."   
  
"Luv, please." Hans had been smirking, twisting screws in Jensen's gut as he agreed with every word the man said -- but Eliza was going to ruin that, wasn't she? He hisses, and isn't even sure who is able to hear it. "I don't need you to save me."   
  
For the first time, Eliza smiles.   
  
"I thought you promised never to lie to me, Hans."   
  
Her eyes soften, like she thinks abruptly...she got it, she understands - and Hans finds himself caught, hanging on every word like there was no gun to his chest. Devin stalls. He looks between the girl he loves next to him, looks at his sister's boyfriend - but it's the former that seemed to get it. Nadia was looking at Hans, expression unreadable to anyone but him Dev imagines - but he knows her too well, and he also knew? It wasn't her saintliness that was causing her to hesitate now. They'd taken Rhys out. There was something Nadia sees in the look of heat between Eliza and Hans as she wraps her hand around Jensen's wrist.  
  
Nadia purses her lips together and abruptly ceasing tears altogether. Nadia saw a connection there. A connection created in darkness, and it was things that were born in darkness that were sometimes the strongest. Adapted to survive, to live, without light, without fresh air, without nearly anything. If someone had been trying to kill Olivier, Nadia would be the one yelling at all of them to shut up, to stop, to not take a man's life so lightly. Eliza had seen something good in Hans, like she had with Olivier and even with Harper when he was resigned to his Angel (of Death) persona, and it was something good enough to save. It was different from killing Rhys, from killing the other nameless Death Eater that day in the dungeons.  
  
Eliza won't break eye contact with the wolf even as she speaks to Stone.   
  
"He did say she left him, that's true. Like she should have. Laura got out, and he doesn't understand anymore than I do why she'd be coming back now."  
  
What was more, Eliza wasn't identifying with them any longer, the group of friends hailing from Hogwarts. She included herself in the 'we' that was trying to get out of here. Those who had been robbed from their life and forced into this kill or be killed existence. It was like it wasn't just Hans' life she was asking for. She had just as much right to live despite all that she might have done and suffered with the Death Eaters, right? Yes, so should Hans.  
  
"She should have left, that's what he said, like we all should have, like we're trying to do now."  
   
Jensen's face shifts for the first time in minutes, and she feels herself draw a breath. Let us, she's saying. Eliza tugs on the man's wrist. His finger slackens. He pulls his hand back, but it isn't until Eliza's looking at him, imploring silently with a wide-eyed blue gaze. It breaks her tether to Hans' gaze. Stone spins his wrist. Bang, bang. Two shots, rapid fire, break holes in the desk already ripped to shreds.   
  
Intimate heat slips so fast she shivers from the sudden chill. When Eliza looked back, Hans was gone. A tear pulls from the corner of her eye, and as she rests her head on the wall looking between the rest of them, Eliza doesn't know if her sigh is from relief or longing in the strike of absence. She doesn't dare.  
  
Nadia closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When she opened them, two more shots had rung out and Hans was gone.  
  
And because she hadn't gotten to do it yet, Nadia let Devin's hand go after squeezing it and then ran to throw her arms around Eliza and hug her tightly. She rested her chin on her friend's shoulder and whispered just two simple words that contained a complex world of meanings.  
  
"I know."  
  
And she squeezed her again, nodding once, before decidedly focusing on the relief and happiness at seeing her alive once more. It was too great a feeling to simply skip over just because of one man.  
  
"I am," Nick muttered to himself after rubbing his face, "so confused."  
  
  
  



	71. Daughter of an Auror

"Irene, you can’t just stop speaking to me," Nadia told her friend after an exasperated sigh as she walked with her back to Mungo’s. Nadia’s best friend seemed stubborn enough to keep it up until she decided it was over. The only person who hadn’t been given the silent treatment was Eliza. Irene had ran to her in Notre Dame (half limping, Nadia noticed, which is why she took it upon herself to bring Irene back) and had a joyful reunion. The blondes had babbled probably a thousand words each in the brief minute they had, and Nadia hadn’t tried to understand. Irene then made sure to hug all their friends, but speak to them? Not a word. Nadia guessed it was because they had left her behind at the hospital while they went to Paris. To be fair, Irene was hospitalized for a reason and it showed no. Her fair skin was pale and washed out, and she was shivering without being cold, sweating. Nadia wasn’t a Healer, so she wasn’t sure of the exact effects of the curse that grazed her but she knew she needed to be back in Mungo’s. Irene had begrudgingly come along, though Nadia had half dragged her when Devin had to go talk with his parents. Nadia’s parents had come too to bring Chace to be checked out; he’d gotten hexed too. He kept vomiting black goo, but had managed between fits to express his self-pride at taking on three Death Eaters at one. Chace was such a fucking Gryffindor, honestly. Nadia had quickly kissed his cheek before they had wheeled him away.

Nadia was now stuck explaining to the acolytes who were already working overtime from the last few weeks alone, the fact that Irene had ran off but that she was back. They had given her room away, and her Healer was with someone else so it looked like Irene had to check in -again-, but this was proving to be a real pain in the bum. They had her files! She was on record! And on potions, and Irene desperately needed one if her pallor spoke for itself given that Irene seemed determine not to utter a single word herself. The one time that Nadia needed her friend’s no-nonsense, get-what-she-wants, accept-no-bullshit attitude, and she had to go and resemble Ariel.

"Irene!" Nadia finally exhaled in frustration and turned to her friend, her hand slamming down on the desk, "I’m not going to apologize for wanting you to stay hospitalized because you’re injured, and now I really need you to take control of this situation because I am tired, and parched, and I look like a bloody orphan asking for alms, so please!"

Irene seemed unmoved for a second and then turned to the acolyte at the desk and asked where her previous Healer was at the moment. The acolyte didn’t seem keen to share that information so Irene leaned over and took the parchment from the desk that tracked the Healer’s movements and then placed it back before the acolyte had finished yelling at her and threatening to call security (she’s sick!, Nadia yelled in frustration, you can’t throw her out!). Then Irene took her file, began marching down the hallway, Nadia following after quickly, keeping a hand on her lower back to steady her faltering and stumbling steps and then walked into the room. Nadia hesitantly followed after and was through the door quick enough to see Irene smacking the file into the Healer’s chest, going behind a screen (thank God she did) to change into the hospital gown and get into the free bed next to a patient who had boils all over their face.

"Hi Doc, I’m dying. Might want to do something about it."

Nadia exhaled again, rubbing her dirty forehead but ultimately relieved that the Healer moved quickly. Thank God someone cared that Irene looked halfway to being a ghost. Nadia smiled at Irene before stepping out of the room, leaning against the wall and breathing as she felt all the exhaustion from the past month weigh on her shoulders. She needed a bath, preferably with bubbles and salts, and she needed a ton of chocolate products. But more than that, she needed a bottle of her favorite sherry, and that needed to be a priority. She was exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion. She felt victorious, and powerful, and on top of the world. And soon enough she could celebrate this with her friends, preferably after everyone rested and cuddled.

Nadia pushed off the wall and started walking to the waiting room to find her parents. Mungo’s was as crowded as ever these days, with acolytes and Healers fast walking down the hallways, and visitors trying to keep out of the way. Nadia had to maneuver around a group of goblins arguing intensely in Gobbledygook, and smiled as she realized that a year ago even the sight of a goblin would have caused her immense stress History of Magic and the accursed Goblin Wars. Now that stress seemed a fond memory as she rubbed the back of her neck and fought of giggles and happy tears. As she turned the hallway however, she realized she wasn’t going to fight off happy tears anytime soon. There he stood, walking out of a room with a bandaged Zoe with a light laugh on his lips that Zoe beamed and seemed awed to hear. Nadia understood; she hadn’t heard Harper laugh as honestly as that and it made her grin and her tears start rolling.

Zoe walked the opposite way, escorted by an Acolyte who was trying to force her into a wheelchair, and Harper turned to start walking to Nadia’s direction and stopped when he saw her. Her grin was mimicked on his face as he saw, exhaling in relief, and then Nadia shot out like a bullet out of a gun, running straight to Harper. She threw her arms around his shoulder and squeezed him tight, her legs lifting off the ground as he held her for a few moments before he chuckled her name over her shoulder.

"Oh!" Nadia dropped immediately, face apologetic before she came back and threw her arms around his chest, under his arms, and rested her head there.

"You did it! You did it!" She declared gregariously into his chest, her tears falling and landing on his shirt. He hugged her back and his chuckle shook them both. Her only friend in the darkness, and he was here! And he was out! His eyes were squinted, and Nadia realized he was still getting used to the light, even if it was only artificial. Hospitals were bright and white and like her mother, Nadia didn’t like them, but right now oh how she loved them. Harper was here, and so was Eliza, and she could bounce in joy. Actually she did start to after letting Harper go, and then wiped at her eyes with a little laugh.

"We did it, Nadia," Harper corrected with a smile, "I could never have done it without you. Thank you. Am I’m sorry for what I did-"

"No, don’t apologize, you don’t have to apologize, nothing’s wrong!" Nadia exclaimed with a bright beam as she clasped her hands together and bounced on her toes again. She knew it wasn’t true. Knew she was still going to have nightmares, knew that there was no erasing what Harper, Eliza, and her had gone through, and that her friends and family were injured and Hols in particularly was livid oh God, but Nadia felt like Rapunzel at the moment, ready to sing how much she saw the light now, the fog lifting.

They were going to be fine. She knew it.

+.

Shawn had wanted Hols to go to Mungo’s to get herself checked out, even though no amount of explaining from his daughter would convince him that Hols was perfectly fine. Hols was physically fine, sure, but inside she was a hurricane of emotions. Having gone through panic, fear, resentment, acceptance, relief, happiness and exuberance all in the short span of an hour, tops, left Hols frazzled. Now, as the Healer left and told her she was free to go, the emotion that was bubbling up was anger. Nick had accompanied her while Lynn stayed with her parents, as it was best that she didn’t disappear from their sight for at least…a few more weeks, or else risk them (or rather, her father) grounding her and Devin until the end of the century. Nick had just finished recounting what happened when he was trying to find his way around the cave-in, and how it was exactly that Hans fucking Ricard had gotten away, hence her anger. Hols was trying to do her best not to let it become debilitating rage, but that was proving to be difficult.

"Has everyone gone crazy?!" Hols asked rhetorically as she changed into new clothes that weren’t covered in blood, courtesy of a wave of her wand. Nick snorted as he looked out of the fake windows, facing away from her as she changed. He didn’t need to say anything, she knew exactly what that snort meant. Yes, everyone had gone crazy, why else would we go storming into a headquarters full of Death Eaters who would like nothing more than to torture them until they were begging for mercy? None of them were in their right mind anymore, none of them the same person they were before, no matter if the change was subtle or drastic. Hols belonged more to the former category, because she didn’t feel changed in the slightest. Nothing that she had done surprised her, not even killing Gina. Hols knew herself too well for that.

She finished zipping up her jeans and then smacked her hands on her thighs. And today had been going so well! Save for the whole almost-dying routine and being face-to-fang with a vampire who seemed like he had walked out of a erotic mommy porn novel. Alcott got back his father and his best friend in one day, the Aurors made a dozen arrests in England, and almost as many in France; the Death Eaters were decimated. The wolfpack, however, they had gotten away. Hols always knew that was a possibility, especially when he heard from the bastard on the phone that the wolves had turned on them. There had to have been some sort of agreement to keep the wolves from fighting on the side of the Death Eaters, otherwise there would have been a lot more casualties.

But.

"He was moments from being killed and he just got away?! Because Eliza decided she suddenly has say on who lives and who dies?"

Nick turned around now, realizing she was fully dressed, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was biting on his bottom lip, thinking of the best way to approach the subject that wouldn’t have her screaming her head off or maybe ripping his off. His next words made it clear that he couldn’t find those right words, because she didn’t feel calmed at all.

"She made a very compelling case, Hols. And are you seriously advocating that that guy should have killed him right then and there? He deserved a trial."

"Men like him are sent when you  _can't_ have a trial, Nick," Hols exhaled, shaking her head as she started to undo her braid for something to do given that she couldn’t strangle anybody. Lynn would be quite cross with her if she asphyxiated her boyfriend. "And fuck that anyways, because the Aurors had enough of a case- he killed eleven people! Did everybody just suddenly forget that?! Forget that he single-handedly killed eleven Aurors?!" She wrenched her hands from her hair once she started giving herself knots instead of undoing them.

"He almost killed you, Nick! He threw you out of a window, you could have snapped your neck, you could have died right then! Would Eliza still have called for his life to be spared? Defended it with the fact that you shot him in the chest, okay fine, yes you did! After he snapped Alcott’s neck. Defend himself is one thing, throwing you out of a window, uncaring whether you lived or died, that’s a whole fucking other thing."

"Hols-"

"He almost killed my father, Nick! You didn’t see the mincemeat he made out of the rest of the Aurors, Nick! I saw all those bodies, all those people. They were like family! I knew them, I’ve known them for all my life. They’re the people that my father trusted to have his back, and he had theirs. People who dedicated their life to making sure England was a safer place to live in, and they have! Talk shit about the Aurors all they want, talk shit about the Ministry all you want, but Shane hasn’t had an event like this happen in a decade! The only reason this happened now is because France is being ran by a pompous incompetent mobster unfit and with no right to rule over an entire country! And it resulted in the Deaths of those Aurors, of so many innocent people! This is how we repay their memory? By letting their murderer walk free? That is such bullshit!" Her fist ended up hitting her leg again devoid of any target.

"Hols," Nick tried again, taking a few cautious steps closer. "You know how the law is, how unfair the justice system is, the loopholes-"

"I’m sorry to have to remind you Nick, but we’re not in America okay? This is not a democracy, and the burden of proving culpability lies on the defendant, not the plaintiff, you know what that means?"

"He has to prove he’s innocent, instead of someone else having to prove he’s guilty."

"Exactly, and even still Nick! We’re not muggles, he wouldn’t be tried against a jury of his peers! He is a man associated with Death Eaters, who did their bidding, and who killed 11 Aurors. Not to mention the fact that he attacked Devin, was part of the plot to kidnap Nadia, that he withheld her location, and that he Imperiused Dillon, and with Dillon’s testimony that’d be enough to warrant him a life sentence anyway! He would have been tried by the entire fucking Wizengamot, and Shane would have made sure to be there personally! Sure, he would have had defense, of course, but don’t even begin to tell me the majority of the Wizengamot wouldn’t have found his ass guilty and sent him to rot in prison for the rest of his unnatural life! Because that’s what he deserves!"

"And what about Eliza?" Nick asked, eyebrows raised. "She admitted to killing someone, what does she deserve? And you killed Gina, what do you deserve?"

"Don’t try to insinuate I’m a hypocrite here, -Nicky-," she poked his chest and then used the same finger to point back to herself, "I know what I did. And I didn’t try to hide the body, I didn’t give myself a fake alibi, or ran out of there after wiping my prints- I took some fucking responsibility, I told the Aurors, I told my father. And the Courtenays could very well charge me with manslaughter at the very least given that the Ministry won’t! Thank God I registered as an Animagus after the Gala otherwise that’s definitely enough to land me in jail, but even if I hadn’t, I still would have told the Aurors! Because that’s the fucking socially responsible thing to do! Everybody’s walking around, covering up murders, and kidnappings, behaving like a bunch of toddlers who don’t want to get caught by their parents-"

"You covered up Sam’s attack, Hols!"

"That was last year! You know what this year has taught me? Keeping secrets sucks. You know how much of this could have been avoided if we didn’t have fucking Sam Roswell trying to take revenge?"

"You don’t know that for sure, Hols. This was always bigger than him."

"And now we’ll never know. I’m just so fucking tired of everyone pretending that they’re above the law! I’m even more fucking tired of all of these supernatural fucks thinking they can just waltz around, doing whatever they please, using us to fulfill their needs and then just dumping us somewhere once they’re done!" A shiver ran down her back, making her shake her head insistently, gritting her teeth as she kept talking, "No! That’s not the way it works, and more than that, that’s not the world I want to live in, do you?! Because standing back, letting it happen, that’s the fucking worse thing you could ever do."

Nick threw his hands up in the air, asking exasperatedly, “What was I supposed to do, Hols? Held her back, told her to shut up? You weren’t there, she was livid, she was…she wasn’t herself, Hols. Or maybe she was, herself but like…multiplied by 10!”

"You’re supposed to fight for what’s right!"

"Killing him wasn’t right."

"Letting him walk away isn’t right either! Nick, I don’t care if he was repentant, which I seriously doubt anyways, I don’t care that he was taking when he was 15! And no, apparently I will never understand because I wasn’t hung by my thumbs and whipped and raped and tortured but even after taking everything into account, he still decided to end the life of all of those people. Still decided to hunt down a couple in the middle of the woods for sport. How much shit has he done before he even got here?! How much blood is on his hands?! Everyone has a sob-story, Nick, not everyone becomes mass-murdering killers. I’m sure Ted Bundy and Hitler were very lovable teenagers too, but does that expunge what they did?" Hols rolled her eyes before she continued.

"He wants forgiveness? Let him take it up with his God. Sins are forgivable, or so any priest would have you believe, but crimes get punished. Did he kill people? Yes. Did he do it on his free will? Yes. Was he aware what he was doing at the time? Yes. Then he’s guilty! All those Death Eaters we arrested over here probably have sob-stories of their own, I don’t see Eliza jumping up to defend -them-! Oh but she probably didn’t bond and connect with them-"

"Hols-"

"You’re the one who said that’s how it seemed, Nick, not me! I could say much worse."

"Don’t, Hols, it’s Eliza. We just got her back, you can’t talk like this."

Hols groaned in frustration before she gestured to Nick, “I am so sick and tired of having to censor myself to keep everyone from freaking out! I’ve been doing it for months! Well, I’m done with it, I’m not going to do it anymore!”

Nick paused, biting on his bottom lip before he chuckled briefly, “This was you censoring yourself? This whole time?”

Hols shot him a glare before she exhaled and rubbed at her eyes. She was tired, she was angry, and she was frustrated beyond any measurable account. Nick came forward to pull her into a hug and she reluctantly let him, even if she didn’t hug back. Her eyes were screwed up in a glower as she looked over his shoulder. After some time with her not hugging back, Nick pulled back, still holding on to her shoulders and then spoke quietly.

"I don’t think it was right to let him go either. But-"

"Anything you say right now is just going to make me want to smack you, so don’t," she shrugged out of his arms and then picked up her dirty clothes. "I’m going back to Hogwarts."

"What?" Nick asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I need to be alone, and oddly enough, a castle full of students is the best place to be alone right now." She started moving out of the room, Nick following behind her. "Nadia’s going to be with Dev, you’re going to be with Lynn, Alcott’s got his father and his best friend back, he’s not leaving their side, and I’m not going to intrude. Especially not when I half want to strangle Eliza, so I need to be alone until that goes away."

"It’s almost Winter Break anyways, Hols."

"Perfect, just in time for finals then." Hols took out her phone to send everyone a text that she was going back to Hogwarts to finish up the final exams. Then, she turned to Nick again and then kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for listening."

Nick pursed his lips and then asked quickly, “Is there something else, Hols?”

"What besides anger at the fact that a mass-murderer just walked away?" Her eyes narrowed. "No. Thankfully, there are much more happy things than there are infuriating news otherwise I’d be rethinking exactly what I want to do with my life. Daughter of Aurors after all, the appeal of exerting much deserved justice as my career has always been there."

"Rae," Nick said the second part of her name silently, almost trying to plead with her to stop being so hostile.

Hols shook her head and then turned again, walking out of Mungo’s.

{*}

"--yeah all right man," D'Grey chuckles under his breath, smirk lifting up as he says easily (half honest, half a tease, half a jab; oh dear God, he was doing math like Tonio did --), "see, now I know how you felt, day you got it back, Redea."   
  
There's a dead-pan smart-ass remark in response that makes his lips flick and he nods, even though there was no on in the room with him. He pauses pacing, pressing the phone into his ear.  
  
"Yeah, you too."  
  
With that, he clicks off and drops his cellphone into his pocket. A heavy, ridiculously so, sigh falls from tired lungs as he leans over his desk. Crossing the name off, he runs his hand down the short list he'd made for himself, nods assuredly and then rips off the yellow legal pad, crumples the paper, grinning like an idiot as he spins and lobs the shot -- straight into the fireplace. Perfect. He snaps his fingers so it actually takes to flame, locking the drawer and exiting his study easily. The papers in hand, the police over-the-moon, he was half expecting a basket of mini-muffins from Karen in the morning.   
  
As he leaves the study and walks towards their library/parlor/designated d'Grey brother Mental Breakdown Room to Destroy -- he had a light, if tired smirk on his lips. More importantly, Harper was home, Hans and the pack were in Scotland or Avalon or wherever it was and so out of sight, out of mind for now -- even Eliza, was back with her parents, kind of, he had the feeling she might be at the Brackner mansion for the night, but the point was: the fucking Death Eaters were no more.   
  
He falls onto the couch undoing his tie (as James Bond did in the movies, tosses it on to the opposing chair). Olivier collapses really, before he realized his brother was already sitting there. He blinks. Then looks sideways, lips quirking up.  
  
"Hello, brother." Another heavy sigh left his lips as he chuckles, rubbing over his eyes, delirious he thinks with the happiness, victory, uncertainty, confusion and just - man he was fucking tired. But hey. Tony was still sitting there.  
  
Was he halfway down the first bottle or the second? Tony wasn't entirely sure because oddly enough it wasn't the alcohol that was giving him disorientation issues. Today had started out so well. Then again, he had declared today over hours ago. And those hours felt like another lifetime. Whenever there was an emptiness in him he tended to fill it up with alcohol, today was no different.  
  
Well, it was obviously. They had won. The Death Eaters were gone, Gustav and Gina were dead, and everybody was back home. Except Marcel.  
  
Down went that glass, way down, down down down.  
  
He turned to look sideways as Olivier plopped down. He looked cheery, and that made him half grin, half smirk. Because above everything else his brother felt victorious and for good fucking reason. It was only going to get better from here right? ...Er, no, he took that back and mentally knocked on wood. After everything though, it was just a relief to see his brother...there.  
  
"Olivier Auguste D'Grey!" Tony assumed an announcer voice, using the bottle as a microphone, "You've just won control over the country, what are you gonna do next?!"   
  
He extended the 'mic' over to him for the answer. The lip of the glass bottle hovers somewhere between his nose and under his chin and as Tony speaks, he finds his hand leaping to cover his mouth as he thinks it'd be poor of him to spit in his brother's drink. And, well, he'd laughed so abruptly at the comment, that was definitely what he was about to do. Chuckling, he rubs over his mouth, wipes, tilts his head and sighs.  
  
His brother was hurting, Olivier knew that. There was nothing he could even say about it, besides how fucking unfair it was: how new, how novel this was! Olivier achieves what they set out to do - he "wins" - and Antonio was hurt. On his behalf. He was there because he asked Tony to be there, but he was also there because Tony wanted to help him. In for a penny... Oli bites down on his tongue.   
  
And then he drops his hand and pretends to lean forward into the 'mic', tapping the rim of the bottle as he says lightly,   
  
"Testing, -- this thing on? 1-2-" he clears his throat, as if clearing the microphone and then says lightly, "Yes, well, Seacrest. Your blonde friend, the one you keep whistling at -- she did make Disneyland sound fun..."  
  
Tony knew it wasn't accurate, but at that exact moment it felt he had never been more proud of his brother for playing along. He grins as Oli laughs before he tests out the mic and then laughed himself when he described Irene as the "blonde friend he kept whistling at". Though the mention of 'blonde' did make his heart skip a beat and not in the good way.  
  
He then slapped the back of his brother's head, lightly before taking his bottle back.  
  
"Irene would want me to hit you for not referring to her by name. Or preferred title- this week it's 'Supreme Goddess of the Universe'."  
  
"Oi-" Olivier's half-protest half-laugh becomes a full laugh as he pushes his brother's hand away from his head, letting it tilt as if his brother'd actually hurt him, and promptly rolling his eyes. Still, he knew his smirk only widened, grateful to see the honest smile on Tony's face (and hear his laugh) even if it ran off into a smirk a few moments later.   
  
Arching his eyebrow he says first, "Well see, I haven't actually met her so, I wouldn't know." He shrugs, but anything else he was about to say disappears as he hears his brother.   
  
Tony raised his bottle up in her honor before taking a sip and then lying his head back. After an exhale, he remarked. "Well, I don't know about Disneyland but, I have another idea....and you need to trust me on this."  
  
Tilting his head back, Olivier cocks an eyebrow, considering. Aha.  
  
"...Famous last words, brother."  
  
But he nods.  
  



	72. Ingrid

The grey hallway was a long expanse with no discernible end. At least, that's how it felt like to Ingrid Roswell. Torn away from her position in the Board of Governors with news of an attack in Paris, her brother in law's name making his way in hushed whispers, Ingrid had rushed. A woman praised for, among everything else, her constant punctuality found herself arriving too late. The fires were already doused, the terrorists arrested and on their way to custody, and the witnesses being interviewed.  
  
Her surprise and confusion at seeing both Harper Brackner and Eliza alive was short-lived as it became replaced with a growing anxiety as they both beheld her with the same brief expression in their eyes. Weeks later she would be able to identify the feeling by remembering the words her friend Lyndsea had once spoken to her: they looked at her knowing the ground crumbled beneath her feet and she wasn't aware of it yet.  
  
Shane, her cousin, approached her first, giving her access to the site with a simple nod of his head to one of the Pharma agents, something she hadn't been able to achieve in minutes of explaining her case, arguing, and then demanding to the authorities. Her worry was too great to come off as anything other than growing anger. When she started demanding answers from Shane, he took her shoulders in his hands like he used to do when they were children. It annoyed her now as it did then, finding the action entirely condescending. She shrugged off his hands but it didn't stop his words from coming.  
  
"Ingrid-"  
  
"Stop placating me, Shane, I need to know if my son was in there! Where is my son?"  
  
"Gustav Roswell is dead-"  
  
"I don't care," she replied quickly even as her heart felt heavy not for herself but for her husband. "I don't care about that man, where is my son?!"  
  
"Your husband's already admitted to being aware of Gustav's actions as a terrorist and a traitor, he is being detained in your own home, Ingrid, I need you to cooperate, and I promise I will be lenient. If you were also complicit I need to know now-"  
  
"I will confess to the whole bleeding thing if you need a scapegoat, Shane, it wouldn't be the first time, just tell me! Where. is. my son? Where is Sam?" Her jaw clenched unbelievably tight, her eyes hard and cold were two black pits with no bottom as she stared at her cousin, the leader of their magical community, and suddenly found the same previous look in his eyes.  
  
That's how she found herself walking down this seemingly never-ending hallway, two Pharma agents waiting to escort her back to her home in England at the doors behind her, and a police escort walking in front of her. The lights above her buzzed and flickered, reminding her that she was in the basement of the nearest hospital in Paris. The floor was tiled with linoleum, dirty with scuff marks and wheel tracks that they couldn't be bothered to buffer away. It was a dreary, sub-par facility. This was unacceptable.  
  
"Madame Roswell," her police escort called, waiting by the double doors at the end of the hall. She was a million miles away from him, a million miles away from all of this in her mind. Somehow she had managed to reach him and pass him, walking in first.   
  
The coroner expressed his condolences but she found no words to give in return. Waiting, her shoulders tensed, she was walked over to a figure on a metal slab, covered from head to toe with a white sheet. Ingrid was surprised they really did know what bleach was in this place.  
  
"Show me," she demanded in the same quick French that the agent and the coroner spoke to her in. Ingrid had been tutored and trained in five languages before she could walk. She might be rusty at half of them, but her French remained as impeccable as ever.  
  
"Ah, madame, I must warn you, the body suffered massive third degree burns. We've digitally constructed his face so you can identify-"  
  
With a flinch of the word 'body', she snapped, "Now!" Then she turned to look at the metal table once again, and waited for the coroner to step up and pull back the sheet.  
  
Ingrid was a tough woman, it had always been her most apparent identifier. Not physically strong or particularly talented, though she made people not even realize the latter, Ingrid was a woman who neither flinched or shuddered in the face of difficult situations. She had already flinched today, and now she found herself doing the latter.  
  
With a step back and a shudder running down her spine, her eyes immediately clouded with tears that had been threatening to spill since she got to the burned cathedral. It blocked the sight of black charred flesh only for a moment. Bringing a trembling hand over her mouth, she fought to keep on two feet. There was little else she could try to do at that moment except keep from collapsing. Her knees shook and wobbled, protesting her stubbornness. Her whole body wanted to shut down, to stop functioning.  
  
"This can't be him," she fought, her voice trembling and shaking, "no, it's not." Ingrid shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the unrecognizable corpse. As she swiveled away, her gaze landed on the screen, an image of her son's face on the monitor.  
  
"Is this your son?"  
  
"That machine is lying! How do you expect me to trust the wretched thing- this can't be him! This isn't my Sam, this is not my son! Take me to my son!" A hand on her elbow and a voice asked her to please calm down, but she moved away from it, taking her arm back and stumbling away.  
  
"Don't touch me! Don't," she shook her head and strained to keep her head high again. Shoulders back, chin raised, back ramrod straight, that's how she was taught to carry herself. This was not how a proper woman behaved. Ingrid was better than this, she had to control herself. Tears are for children, her mother's shrill voice screamed in her ear. Control yourself, Ingrid, control...control...  
  
"-the body will be transferred to England, and dental records will verify it, Madame Roswell."  
  
Ingrid kept shaking her head as she struggled to keep on her feet, her eyes red and her cheeks wet with the tears that didn't fall as much as they cascaded down her face. Like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, her body longed to fall into a heap on the floor. Her life, shattered.  
  
"Gentlemen, I need a few minutes alone with this woman."  
  
When Ingrid heard footsteps without hesitation or question, Ingrid looked up to see who with that amount of authority could want to speak to her and was surprised to find the same woman who had confronted her in the luncheon she had thrown not a few days ago standing in front of her. Candice's cousin, Laura. Aside from a cut across her cheek and soot that darkened hair that was red like fire, like blood, and that revealed she had been present at the attack in Notre Dame,!she was unharmed.  
  
"I am sorry for your loss," Laura began but whatever she was saying next was cut short as Ingrid stepped forward and slapped the woman across the face like she had been wanting to do a few days ago. The loud smack echoed in the room, pale flesh became imprinted with the shape of her fingers in pink. Ingrid's hand stung and she hissed, but the other woman did nothing but turn her face back to face her.  
  
"If you're here to tell me that you warned me, that you asked me-" Ingrid started, her voice dangerously low and the lights above them starting to flicker. Now it was her turn to be interrupted but instead of a slap, Laura cut across with quick words.  
  
"I am not here to place the blame for your son's death on your shoulders, Ingrid."  
  
Somehow the news managed to sink in more readily as Laura spoke them. Her son was dead. Sam was dead. Ingrid shuddered again, and her knees finally gave out. Before her knees could crash against the hard floor, an arm wrapped around her waist and then her shoulder, keeping her upright with ease no matter the other woman's shorter stature. Exhales came in intermittent sobs. Finding herself placed in a chair, Ingrid covered her face with both hands and began her crying again.  
  
The woman backed away, remained standing without another movement or another word until Ingrid finally looked up, asking desolately, "Why?"  
  
Why her son? Why her family? Why her? All she'd ever wanted, all she ever strived for, was the perfect family. She had a respected husband who cared for her, two beautiful sons, a fulfilling career, a home; why?  
  
"There's never a good reason, Ingrid," Laura answered without appearing confused as to what Ingrid was referring to.  
  
"I read the police report," Laura continued, and Ingrid didn't care enough to know exactly what this woman had to do with any of this and how she knew so much, or who she worked for. None of that mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.  
  
"It seems I was wrong about your son-"  
  
"Gustav," Ingrid began, not listening to the woman. Indeed, she might not have even been talking to her for all Ingrid cared. She spoke now to try and make sense of her own thoughts and feelings.  
  
"He came to me not long after you did. Two nights ago, he approached me. My husband disowned him, prohibited anymore contact with him, and I could not have been more relieved. But he showed, and he was angry, so angry...he knew you had visited me."  
  
"Impossible," Laura spoke, frowning for the first time.  
  
"He was angry, he was drunk, he spoke no sense. And yet he told me...he told me Kevan took his son away, and then laughed, and said he had done the same long before." Ingrid's eyes stared on, picturing the night and not the details of this room. It was as if she suspended in mid-air and hovered above her every memory, and above this very room too, looking down from above.  
  
"His cousins hate him, have hurt him, kids he claimed were his friends, his girlfriend wound up in a mental institution, Eliza dead the day after she told me he needed help, and now she's alive...saying he came back for her and tried to save her, lost his life in the process. That's what the police report says," she sniffed as her tears poured fresh from her eyes.  
  
"I can't believe that," she admitted with horror, her mouth opening as she breathed in through it. Quick sharp breaths that made her chest rise and fall in spurts ransacked her body.  
  
"How could he know? How could his girlfriend be complicit in kidnapping that girl and him not know anything about it? What's worse...is that it sounds exactly what I would want to hear. It sounds exactly like what I -have- been hearing from him, for years. How could I believe that he loved one girl enough to sacrifice his life for her when at times I doubted he even loved me?!" Her voice broke and she had to stand again, walking over to the body on the table and holding his charred, blackened hand. She gasped as it crumbled between her fingers and the she kept gasping, her eyes closed together as she curled her fingers around the hard metal surface instead.  
  
"He's my son. Anything he might have done, he's my son! My first son! He wasn't Gustav's, he belongs to me! And I love him, I love him with all my heart. My pride and my joy...didn't he know that? Now I will never know! What could I have done? I thought...we were happy. I thought we were all happy. And none of this would have happened, none of it, if I hadn't gotten Gustav out of trouble in Budapest in the first place. If I had gone to Shane sooner. How can I live like this? He's my son, and I was too late. I couldn't save him, I couldn't do anything, I can't..." She stopped as her words became discernible. Her chin finally fell, her shoulders fell as tears fell down onto the body she was hunched over.  
  
"It's not your fault, Ingrid," Laura spoke quietly, her voice only a hair above a whisper, her tone both haunting and melodic.  
  
"Just, go," Ingrid pleaded as her jaw quivered, "I need to be alone. I don't want to look at you anymore."  
  
"You will never see me again," Laura promised silently before she walked out, leaving Ingrid alone with all her sorrow and all her regret.


	73. We Stopped Keeping Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (You and I, go rough // you and i get so damn dysfunctional, we stopped keeping score...  
> there you go again, making me love you...)

{*}

"What did I tell you?" Tony closed his eyes and leaned his head back after a sigh, smiling. It had taking some convincing, a lot of metaphorical ear-pulling, some questions about his sexuality (he had of course responded back with questions about his brother's prejudices), and eventually had to include several challenges to get him there but they were here.  
  
Where was here exactly? Well, in soft and plush electronic massage chairs that were working out knots he might have had for years, getting a pedicure. Yes. They had become those Italians.  
  
"It's life-changing. Don't your feel your life changing?" He sighs. "When they write your history it'll have two periods-" he raises his fingers, "B.P. and A.P, before pedi, after pedi."  
  
"Here I was thinking it would be B.T. and A.T." Oli smirks, but his head was back in the soft, leather chair so technically he supposed he was lifting his eyebrows to the ceiling...ah well. His index finger points as he finished the thought, "Before and after Tony. Still deciding if I mean when you reappeared or when you died, we'll see."  
  
Tony chuckles and then grins before poking fun at himself.   
  
"You'll need something a bit more specific. Before Tony, during Tony, after Tony, during Tony again, after Tony again, during Tony again again." He opens his eyes and then grins again. "Well, I've made my point."  
  
"Ah, true enough--and during again, actually, today starts a new era, fratello!" He sits back, enjoying the jets on his feet more than he could ever admit aloud. The rest alone was welcome.  
  
Yeah, great, Tony thinks. New era starting today. Granted it could have started a little better but beggars couldn't be choosers.  
  
In his brother's defense, Olivier has to admit...the electronic message was sort of...heavenly, at that moment. He could have just called for his usual masseuse but he supposes this way he wasn't pulling the woman from her bed (it was late, after all). Of course it was Teresa who'd said she could give the pedicure's so, that was different. He chuckles and adds,   
  
"All right though, I will admit this is...not unpleasant."  
  
With the silence, and the massaging coupled with small jet streams of hot water to his feet- he had to snort at it being just 'not unpleasant.' "You're such a double negative."   
  
"Wouldn't that be that I'm new one though?"  
  
"I know what I said." Tony might not have the best handle on it while he was intoxicated but he was sober now, for the most part.  
  
Sighing back and relaxing, Olivier hums easily under his breath...waits a few minutes as his mind inevitably returns there, and asks.   
  
"Hey, Tonio?  
  
Tony's eyes fell closed as his brothers does. It took a few more minutes of silence but eventually he spoke up again.  
  
"What up, bud?"  
  
Besides, Olivier was idle, more breathed as his mind continued to work over the information he had learned today. Amongst the victory snogging, reunions, phone calls good or bad-- he couldn't get Daniella's face from his mind. That itself was not that uncommon, but the face she'd made...  
  
Mi madone, he loved her face: how guarded and expressive she could be. He clears his throat, saying passing casual, "Did you know-I mean, did Daniella tell you...her brother, one of the triplets...Dylan, was addicted to cocaine?"   
  
His chin comes down as his eyebrows fill in the rest easily: 'that I was inadvertently selling him and supplying him with.' Tony's eyes flew open, brows arching with it.   
  
"Fuck me sideways, are you serious?"   
  
"Rather not-"   
  
Aha aha,...aha. Figure of speech obviously but Tony just made a face and let it pass.  
  
Tony grimaced and then whistled under his breath. Oli didn't need to say it out loud- the drug had been provided by Chez D'Grey. Olivier remarks idly under his breath with a wry twist of his lips the moment his brother said 'fuck me', but he goes still nodding at the first question. He had no idea what to say to the second.   
  
"She doesn't blame you, does she?"   
  
"...well," his feet shuffle in the water, "she didn't."   
  
He was frowning now, causing wrinkles, he thought idly remembering the goddess of the universe's saying, and then exhaled. Damn. Messy situation. No wonder Daniella had wanted to bring his father down.   
  
"But then she hadn't told me either. I," Olivier rubs over his eyes again, groaning under his breath and chuckling, "guess because he's been clean eight months and because..." he sighs, "I don't think it was an accident that Pietro went to Dylan at all anyway, fairly sure," he points at Tony, cheerily even as his eyes were closed, "you already took care of the person to blame."   
  
Tony was still frowning even as Olivier comments all cheerily on his patricide. He shook his head and then pointed out.  
  
"Yeah but the drugs are still running around and now you're the one in charge, the capo." Shrugging before he closes his eyes, saying casually, "Facilitating fatal addictions to the entirety of Paris is a strange way to keep this city safe."  
  
Olivier almost flinches, except that the first thing Tony said had been running around the back of his mind since he'd seen Daniella. His hand clenches into the plush arm chair instead and he waits a moment looking at his brother (even though Tony's eyes were closed) before he responds. His words were simple.  
  
"That, isn't what I did. Pietro, his men, they won't be going near Dani or her family."  
  
Tony was more for the plan of getting them all arrested but sure he supposed that worked too. As a temporary buffer at least. This still didn't sit very well with him. Some deep feeling in his gut that he really couldn't chase away. Damn. Tony just kept himself immersed in the relaxation of the chair and the water. Otherwise, the knots would come back.  
  
Olivier stops talking just because he could hear it creeping into the edges of his tone: that capos tone of 'don't start with me.' Olivier didn't want to go there, he'd been the one to ask after all. Only what he really wanted to know was...  
  
"Daniella, though she--" His voice stalls as he thinks how to put it, and then he looks back at his brother.  
  
"She was lying. When she said that she hadn't told me because he was clean now--she lied." Eyebrows furrowing dangerous close to brooding, he says calmly, "I don't know much about who she is at all, do I?" His hand unclenches now.  
  
"Oddly...I think she's told you more."  
  
"Me?"   
  
Now Tony's eyes do open again, turning to look at his brother. He scoffs, "What reason would she have to lie? And yeah right. We know the same exact amount of information- Ooh that bugs you doesn't it?"   
  
Yes, it bothered him. It bothered Olivier because he didn't like magic tricks, he didn't like not knowing, he didn't like... ...feeling like he was the one who suddenly had 'over shared', it just...he felt oddly vulnerable.   
  
"I don't know why she would lie, I just know she did. The look on her face, man, it..."  
  
Maybe if was vulnerable, actually, but recognition of a...closeness.   
  
Tony arches his eyebrows, "You told her about dad, you told her about the hybrid thing, the werewolves, your plans, and I told her about dad, the handprints, we gossiped about you some too. Hmm, and you know that she's a publicist, who adopted her siblings and who came her to bring dad down because he was the reason for the misery and her brother's addiction.  
  
Tony shrugs, "I don't know, it sounds pretty even. And even if it isn't? So what? You gotta give to get, and everyone has their own divulging timeline."   
  
Olivier waves his hand through his brother's list counting them off and then he exhales at the last point.   
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I guess--it just..." Olivier was tilting his head, the smirk that appeared at 'gossip about you' twisting up as he adds, "It was more than that though. Today, when imperius--which is technically an Unforgivable anyway--didn't work, she called this friend of hers, Amalie...I liked her." He chuckles once at that. "I did, but the pair of them proceeded to use dark, hell--blood, magic like it was...like it was nothing. I mean at least that explains why she's--I mean, with the hybrid, thing..." He shakes his head, "I'd been wondering."  
  
Adjusting in the chair he waits a minute to consider, as Teresa had come back with the properly warmed hot stones and he was lost in learning a new definition of heaven. When he opens his eyes he says more assuredly, not honestly minding what Teresa heard as frankly, "girl problems" were as dangerous to him as "i gave them pedicures".  
  
"The look on her face--it went from horror, to betrayal, to guilt, apology--then it hardened. It just disappeared. I couldn't read her. But just--just for a second," he breathes out, gesturing through the list, hand falling now to rest on his chest, "because then I recognized it: it's a look I've, given." Olivier pauses, thinking how to possibly put it into words and smirking by the time he says.  
  
"She was...playing."  
  
Oh, now he was even more intrigued. Tony whistled under his breath again, drawing it out and then shook his head. "Damn. I've said it once, I'll say it again. Lady's a fuh-reeeeak." He nodded and then took his feet out of the water for a moment, resting them on the edge of the little tub thing, whatever it was called and leaned further sideways.  
  
"She is the daughter of Ryan Faye and Tiger Baptiste, you know. The blood magic makes some sense...freeaaaaak."   
  
Olivier wiggled both eyebrows as he lifted his foot and sinks deeper into the leather chair, letting the rolling vibrations soothe and distract for a minute. Then he chuckled, "Oh, and she said that too--who her parents are, freak, yes." He shrugs a shoulder. "But seeing as how her parents went out of their way not to involve her..."  
  
The sentence drifts away from him with his hand and he looks sideways at Tony again, curious.   
  
"Yeah, but she emancipated herself." Tony hits his hand into the air, waving through a smirk, "She's got neglect issues man, one of the reasons we all get along. We're just fumbling through the grey, trying to find a heart that's not walking away." Tony nods and then laughs at himself only to sigh. Floating on a cloud.  
  
Tony shakes his head, "I want to meet this friend too. Anybody that Daniella trusts enough to perform some blood ritual," he tried not to wince but a shiver traveled down his spine, "with, probably someone you should keep an eye on. And I mean that as a boyfriend, not a capo, capisce?"  
  
"Si, si." Olivier waves his hand off as his brother altered at the last minute to say 'as a boyfriend', exasperation turning to wry amusement. "Well. Have to ask, if Amalie's here to -steal- her...I mean, I have no problem sharing that way."  
  
"So she's hot?"   
  
Olivier chuckles.   
  
"Oh-hooo-yeah." The laugh and groan sound was mixed with a sigh as both feet were released and he slips them back into the water, nodding to Teresa and adding to her, "Thanks."   
  
Theresa just nodded, a small smile on her lips and moved to Tony again, while Olivier relaxed back in the water. He pumps his fist with a whispered 'yesss' before chuckling. He was amused to hear that little question; to see his brother smirk at the idea when he knew, Tony was trying not to think about Stefanie.   
  
Hot stones. Oh man. There was no greater joy to be found in life right now. Tony leaned his head back again as he kept listening to Olivier, frowning a bit before settling on smirking.  
   
"You think she's playing with you?" Normally, that would be a psychotic death wish though. Hopefully...  
  
"And you're sure you're just not over thinking this?"  
  
"Over thinking? I mean--I don't think she's...been, playing -me-, no. That..." He frowns slightly and then says simply, "I'd have noticed--and if that was all it was she...well, there was no need to-the hybrid, thing..." Oh, bother he was getting twisted off in his words. So he stops. Looks his brother, straight on, and says softer,  
  
"What do you think of her? Honestly?"  
  
What he was more focused on was if this best friend was so important to Daniella how come they haven't heard of her before? Liked her privacy yeah, sure there was also that. He liked his privacy too but the name of a best friend here and there wasn't something you kept unless you were thinking about it. Now he was over-thinking.  
  
Turning towards his brother again at the question, he bit his bottom lip thinking about it. Tony remembered the conversation he had with Dani, and how he told her she was in an unique position to make or break his brother. But was she treating him right? Well, he liked her, there wasn't any particular reason. He just did.  
  
"I like her, man. She's gorgeous, got a good sense of humor, real quick, real sharp. She seems like...she has it together. Maybe that's a facade, sure, but its impressive even to just appear that way. I was wary at first 'cause she was spending so much time over at the penthouse and you had filled her in so quickly but she's got a good heart. Didn't have to tuck me in and make sure I didn't choke on my vomit." Tony smirked then shrugged again.  
  
"I don't know, she's cool. And she's a freeaaak who cares about you. That's a-okay in my book."  
  
Listening closely, he nods as he felt reassured by Tony's description: they matched how he thought too, except there were...other things too. He didn't know how to put into words, actually, and says lightly,* Yeah. Maybe you could help me out here, Caeser, because what I can't get past is..."  
  
Olivier fumbles for a second.  
  
"She cut herself.  When we, well mostly me but, were cooking. Badly, it was deep and the blood--it was right there...and it was red. Not maroon or purple," it made a serious difference in taste, "red, that's how deep." He exhales through a quick look to Teresa, relaxing briefly to see she hadn't flinched. He was grateful for that, even as she had to be more used to this than others. Or, maybe he looked away because he didn't want to see Tony flinch. It was odd to him to think he could...talk about this with his brother now; but, Roswell was gone. Gina was dead. They could--they had, to think about what-now. (Talk about fumbling through the grey).  
  
He clears his throat.   
  
"And I--I know I scared her; hell, I could hear it, which... *That alone was evidence to him his upped consumption; they couldn't exactly normally hear human hearts. His brows furrow.* But she just looked at my face-my eyes, and then not only basically shoved her arm in my face but...kissed me. While I still had he--no, she flat out attacked my mouth. *He smirks, echoing,* Yeah, freeeeak. It just...it was...I need another adjective, because I am not saying 'nice' or 'sweet.' Especially since she accused me of acting like Edward Cullen."  
  
At that he groans, chuckling good-naturedly to himself and shrugging a shoulder as he looks away, and then drifts the gaze back to his brother.  
  
Tony tried not to shiver but whether it was in distaste or craving, he rather not know. All this story was doing though was putting Dani as even more of a freak. Damn. He personally couldn't imagine any sane person enjoying getting their blood sucked but then again he was constantly being told otherwise and it made sense that Daniella wasn't exactly sane. She practiced dark magic, and liked to get her blood drank. Alright.  
  
"Cullen?" Tony winces, "That's a low blow."   
  
Especially when out of the both of them, the one who had more in common with that sparkly bitch was Tony. This was putting things into perspective here.  
  
"Tell me about it. I mean, I still think Damon Salvatore's the better comparison but -- like, seriously." He shakes his head, leaning back as he snaps his fingers and lets the water recede before crossing his ankles on the little cushion that appeared.  
  
Tony snorts.   
  
"You wish." He chuckled then and began to wonder what it would be like to sleep in this chair. It would actually be quite comfortable- he had slept in worse and more uncomfortable places than this. After all, he had gone to college and fraternity houses were absolutely disgusting. One time he also slept on top of a kitchen table, that was pretty bad.  
  
There were another few minutes of resting, letting the water, the jets, the massage just relax him. They really needed these chairs at home on a permanent basis. Actually, they needed every single thing at home, always. Where Tony could get pedicures every month or so- was a month the right amount of time? Who knew. All that was true to him at that moment was that Teresa had magical hands and he might start praying to them.  
  
When Teresa got up again, he nods to her idly, beckoning so he could give her a (generously sized) tip, and then says calmly.   
  
"Hey uh. Speaking of neglect issues."  
  
He just looked Tonio.  
  
"Thank you Teresa," Tony murmured too and then groaned before opening his eyes again. "Whaaat?" He raised a finger to point.   
  
"You better not be trying to get me to talk too."  
  
Olivier was utterly anti-eviction-from-chair though, at that moment. Breathing out, he chuckles at the finger wave and almost took it back. But he was Olivier D'Grey dammit, and no he hadn't forgotten what that meant. He was stubborn, willful, and he didn't get deterred from something just because of a momentary wave of embarrassment (he didn't bow to it, period).   
  
"Aha, er, no. You could mime it to me if you want Chaplin, wouldn't want you to break some holy vow of silence," spit it out, Olive oil, "-- I just need an address."  
  
"As if I were capable of any kind of silence for any amount of time." Tony chuckled and then shook his head. Olivier arches an eyebrow, breathes out and only says, "Madre."  
  
Tony found himself sitting up, turning in his chair to look at Olivier better.   
  
He wanted to go visit their mother? Twenty-five years later...after mentioning her maybe twice that Tony could remember...he wanted to go visit her? Then again, when they talked about her Oli had mentioned the safety concern but with the death eaters gone well, it was safe again right?  
  
And huh how about that, silence from him. He lost the ability to speak as he gathered his thoughts. But out of all the questions he had, not one of them came out.  
  
"77 Montpelier, Arbour Hill, Dublin."  
  
Olivier didn't move (or breathe) while his brother seemed to survey him. Was it so shocking a question? (Well, yes). Was the request insane? (Likely, yes). Was he acting childish wanting to see her (did he want to see her?), even though he'd just in one broad stroke and fight, taken the country back--hardly a childish action?  
  
Of course, there were half a dozen puff pieces out in the morning; he already had one biographer begging to bend his ear. Those requests he'd keep from Tony; he did not want some tell-all from his little brother about what precisely it took undercover to throw the Death Eaters out. Tony would... ...well, frankly, he'd be too honest. The public didn't want honesty. They would not want to hear the truth: that beating a monster like Roswell required monstrosity in return. No, they wanted heroes and martyrs, and he'd given plenty of both to the press all evening before begging for privacy. The name "D'Grey" would be in the papers the next few day as those who'd heroically risked life and limb (all the while pushing them to ask their real questions of Harper. He was the real hero, he swore to them (and wasn't lying); his part was humble in comparison (that was only half a lie). Olivier knew damn well all those comments from him would do is have the English and French presses do is meet one Mrs. Lyndsi Brackner.   
  
Maybe he should rephrase that as "meet Lyndsi's heel and the front door of the manor", but he digressed.  
  
He was proud, dammit. He was proud and if ever there was a moment to seize it was this one and yes. Yes, he wanted to know what Belle, his mother, whatever that meant, thought. He breathes out, as Tony gave him the address (thinks instinctively: good, don't write it down--and winces at the lesson from father).  
  
He nods, rubbing over his lips and after a few moments says calmly, "Thanks. I...don't know if I could have found her otherwise," he was just reciting facts now, hell, "because any method I have was ...well, she...hid from Dad first."  
  
Yeah and pretty efficiently. Well, that's what he thought anyways given that when he'd visited her she had remarked (to assure him after several leading questions) that she had never again received contact from Remington or anyone he worked for after she had left him. Well, left was not the best term. In fact, it was pretty lousy term.  
  
Maybe that's why he was hesitant to have Olivier finally meet their mother as much as he was thrilled. A part of him wanted Olivier to realize the downright...amazing woman, mom was, while another part told him to remember that it might not even matter if Olivier continued to blame her for leaving. Tony understood, he was angry too on his brother's behalf. Then of course there was the matter that no matter what happened, there'd be no place for them in her life anymore, and maybe it was better that way. At least, as long as Oli continued his...reign.  
  
Inhale, exhale. There's a beat.  
  
"I just want to meet her. I know it's childish, I just...want to meet her."  
  
"It's not childish." Tony spoke softly after a brief shake of his head. "I understand. Do you need to do this alone?"   
  
Did he need to do this alone?  Olivier tilts his head, glad for the question instead of Tony just offering to come: his brother knew him well. He swivels on the chair, chuckles out as it's presupposing he's definitely going then. His elbow comes down on his thigh, digging in before he says first, half retorting in petulance, "It feels childish."  
  
Tony has to bite his tongue. So what if it was childish? What was wrong with being a child? Being a child was great. If he didn't love sex and alcohol so much, Tony might have actively found a way to stay a child forever. Like Peter Pan.  
  
Olivier rests against hands that fist together, leaning on his knees, looking pensive towards the ground, quiet and at ease. Inhale, exhale. It did though; he felt about six years old, only when he was meeting Tony there was a...massive difference beyond just their ages. A small smile crawls on his face.   
  
"Do you remember, the little suit I had on when we met?"  
  
Oli's eyes lift to his brothers, looking wry only as he's assuming that Tony was about to tease him for it. He chuckles under his breath,* Nonna didn't tell me who you were, just that it was important so--" easily poking fun at himself, he literally prods his chest, "five years old,  that meant of course I had to dress up, found my best suit," His hand comes up as he waves over his head, taking a beat and then again smirks as he adds on Tony's behalf, "-- did my hair."  
  
"I remember that little three-piece! Ha!" He laughed and then shook his head, with a smirk. He nodded through as he followed Oli's logic. Only a five year old raised by Remington D'Grey would decide to pick a suit to meet someone important. He had received the same instruction, and he had jumped instead of walked all the way to the church in jeans a t-shirt while he ran a list of names with Nonna trying to guess who it was.  
  
Olivier's head tilts. The pattern on the rug was exceptionally interesting; all those different colored triangles locking together only to spiral away as if they'd never met at all. Olivier brushes his fingers over his mouth, and he says quietly.  
  
"I didn't know you existed, obviously, but...I, uh. I -- did think I was meeting family. I, uh." His gaze flicks to his brothers, holds for a second and then (with a sigh) back to the rug. "I thought I was meeting Mom."   
  
Tony's smirk faded as Olivier revealed that he thought he was meeting mom that day. Ouch, that hurt. Thinking of a little five year old Olivier picking out a suit for their mother. Damn.  
  
Oli shakes his head to himself, taking a moment to calm. Then he looks up, adding,   
  
"I mean, I was overjoyed when she explained, I--couldn't believe that I actually had a little brother, and I was so glad. I don't think I even...thought of her, once, that whole weekend. Which is strange, considering I knew you were going back to her, I just..." His voice dies out and he shakes his head as if to throw the words away, finally lifting his chin off his hand as he laughs and says cheekily, "Well if I remember properly, you didn't exactly let me have a moment to think. Or breathe. I say this with tutto l'amore fratello, of course."  
  
"Of course." Tony agreed with a small laugh, nodding. "I dragged you everywhere."   
  
"You didn't have to drag," Olivier protests lightly with honest amusement, lips flicking up, "must you always sound like I was anti having fun?"   
  
He was teasing, mostly, but the thing was: there was plenty he had dragged Tony too, and vice versa, and it always...were their worst memories. So he just focused on the happier ones; which fairly, he couldn't think of any from when they were little. They had plenty of sibling rivalry, just not over things like whose turn with was with the remote. Ha, see. He and his brother just always did things on a grande scale! It was practically in their DNA.  
  
Olivier smirks, then drops his hands together and leans back in the chair. He was only too aware he'd never said it before, but says simply anyways. "I don't think I ever considered meeting her again after...you came here, because...I'd asked Dad to have her come too. So when she didn't, I just--" he shrugs, shakes his head and says very softly, "I was angry, and I thought it was absolute proof that she never had any intention of knowing me at all, and so I tried to--well I did, for a long time, just forget about it."  
  
There was something burning in his chest. It was very aggravating; it wouldn't go out no matter how hard he rubbed over it. It wasn't painful, but it was discomforting, and it seemed to demand he pay attention to it even though he couldn't do anything about it. God, Olivier hates things like that.  
  
Tony's smile faded as Olivier explained why he never considered meeting her again. And of course, Remington was part of that problem. Would he ever stop being angry at that man? Ah, nope, not likely. Not when he knew the truth, that Remington has told her to leave and that if she tried to reach out to them again he'd kill her son. Remington meant Tony, as that how it always was: Tony was their mother's son and Oli was their father's.  
  
Even still, he knew Olivier had all the right in the world to be angry (and even if he didn't have that right, he would still be so). And he wasn't exactly the most impartial of people when it came to Remington (understatement of the millennia), so he didn't say anything. Olivier wanted to hear their mother's side of the story, and he should hear it from her.  
  
"The thing is." Olivier says slowly, his hand dropping back from his chest to his thigh, rubbing slowly, "Eliza--she, when she met Claude it...I mean obviously the situations are very different but it...God, if she'd just listened to what her mother said, she'd never have known him at all. I mean," drily, "a poet and a musician in a coffee shop? Claude Simmons?" He snorts. "Not exactly the uh, most accurate representation."  
  
"Yeah, I almost pissed my pants laughing when I heard that." He laughs again and shakes his head. Poet and musician. Claude. Yeah. And he was Madonna.  
  
It seemed like little him had been right on the money though. Tony didn't talk of his mom because he didn't want to make Oli jealous and then after because he had been so mad at her...and then after that because he didn't want to give his brother an opportunity to speak ill of her.  
  
Olivier shrugs, hand leaving his lap to and meets his brother's gaze again.  
  
"I know I never asked you, I just--well when we were younger it was because I was jealous, then I thought--well, it would be reminding you of it all, when I just wanted so badly for you to be happy here, with me, so I didn't want to bring it up.   
  
Olivier swallows whatever was in his throat (irritated as it seems to burn up in the thing in his chest), and then says softer, "But because I never did, I just...I guess without knowing her side of it, I'm never going to stop putting all these reasons on it which seems ridiculous now when I could just ask her."  
  
It was, probably, the most he had ever said about his mother aloud since he'd bothered Nonna about it when he was a kid--especially to Tony. It also was probably unnecessary: Tony had said already he understood. So he didn't know why he'd just rambled it out as he had, he just....had needed to. The flames seemed to have receded in his throat, at least, though they'd left it dry in their wake.  
  
Since Dad died, Olivier had been thrown off, badly, and he hated that at first: the fact that he'd tried to turn him into a vampire alone had been...why had it shocked him so much, when he knew Dad hadn't wanted to be alone forever? (You weren't supposed to attack someone you love, that was why, and it didn't matter how many times he thought it through, it still just...stung).  
  
Honestly, sometimes it felt like he'd spent half his life bitter and angry; he ...just didn't want to be angry anymore. It didn't feel any more like rage made him stronger; rage made him lose control. Hurt did make him weaker (obviously, he knew that), but love...well.  
  
It was Tony's love for him -- that was why he was still standing by his side, and while Olivier didn't think he could ever love his mother (at least, nowhere near how he loved Tony), he didn't think hating her for so long was making him stronger either.   
  
Belle had run from him, just as she eventually did from Tony: was it fear of their hybrid selves, was it disappointment of them? Did she not want him because of Dad? He knew, all right he did; he knew he was backwards, he knew too damn well why he wouldn't be enough for someone. The bloodlust was only chapter one; he was drawn to torture, lied easily, was uncannily adept at getting others to kill for him. He knew he liked the things he shouldn't and was bored by the things he should; he knew he was torn between two species, likely as not didn't have a soul (how else did you explain his "affections"?) But she gave birth to him! She'd made the decision to sleep with Dad -- she had to have known he'd be born...different! How could she just run from what she'd created?   
  
He didn't know. He had to know.   
  
"I want to speak with her alone." Olivier nods, resolute. But then he looks up, shakes his head very slowly and adds softer, "But I think unless you come Tonio, I'm never actually going to walk through the door."  
  
"Then we'll go together." Tony said simply and then leaned back in his chair again. "And then I can just...drink Irish beer with Cormac or have a princess tea party with the girls...or something." He tilts his head, "What do you think half Irish, half Italian, half French little girls do for fun?  
  
The look Tony was giving him, his eyebrows made it clear that once again his little brother knew something he didn't, about her. Olivier almost asks, but finds his throat dry. Instead, he finds a small smile on his lips as he was reminded of the other reason entirely he wanted to go.   
  
"A princess tea party...with a ten year old? Hell man, no idea." He paused, scratching at the back of his neck as he smirks,"That's the other thing though--it does sound like we have er--ten years to catch up on as brothers with Carina and Angelina, like...hell. Christmas present-wise just to start with." He cocks an eyebrow and thinks.   
  
"You think maybe a broom? They're almost of age for secondary school."  
  
Cormac, that name threw him, but he must be the husband then--he didn't...know what to think about him, actually. The girls though? That was different. They didn't have any choice in how they were born anymore than he and Tony ever did, and also just as with Tony? Olivier had no intention of letting their sisters feel like he couldn't be their brother--if they wanted him. But then, wasn't that the big, ever-present question of his life?  
  
He pauses and then looks up adding,  
  
"Oh, by the way--you saw Nonna today? Thanks man, I got a voicemail," he smirks, "yelled at for neglect."

+.

"Say I do it."  
  
Hours before -- years ago -- the whisper on that silk throat, coming unannounced from her ottoman, would have made her leap with joy. Now she wants to kill. Stefanie's neck snaps around, jaw set in anger more than surprise. Her blue eyes enflame as if reflecting the useless thing in her chest lost to shivers and jammers.   
  
"Ansel."   
  
He ignored that, unmoved. Stefanie wished that surprised her. Why should she be listened to? It was just her flat, the only place she'd ever owned on her own dime. Just her bedroom, not like she hadn't invited Ansel in to that before! If her own brother didn't give a damn, why should Ansel? He did everything Hans wanted, after all.   
  
"Even though, I have no Earthly reason to betray the one there for me for the one who left me-"  
  
"What are you-"   
  
"Say I do it." Ansel repeats, voice still low in heat. Lounging on the spring-green ottoman, his elbows were jammed into his thighs. He wasn't looking at her, she realizes. Somehow it only makes her angrier. Intruding to have a philosophical existential crisis, and she's just supposed to stand there? What manners were those? Ansel was the one who said she was a lady, and now she's a blow up doll. Think he'd notice if she just put a cardboard Stefanie there?  
  
"Do what?" Her voice was a knife.  
  
"What you want me to."   
  
Their eyes meet. Stefanie stops breathing. Jade eyes cut into her chest. That was okay. He wasn't breathing either.   
  
"I betray your brother. I challenge him for freedom's sake. Say I do it, Stefanie. You going to say a prayer over my grave?"   
  
She knows what he means, but she doesn't want to know. Her eyes flutter shut. Hans couldn't hurt him, she wants to shout at him, but it dies in her throat. Maybe after all these years, Stefanie was finally learning. Gold star for her. Brava!  
  
Stefanie opens her eyes and looks at Ansel.  
  
All the sharp lines of his face seems to cut down to the corners of his mouth pushing them down and down. He's got his eyes closed like maybe he's dying too.  
  
The anger dies in her chest.  
  
"You want me to pray for you?" Her voice was just as sardonic as his had been, lips twisting up and she takes a few steps forward to sit on the chair opposite him. Ansel utters a dry chuckle that barely falls from his mouth, like it was made the same way a child draws all scribbly lines in red crayon and insists it's the monster under their bed. She offers none in return: her heart was too heavy to give lift a balloon of hot air. Sorry, Dorothy, Mr. Wizard's leaving without you.  
  
"Figure it can't hurt." Ansel shrugs at her, "Zach's dead."  
  
Stefanie's mouth unhinges at the jaw, but snaps shut again. Oh, of course.   
  
"Hans." She says. It's not a question, her teeth in her tongue.   
  
"Zach stole the potion from him." Ansel's voice was hard. A shiver rolls down her spine. Ansel would have done the same, she realizes, but he wasn't dumb enough to think Hans would spare him either. Code of loyalty above all, she swallows uncomfortably.  
  
His eyes were tracking her shoes. Stefanie braces herself, expecting him to ask where her heels were. No doubt in his mind, she'd been fighting at the Church in a skin-tight gown, hoop earrings, and stilettos. Men. She'd have to be superhuman for that.  
  
Instead, he says, "Nice slippers."   
  
She looks at them and finally manages a chuckle. Fluffy and grey, they had the face of a golden-eyed wolf over her toes. The laugh disappears when she remembers who gave them to her.   
  
"Marcel is dead too." She says, words heavy. Ansel doesn't react to the news, doesn't catch his breath or blink, doesn't do anything. She supposes he already knew. Funny, the way he echoes her own emptiness in that. It still seemed important to say. Admitting aloud made it real. Hans might wish to ignore it, but Stefanie would not let him. If shouting it atop the bell tower so recently aflame was what it takes to get people to notice her baby brother had been murdered, she would do that too.   
  
It had fallen to her to retrieve his body, when Hans refused to. He had not said much of anything when she told him -- had seemed dejected already. Now she knew why (Ansel told her, the truth complete, Ansel always told her), and she feels sparks splutter flickers of anger, hot, brief, buried deep in her chest. He'd lost his precious potion. That, he would allow himself to avenge, but not their brother. Stef doesn't remember what she shouted at him, only the look on his face. His lip had trembled as it had when Lawrence was a boy.   
  
How strange it is to think it takes losing their brother to glimpse the shadows Hans lives his life in. She clings to the memory. Then his jaw hardened, his eyes darkened, and he looks like Father.   
  
(When she told him so, he told her to get out.)  
  
"I saw it." Stefanie's voice was hush. Too tired to cry, she rises now to find a candle (or else she'd have to look at Ansel, and she's so certain there will be pity there). Fingers that look unkindly like bones peel back a curtain like a film strip, let the moon shine to her carpet. The fabric rips when she ties it off. Standing the wax up, she doesn't have to reach for a pocket lighter, nor breathe a word of a spell. A look sets the blaze.   
  
She stands at the window, watching the single, wavering wick like it's giving her answers for an endless war. (She won't remember, she won't. Dragons do not burn). Ansel's gaze follows her, but whatever his genuine sympathy, her throat was too dry at the images to speak. His is the same, for a different reason, a reason wholly male. Looking like a wife watching for her sailor husband to return on a hillside, it seems to him the ropes of golden hair she's let hang have been stolen by a nonexistent wind. Distant, alone...she looks regal, in a silk robe and wolf puppy slippers.   
  
"I'll pray for you, if you pray with me." She says, and he stands, beckoned by her open hand as if she'd tugged on a string attached to his navel.   
  
Running a hand through his short crop of raven hair, he decides it's poor form to point out he'd been sarcastic, and he goes. He even takes her hand -- then squeezes too hard when he sees the candles base has Latin inscribed on the wax. She'd purchased the candle in Rome. Oh, Stefanie, his gaze says as he meets her eyes again: ever trapped in contradictions and yearning for fairytales.   
  
Ansel's distracted this close to her, and when he looks at her blonde hair (and the wide, easy smile), she knows she's not thinking of her. That's all right though, -really-. She thinks of her knight now, looking at the Big Bad Wolf beside her. He must have loved her, even a little bit. Nobody could pretend that much. Nobody could kiss that well and so wholly if they truly didn't care.  
  
Her nails peel into his skin, though she doesn't know which one of them she truly wants to tear into. When Ansel gasps, disbelief in his handsome smirk, all she sees is honesty. It hurt him for a second -- just a second -- and Stefanie wants to live a thousand years in the knowledge she could reach him still.   
  
"I'm sorry for your brother," he finally says back, rubbing his palm off on his sleeve. She sees the blood. It glistens unreal in the candlelight, scarlet, bright and she grabs for it, hangs on to his wrist.   
  
"I'm sorry--I didn't mean to -- oh my God, I drew blood -- " she says as she squeezes, hard, and Ansel loses himself to chuckles for a second. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he shakes his head and expels her fear as if he's throwing it away.   
  
"Don't apologize for that." He said. The smirk is shadowed in his eyes, but he admits, "I kind of like it."   
  
She wants to be cruel in return (why was it everyone she knows disdains of compassion?) but can't find the will to hurt him. To hurt anyone else tonight, right now, ravaged herself, fingers curling around his warmth. Tears and saliva and blood had left her slick with the spoils of victory already; she can't be anything but smooth.  
  
"That's because," she whispers back at him, "you never learned to love without leaving a mark."  
   
"Oh, is that why?" The flippant response he gives her tugs the corners of her lips. Down or up? She doesn't know. Maybe one went one way and the other, the other.   
  
"Yes."  
  
"You liked it."  
  
Oh for heavens sakes--he was -- he was, as petulant as her, yes, fine, hypocrite she was (except she hadn't actually commented on how she felt about it; simply stated it, as a fact, because that's exactly what it was).   
  
"I leave marks too." Stefanie said. His steadfast smirk falters with the unspoken 'tell me about it, dah-ling' honesty; his jade eyes light in the shadows until she finds herself thinking of spring. Green, fresh -- sometimes she thinks Ansel's the most beautiful boy she ever met. Sometimes he's the most broken. Of anyone she's ever met, she thinks once she might have loved him best. When he swaggered into that bar in Salzburg she couldn't take her eyes off him, couldn't stop listening to him, arguing with him which of Mahler's symphonies was the most worthy, or the proper fingering on _Piano Concerto no. 32._   
  
When she discovered what he was, she hadn't cared. Had she told him that? (He must have known it; he heard her shout at Hans she wouldn't be told who to see, not by him). Yes, she was frightened of him initially, who wouldn't react that way when discovering the man you're falling for spends a day every month as a monster?   
  
(Yeah, she thinks, and you didn't care that Tony had killed someone, had put his brother first -- look how that works out now).  
  
The fear was gone when she realized that age old truth. They're more scared of you than you are of them. Ansel listened to her secrets too. But he didn't curse her for hiding the truth -- the one she buried so successfully she thinks tonight is the first time she thought of it in a decade. Telling him, she waits to see in his eyes that the trust between them was naught with big omission, but he'd kissed her instead.   
  
Ansel didn't run, didn't scream at her, only believed her when she said she'd never hurt him.   
  
When Hans gave her Colette's case file, when she'd seen those crime photos, she realized she'd been wrong about the reason for his sympathy; they were too much alike. It came to a crashing halt then. She left and he almost didn't let her go, the one fleeting thought that he could make it all go away tempting his very soul (if such a thing exists anymore; Stefanie would believe he did) but she walks out the door and he just watches the plane takes off.  
  
Why didn't he hate her? (He had once). Yet he fell into an easy friendship, exists easily around her three years later, trades teasing jabs and barbs with as much effort as blowing on feathers. If his eyes narrowed sometimes in that way of his to stick needles in her spine, he doesn't let it stop their friendship, and so she doesn't notice. And if she keeps reminding him there's no reason for him to stand by Hans --  
  
Well, she thought he hadn't heard her. Seems Stefanie was (once again, always) wrong. He'd had enough of being pushed around and subjugated, and she thinks she'd be prouder if she wasn't suddenly terrified. It wasn't in her to lose another person, not one. Hans could kill him.  
  
Or he might kill Hans.  
  
Guilt swells up in Stefanie until it's intoxicating; the aftertaste isn't one that makes her crave for more, or one that fuels hunger. Weighed down, tasting the copper she shakes her head.  
  
"Ansel," she starts now, but he places his thumb on her lips, stalling her in an all too literal fashion for the girl whose tired of men stronger than her cutting her off.  
  
"Shh, dah-ling. You don't have to."   
  
Lucky his words made her forget her annoyance. She grips onto optimism and denial like it's a lifeboat; the way he looks at him suggests it is. Ansel took his time glancing at her, eyes moving from the flames to hers with a careless grace; crinkles around the edges softening his amusement with unspoken adoration. Her shoulders fall, the pent-up determination to set him straight (to alleviate her own guilt) slips away from her like water.   
  
"I'm doing it," Ansel tells her (and she thinks she hears a coffin nail ringing as it's struck by that brass hammer), "because I want to, because it's...the right thing to do. I can transform at will now; I never need that potion again. The same is true of Rachelle, Allison, and Melissa. Hans can't lead."  
  
"Ansel," she starts again, pushing herself away from the candle, fingers gripping his wrist tightly. Then she falls silent. No words were going to be enough to encompass all the storms in her  gut, the fear and pride, the loathing and affection. She feels brittle. (She feels nothing). Head shaking once, she cuts herself off mid-sentence, mid-vowel, and lets her honesty be spoken with a look that's stronger than the candle behind her back.  
  
"I shouldn't have left you in Salzburg." She says instead.  
  
He smiles, faint.  
  
"I wasn't myself," Ansel's word feels off the script.  
  
"And as Alpha, you'll be..."  
  
"I have no desire to lead the pack to hurt another soul. Truth is, Steffie, I wouldn't have stayed with me either. I did nothing to earn your trust, nothing to earn -- well, anything."  
  
She echoes his faint smile.  
  
"Ironic you might earn it tomorrow, then." Stefanie offers as he takes her hand. Rolls it into a little ball, squeezes between both of his and looks deep into her eyes. It was a look she recognizes; he wanted guidance or leadership, or maybe for her to be his distraction this time while he steps up, while he sticks a knife in her brother's back, while he leads himself.  
  
"I never was a huge fan of irony, Stef."   
  
She chuckles once, eyes on his thumb on her wrist; the fierce wanting tender and hot in his gaze was overwhelming, sweltering, wrong, wrong, but - maybe not, maybe it was right. It was brave. That much was certain.   
  
"But I don't believe in coincidence," he adds, and she nods in agreement. Fluffy wolf ears bounce on her toes, comply easily. Her breath flutters. "And I do believe in memories that matter."   
  
(Yeah, tell me about it dah-ling, her gaze echoes as she meets his eyes again).   
  
He steps forward. Maybe it wasn't guidance he wanted. Ansel was sentimental to a fault (the crinkle-edged photograph in his wallet was testament). Maybe it was a memento, something to carry him through it --   
  
Maybe she shouldn't give this a name.  
  
Oh, God, she thinks as he tucks himself within her shadow, steps them both backwards. The warmth chokes her, cloaks her, reminds her of life and death, of her brothers and her mother and father, of how badly she wants to live. Please, don't stand that close. Too close, she has trouble breathing, has trouble thinking, has trouble. Don't hold my hands, she thinks, throwing herself free from his gently clenched fists. Don't hold me back, don't hold yourself back, just --   
  
(It's not love).  
  
She grabs his cheeks. Yanks him down, seals her lips to his, traces the lines of his cheeks with thumb and forefinger as he twists his in her yellow hair. Ice in her gut calls for the warmth the wolf lives with -- could never escape. They kiss, again, again, again, her feet danced backwards to the bed until she hit it, until she's falling with him on top of her. The weight of him was crippling, comforting. When he moves his elbows, like he's afraid he'll crush her, Stefanie snaps her thighs around his legs and tugs - hard.   
  
_Don't you dare. Fuck you, I'm not a doll. I won't break. And I look after myself._  
  
(It might be spite.)  
  
They roll in her sheets as his lips pepper her neck, tangling their wrists in polyester yellow as her hair in the sunlight, but like a golden-grey in this candle and moonlit room. Shirt gone (she thinks it, along with her nightgown), melts into nothingness from their heat. Nails dig at his back. There's a growl in her ear. She gives him a laugh, another kiss somewhere on his shoulder-blade, breaks the button on his jeans in fumbling for the clasp.   
  
(It might be their youth.)  
  
The pounding beat of her heart reminds her; he could hear it. Red lips burn over it, tongue languishing around a peaked cherry nipple. He can taste it, hear it, could seem to read her mind by how well he knew her body (she'd forgotten that, somehow, forgotten and now it makes her mad) -- she hisses, sits back, settled on his thigh, but as he massages her chest above him, bouncing with her, she moans. Screw it. He knew if she swallowed it. Every man she knew could use supernatural skills against her; why had she ever bothered learning poker?  
  
(Maybe it was jealousy.)  
  
Ansel lifts her waist, pulls her straddling in a warm, wet path up his stomach. He's effortless in strength, striving to taste every inch of her skin. Wandering mouth across her stomach, she reaches one hand for the metal frame, the other twisting in his dark hair. His hands squeeze, pulling her closer to his mouth. Knees digging in her sheets, her ankles tuck in his lower back, pulling him up. White-knuckled, Stef grips her headboard, grinds down. She sweats. He nips; she gasps. Playful, teasing, torturous, his tongue pokes around, around, but when she smacks him he finally touches it where she wants it. His hands still on her hips and back, he works furiously.  
  
Heaven, she thinks, hand relaxing to let go of his hair, reaching both arms up now as she reaches, reaches for that paradise she thinks she dreamed about once --  
  
(It's about nostalgia, she thinks. Making a memory as they live in the past with yearning too honest.)  
  
Tongue deserting her pink center, she squeals abruptly as he rolls, lifts, throws her back down on the bed -- but he doesn't give her time to miss him. His chest smacks into hers as he settles atop. If he acknowledged the absence, it would be like giving her up, and he can't do that. Not yet, not yet, no, he's too selfish for that. And too naive. Much too naive.   
  
(But then again, what a way it would be to say goodbye).  
  
Her hands settle on his shoulder and it makes Ansel momentarily uneasy. Stefanie never was one for silent accusations. But then, right now this isn't about words, it's about --  
  
(Lust?)  
  
Either way, Ansel deserves it, probably.   
  
His mouth is hard against hers as she slips a hand down, looking for a crack he hadn't left her in the line of their skin melded together. There's no warning as he slides into her. For them there never was. She gasps in his ear, warm. Her heart shivers as their hips grind; his breath luxuriates in the crook of her neck. Stefanie, loud and gorgeous, pulls him as close as possible. Her arms tangle on his upper back. She lets him rest there, listening to the flutters in her heart, catch every gasp, every moan. He knows there's tears sparkling in her gaze (for her brothers, for the one who bought her that candle, for him). She lets the blood stain both of them, then leans back and takes everything he chooses to put on her, every stroke, every push and for a moment he's scary to him how fragile she is -- but maybe he's just scared, because Stefanie was screaming in pleasure as her thighs loosen their grip on his hips.  
  
This has to mean something -- he tells himself as he works his way into her like he was coming home, or maybe this is just it, a circle of violence, absence, apology, and wanting that neither of them can quite give up.    
  
(It's not love. That they're sure of.)  
  
When he rolls off of her, panting and quiet in the dark, Stefanie stretches herself like a lazy cat next to him. She rests her head on his neck, kisses his lips like they just, in the tenderest of fashions, made love. Even though she knows when she wakes up in the morning, he'll be gone.  
  
Then she closes her eyes slowly, falls asleep slow and restless, like she was succumbing and let herself drown. Ansel feels the candle (long burned to nothing) spark back to life in his chest, and holds her close enough it might light for her too.


	74. French Legal Advice *

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (* yes, it's as dirty as it sounds)

Twenty-seven hours without sleep had given most of Paris a "zombie" look, but not for Sienna West. Her eyes were haunted by something deeper, but only Eliza and her father (on good days) and okay maybe Alcott if he, you know, even bothered to pay attention (ha, ha, ha!) would be able to tell. Make-up free, except for some lip gloss because who could leave the house without lip-gloss, she brushed her straight hair up to a ponytail. In a corduroy skirt and tights, her lace-up boots went to her knee just in case even the legal offices of the city were filled with 'love'. (She knew what that truly means now.)  
  
Flattening her hair once more and tugging the edge of her purple cashmere down her arm, she spoke to the clerk, "Yes, hi?"   
  
The woman tapped her sign-in sheet without looking up. Irritated, Sienna barely glanced at it before speaking again, now in a brisk tone, "Yes, hi, I don't have an appointment, I was asked to come give my statement after resting."  
  
Beady-eyed glasses pierce her until Sienna has to suppress the urge to reach over, rip them off and squish them beneath her boot. Repeating her self in broken French as best she could, the woman finally sighed and pointed with her Bic, jabbing down at the list.  
  
"You still have to sign in, Madamoiselle, we are dealing with the overflow." The French-accented words were heavily intoned and Sienna purses her lips, folding fingertips.  
  
"Yes, but I'd rather the only record of my being here be with the private lawyer, as that's privileged. See," She tries explaining, akward and vibrant smile crossing her lips, "I haven't told, my friends or my mother, because why would I, that I was seeking a lawyer, they have enough to deal with right now and --"  
  
Yup, she was getting nowhere. Luckily, at that moment she was rescued by a man that might be three times her height, sandy-haired and extremely well-dressed (she always noticed), flirting in French with the desk woman. Or so she presumed by the sudden smile on the woman's lips. Oivey, seriously?  
  
But, if he was a lawyer, she could just go with him, right?  
  
Leo had a very serious condition common in most lawyers. This condition sometimes caused his hearing to suddenly go out, completely gone, strangely whenever potentially incriminating statements were said by clients or friends. This condition, however, sometimes worked in reverse and he found himself overhearing at sonic levels. That was the such the case now in which he overheard the young lady's predicament and decided to offer a helping hand.  
  
"La meilleure partie de ma journee est a travers ces portes et vous voir," he began, reaching the desk with a smile as he told Silvie the best part of his day was seeing her.   
  
"Bonjour, Silvie, ca va?" After some quick conversation intermittent with flattery, he turned the subject to the young lady still unmoved not three feet away from him.  
  
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle," he apologized, turning to the girl directly, "are you here to see someone?"  
  
Oh, hello big blue eyes. Sienna found her own smile softening as he turned to her almost on impulse before clearing her throat and standing straighter. Focus Sienna, she told herself sternly, and blinked to clear her mind a few times before responding.  
  
"Merci, yes, I just...I'm not sure who, the farm directed me here for a lawyer I--," oh, for heavens sakes, Sie! Decidedly focusing on his left lapel after a brief venture to those smart shoes, she continued, blunt, "I was at Notre Dame."  
  
There! Smug for a moment as the woman -- Silvie -- went round-eyed, she lifts her chin and cocks her head. Not as little as she looks, is she? Busy with her mental pep talk, she takes a second to realize the man was responding.  
  
The mention of the pharm was enough to spike Leo's interest further, and when she revealed being present at Notre Dame it cemented the fact that he was now going to take care of this personally. He couldn't help but be surprised that what he'd been hearing was turning out to be true: it was just a group of teenagers against those terrorists wasn't it?  
  
Now that he looked at the young lady more directly, he was realizing that she couldn't be any older than 18, simply couldn't. Leo found himself hoping 18, for legal purposes of course because while minors could give statements, if it was headed to a court, it could easily be thrown out.   
  
"I can help you with that, mademoiselle, I've got a direct line to the farm," he extended his hand out with a smile, "Leopold Armand, assistant prosecutor."  
  
Leopold? Sienna found herself brightening at the grand name, thinking it was one that would look marvelous on stationary or gold emboss. Tilting her head as she takes his hand, she says, "Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur. Call me Sienna."  
  
And no, she was not going to be giving her full name until they were in private. There was a reason she didn't want to sign that registrar and part of it was legal. She was fully aware of her actions the previous night ending in the death of Sam (if not fully sure she understood them) but, without attorney-client privilege, her lips were sealed. And honestly, they were going to be sealed even with it, because Eliza said it would be better that way, so...  
  
"Could we step into your office?", she asks, hoping it sounds more cute than awkward (and definitely gives a wide berth to "guilty").  
  
"Enchante, Sienna," he expressed with the same smile on his face, shaking her hand and nodding at her request.  
  
"D'accord, et Silvie-" he turned to the woman again, telling her in the same quick French as before that he was going to handle this himself, and also to thank her for her diligence (he was a lawyer, he knew how to inflate the truth).  
  
"Follow me, mademoiselle," he gestured forward, moving away from the desk up to the stairs. His office was on the next floor. Reaching it, he opened the door and held it open for her.  
  
"Après vous."  
  
Following with a little nod (and yes okay maybe her eyes narrow with residual smugness to Silvie), she barely noticed he said she could go first after he gentlemanly opened the door. It was habit. And nerves. Mostly nerves.   
  
The room was nice for an assistant, she thinks, maybe small but he got a window, and she knows how important those were. People had killed for them, literally. Say what you want about being petty, Sienna could tell you plenty, but having a window meant looking outside, rather than trapped, dreary, monotony broken up only by loud posters you convince yourself look good.   
  
Although this office was clearly decorated by the management, but she appreciates the plants and weird abstract modern...uhm, painting thing, over there. Pretentious, she thinks, but he probably didn't get to choose. (Or maybe he chose it because it was weird.)  
  
Looking back to Mr. Armand once the door was shut, she slides sticky fingertips against each other while speaking soft, smiling.  
  
"Do you have any uh, water, Monsieur? My throat's dry....actually to be perfectly honest I haven't slept but, you probably haven't either if you were there...you were, weren't you? I-- if you have a direct line to the farm, I assume you're...you know," she shrugs a shoulder, eyes fluttering back up to finally meet his. "Any way. Water, Merci?"  
  
  
"I was, though only in the aftermath" he answered in a soft tone, noting that she was still a little...maybe not shaken, but more dazed, and Leo couldn't blame her. He didn't have to resort to imagination to know what she might have seen in Notre Dame as it burned down.  
  
He walked around his desk to the mini-fridge, more box than fridge really, and took a water bottle out.   
  
"Hope you don't mind, I don't like room temperature water," he stepped forward again, offering it to her with the same smile.  
  
"Please, sit, I'll pull up the template for the statement." Leo took his own seat behind the desk, powering up his desktop.  
  
"I assume you're an English citizen, Sienna?"  
  
So he was apologizing for being considerate now? Sienna pops an eyebrow, then lifts the water bottle to eye height. The seal was unbroken, untampered with, no scratch marks on the neck as if the seal was taken off and reattached wholesale -- so, probably not poisoned.   
  
(Uhm, what the hell was she doing?)   
  
Oh, I don't know, maybe being cautious for once in her life? A strange, handsome man comes up to you, rescues you from the desk clerk in a language you barely speak, ushers you off in private and yes that was what she requested but wasn't that what this D'Grey organization was so markedly good at, making you think things had been your idea? It was like her Grandmother's passive aggression about the Holidays on Adderall.   
  
"It's fine, I understand completely,"she says, undoing the cap and deciding to hell with it, taking a sip.  
  
Then she blinks, smiling uncertainly, "Yes...I am, hold on, there's a template? Seriously?" (Sienna could stop saying that now; Eliza was back to say it herself.) "They have a form letter for this kind of thing? Yes, I witnessed and was party to the destruction of a National Landmark, please sign here and check a for setting the fire, b for rescued my presumed killed friends and family, c for aiding gangsters with moral fiber and good hair, or check d for all of the above?"  
  
Maybe a little bitter, maybe.  
  
Putting in his password, he really had to change it soon actually, he nodded as she showed some surprise and was about to explain but her extended hypothetical example, less hypothetical and more accurate he assumed, stopped whatever explanation he was about to give short.  
  
Well one thing was sure, by the description of those mobsters she gave, she had met the D'Greys.  
  
"Funny, you've seemed to skip from b to d, to my hearing," he shook his head, his tone bemused.  
  
"I meant statements in general. They need to have the letterhead, the date line, the sign here line, some seals, etc, so yes, there's a template, but sadly, with no multiple questions like the one you styled."   
  
Yeah, she probably shouldn't have been so specific on that first one (though really she didn't set anything, she just contributed to the group infiltrating it, right?). Straightening up, she decides it was best to slip into the seat in front of her across his desk, gently pushing heels around the chair legs and trailing her hand down her hair until she's toying one strand around her index finger.   
  
"Oh...right, of course." Sienna tries, before deciding it wasn't going to be possible to be casual about this night.  
  
"Funny," she echoes, with an attempt at her trademark smirk, "I'd have thought you'd want to ask about C, personally."  
  
That was curious; or was it, well, intentional? Maybe as a prosecutor he kept privilege best when he didn't know. That was so counterintuitive her; she tries to figure everything and everyone out, as evidenced by the fact she was drawing conclusions about the man she just met.  
  
"Look." The corner of her mouth twitches, "Mr. Armand. I know the statement won't be, obviously, but...I was wondering, if I asked you, legal advice about last night...it would remain just between us, right? I can pay, definitely, and like you said I'm an English citizen, not a French one, so..."  
  
Leo inclined his head, showing Sienna she had a fair point, that was, if it were anyone else.  
  
"There's little you could tell me about C that I don't already know, mademoiselle," he pulled up the document on his desktop and then faced her fully, his hands together and his fingers laced as he listened to her question.  
  
"Well I'm not a common lawyer, I work for the city and take on the cases they assign, so you can't exactly hire me," he began answering, his hands now falling to the armrests of his chair.  
  
"I do some work on the side, however, pro bono, so under that I can give you legal advice and everything you share with me would be in confidence, yes. And if we were to speak in hypotheticals then there wouldn't be anything to disclose, would it?" Leo paused, leaning closer in his seat.  
  
"Forgive my intrusion, but wouldn't you prefer an English lawyer? Someone you're more familiar with, perhaps?" At least someone she had researched, not just run into at a French federal building.   
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Sienna pauses long enough to let her hair drop again, chin tilt back and laugh.   
  
"...oh, why am I not surprised that you know D'Grey?" It seemed everyone in Paris did, after all, or at least knew of him even though half barely hid their disgust. (She thinks that must amuse him but, admittedly that was Devin and Alcott's supposition more than her own.)  
  
Drowning her throat in the water bottle again (in for a penny, in for a pound); Sienna finished it in one long gulp and then gasped out, leaned over, and put the bottle down on his desk. Her index finger scooted it over so she could continue to look at him.  
  
"Forgive me," she says sardonically, "but at this moment I'm not very inclined to trust any government which includes Kevan Roswell spending nine years harboring and covering up for his murderous, rapist, kidnapping bastard brother. With no offense meant to Dev's father," she doesn't bother explaining that out as she figures he can figure Devin's identity out, "or his mother, they aren't to blame, they can't have eyes everywhere. I simply...well, would prefer to keep this well out, of where they...*might* have eyes, because God knows they're going to be everywhere in England now. So...in answer to your question," she claps her hands together, sits up straight and smiles.  
  
"I want a lawyer who doesn't owe the English farm anything. Paris seemed a good place to start."  
  
"I've had the displeasure of his acquaintance once or twice," he answered in what he considered to be an amicably enough tone, but one that no doubt would be criticized by his friend Antonio if he were here, because no one else was supposed to find his brother unpleasant except for him. And, oh yes, not friend, he was still on probation and truthfully, all of this didn't get him off it.  
  
Sienna must have been right about him not getting much sleep, even though he hasn't had a decent nights sleep since 2020, because it wasn't his waking, conscious thoughts that replaced the water bottle she downed for much something much stronger, and it certainly wasn't them that pictured her with her hair down. He wasn't even that much of a drinker for God's sake.  
  
"Good point," he nodded once he was focused again, managing a small laugh. There were very little people in the world that detested England more than the French. It was practically an animosity written in blood.  
  
"Though there are still a great number of lawyers in Paris, mademoiselle. Ones you could more legally bind to confidentiality by hiring them, versus what I offer which boils down to, essentially, my word."  
"Am I to take that to mean your word is distrustworthy?" Sienna asked with an eyebrow arch, even though honestly, she'd been checking the water bottle for poison: there wasn't very much she did trust anymore. Except, as he was pointing out, a complete stranger in Paris a half decade older than her. That worked out well last time!   
  
Tapping the plastic edge of the water bottle and tugging the chair a little closer so as to glance at the template he brought up, she smiles. Habits of snooping die hard, evidently. Then she looks back at him.  
  
"What about the fact you just said it was displeasurable to meet D'Grey - should I take what is, generally I imagine a healthy impression to leave me with, with a grain of salt because it was only your word to back it up?"  
  
Her nail raps on the desk again before she pulls back in the chair and sits up straighter again to eye him.  
  
"I didn't finish giving you my own name, I didn't want to be overheard -- I'm Sienna West. Or, er, rather - if this is a legal document it'd be Miranda Sienna West, but I prefer to be known by my middle name. I was at Notre Dame on the advice of one I consider trustworthy, often to my detriment even if he does have good intentions, his girlfriend, and the word of two people I love very much who I thought had died. One, in November, and one who is the first's father, nine years ago. As you can gather I'm incredibly involved, entangled rather, and honestly at this point I'd really prefer to get this statement over and done with Mr. Armand. Though yes now, I am wondering if those apparently displeasurable meetings involved payment of any kind and that's why you're so eager to deny your word."  
  
Sienna was smiling again.  
  
"Merely that a word is sadly not enough anymore for most, the word of a French government lawyer I would assume even less. I'm aware I'm making myself sound undesirable" he chuckled and then continued, "Merely ensuring you're confident in the decision."   
  
He was glad, however, that she felt his use of 'displeasure' to be a positive aspect rather than a negative one. After all, you could never be too sure especially as Sienna said, she had helped them.   
  
"I'd never trust anything a lawyer says," he answered in a tease that contained too much truth for it to be a cheerful note for too long.  
  
Once she gave her full name, he typed it into the form, but the rest was not specific enough for him to immediately write down, though he did memorize almost all of it so that when she did, he could type it easier.  
  
With a small chuckle, he looked away from the monitor and back to Sienna. It was ironic really, given that money had switched hands yes, but not in the direction she was expecting.  
  
"I do have some integrity, Sienna," he smiled and then returned his hands to the keyboard and his gaze to the monitor.  
  
"Whenever you're ready to begin, mademoiselle, give as detailed an account of the events as you can, don't worry about the wording, I'll take care of that as I write it out."  
  
"Some, well, that's comforting." Sienna remarked calmly, almost managing to mask her own displeasure. She was British, she thinks with a back now ramrod straight in the chair, they carry on because they must. Then she adds (equally because she must, some things weren't going to change even if she was culpable for murder), "That wasn't a yes or a no."  
  
"No," he stalls, looking back up after a pause and then finishing, "no it wasn't."  
  
They could return to that aspect, however, after they got this statement written. He decided to write in Sienna's point of view, his fingers flying across the keyboard, making adjustments wherever he saw fit, and providing last names that he had memorized over the course of so many statements.  
  
It was a qualification, she thinks with a soft exhale. Mr. Leopold had decidedly side stepped her question. Feeling better that her tired mind was still sharp enough to pull that out, she settles hands in her lap before meeting his gaze again to speak.  
  
"Yesterday...Al called me, around noon. That's Alcott Brackner, he..." no way in hell (and a Parisian government lawyer's office was close) was she explaining their past, "told me to change into comfortable shoes."  
  
Her smile flicks, eyes a bit distant as she murmurs, "Knows me better than he admits" before clearing her throat again and continuing.  
  
"He said that he and Devin had broken through Nadia's memory lock thing. I don't have any idea how it worked; I knew Dev had started suspecting Paris day or so before that, but, they weren't inclined on keeping me in the loop much without Eliza..."  
  
Rory, oddly, had been her closest confidant -- and Nick, who knew things about her now she couldn't begin to understand how she had told him.  
  
Sienna cleared her throat.  
  
"Nadia had remembered a lot more than Dev, though, she remembered where the people who kidnapped her had been and she remembered a man there she'd promised to help get out too. Al was already up in arms about finding this man, called himself Angel, because the memory trick was one of his Dad's. So he went off to call me and others, I guess that must be when Nadia told Dev Angel *was* Al's father--oh hold on, this is hearsay, isn't it?"  
  
She rubs her forehead and then continues a bit more briskly.  
  
"Alcott told me to meet him and his mother at his house. When I got there, it was just D'Grey and Lyndsea, he'd gone to meet Hans. Nadia was, they said, at Brandin Faye's house, to get him to break the wards down...Devin had gone to call Lynn, his sister." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip the moment she said Hans name and didn't let go.  
  
"D'Grey got a call, then we got in this monstrous car he had to get to train station, and we kind of...breezed by security, they knew him? I guess? Stepped through the door and voila, Paris. Another car and we were in Notre Dame. It was...bustling, probably two in the afternoon, two-thirty? D'Grey took us around back, there were tourists everywhere...he said we had to wait for the signals, I don't know what they were, all I know is he told Lyndsea that Al was already inside the compound and she didn't bat an eyelash, didn't quiver, didn't quake, but I swear her face went white. Just stark, white."   
  
The more he wrote it down, the more he realized how futile it would be as a case; no judge was going to accept a case against D'Grey despite the fact that there was clear conspiracy with English teenagers, a man imprisoned for ten years and a very unpleasant werewolf that didn't technically exist.  
  
"And then he got another text, added very seriously we both were going to recognize more than just Al -- we were recognized by someone or, he was, this...guard, I don't know who, he went to attack D'Grey, lunged at him with a knife --"  
  
No, the man hadn't done more than shout but Sienna wasn't going to say that, she knew much better than to implicate a capo in murder. That was just asking to 'disappear', like Harper had, like Eliza had.   
  
"D'Grey jammed a candlestick in his throat before he could shout for help." She says stiffly, matter of fact, eyes deadset on Leopold Armand's. Frankly, she was more curious his reaction to it than she cared for her own appearance of nonchalance anymore. The man was one of many she saw killed, why should she feign distress at arguably the neatest and most silent?  
  
(No wonder D'Grey was so good at making people disappear).  
  
Leo very much doubted the explanation of self-defense for that murder, as evidenced by a raised eyebrow, but apart from that he didn't even blink as he wrote it down along with everything else.   
  
"Mr. Leopold?" She pauses her story, a faint smile on her lips, fingernails fanning over her throat.  
  
  
He suddenly looks up as she pauses, "Oui?"  
  
 "I feel compelled to add I only met D'Grey that day. I was trusting him on the basis that Alcott did, or rather, that Nadia did. Al's never been the greatest judge of character."  
  
Leo nodded, thinking that it was actually a very important detail, "I'll add that in." He turned back to the monitor, found the best spot to add it in that it was her first meeting with the man and then turned back to Sienna.  
  
"Continue, s'il vous plait."  
  
Nodding with a soft smile, more of smug bemusement at the idea she'd been impressive than anything else, Sienna continued her story.  
  
"After the candlestick, D'Grey opened a cupboard in the reliquary, shoved the man in and then sent this...final text message, I don't know to who. He took us to the crypts, opened this door in one of them, like it was an empty grave, with a staircase in it and we took out torches and he sent us down. Said he had to stay upstairs to let more people in silently -- I think, the plan was to keep our infiltration as much a secret until it couldn't be anymore. I know he let in Rory behind me, Al's uncle, and Nadia and Devin...I didn't know that on the otherside, near the confessionals there was another hidden door, which Harper had opened to let people in. Don't know why he didn't just escape either I...guess because Alcott was still inside? All I know is next thing I know, Lyndsea's shoving me out of the way of spells and all hell's breaking loose."  
  
She clears her throat again, gently patting her throat.  
  
"One of the terrorists set fire to the building, or it might have been our spells, that I don't know...I just know it was havoc. Fire everywhere. Weren't sure anymore who we were fighting or who we were rescuing though the ones aiming at us was probably a good bet. I went back towards the stairs, up them -- I was meant to keep cover and give it to the people trying to get out...I fought. For a while. Just to...clear debris, try and stay alive, clear tourists out..."  
  
Sweat drips into her eye off her eyebrow and Sienna frowns briefly, embarrassed by the show of weakness. There were no more flames now, she tries to tell herself, no reason to sweat.  
  
"I saw a spell headed towards Lynn and," there's a tiny note of laughter in her voice as she adds, "Hols, Holly-Rae Graft, Al's girl. They fought side by side. For a second we did too, then we didn't. Funny how things can last for a minute and seem like an hour. It was war, Mr. Leopold."   
  
Now there's a note of pride in her voice as after all, it was a war they'd won.  
  
"Then...I saw Max, that's Al's uncle, only he was just trying to put the fire out -- he's on the rescue squad you know, London firehouse, and well, we weren't where the thick of the battle was, I gathered, it was Max and Rory...trying to rescue people. I went with them, Rory said...said something about prisons, I don't know? We heard someone pleading for help and..." Her face softens, transforms, transported by the memory of one of those minutes that was lasting an hour.  
  
"It was...Eliza. My best friend, Rory's girlfriend...you have to understand, Mr. Leopold, she was dead. We were sure of it. We'd buried her! A little over a month ago, I...I watched them put her in the ground and I gave a eulogy and she was just gone, until suddenly, she wasn't anymore. I don't know what happened. I was with her for a few hours last night, with her parents - but, she didn't have the chance to explain anything right then. There was this...girl trapped behind and under some of the fallen marble, Jade, Liza said her name was...she was pleading to get Jade out. I didn't know if she was hurt or if she just didn't want to live, I was too busy being shocked I guess but -- Rory did. Rory's like that. He helped Liza get her out, was able to give him to Max."  
  
She clears her throat, a blissful smile on her lips if only for a moment.  
  
"There was a collapse of the structure behind us, Max shouted to stay put, Eliza...said he had to make sure Jade got out," her smile fades, and then she makes a clear decision in a flash.  
  
"He went, and then more of the ceiling around us fell...was burning...Eliza and Rory were literally ripped apart. Crawling out of the same spot Jade came through, the prisons," she was looking the lawyer dead on, jaw tight but voice steady, "was Sam Roswell. He was on the same side of the debris Eliza was, he picked her up and pushed her over it before trying to help himself at all, she fell into Rory's arms, turned around and we both went to try and tug Sam over."  
  
Flames had been everywhere, stone dust and gas choking her lungs (unless that had been Sam's spell that held her on the wall). Tears cloud her eyes almost on cue, voice shaking, spine shivering and she let her eyes drop as if in shame. Devin always had said she was worth a BAFTA when she needed to be.  
  
"It was s-so hot, my hand, it was so s-sweaty, it was an accident, his hand just slipped amd then he, he did and he let go of us both and fell back, and the last thing h-he did, his elbow, it shoved Eliza forward...and then this beam fell, and the flames swallowed him up."  
  
She rubs over her eyes hard to forestall any tears dropping, then reaches into her purse to pull out Kleenex. At least this way she didn't have to ask him for anymore. That sounded good, she thinks. It sounded true. It was an accident, after all, and it was the beam that killed him, absolutely and yes, she believes it, she could believe it because she has to, so she does. That's what happened.  
  
Lowering the Kleenex after dabbing her eyes clean and pushing it balled up in her clutch, she looks the lawyer straight on again.  
  
"We tried to put the fire out as much as we could...it was being extinguished above of us, obviously. When Max returned with half the squad of policia, he dug the three of us out and we went back to the main atrium. Eliza was quickly engulfed by everyone, and I saw Harper with Al," her smile was back in earnest now, "and it was over, really, it was all over. Al told me Gustav was dead, other things but again, hearsay yes? And it's over now. They're back."  
  
Now she was smirking, wide, so she repeats, "They're back and if we had to break the law to do it, I just don't care, they're alive, they're okay, and I'm glad I could help them."  
  
He was expecting there to be tears, being in there, fighting through it and now going back over it again in detail, but didn't think it would be over the loss of someone. He had looked over the names of the deceased and there had been very few English deaths (a fact the press was having a field day with, and now that there would be no one to 'blame', legally, it was going to be continued mayhem). He did recall a Sam Roswell on the list but given his last name, and the association to Gustav Roswell, he didn't think he was friends with these kids.  
  
He had no tissues, merely a handkerchief which he was about to offer, but his mouth quickly closed when he saw her dig into her own purse for tissues of her own.  
  
"I'm sorry for your loss, Sienna," he expressed sincerely, "take your time." She didn't need much time it turned out. He returned back to typing, following it until the end and then going back over it to add some things, names mostly, that he had left off in order to keep up with her dictation.  
  
Lip curling briefly, he was about to say that the last wasn't needed for the statement, as that was an opinion not a fact, which was all the statement dealt, but decided not to. After all, they did break the law yes, dozens of them probably, but the price of getting her loved ones back wasn't a slap on the wrist (which was probably the most any of them would be facing), it was the lives of French police officers and firefighters. Not to mention a couple of tourist fatalities and three dozen or more deaths of the terrorists, oh right and burning down half of a national monument.  
  
Then again, to an English person, what should that matter right? They got to go back to their homes, with their family safe again, everyone reunited, a victory by all means as certainly that's how it felt if that smirk on Sienna's face was any indication, it was Paris that had to deal with the consequences.  
  
So many people dead, because a group of teenagers decided to do it The D'Grey Way. Now he wasn't saying these fatalities could have been avoided, he wasn't saying anything at all because his job wasn't to have an opinion it was to change other people's, but the cathedral could have been evacuated before the fighting began by the authorities. Professionals, those who have been trained and fight criminals and terrorists for a living, not children who taught themselves to duel and fight behind their grandmother's house, could have done a moderately clean sweep of the premises. Their men and women in uniform could have been prepared to know what they were up against before they went in there and risked their lives, knew what they were dying for. Oh, did Gustav's group have contacts in the police that could have blown the whole thing? He wondered which mobster could have provided that information had he spared a moment from wearing his ass like a hat.  
  
Well, now they would never know. No use in crying over spilled milk, now it was time to clean it up.  
  
After he finished reading it over, Leo clicked print on the statement, stood to grab it from the printer and then held it out to Sienna for her to read.  
  
"If you're satisfied with the statement, please sign at the bottom."  
  
Her loss, ha! Sam had meant to kill her and Rory and take Eliza far away. Face blank by his sincere sympathy, Sienna just rubs over her lips to nod, and to be certain she doesn't smile. It would be cruel to smile and yet, it's frankly a relief that she didn't. Though it did a fairly neat job of erasing any further mostly-fake tears as she looks at the printer with determination.  
  
The noise -- provincial, non-magic, straight forward business -- it did a thorough amount to calm her down. Accepting the paper with a soft 'thanks', she looks over the words. Ha, it sounded so factual, last names added everywhere, and yet still includes references to Al knowing to tell her to change clothes and shoes. Was that because they wanted to check how honest they were? By seeing if Alcott says he didn't tell her anything but the location? (Let's face it, he wasn't likely to remember clothes unless Hols was wearing them).  
  
As her nail trails down the page, she speaks without looking up.    
  
"You're angry the way this happened, aren't you, Mr. Leopold?" Her nail raps the sheet, but her words were calm again.  
  
"We didn't want to hurt anyone. We just...wanted to make sure the terrorists were found, that they didn't slip out the back door. Harper didn't have a choice about how he set this up. He'd been a prisoner for nine and a half years, his family thought he was dead...there was no way he was getting out except from on the inside and honestly."  
  
Now she looks up, retrieving a pen from her purse as she does.  
  
"If Nadia, English and formerly amnesiac with a shifted story once already after she was threatened again, had walked into the Paris policia headquarters swearing that there was an underground network of magic terrorists in Notre Dame holding, among others, the long thought deceased genius Harper Brackner -- would they have responded at the scene in time? Not to mention she wouldn't have any idea what officer to trust."  
  
Leo was, apart from beginning to dislike the way she addressed him because it made him sound so old, surprised that she picked up on another one of his distastes. He had never been particularly expressive so he summed up her conclusion about him to intuition. She did seem to be chockfull of it.  
  
"I can't pretend to know what would have happened, Sienna," he shrugged, now leaning against his desk holding his hands on his lap, "I don't know what you're assuming about our police but I am sure that Nadia would have had more friends than foes had she approached the authorities." Yes, so a number of them, and mostly those in the higher positions, half of the time seated behind desks, had a healthy 'vacation fund', but that didn't stop them from doing their jobs to the best of their capabilities.  
  
"As for whether there was any other choice, that'll be up to a judge to decide," in his experience, there seldom was a situation with no choice, it was just easier to think otherwise, but even if it wasn't, there would probably be no one charged with anything.  
  
"I do know that a lot of good people lost their lives yesterday, people I worked with. And that many people have lost their lives over the course of the years due to this organization, and it wasn't stopped earlier because men of wealth, power, and influence believed they knew better than the law."   
  
Leo shrugged again and then shook his head with a sad smile, "No, I can't say I'm very happy, mademoiselle. But despite the losses, there were also gains which cannot be overlooked. I'll focus on those."  
  
See, at least now he sounded like a human being again, as opposed to his beautifully factual responses and -- okay, well his sympathy had been sincere. Still, Sienna straightens up as she uncaps her pen, curiously listening and unsure if he was scolding or agreeing with her. Then again, she wasn't sure if she'd accidentally scolded him either.  
  
Nodding twice, her face softens as he recounts what he did know and decides further engagement on what might have been as futile as it seems he did himself.  
  
First, she says, "I'm sorry for your losses." There was a note of apology in her sympathy and she bends her head forward to focus on signing her name. The steady cursive would resemble any other signature she ever made. Her hand doesn't quake or quiver at the knowingly fraudulent statement, anymore than Lyndsea did hearing someone she knew had been imprisoned.  
  
Bending her neck up again, she continues in a softer voice.  
  
"I'm certain you are right in saying neither of us could know what might have been, and...I too am focusing on the victories. Is a judge going to decide? Will charges be pressed on me? The police asked we not leave Paris...although the farm had that extended to not leaving London, as we're a door away from this city and not letting Harper go home would have been unspeakably cruel, but, still...what is, going to happen next?"  
  
He accepts her condolences with a nod, watching as she signs the statement in the most elegant and pristine cursive he had ever seen.  
  
"A federal prosecutor will look at all of the evidence collected and decide if and to who the state will press charges," he began to answer her questions, "if a judge finds there's merit enough for a case he or she will agree to it, if not, it'll be thrown out. In my professional opinion, mademoiselle, I would say you have nothing to worry about, I most highly doubt any charges would be brought against you. The pharm will contact you when the investigation's been closed, until then, I would say no news is good news." Not that a certain lively reporter and ex-girlfriend would ever agree with that. He could practically hear the scoff now.  
  
"Do you still need legal advice?"  
  
Nodding a few times and memorizing the list of things he tells her, she stalls at his last question and exhales.  
  
Did she? She'd lied, signed it, and wasn't going back on that - she thinks she mostly agrees with him on how things went down, French government lawyer or not - and she was still somewhat grateful for the earlier rescue and his handling the statement privately when half a dozen people in the building's lobby were there to take the statements. She didn't want to make him culpable if her inability to hire him meant they weren't protected by privilege and she wasn't admitting what she did. So, instead, she smiles and asks a different question as she hands it back.  
  
"It was just...I'm sure, a fair number of cold cases, would be able to be solved by the location of these prisoners...and as I know two of them, I was wondering if they would be in danger of suffering further charges for what they were clearly coerced to do. The only precedent I can think of is war crimes tribunals, however, and I was wondering if you knew of any others."  
  
  
"You speak of Harper Brackner and Eliza Simmons, I assume? Well, first someone would have to be willing to open up those cold cases with the availability of new evidence," he crossed his arms in front of his chest, now considering this, "but I don't think there's a judge alive who wouldn't offer Harper and Eliza a full pardon for any potential criminal actions while they were kidnapped, and certainly not in Paris where Mr. Simmons has a friendship, of sorts, with members of the police department, and then, of course, our mutual acquaintance with the quote, unquote, good hair."  
  
His hair wasn't that good but it was easier to Leo to mention him by that adjective than a 'mobster with moral fiber' as that seemed just a tad more laughable. Tony would hit him for that.  
  
"As for precedence, off the top of my head I recall a case, Prideaux vs Marron, 2017 I think, it involved criminal law instead of civil law and the defendant was acquitted from the charges under duress. The defendant was forced to commit a series of robberies with her kidnapper that ended in a couple of deaths." Nasty business, really.   
  
"I think there might be some under precedents more specifically under terrorism and criminal law, but I would have to check. Either way, I wouldn't be worried. Prisoners of terrorists aren't high on the list of people Paris wants to put behind bars, mademoiselle."  
  
Brushing her hand back through a ponytail that was beginning to feel uncomfortably tight on the top of her head. The name -- Prideaux v. Marron -- that she memorized to look up.  
  
"Yeah," she says, still soft, "those two, and...I would hope not, it's just, I'm sure they are worried about it and I'd like to be able to reassure them. I can't do much for the guilt, obviously, but that I can do."  
  
She slips the pen back into her purse, then pulls the purse up on her shoulder. With another long soft sigh and a small smile flipping her lips up again she adds, "Our mutual friend, he was a real help you know. I mean. Last thing I want to be is get  political here, but, I understand why he's got power...he just, he honestly helped."  
  
She clears her throat, smiling still. "And I know Claude knows people here. So, do you have any...other questions? My age, height, don't ask my weight but you look like you know better...?"   
  
Yes, well, Olivier D'Grey was nothing if not charitable and he occasionally lent out a hand, to sign a check mostly, and if it coincided with his own interests then even better.   
  
"He has his moments," he decided with a brief grin, it leaving his face as quickly as it came.  
  
"Yes," he nodded, chuckling at her last comment, "no, not the weight but I will need age, if you're under eighteen I'll need the name and address of your parent or guardian, and a pho ne number the department can reach you at if something arises, which I assure you is very unlikely but it's the procedure."  
  
Moments few and far between it seems, but Sienna was just grateful he seemed to buy her improv as easily as he'd bought her crying. So, there was no reason to expect he had thought her story was a lie now, and she takes her pen out again. If, she was under 18? Was there a reason he thought she was legal?   
  
"I'm seventeen." She says soft, still smiling in a mirror to his and starting to write down (reluctantly) the information to call her mother. One more year (9 months rather) and she would be able to take custody of her father but in the meantime, she just wrote down their mobile number, and then her own.  
  
Pushing the paper back towards him, she stands up and holds her hand out to shake, smiling still.  
  
"That's it then? Merci, monsieur. I...sincerely appreciate it."  
  
She blows him a kiss after shaking his hand because she was in a much better mood now and also because Sienna knew it was best she keep her hands moving. Else they might start shaking.  
  
It's not until she's out the door she lets her breath out again, and quickly, her hair down, shaking it everywhere to relax.  
  



	75. I Don't Belong

Tony had thought that six o'clock had been too early for a dinner, but his brother had insisted: dinner with the pack of furious werewolves of which the majority could no longer turn at will, don't miss it! Tony wasn't particularly thrilled. He'd been hoping to simply...well, what could he say, never have to see the majority of them again? But seeing as how this was almost like a 'goodbye' dinner (hopefully, oh pretty pretty please), he decided to oblige. He would not miss this dinner. Just show up late, hopefully just for the after dinner cigar and brandy.

Arriving at a luxurious seaside estate with a pop, unwilling to bring his car anywhere near these people, Tony tugged at his sleeves with a sigh as he straightened them out. Seeing as how this particular residence was about two hours away from Paris, he felt he could excuse himself properly by saying he was too hungover to apparate and had taken a cab. Actually he didn't think he had gotten to hungover yet, and as long as he kept drinking he didn't need to. His plan, both of them, had no fault.

Except that apparently, the dinner hadn't started yet. Walking inside he found it decorated enough, just pretty empty. Tony guessed that if he ventured towards the kitchen he would find private chefs finishing up the courses now, and if he took the stairs, possibly encounter some of the pack getting all pampered and ready. Didn't they know werewolves were supposed to be real gritty, dirty, species? Stick to the status quo.

Still, it seemed the dinner hadn't started yet and he had to endure it completely.

"Son of a cock," he murmured, cursing Olivier and his oh-so-smart thinking before decidedly walking further in, intending to find a bar and quick.

"Hey, do you know the name of the farmer's dog?" he asked wryly to the apparent thin air, save for the footsteps that were coming down the stairs and around the corner. His hearing was probably better than it had ever been and inversely related, he was probably feeling his worst. Actually no, now he did, now that he could smell who it was.

"Bingo," he finished, serving as both an answer to his previous question and an exclamation of success as he found the liquor bar and opened a glass decanter, pouring himself a greedy amount of scotch. "That was his name-o."

Should he tell Antonio who had just left upstairs? Courtesy dictates he should give him that fair warning - but then, it wasn't the night for courtesy. Sometimes, when put upon too long and facing adversaries akin with proverbial Goliaths, the only option was to take them in the dark.

"By all means, Antonio," Ansel says drily, "help yourself. It _is_ a celebration and all." And it wasn't his scotch. Not yet. Nothing in the house was his.

"Just making myself at home," he said as he finished pouring, putting the glass cap back on the decanter and then grabbing his scotch immediately, "don't worry, I'll make sure to leave the trashing of it until after dessert." He took a swift sip and finally turned to look at Ansel.

Ansel was in black, the cliche of it all making his neck itch and nose prickle. Black slacks, black blazer jacket, black leather shoes from Paris' finest. Just to be contrary the shirt he wore was emerald silk. Well, just to be contrary and because Allison swore it brought out his eyes, and Rachelle liked the cut on him and on the matter of appearances his sisters were unmatched. Not to mention if they agreed on anything, the only smart thing to do was listen.

His sister, was unmatched, he realized belatedly at the back of his mind, singular. Allison had informed him Rachelle wasn't coming tonight.

Truthfully, Tony hadn't seen the man since that day he had shown up at the manor unannounced (and unwelcome, by the way) and broke his jaw. Was that really only a couple of weeks ago? It felt like another life. Oddly enough, a simpler life, which was utterly inaccurate and a main reason Tony would never be a reliable narrator.

Smirk on lips gently curled, there was no amusement in Ansel's eyes as he regards Tony.

"You're a bit early." It wasn't a question. "Were you just hoping to spend the time coming up with more horrible puns?"

"Obviously here to spend more quality time with you," Tony snorted and took another drink before he gestured to the decanter. Where were his manners? They must have burst into flames at that storage unit as well.

"Want a drink, Bingo?"

"Quality time."

Ansel's dry echo resounds in his ears, picking up with ease the disquiet in Tony's heartbeat. He considers it. Good, he thinks. Good, considering what the man did to Stefanie, Tony shouldn't be comfortable. He shouldn't be at ease. The bitter smirk on his face alone was too much happiness for Tony as far as Ansel was concerned.

"In that case," Ansel leans off the door frame to enter the room fully, hands unfolding off his chest and nodding as he quipped brightly, "I'd be happy to accept a drink from my own cabinet stores."

Soon enough his, anyways. He came to a rest a few feet from the bar, lip still curled. There was no response to the name Bingo. He didn't want to give Tony that...credit.

"Still," he offers while his fingers fiddle with the crescent-moon cufflinks he wore, cheerily still, "you just missed Stefanie upstairs."

Ansel's eyes flick up. He wants to look Tony in the eyes, he wants to see his anger, that what Ansel said to him would matter to him. He didn't get to duck away from what he did.

"Oh! Sorry, mate, I bet she doesn't want to see you. So, in the interest of just, friendly bonding then, can I ask what _your_ side of the story is then? To be fair."

"Don't see your name written on it," he replied the same way a schoolboy might have done so when confronted by the person whose seat he had stolen. He didn't have the want, temparament, or available brain cells (the liquor kept frying most of them) to say anything the slightest bit wittier. Not to mention, he didn't have to waste his breath with Ansel; his brain on auto-pilot was more than enough to deal with him and all his flea-infested siblings.

Tony grabbed a glass for Bingo, taming his desire to turn it into a dog bowl because that wasn't an auto-pilot function, and began pouring him the drink. At the mention of Stefanie, Tony looked up again, only with his eyes. Seems like Ansel had gotten the story then, either from Hans or Stefanie herself. Unsure of which one he disliked most, he resumed pouring him the drink.

Capping the decanter once again, he pushed the glass across the wooden bar for Ansel to catch.

"Yes, she made that perfectly clear," he replied, bringing his glass back to his lips and taking a less than dainty sip. He had been numb before but if Ansel's plan was to rile him up about it, Tony had no problem letting the scotch fan the flames instead of quell them.

"Never been fair before, why start now?"

Ansel sips the drink he caught before speaking.

"Oh, I don't know."

Though Ansel shrugs both shoulders, a gesture that usually intimates he didn't care in the slightest and you should never take him seriously anyways, his words burn his throat with their verily exit.

"Call it in the spirit of the celebration. I'm feeling generous and festive." His lips twitch. Actually, he was, just not for the Christmas holidays. "Generous is a bit more debatable though," he adds eyebrow cocking up as he takes his drink again, lifting it in half a toast to the man, "but if you're not going to take the opportunity to defend yourself mate, that just isn't my problem."

"My needing to defend myself implies that I did something wrong, and I didn't," he replied after another sip of his drink. Maybe if he said it enough times aloud, he would start believing it too. Generally, however, trying to lie to a werewolf didn't go very well. Thankfully, Tony's heart-rate had already been elevated from the annoyance and just the horror that was Ansel's face anyways.

Tony sincerely doubted the word 'generous' was accurate, or at least it was bound to be a werewolf's definition of generous and fair. Given that they turned into wolves at will/every full moon and their hobbies included moonlit raw dinners and long hunts by the beach, 'generous' had a different definition here.

Ansel's eyes narrow, and he thinks he's already giving Tony more regard than he ever had before.

"You gave me advice the last time we spoke." Ansel continues, bourbon boiling in his scorched throat, eyes narrow.

Tony tilted his head as he remembered, "Did I? See I try to remember that day and all it does is make my jaw crick a little." That was a lie actually, because until now he actually remembered that day fondly. Today, however, that was a painful train of thought and he wasn't _that_ masochistic.

"Now, I might not be particularly apt in the matter of 'not being a dick', as you eloquently put it dah-ling," his finger taps the glass hard, "but you're the one who let Marcel die."

Turning to look at him completely, Tony raised his eyebrows and then spoke. "Yeah, I let him die. Stefanie was in danger, and she could have died, so I made a choice. Gina was looking for Stefanie, I had two Death Eaters with explicit instructions to kill if I so much as reached for my phone, so I wasn't going to take Marcel and run, if it put her in danger. She might have been involved with the Death Eaters, through Hans, and through you, but she had never been directly in the line of fire until that day. She went charging into a building, blind, set off the wards and if I hadn't been there, she would have died because her element of surprise? Gone."

Of course she went charging in blind, Ansel thinks, the curl to his lip more pronounced but eyes softening for the first moment since he saw Tony. There was fondness in the thought 'Oh Stef' as much as exasperation, fondness that greatly exceeds the latter.

Tony continues, "Because her first reaction was to scream, because two killing curses headed straight for her chest and if I hadn't pulled her back, she would have died too. Say what you want to say, but don't pretend you wouldn't have let Marcel die if it kept her safe. You're not that selfless of a man. Half-man." Tony adds the last with a shrug before finishing off his drink, reaching to pour himself another one.

"There, my side. Change anything? Thought not."

Ansel takes a slow sip only to stall, watching Antonio down the glass as if a cheap shot on a Spring Break beach. Interesting, he thinks; if he genuinely believed he'd done nothing wrong, Tony wouldn't need the benefit of alcohol to steady himself. (Ansel would know.)

So he sets the glass down, cups his wrist behind his back hard enough a claw peeks out and scratches his own palm, but Ansel's response is otherwise perfectly calm.

"I'm not pretending that I _am_ pointing out the fact that everything I ever did for the Death Eaters, anything Hans did wasn't just about a shiny little silver potion. I _am_ pointing out that Stefanie was safe from them until you came along and started telling her every dirty secret her brother had."

"Oh, I know." Ansel scoffs and lets go of his wrist; he couldn't do it, couldn't stay still. "She felt abandoned." Because she hadn't been the one to leave him, or anything, but he couldn't say anything on that now considering that morning. "You sympathized. I get that. But there were hundreds of other options. I might not have been averse to holding her back if that's what it took, but-" his finger points, or maybe it was a claw, he couldn't' tell, "I'd have killed Gina myself the moment I got there. You keep telling everyone who will listen you're a big man now, you take care of yourself, big bad hybrid but you hesitated. You chickened out. You let Gina go after Stef in the first place, and then you waited until she showed up to do _one more bloody thing._ So tell me again why I should listen to you, about how to treat Stef?"

"Bullshit," he answered easily, unwilling to let ~~that~~ be his fault and continued, "Marcel had no privilege of knowing 'dirty secrets' about his brother, he still was taken by the Death Eaters out of Stefanie's apartment. Being ignorant, doesn't keep you safe, that is bullshit. Hans, you, and your pack risked every person you ever interacted with when you allied yourself with them, that's on Hans, that's on you."

Not that it was a defense that mattered much with what Ansel said next. Picking that apart piece by piece was doable, but possibly the worst option. Well, no, the worse option was kicking his ugly face in like he wanted. This dinner jacket was Armani.

There was one point that did go with what he said previous though. Maybe he would have killed her, had he known the takeover had been happening that day. If he ~~hadn't~~ been kept ignorant, for the purpose of what? Of him having a good birthday and being away from the action? Either way, Gina wasn't at the storage warehouse when he got there, so it was a moot point. He bristled, cracking his neck, but didn't speak a word of his point.

"Oh you've already listened to me, that's obvious. Heard my advice, kept it in your mind. And once I get in here," he tapped the side of his head with his finger, smirking and then shrugged without finishing his sentence.

Ansel had listened to him, actually, and it set his teeth on edge now. How was he to put that to Tony though; how could he explain he'd known - thought he'd known - that Tony was Stefanie's better option? That his twitching jaw was caused by that, that Ansel had been furious and embarrassed with that truth at once; that he'd tried, even, to back off when he saw Stef's face when Hans asked if she was happy? And then Tony gets her brother killed?

But he had listened: so he had nothing to tell Tony for that.

"Whatever you choose to do with it, that's your business. But if you think I'm going be insulted, or ashamed, because I hesitated to take a life, then you're wronger than you've ever been in your life, Sabretooth." Wolverine was too high a compliment, the other mutant with razor sharp claws. He didn't like claws pointed at his face. Someone desperately needed a manicure and it wasn't him, he'd already had one recently.

"Do you know if we're having lobster? I'm really craving some lobster."

Ansel's eyes were narrower and narrower with each passing word and then he just laughs at the name. Sabretooth beat out Bingo by a long shot. Finishing off the bourbon, this time it was Ansel that looked like he took a shot on the beach and he pushes the glass down the bar, shaking his head. His throat still burned.

Grabbing the glass as Ansel slid it to him, he murmured a spell to clean it and then put it right back where he had grabbed it from. There, it had never been moved to the outside eye. No one else would ever know, except him, and Ansel but who were they but two men wanting but not killing each other with their bare hands? (Teeth, claws, sure.)

"As it happens, there are lobsters." That Ansel knew Tony would not be able to eat, that he was depriving Tony of something he was craving made him smile and relax his shoulders again.

"And it's your choice to be insulted or ashamed." Ansel takes another few steps towards the bar, letting the claw slip away again.

If Ansel thought there was a choice in feeling ashamed then...Tony would be half-interest in knowing how you did that, but he wouldn't actually admit to that anytime soon. He needed to salvage a little of his pride, whatever pride remained to him.

"As it happens, though?" Ansel smirks briefly, "I agree with you: allying with them was the wrong choice. But I'm curious what you would have done. Honestly." His eyebrow was curling with his lip now, eying Antonio with jade eyes that search for knowledge his old friend had already told him. "I understand quite a few of them were taken care of personally by you - and your lack of control on blood, so, if there was an angel that could cure that for you, what would you do?"

Cure him of his bloodlust? Yeah, that'll be the day. All he needed was more mental power, which, oops! He didn't have because he was a neanderthal. But the question wasn't difficult for him. Tony was many things, but he wasn't selfish. That wasn't the key to getting him to do abhorrent things.

"I would have told themselves to go suck a big one."

That made Ansel laugh: sharp and pointed, but true. A mental picture of what Gina's face would have been was too amusing to ignore, and he wasn't against letting Tony know that. Spiteful, yes he was, but wasn't the point of today that he wasn't actually thirteen years old anymore? If he couldn't handle talking to Tony without punching him and metaphorically sticking his tongue out, how could he go through with the evening honestly?

"Ah, right. Because you're selfless--sorry, I forgot for a moment. Selfless and so much smarter than the rest of us. I'll be in the other room cowering in wrongness then, because I assume you don't want to hear that's my preferred response as well."

"I do have a college degree, you know," he added as if it were the most important fact in the history of the world, because he was the most important person in all of creation. Sadly, that title went to Donna Noble, Tony was just really good at playing a pretentious, self-absorbed prick. He had learned something from his father after all. And Ansel managing a laugh before, dry and mostly humorless, and agreeing with him now, well it was a sign that there can be miracles, if you believe. Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill. Couldn't have said it better himself, Whitney, Mariah.

He briefly wondered whether Ansel had ever watched The Prince of Egypt and then when he realized his own train of thought, Tony deemed himself too out of it and made a mental note to slow down his drinking. He promptly ignored it, and took a sip immediately after and stepped away from the bar.

"You assume incorrectly, while I have no genuine interest in yourself, I like hearing that I'm agreed with, so by all means carry on. Or if you wish, you can cower in this room while we wait, I like to watch."

Ansel tilts his head half a step away and lets his eyes shut. The uptick in Tony's heart made him stop first, but it was the sudden assertion there was no genuine interest that made him turn back around. Really, he wants to ask, isn't that a little bit like hating the image in the mirror?

(But he won't because Ansel knows how pathetic that would be and worse, it was perfectly true.) Raising both hands away from himself to shrug it away, he speaks only to wound.

"Alright then. Well, you were right before. The advice you gave me." It paid off, even, Ansel thinks. This time he really hadn't needed Tony (or Stef herself) to tell him he should leave her this morning. To tell him if he stayed, she'd never be safe or at peace.

Then his words suddenly darken, shadows coloring his face.

"At that godforsaken Gala, I gave her to you because I knew you'd keep her safe. Do the right thing. I never imagined you'd screw with her as you have. But even so, she lit up when your name was spoken, Tony. It was brighter than she'd been in..." Ansel struggles a moment, eyes flashing before he just has to scoff to finish the sentence.

"You made her smile, and so I was alright with that. Jealous, yeah, of course I was--," Ansel remembers briefly when it was him that put that smile on her face, the way she lit up in Salzburg, the photos she'd taken with him and how she had a special smile she'd never share with her dozens of other photographers, "--because, well, how could I not be? But now?"

Ansel frowns; his blissful nostalgia wiped away.

"See, I'd say stay away from her, but like you said: she did that herself already. That doesn't mean I don't want to tear your throat out for hurting her, but alas, promised her I wasn't going to."

Not in so many words, but he had.

"So, yes. You were right before, because before you destroyed her? You made her happy."

He didn't need Ansel to tell him how good things had been before that night Marcel burned. Tony knew how good things had been going, how genuinely happy he had found himself for the smallest instance in his life. And that was after...killing Emily, killing those thugs, bullying countless others, handing in Jade, what happened in Hogsmeade. Roma, on his birthday, with Stefanie, taking her to meet Nonna and stealing away to the catacombs...things had been good.

Tony noticed that Ansel seemed to go through his own stroll down memory lane and could feel that jealousy Ansel spoke up clearly. But jealousy wasn't the only reason that Tony felt so much anger with him. Maybe it was him being too honest for Tony's comfort, maybe it was the way Ansel used past tense that made it too poignant for Tony, either way, Tony was a step away from drop-kicking this son of a bitch.

Thankfully, Tony thought, I made no such promise. He had already taken one person away from Stefanie's life, and she wasn't going to deign to see him again, so what was another one?

"Speaking from experience, Ansel?" It was a question, but he knew the answer, "Is that what you tell yourself at night? At least my destroying was only metaphorical."

The line of Ansel's jaw tightens. Stef hadn't told him, he thinks stubbornly: Tony had to know from his brother, because she wouldn't have told. Hand slipping to his back pocket, he remembers belatedly the lack of them in these silk slacks and has to wipe his hand against his chest instead. Like he was in a fight, instead of looking for a tattered memento in a wallet. Like he was tightening boxing gloves around his fists, tying leather bands tighter and tighter. Dukes up.

"Right again!," Ansel mocks with a head tilt. The way his mouth moves is like a snarl. "I do speak from experience. It's how I know, you want to destroy yourself right now, and frankly: by all means, go ahead dah-ling. Because, you know?" His breath quickens. "It might not have been metaphor for me, but I don't recall it, because I wasn't in my right mind. You saw everything, hell, you were holding her back. You made that _choice_ all on your own, sanity intact.

Well." Ansel cocks his finger. "Almost intact. Sad to say mate, also from experience: never will be again."

He was very well aware that the only ways he seemed to be getting to Ansel was to hit him where it hurt the most. Dirty, below the belt blows. It seemed to speak a lot more about his character than...

No, actually, the past couple of weeks were saying more about his character than the past 24 years had. The things you did while staring down the barrel of a gun, while under fire, was very telling. Tony wasn't sure he liked himself anymore. (More accurately, ever.)

Not the first time he's wanted to destroy himself either, but wasn't that just another way they were alike? Tony liked this, and Ansel, and himself, even less and less.

"I'll learn to live without it," if he ever did have any sanity to begin with, "one day at a time. Go through all the steps or whatever. Never saw you at that Failures Anonymous meeting, by the way."

Jaw still tense, it wasn't until the last rim-shot Tony sent at him that Ansel relaxed it; that he dropped all intention to break his promise to Stefanie and rip the bloke apart irregardless. (It wasn't like she'd care now, right?)

Instead a beautiful, wicked smile blooms across those pursed lips and Ansel cocks his chin.

"Ai, that's true. Well, stick around tonight mate."

He resumes the retreat towards the parlor of leather couches and his billiards table, but not before he licks his lips at the delicious irony. It's a wholly wolfish moment, but then, Ansel was through with hiding exactly who he was. Finger jabbing the air as if his claw (hidden, now) could tear it apart, he adds, "See, it turns out I don't belong in the club after all."


	76. Look Who Got His Wings Back...

"Thank you for understanding, Shane," Harper Brackner expressed genuinely as he walked alongside his long time acquaintance, occasional colleague, and their Head of State, Shane Stuart. Among many loose ends in need of tying, Harper knew this was one he couldn't avoid any longer. A young man was imprisoned, rightfully or wrongfully it was of no matter, ultimately because of the result of Harper's actions.  
  
Julio Cortez was the bastard son of Gustav Roswell. They boy had no idea who his father had been for years, not until one day when the man came to their home in Spain and confronted his mother. They managed to flee but Julio's mother was badly injured with a hex, and shortly after died. Harper assumed his quest for vengeance began there. At 19, Julio had managed to work for Interpol where he had then hacked their database to get all the information they had on Gustav, or rather on the person they believed responsible for so many of the acts of terrorism across mostly Eastern Europe; they never had a name on him. Julio had then begun to infiltrate his father's group, but Gustav had been smarter.  
  
Harper clenched his back teeth together just thinking about the bastard, but this was exactly why he needed to set it right. The sooner he did, the sooner he could cut this tie to Roswell for good. Shane had been understanding, but he did warn Harper that this meant he would probably have to testify on Julio's behalf for the kid to have a chance to go free. Harper had already figured that'd be the case, and he agreed to it. He would be speaking to Shane's brother Symon after he was done here.  
  
Shane had already been willing to let Julio go, Harper learned, offered him a full pardon in exchange for information but he wouldn't budge. Harper explained that he was not surprised; part of the potion he had created for Gustav also had him instill a sense of loyalty for both the group and the leader in the drinker. It was a nasty potion, that twisted everything you ever believed in and turned it into the opposite. Harper had already destroyed all the notes he had on it. No one would get their hands on it ever again.  
  
They reached the holding cell where they housed Julio. His defense had been enough, and with some sizable wealth behind it, to keep him from being detained at an actual prison. Harper looked at the bars with a hint of distaste but otherwise paid them no mind. Shane vanished them with a wave of his hand, causing Julio to look up as they stepped into the small space.  
  
Harper's keen eye first made some observations. Julio's pallor had a green and sickly tint to it. Several capillaries in his eyes had burst, leaving the whites of his eye spotted in red. From here he couldn't tell if his eyes were dilated, but that was also a possibility. His breathing was heavy, strained. A sweat above his brow line indicated a high temperature, fever.  
  
"Look who's got his wings back," Julio spoke, his voice cracking and revealing a white tongue. A faint smirk rose on his face and Harper was relieved that his cognition was unaffected.  
  
"A medic came to see him, found something to keep his fever down but," Shane motioned away from him and at Julio, knowing that anything else he could say would prove unnecessary in front of the visual.  
  
"It's his withdrawal from the binary switch. He took a daily dose, with the antidote," Harper pulled a vial out if his coat and then a needle, "he'll better naturally."  
  
"Don't you want to," Julio breathed with the stubborn smirk on his face, "buy me a drink before you prick me?"   
  
Harper put the needle into the vial to extract the potion, explaining to both Shane and Julio, "He needs this intravenously to avoid any further damage."  
  
Shane nodded in agreement and then remained silent to allow Harper concentration. At least, that's what he supposed, but in reality Harper could find a way to concentrate through an earthquake. It was rarely quiet in those dungeons after all. But he was out of there, that was behind him.  
  
And still somehow he found in his way behind bars. Ironic.  
  
"It's gonna hurt," he warned Julio as he approached the man sitting on the cot with his head against the wall, possibly because he couldn't keep it upright himself.  
  
"You're supposed," Julio paused for breath, "to tell me I won't," and again, "feel a thing." Harper smiled briefly and then shook his head, as he set about finding the vein.  
  
"I hear I have you to thank for Gustav's death," Julio managed the sentence in one breath, but Harper didn't look up, merely instructed him to keep quiet and to try and breathe normally without get agitated. If the antidote courses through his body too quickly it would only be more painful.  
  
It didn't surprise Harper to hear Julio used the words 'thank' instead of 'blame'. He hadn't received the potion in what, a month? A little more? His mind was trying to right itself again, and that took a toll on the body. It also wouldn't surprise Harper if Julio had begun to realize all of his actions in the past two years. He couldn't blame the guy for sticking by his wit when everything else about him was questionable.  
  
Finding the vein, he administered the antidote and then retracted the needle, stepping back as Julio closed his eyes and tried not to cry out. He was going to have a migraine worse than the one he'd been having for weeks for a couple of more hours.  
  
"Maybe it's best you give him a few hours," Harper suggested to Shane as he moved away from the cot and the small cell in general, "I see no reason why he wouldn't willingly talk then." It might have been safer to go until tomorrow to give Julio time to settle and adjust to the person he used to be again but the urgency and impatience on Shane's face as he looked at Julio was obvious.  
  
"It takes that long?" Shane asked, materializing the bars again easily and looking back at Harper.  
  
"I think he was already halfway there, the solution will speed up the process and ensure that it is done safely, but it should take-"  
  
"Hours? Is that what you were gonna say?" Julio breathed, opening his eyes again and staring. He rose on his feet, a hand holding on to the wall next to him to steady him as he walked to the bars in front of them. Hands curled around the cool metal bars, Julio's eyes glassy with the tears he was close to spilling.  
  
"Is that how long you think...it takes to change a man?"  
  
Harper exhaled before lifting his head, preparing for all that Julio would have to say. It was clear the man was aware of what had been done to him. It was quicker than Harper would have thought, but he knew he had to face it eventually.  
  
"Like flipping switches, that's how?" Julio shook his head, looking between Harper and Shane, his expression pained as he continued to hold on to the bars to keep him upright.  
  
"First you think someone's taken over your body. You're awake, conscious, but you don't feel in control. I saw myself hurt innocent people, heard me laugh about it, felt someone else inside me enjoying it. And I couldn't do anything to stop it. Then I just...faded, with every new dose, until there was nothing there but that other guy. I didn't realize that guy was me until recently. He's me. I was never not in control. I don't think you realize, how raw...how broken..."  
  
Harper swallowed a lump in his throat and then upon noticing how labored his breath continued getting, suggested, "You should sit down again."  
  
"No," Julio gasped, shaking his head again, insistently, and closing his eyes again, "I'm done sitting around."  
  
It was apparently what Shane needed to hear to speak again. "Julio, my previous offer still stands. I will take any information you have to give me that I don't already know. Gustav-"  
  
"Gustav," Julio interrupted with a mocking sneer, imitating Shane almost perfectly. Shane didn't react except to stand straighter and keep his gaze firmly at the man behind the bars. Harper instead couldn't help but to notice the similarity in the mocking between Julio and his father.  
  
"Gustav killed my mother," he said it plainly, as if it didn't kill him from inside to say it aloud, "I spent two years forgetting she was dead, because of him. I spent two years serving and following the man who raped my mother, who came back and killed her, who tried to call me son." Julio scoffed and then found himself laughing. Laughter that was intermittent with groans of pain but it was laughter nonetheless.  
  
"Son," Julio let go of the bar to gesture dismissively, slapping the air with his hand and then passing a hand over his face, wiping all the sweat off.  
  
"He dropped that bomb when he had me hanging by my thumbs. 'Happy Father's Day, all you have to give is your eternal loyalty and support. If you could also forget the fact I murdered your mother and join me in enslaving hundreds, that'd be great.'" Julio scoffed before laughing again, the gesture leaving him out of breath even as he muttered father over and over.  
  
"I never had a father, I've never needed one. I had my mother, she was more than enough. She kissed my forehead every morning and kicked my ass, sometimes literally, whenever I needed it. But, that's," Julio shut his eyes, unable to continue. Harper felt sorry for the kid. More than that, he also felt responsible.  
  
"I can deal with my crippling man-pain in my own time," his lips forced another smirk before he gestured with a nod to Shane again, "let's talk about that deal."  
  
"If you want me to leave, Shane," Harper offered, knowing that despite being labeled as a hero by the press, that didn't mean he had any right to meddle in state affairs. (He heard a voice in his head speak that it's never stopped him before but worried over the possible identity of said voice, he quickly left the thought behind.)  
  
"No, Harper, please stay," Shane requested and once Harper had nodded, he looked back to Julio and then inclined his head.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"I'm counter-offering," Julio cleared up. The raise of Shane's eyebrows and his hands falling to his hips made it obvious that he was less than inclined to take that into consideration.  
  
"You were right, before, talking to your brother," Julio nodded, "Gustav's reach was...extensive. The ones you faced in Paris? Those were the newer recruits. I don't think you saw scant a person over 25 did you?" Julio looked between the two of them and once he had ascertained he was correct, he didn't wait for them to say anything else.  
  
"Properly English of course, you could say he wanted to redefine the saying 'the sun never sets on the English empire'. He didn't want one country, he wanted the world."  
  
"Are you saying," Shane began, his eyes narrowed considerably, "that there are terrorist cells all over the world, still loyal to him?"  
  
"No. Loyalty was never part of it. But there are groups out there, self-serving, bloodthirsty, all schooled in the methods that Gustav taught. That I was taught. Dare say some grew to be sicker than that cabrón."  
  
Harper doubted it.  
  
"What exactly are you offering?" Shane asked.  
  
"You're the Head of Pharma here, there's about...what, 105 countries with an equivalent representative for the magical population?"  
  
"That's right," Shane answered warily, slowly catching up to the point Harper had already arrived at.  
  
"I'm offering what you want. Information on all those individual cells, and more, once I infiltrate," Julio's eyes were determined, fixed on Shane's. It let him know that he was serious about this, and that he seemed ready to go out and do it on his own.  
  
"Enough information to take them down, quietly, with less damage and casualties than France, no offense," Julio said to Harper with a brief gesture. Harper shrugged his shoulders, not offended in the slightest, but remained quiet. He should definitely not be there and that was exactly why he wasn't going to bring it up to Shane anymore.  
  
"I can't sanction any operatives in other countries I have no jurisdiction over, I can give those countries the information, and have them follow it through." Harper almost believed that, if Shane hadn't already allowed something like that before. All of the books, of course.  
  
"They'll need someone on the inside to get anything done, and that's me," Julio said it plainly, as if he wasn't asking Shane to go against almost every single law instituted.  
  
"I can get enough information on all these terrorist cells, that's a fact. I don't want to just give you half-ass information and then leave." Harper realized by the way he said leave that Julio didn't know where he would even go if he had that option. He had nowhere to go, his old job was lost forever after this charge, but he could stay here. He knew Shane needed him, and now he needed Shane.  
  
"I'll give you the info, Mr. Stuart, in exchange for a job."  
  
Shane leaned away from the bars, Harper looking between them both. He knew the circumstances between them were severe, given the fact that Julio hurt Shane's son Devin, and the fact that there was an obvious lack of trust. Though Shane had not dismissed it immediately, so that was a good sign.  
  
Finally, after several long moments of simply looking at each other, Shane spoke evenly, "Get some rest, Julio."  
  
Shane turned away and Harper followed after another look at Julio (his complexion was noticeably better, his breathing returning to normal, his mouth less dry). Once they were a certain distance away, Shane addressed Harper without looking sideways.  
  
"I'll have to ask you to forget all of that, Harper."  
  
Harper smiled briefly, before answering honestly, "I'm afraid I can't, but I'll keep quiet. I want them all gone just as badly as you do." Harper swallowed, his face hardening for a moment before he exhaled. Alright, maybe a bit more.  
  
"Does anyone else know that Julio took that potion?" Shane asked after some quiet contemplating.  
  
"Roswell never told anyone, neither did I," Harper answered truthfully, "but I cannot guarantee people remained ignorant of it, indeed a few know of the potion to begin with, though I never intimated I know how to reverse it. Only Lyndsea knows what I came here to do, she waits outside."  
  
Shane deliberated in silence once more but before he could get too far into his thoughts, Harper decided to add some further thoughts.  
  
"Julio was a good kid when I first met him, Shane. I took away his ability to exact vengeance...but he can still have justice, as well as purpose, and a way to repent for what he's done. He doesn't believe he has anyone or anything else to turn to. Not to mention, he's trained. I wouldn't dismiss his offer so quickly. It's likely there will be no one more determined to end this threat, lawfully, than him.$8"  
  
Shane nodded but otherwise remained silent as they walked. Harper was comfortable with it; he had done what he came to do, and more. For helping to rob that man out of everything he had left in his life, it was the least he could do.  
  
Still, Harper hoped never to see Julio Cortez again, and he knew the feeling was mutual.


	77. She Stole My Dress

Her claws scratched the cement wall as she walked between two buildings, sparks flying as she walked, dragging them across the surface. As she brought her hand up in front of her face, the claws were back to being nails without a spot out of place. Allison still hadn’t gotten used to the ease which the change had become. Years of practice had left her with a finesse that most of her pack still hadn’t achieved, but elongating her nails into claws had never been this easy. The movement was an extension of her thoughts, as simple as breathing. She breathed in now, a snowflake landed on the tip of her nose and melted almost immediately. Light snow dusted the streets on this cold December afternoon, giving it an appearance of peace and tranquility. The rest of the day would prove to be anything but peaceful.

Allison walked out of the alley and waited for Rachelle to exit out of the boutique. Her sister was shopping for a new dress in light of tonight’s dinner. Allison knew that she had invited Melissa to accompany her but the young woman had declined. Melissa knew what Allison had to do, and she didn’t want to be there to see it. It was the one aspect of Ansel’s plan that no one was comfortable with, no one but Allison. Partially because Allison and Rachelle had never been on the best of terms, and by that she meant naturally that they were always one step away from killing each other. It was a power struggle between two equally matched woman, and it had always been. Today, there would finally be a resolution to this conflict. Today, Allison got to prove that she was the strongest of them, and prove that Rachelle’s standing was due in large part to favoritism alone.

Their animosity towards each other wasn’t the only reason Allison had no difficulties taking on this assignment. Nobody else could do it because now the only ones with the potion was herself, Ansel, Melissa and Rachelle. Ansel wouldn’t do it himself, he had other things to attend to, Melissa had too much affection for Rachelle (and not enough skill to carry out the job), and that left Allison. There was very little that phased her, and she knew it had to be done. The same way she had held Melissa’s hair and head and kept her looking forward so she would watch Hans strangle Zach. She’d done it, because she knew the order of things, and there was a sick part of her that enjoyed it. It was that same sick part that was going to enjoy itself today as well. Allison was very good at what she did, and everybody knew it.

She slipped a hand into the pocket of her coat and took out her cellphone to check the time. Rachelle never took long to get ready because she had magic at her disposal but the dinner was in a little more than an hour. Right on cue, fifty feet away Rachelle stepped out of the store, two bags in her hand and wasn’t surprised to see and smell Allison waiting for her. All of their senses were even more heightened that before. The power was no longer vibrating under their skin, itching to get out, instead it was deep in their bones. The wolf wasn’t something to tap into, it was there always. That which she’d tried to understand for years prior was perfectly clear to her now.

"Took you long enough,"Allison commented with an air of exasperation and annoyance, leaning away from the wall with her arms folded across her chest. At the mention of timing, Rachelle reached for own cellphone and found it without charge. So far, so good. Allison was pleased to know that she didn’t have to improvise. Rachelle had always been the better liar, the better actress. That had always been her role.

"No wonder you didn’t answer Hans," Allison rolled her eyes.

"Why, what happened?" Rachelle asked after putting her phone back into her purse, moving her hair behind her neck, utterly ignoring that before Rachelle would have probably made a comment about Allison being reduced to a messenger puppy. Now Rachelle couldn’t even find one single thing to insult Allison about. The two of them had traded as many verbal blows as they had real ones, but ever since they had gotten her back Rachelle wasn’t the same person she had been. She pretended she was, but Allison knew better. Hell, she preferred Rachelle when she had been a raging bitch.

"He changed the location."

"Why?" Rachelle asked after a raise of her eyebrows.

Allison rolled her eyes and shrugged before adopting a mocking tone and a pompous accent, “It’s not your place to ask questions, luv, only to follow orders.” Rachelle sighed and shook her head in response. It was clear that Rachelle could agree with what the rest of the pack had already concluded, but her loyalty and her love was too grand. She would have never gone along with the plan, and would have only tried to warn Hans. None of them wanted to do it, most of the pack wished there was another way (or they would once they found out), but it was something that had to be done. There was no other choice if they wanted this to work.

"So come on then, I’ll take you - you can get ready over there! It’s another villa, come on." Allison held out her hand exasperated (and excited, but her rising heartbeat would only be interpreted as irritation), and after Rachelle spoke out in quick French about the nerve, and how she wasn’t going to have nearly enough time to prepare, she took Allison’s hand. Without a look to see if anybody was watching, Allison never really cared, she turned on the spot and disapparated.

With a pop they touched down on frozen ground instead. A heavy wind blew through trees bare of leaves, whistling as it passed between trunks. Allison smirked and then snapped Rachelle’s wrist backwards and hit her chest with an open palm to send her flying backwards. Rachelle gasped out in pain and surprise, hitting a tree trunk and cracking it before falling to the floor. Shopping bags neglected, Rachelle jumped to her feet, her claws and fangs extended and her eyes flashing gold as she snarled.

Allison began circling Rachelle, her own claws and fangs extended. Rachelle stood with knees bent, ready to pounce, but Allison walked almost leisurely until quick as a snake, they both moved to strike. Allison ducked Rachelle’s lunge and took a hold of her legs and threw her backwards again, following immediately after her. Allison scratched Rachelle from neck to hip and blocked Rachelle’s kicks as she tried to stand, all but one. One made contact directly with her stomach and made her stumble back, giving Rachelle enough time to stand up again.

"What the fuck, Allison?!" Rachelle growled, her shirt torn in two and flapping with the wind. "Have you gone completely out of your mind?!"

"Sorry, Rachelle, it’s only half personal." Allison lunged again, and their fight continued. Claws sharp as steel daggers ripped apart skin and muscle that quickly healed themselves only to be ravaged again. Fangs sunk into soft flesh as they wrestled, trees were cracked and felled with the force of their blows as they punched and kicked each other. Blood pooled in their mouths, coating their teeth and splattered against the white ground that cracked beneath their feet with every stomp. Their magic was ignored, because they weren’t witches at this moment. They were she-wolves, giving the expression of fighting with tooth and nail an extremely literal meaning. Their anger towards each other, and towards the world came out of them with every slash. Spilling blood, tearing and ripping with every movement, nothing made more sense than this to Allison. The world was so complex that it helped every once in a while to go into the most basic instinct of all: survival of the fittest. It was you vs them, your skills, your determination, your strength, vs theirs. It was one of the purest things out there. The world survived on competition, on the elimination of the weak and the continuation of the superior beings. Life was made up of losers and winners, and today, she was a winner.

Allison flipped her hair backwards as she finally stepped down hard, pressing on Rachelle’s throat and cutting off her breath. Rachelle tried to pull her leg away, she dug her claws hard but Allison only growled and crouched down and pried her hands off, twisting them painfully until her elbows and shoulders cracked as Allison pulled them out of the sockets. The scream came out as a gasp.

"You’ve gotten too soft, Rachelle," Allison cooed, holding her arms in the same position so that they didn’t snap back into place too soon. "I was right. You’re not cut out for us anymore." Allison stood up again and let her arms go, taking her foot off her throat but before Rachelle’s lungs could get much relief, Allison kicked her side, ribs crunching on impact. Rachelle rolled twenty feet away from the force of the kick, stopped by the base of a tree.

"But that’s not why Ansel sent me."

"Ansel?" Rachelle gasped after spattering the ground under her with a cough of blood and spit. Despite the pain, Rachelle stood, her shirt and jeans little more than rags, much like Allison’s. Their skins could heal and repair itself at the seams, to a point, but their clothes weren’t as talented. Allison could see the confusion and the betrayal in Rachelle’s face as she glared daggers at Allison.

"Hans will kill you."

"It’s all of us against him, Rachelle. He might have been the alpha, but he can’t take on all of us, and he certainly can’t lead us anymore."

Allison must have hit Rachelle in the head harder than she thought, because the woman didn’t seem to comprehend anything. Allison exhaled and then stood straighter, her chin clenching before it settled. How could Rachelle be this naive and stupid after all these years? After all she had been through, and after all she had done? The woman was blinded with her loyalty, unable to see the truth.

"We’re kicking him out, only…not as literally as I’m doing it to you." Allison smirked.

Rachelle snarled and lunged again, the two of them tangling into claws and fangs again. The revelation had brought a new fire in Rachelle, making her hits more powerful. She was enraged and Allison laughed as the challenged increased. Now Allison had to escape a headlock by throwing Rachelle over her shoulder, but the woman held on, and they both rolled on the floor, baring fangs before pouncing.

Allison’s back hit the ground and Rachelle moved on top of her, keeping her weight on Allison’s chest and her arms pinned at her side. Allison laughed as she took in a short and sharp inhale, thinking to herself that her brothers would have enjoyed this too much. The same thought almost caused a tear to spill down her cheek.

"Over my dead body."

"If you insist," Allison smirked and then brought her forehead to Rachelle and wrenched her arm away from the vice grip before plunging her hand through Rachelle’s chest. The woman on top of her gasped and then choked, blood bubbling up to her lips, now held up only by Allison’s grip inside of her body. The blood in Rachelle’s mouth dripped down onto Allison’s lips, and she licked it up with no reservation. Eyes as wide as saucer plates looked down at Allison and all she offered in return was a smile.

"He killed Zach, Rache…could have been any one of us. I mean, did you listen to him? -He- saved us? -He’s- the only exception? We saved ourselves, Rachelle. If we weren’t already strong enough ourselves, he couldn’t have done shit! We did that. And to him, we’ve stopped being a we, are you listening to me?" Allison leaned forward, gave a hard squeeze that made Rachelle gasp and cough out more blood, a whimper stuck in her throat. Yes, Rachelle was still listening. Good, Allison could continue. "If we’ve ever been a we to begin with. No, Rachelle. Now it’s him and us. Us, his little minions, to do with what he wants well fuck that, Rachelle. If he thinks himself separate from us, then very well. He can be alone. We don’t need him anymore."

Rachelle shuddered violently, mouth opening as she tried to speak but Allison realized that she had broken ribs and probably pierced a lung. Rachelle’s breath came in erratic heaves, quick and sharp as she fought for breath.

"And we don’t -want- you anymore."

Allison’s hand gripped tighter and then pulled harsh, and with a sudden snap, Rachelle’s body went limp above hers. Allison pushed Rachelle off her, taking her bloody arm back. Rachelle laid on the forest ground, covered in her own blood and some of Allison’s, unbreathing and unmoving. Allison breathed in but her exhale was fraught with quiet little sobs as she looked away and then shook her head. Breathe in again, and breathed out again. A few more minutes and she was okay again. Allison cleaned herself off all the blood, every other wound was already closed, every bruised disappeared, leaving behind only a mild soreness that she loved. Walking to the disregarded shopping bags, Allison picked them up and inspected them. Rachelle really did have such a great taste, there was no denying it. Allison had just found what she was going to wear.

With a pop she dissaparated.


	78. (Hershey) Kiss For the Road

Nadia had been laying down on the day bed in the spare room, face down and her feet in the air as she did her homework and ate chocolates when she heard the tap at her window. Without turning to look she started smiling, thinking it could only be one person, but as she lifted her head and stared at the window she turned out to be wrong.  
  
She shuffled to her feet, holding her jacket closed together by crossing her arms in front of her chest and then narrowed her eyes as she stared at Julio, waving his hand at her. Nadia debated calling for help, or simply calling the pharm to come take him away, but her curiosity took the better of her.  
  
Nadia walked to the window and unlocked it before throwing them open, taking no care to ensure he didn't hit his chin as she did but he managed to avoid them easily enough. Julio looked in much better shape than when she last saw him almost a month ago, but Nadia didn't know whether to be relieved at that or wary.  
  
"Hola, Nadia," Julio greeted with a small smirk, and she almost closed the window in his face again except for the small flicker of doubt in his eyes. Julio had been one of maybe four people in total she knew while she was in Paris. Until she had gotten her memory back, he was a significant part of her life if only because her life had been darkness and screams for weeks and anything that wasn't stuck. That was different now, she had her memories back, but she still felt like she knew him enough to know that something was different.  
  
"How did you escape?" Nadia asked, her lips becoming dry from pursing them so hard and the winter chill coming in through the window.  
  
"We share something in common, Nadia. We're both quite flexible."  
  
Nadia rolled her eyes and stepped forward to push his shoulders and send him stumbling backwards, about to tell him how lucky he was this was the first floor and that he should beat it, but before she could do that he outstretched a hand and put it on the wood and glass shutter to stop her. Nadia cocked her head to the side and fixed him with a glare, waiting for whatever he had to say. After all, he was here to say something, not just to stand there and stare at her.  
  
"The day my mother died."  
  
Nadia blinked confused, shaking her head and asking quietly, "what?"  
  
Julio rolled up his sleeves and showed her the tattoo that she had asked about when she went to visit him at his cell. Nadia's shoulders dropped with a sudden sadness as her fingers reached forward to ghost over the six numbers. The tattoo of a date to remember; he had remembered after all. Nadia took her hand back and looked up at Julio's face again as he too stared intently at the tattoo.  
  
"I thought your mother was alive," she spoke just as quietly.  
  
"So did I, for years, Gustav had Angel give me a special potion," he brought the sleeve back down and now it was Nadia who frowned before correcting.  
  
"Harper."  
  
"A rose by any other name," Julio waved his hand and then cleared his throat, "but all the time without taking it, it wore off. That's why I broke out, I still have things to do, Nadia."  
  
Nadia swallowed a lump in her throat, "You mean vengeance."  
  
"I mean justice."  
  
Nadia raised her eyebrows and shook her head hesitantly, "I don't think you know the difference, Julio."  
  
Julio smirked briefly before his expression softened and he leaned forward and requested, "Tell me more about me, Nadia."  
  
Nadia exhaled, trying to keep from rolling her eyes again before snapping quickly, "Don't mock me, Julio. I'm serious."  
  
"So am I," he spoke with a certain amount of pain in his voice that Nadia couldn't help but notice. Like Olivier had said, she was hyper-aware now. Easily startled, easily frightened, she could use it to her advantage by noticing details other people would miss. Nadia was noticing that Julio seemed different, and not only because he had remembered that his mother was dead. If Gustav had altered his memory, he had probably meant to redirect that anger he felt about his mother's death outward on everyone. He had spent two years manipulated, and was confused. Julio was being honest when he asked her to tell him more about himself. As if she were some sort of expert.  
  
"We've talked a grand total of maybe five times, Julio," she reminded him, but he only smiled wider and then nodded, accepting her fact easily.  
  
"Didn't stop you from telling anyone else what you thought they were," he winked and Nadia scoffed to cover an embarrassed smile. He meant Olivier, or D'Grey as he had been to her at that time, or maybe he meant Gustav. She'd had a few choice words to say about him too. Nadia quickly put the thought from her mind before her mouth quickly filled with bile.  
  
"Here, I'll get you started. So far you've called me sadistic, that I think myself marginally better than the people I was working with, that I look nicer than I really am, that I feel foul, that I throw compliments to hide the fact that I would like nothing better than to hurt you, oh," he smirked and then added, "you also called me Casanova."  
  
Despite herself, Nadia began smiling. Shaking her head, her dark curls coming loose from the bun she had tied with her own head, she commented, "I can't believe you remember all of that."  
  
"Like you said, memories are important."  
  
Nadia nodded, still surprised he recalled their conversations to begin with but then again he supposed that was part of his training. It would've been extensive if he had managed to break out of the farm.  
  
"You don't feel foul, Julio," she amended after a few moments in silence, "you didn't hurt me, and you didn't want to hurt me. You did hurt my brother, and Devin. You hurt a lot of people. But," she quickly added as she saw him open his mouth to say something, "but I think you also regret all of it. Please tell me that isn't only wishful thinking on my part."  
  
Julio swallowed and instead of making a joke about how she thought of him, which is what she half expected, Julio shook his head, "It's not. And I am...I am sorry."  
  
"Tell them personally."  
  
Julio laughed and then pursed his lips together before he allowed, "Maybe after. I can't afford to be in the country for a moment longer."  
  
Nadia tilted her head, "So you came all this way to...show me that tattoo?"  
  
"In part," he nodded, "but also to say goodbye." He lifted his gaze to hers again after it had flickered around without destination. Nadia found herself suddenly sad again for some reason. It wasn't until later on that she would realize that she was feeling what he did at that moment.  
  
Julio's gaze didn't falter as he kept looking at her in silence for a few moments before smiling, "And thank you. Everything you told me, everything you said, I thought about it a lot while I was in that cell and it helped to remind me of who I was. And what I need to do."  
  
Nadia nodded, a little breathless from the surprise, the confusion, and now the concern. She wanted to ask where he was going, what he was going to do, if he was okay, how his mother died, how he got involved with those bastards to begin with, but speech was failing her. They could talk all night and it still wouldn't be enough, and they definitely didn't have that much time. If he stayed any longer he was bound to get found given that he was now a fugitive of the law.  
  
"Also, you still owe me a dance."  
  
Nadia rolled her eyes, chuckling incredulously as she shook her head again. Alright, the moment was over. She fixed him with another glare but it didn't have near as much intensity or anger. In a way it was almost fond.  
  
"Rain check then," he added with a smirk as she kept her eyes narrowed at him, her right foot tapping and her hands in the pockets of her jacket.  
  
Smirk still on his face, he tilted his head too and suggested, "At least give me a kiss for good luck."  
  
Nadia pursed her lips again and after biting her lower one, she stood straighter and then answered after a nod, "I'll give you two." His eyebrows sky-rocketed as she agreed, but Nadia merely took a step closer and instructed.  
  
"Close your eyes, and open your mouth."  
  
Julio laughed once and smirked, "Well, well, Nadia. Not the best of techniques but-"  
  
"Do as I say," she interrupted with a sigh and waited for him to do so. Her smile broke open then, practically a grin as she took her hands out of her pockets. Then she took another step closer, put a hand on his cheek and popped the little chocolate she had unwrapped in her pocket in his mouth. Smirking, pleased with herself, she took a step back as he opened his eyes again, chewing the chocolate with a smile.  
  
"And one for the road," she gave him the little Hershey's kiss, dropping it in his awaiting palm and then nodded.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Julio nodded too and pocketed the chocolate with another smile.  
  
"Bye, Nadia."  
  
Nadia saw him step away from the window and pull his hood up before looking around to make sure he was still not spotted and took off in a jog into the woods near her house. Nadia closed the window and locked it again when he was out of sight, sighing when she did.  
  
"Good luck, Julio," she whispered before turning back to her homework with a little groan.


	79. You Ruined My Entrance

_ "You'll find it turns out I don't belong to the club after all." _

Failures Anonymous. Ansel snorts. No, he doesn't. Or he wouldn't after tonight. He stalls abruptly, seeing the foyer door has opened again and then buries a chuckle in his throat. Turning on that plush tapestry-like rug, he greets Tony's brother brightly.

"Bonjour, D'Grey. Tell me, does it just appear that way, or is there actually a twelve foot leash between the two of you...?"

He gestures his finger in a wiggle between the brothers, bemused.

Was it just all of his anger and annoyance culminating to a point that made Tony narrow his eyes in suspicion as Ansel told him to stick around and that he wasn't part of his imaginary club, or just the way he said those sentences? Whatever it was, Tony's own convoluted thought process was the reason he frowned further and rubbed at his forehead.

Hearing the door open again, he turns his head, his eyes remaining narrowed as he looks upon Olivier. Lying bastard, his eyebrows immediately accused, but said nothing as he took another sip of the scotch in his hand.

"It's a safety tether, actually," Tony corrected coolly before adding, "but I could see how you would mistake it with your own short leash around your neck. Does the training collar zap you everytime you try to piss indoors too?"

Olivier almost smiled at the look Tony gave him and wonders just how long his brother had been there. He bet not longer than twenty minutes, which was about a half an hour before he expected him. So, yes, it was a good hour and a half after dinner was supposed to start. He'd have been there earlier, but he had meetings at the capitol. Good to be the king again. And look, lying about when it started to ensure Tony came on time was light. Olivier was just glad he was wearing pants this time.

"Ai bien, you made it, fratello." Olivier greets him.

Actually, considering he was with Ansel, Olivier was now glad neither of them had ripped the other apart. Considering Stefanie? Blood spilling would have been all too likely, and all too messy. Madonna, por miseria, Olivier thinks at the quick response, but can't help but chuckle. Lifting a hand, which made his armani dinner jacket spread off his shoulder, he patted Ansel's as if he was actually just talking to a friend still.

"How does it work with an alpha, actually? The sensing each other in a pack? I've always wondered."

Ansel had chuckled too, because with the suave and oh-so-timely appearance of his brother, he knew he had to wait for any further honesty. Well, maybe not all.

"I guess the general answer is being secure in the knowledge you have a family to back you up." Ansel said easily, pointed.

Olivier's eyebrows answer Tony, tell him that he has that already.

Ansel continued, "But more specifically, in the pack?" He questioned, smirking to ignore the fact he was being patted and then gestures over his shoulder, "You mean, how is it I know my dearest sister Allison is a few feet behind me on the stairs...?"

Yeah, he had made it alright, the question was whether or not he was going to be staying for much longer. Tony would wait to see if there actually was lobster or if Ansel had been yanking his tail. Not that out of the two of them he was the one with the tail, but he digressed.

Refraining from rolling his eyes as his brother stepped up to clasp Ansel's shoulder in an obviously protective and condescending manner hidden behind a false air of amiability, Tony instead seemed much more interested on a piece of art hanging on the wall. But then he realized it was Hans' and changed his mind, especially as he heard Ansel's answer. You're not the only one with a family, buddy, he wanted to answer...actually what he really wanted to do was neuter him but, unfortunately, that was out of the question.

Tony raises his eyebrows, not having noticed Allison until Ansel pointed her out. You would think a woman wearing those heels would make more noise.

"Shame on you, Ansel, you've ruined by entrance," Allison spoke out, though no actual disappointment was discernable in her tone.

"Well, bonjour to you, mademoiselle," Tony greeted with a friendly enough smile. Call Allison all the names you wanted, you would probably be correct on all of them, but there was no denying she was beautiful. In that crazy, stay back at least twenty feet kind of way. Yet her dress, a sleeveless, red satin sheath, only served as an invitation. One he would have to work very hard to decline.

"Buenas tardes," she answered in her own language, as her accent while speaking French was still noticeable, if not muddled. Allison descended down the last few remaining steps and walked furhter into the room, greeting D'Grey with the customary kiss to each cheek, after he had unhanded her brother.

"You boys are looking sharp," she remarked, pleased that they had dressed in their best. Call it her being a perfectionist, but everything had to go perfectly right tonight, until it decidedly didn't.

"The comedian is Antonio, I presume," her gaze finally turning to D'Grey's brother. She had seen him in passing, heard from him more than anything, but she was neither impressed nor disappointed. He seemed to be exactly as had been described to her.

"My reputation precedes me," he smirked, taking a couple of steps closer to take her outstretched hand and then kissing her knuckles, "Incantato, cara."

"New dog," she commented and then after a look to D'Grey, she finished with a smirk, "old tricks." Allison took her hand back and then moved back to stand beside her brother, moving hair she had straightened behind her shoulder.

"Woof woof," Tony answered dryly, smirk crossing his lips as he took another sip from his drink.

+.

The dress was backless, Tony noticed as Olivier twirled Allison around once, the two of them interacting as if they were friends. Well, he supposed they were friends...that was weird. For some reason it was always so mind blowing thinking of his brother in relatively normal situations like dinner with friends. Then again the normalcy stopped at the fact that they were celebrating overthrowing a terrorist faction, and replacing it with another! He needed another drink.

Not her preferred adjective, Allison admitted, but it wasn't as if it was inaccurate. It was even a little clever, and D'Grey so did love being clever. She took the compliment with a bigger smile, thanking him with a wink. She was feeling loose, and more free already. The smell of the salt air from the waves that lapped at a shore not so distant from the house just added to her glee.

"De nada, mi cielo," she all but waved off her brother's gratitude, though she couldn't deny a feeling of pride like she always got when she completed an assignment. His thanks was appreciated and as they both knew, technically unnecessary of him any longer.

Here comes the big bad wolf, Tony thought as he heard Hans' voice walking in as well, and had to restrain an immediate zip behind the bar again to refill his glass. Looking down, he saw very little of it still remained so he downed that as well.

His brother and Hans shared a macho alpha male bro hug while he finished his drink and he coughed, "husbands", without bothering to try to be discreet. Tony noticed Allison's lips curl upwards in a smirk, and could tell she agreed with his declaration, both amused and...something else Tony couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Quite," Allison agreed. It wasn't anything new to her, to lose a sibling in front of her eyes. Her brothers and her sister before she had turned, Zach, taken away by Hans, and even Rachelle, taken away by her own hands. She had experience with losing siblings along the way, what was another one?

Tony looked between Hans and Allison, speaking about losing a brother so nonchalantly. He could understand Allison's apathy; Marcel wasn't her brother, if anything he, and Stefanie, was just a constant reminder that all Allison could be was a cheap knock off, a replacement sibling in lieu of the fact Hans felt he could never return to his real family. Well, now he couldn't. And Hans, as cool as a cucumber, even his heart didn't beat out of tune. He was in perfect order, too perfect an order.

The man finally looked at Tony, though not directly, and Tony only waited for what Hans would say. A thank you was the least that Tony had expected from him. He wasn't relieved by it either. If Big Bad Hans was thanking you for something, rule of thumb was that you had probably gone wrong somewhere along the way. That was old news for Tony, though.

"Don't mention it," Tony replied, his eyebrows rising before he stressed with a smirk on his face, "ever."

"I wasn't planning on it," Hans' reply is petulant, but it's not bratty. There's an aloofness to his whole persona, that royal air which lacks gratitude to substitute the assumption of deserving. He's not going to thank a man twice, anymore than he'll vocalize the understanding that beneath Tony's words are the fact gratitude isn't wanted.

Of course it wasn't. Tony probably felt guilty. Ridiculous, Hans would tell him, but he wouldn't listen. Marcel was his brother, none of them had ever known him. Stefanie they knew as a wild card, as a spoilt princess and selfish brat the boys were both quick to point out how stupid it was of his sister to bully her way into that storage center, but neither one of them would acknowledge her bravery, either. Tony had it easier than he did in that room: how could Hans have chosen which sibling to try and save? He had done him a favor; he saved him having to face that, and now, well, he'd never have to face that again. Tony shouldn't feel guilty in Hans book.

But then to Tony he'd made a choice, he'd picked one of them over the other. From what Ansel had been shouting at him, Ansel just looked at it from the all-Stefanie-angle (like he did nearly everything): he'd be unhappy with Tony as long as she was, and he'd be jealous of him when she wasn't (if she ever wasn't again). Boys, he wants to tut and scoff away, but they'd always held his sister in the crook of their palm like they were cradling a jewel too precious to behold.

"Well, you all certainly know how to get into the spirit," Allison mocked, smirking before she turned, looking over her shoulder to gesture to one of the servers to bring them champagne. Hans turned as she does, using the head shake to throw away his words.

"Come now, there are many more reasons to celebrate than to brood."

"Too true," Olivier spoke quickly, but managed a nonchalance befitting of his renewed station. He wants to crow. He'd been to this dinner just once before, taking over the business from his father's corpse Tony hadn't come then. He'd have a drink just to his brother's appearance, and another one for whatever thought it was that swallowed down his urge to kill Ansel.

Yes, even if it was probably, likely, morality and that simple nagging bitch of a thought "it was wrong."

(Actually, if Tony still was thinking that, he'd have two drinks to celebrate his moral nagging Jimminy of a brother. He missed that little righteous putana right now.)

Taking the glass Allison's server offers him, Olivier toasts her and that backless dress before taking a sip. Would Daniella ever come with him to dinners such as this? Probably not, he has to admit ruefully, but a man could hope. Or strategically manipulate and choreograph circumstances to meet a desired evening outcome. (The latter was a D'Grey speciality.)

"Oh, Ansel didn't imperius another teenager for this champagne, did he?" Tony asked, grin wide and almost teasing if it weren't for the subdued hint of malice twinkling in his eyes. Tony took the flute nevertheless, smirking and then winked before taking a sip. Was it bad luck to take a drink before toasting? He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Allison swore as she beheld Antonio and her brother once more, men were more catty than women sometimes. The belief that after a good fight all the bitter feelings went away was a false one. Then again, they hadn't yet had such a fight, though they might get the opportunity sooner rather than later. All this, over a woman. Have a little more self-respect, she wanted to tell them; a cunt, is a cunt, is a cunt. The same way a dick, is a dick, is flaccid when you most need it. Get over it, move on. There are more important things in life than whoever made you all bubbly and tingly inside.

"Shall we have a toast?" Hans asks, even as he then takes his own sip. Ansel was surprised at the question, because it sounds his brother was honestly asking. More signs of how the mighty had fallen he thinks, and he's almost sad at it.

"To a new Paris." Ansel offers beside him, smirk flicking across his lips.

Allison refrained from taking a sip of the champagne until the official toast, rolling her eyes once but keeping it fond. Then as Ansel offered up the toast, her smile widened further, nodding her head once in pleased agreement. She raises her glass to that, pointedly clinking her champagne flute against theirs, you would think it's the first time they toasted, and saying, "Salud" before finally taking a sip.

More like old-new Paris, Tony thought, but he still toasted, meeting Allison halfway to clink their glasses together, earning a brief moment of approval from the woman, before taking a lengthier sip than before. Hopefully, Tony thought as he looked down at his champagne, it could be a brand new Paris.

Hans was supposed to fill the toast, he knew, but now had no choice but to follow suit. D'Grey flicked eyebrows and gaze both between them, but he too took a sip.

To a new Paris indeed, Ansel thinks, sipping last. After a quick gasp, he adds happily, "And to good music, I think, yes--" He spins, pointing to a petite blonde server who obediently went and pressed the stereo system.

Hans quirks his lips as Sinatra fills the air from a resounding subwoofer masquerading as a record player in gilded gold, and looked at Tony before he said, "Well, I did know it was one of your favorites. Tell me though, how ~~did~~ your brother convince you to come tonight?"

Pausing all movements for a moment, he lifted his head again as he heard the classic Fly Me To The Moon. Chuckling, he turns to look at Hans, decidedly ignoring the occasion which had informed Hans of Tony's appreciation of Sinatra.

"What, no "I'm Gonna Live Till I Die"?" Too soon? Tony shook his head and then looked briefly at Olivier, smirking as he answered, "Lost a bet."

Olivier held his hand up as if to say he gave up, turning and speaking directly to Ansel instead. If he wasn't responsible for keeping peace with his brother, it was probably the only time of the evening he was going to have to speak to the bloke.

And he had a strange feeling that Ansel was a little too bemused and relaxed with his brother.

Hans just had laughed, unbothered by what Tony passed off as 'clever wit', moving to take another sip of his own champagne and busying himself with thanking the petite blonde with a kiss on her cheek and whisper in her ear.

Of course they weren't imperiused to be there; that would defeat the purpose of celebration, Hans thought. And yet, you could tell Antonio wasn't new to the world of trustworthy servants; just to the idea of decorum. In Hans opinion, that wasn't going to get any better with time.

"You know, Antonio, you'd enjoy yourself sooner if you simply faced facts," she suggested, somehow keeping a better temper about their company and pack being insulted than she ever had, "we're the funnest people you'll ever meet."

Yes, they just so happened to also be the deadliest people he'd ever met too.

"Jury's still out on that one, cara, but I'll let you know."

"The jury?" Hans questions with a bright smirk suddenly, after another sip of his bubbling flute, "And you trust a Parisian jury to get to the truth now, do you?"

An odd trait for a D'Grey to have, Hans smarm might as well add for him, but he wasn't as averse to decorum as Tony. After nodding to the server in the back to ensure dinner was proceeding apace, he moves towards the windows. A snap of his fingers open them. It was passing freezing tonight, only a few weeks from Christmas, but apart from servers they were all of the supernatural breed tonight and not one of them were really going to feel the cold.

Or, so Hans thought. Ansel had a different kind of chill in mind, one that ran down his spine as the rest of his family was starting to appear, but that soon would hopefully be headed down his brother's spine instead.

"--yes, actually we will be staying here for a little while." Ansel was saying to Olivier, making his eyes narrow curiously even as he responds, "splendid."

It warmed him to think Hans was staying and yet it didn't seem to gel with what he knew. Hans would be going to Austria for the funeral, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he bring the pack with him?

Spinning back from the window, Hans adds to Allison, "You're looking stunning, sister. Beginning to wish I had opened the party to the public after all, it is a _crime_ so few will see you in that gown."

"Yes, because unlike everyone else in this room, I don't have an enduring distrust of the justice system," Tony answered him simply enough, but unbothering to get into it further. That was one argument he'd already had more than several dozen times already, and he was past arguing tonight. Next person that wanted to 'challenge' him in anything was going to have to do so physically and to the death. Tony, a lover of hyperbole, was hardly exaggerating in his promise either.

Hardly any justice came from the justice system in Allison's point of view, but she didn't say it aloud. In a room of known debaters, she knew she would be out-quipped. She had never been one for words. She was fighter, she was a killer, a very voracious killer; she left the words for ones with more talent for them. But when you wanted something done right, quick, and without hesitation, you send her. It was why Ansel entrusted her, no one else, to take care of the last few details for tonight.

She smiled as the rest of her brothers and sisters began to arrive from upstairs and other rooms. Allison caught Melissa's eyes in particular. Her sister looked stunning, spitefully so Allison knew. It wasn't difficult for a wolf to turn sorrow into anger, and rage. It wasn't enough that it was an instinct, Hans had actually encouraged it.

Tony restrained a groan as he overheard Ansel say that the pack was staying. Why? Couldn't they just travel the world, head to the alps, mate in the wilderness, have little werewolf pups and just be gone? And was Olivier even okay with that? Didn't he say no matter his friendship he didn't want a pack of werewolves that could change at will roaming around in 'his city'? Granted, only four of them could change at will now, and that short list didn't include Hans. He would wonder how that detail would affect him but for that he would have to care enough.

"Thank you," Allison beamed with a small giggle, gaining far more amusement than she should have over the compliments on this dress. You would think because she all but pried it out of her sister's unmoving fingers, and it being technically Rachelle's dress, she would be bothered but no, she was actually quite tickled.

"The ones that matter see me in it, and of course, the privileged few," she winked at their guests, the brothers, before finishing the champagne and setting it on the platter to her left. The same motion served as the gesture that Ansel was waiting on.

Tony raised his glass at her, finishing the champagne with a quick gulp as well and then looked around, thinking to himself well, he should try to mingle, and stay away from any more doggy puns. They were walking in, all together they made up about a baker's dozen, maybe a couple of more. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been trained as a hunter but a pack this size was unnatural and therefore made him very wary. Was it too much to hope that now without the potion they would break off into factions? Fingers crossed!

Though was it him and his increased paranoia around werewolves or were a good half of them hovering in front of and blocking all of the entryways into the room?


	80. An Alpha's Growl

_Refuse my calls all you like, sister, my true family stands around me now._ Wine glass lifts in the private toast to the room. A corner of Hans lips twitches as he takes a moment to regard them all. Sinatra gave way to Miller and Ellington on the records before contemporary pop takes over surround speakers plugged into an iPod. It was obligatory, regrettably, but then again it was something that Olivier’s brother seems to find much appreciated. There you go, sister, I played nice. I did exactly the opposite of what I should do. His hand scratches behind his ear, a brief flick. Despite the wild card of his heart inside, the  itch disappears as he takes a moment to look the room over, stuffed to capacity with bodies running ten degrees too hot, everyone there aside from Rachelle. Else, he’d have started the dinner already.  
                                                     
Was there a more heartening sight than that of a company of friends and family, even one united in grief? Unity was rare enough that Hans had learned never to discard it. Good food permeated the room from the dining hall and it’s bucket of lobsters, the perfume of meat enough to make any mouth water, let along those of their…wolfish tendencies. Frank played darts against Tony (he thinks both are cheating). Melissa was with two of her sisters near one door, sitting at the table as far from him as possible in the room. (All right yes, that was to be expected). Olivier on his left just finished telling him an amusing anecdote from the afternoon. It seemed the city’s district judge had wrongly imagined he was in a position to make demands. “His mistake,” D’Grey said as he toasts him back all eyebrows and snark. Swallowing wine and laughs he savors despite the wary eye on the room, Hans replies brightly.   
  
"Yes, seems so. Actually his daughter’s mistake, wasn’t it?"   
  
The smugness only grows on his friend’s face. Heavens, weren’t those eyebrow acrobatics tiring? Clapping his shoulder, Olivier leans in a tad too close to respond, assuming as ever. Hans leans closer to hear the whispered taunt.   
  
"Three times."    
  
The laughter immediate, Hans has to pause as he says, “lucky girl”, before the wine reappears to give him a bloody nose. There’s a knowing look in his side smirk as he pushes D’Grey off and spins towards the room hearing a wolf-whistle, but it was only Allison, congratulating something or other.   
  
"Everything all-right?" D’Grey asks. For once the eyebrow was still, no sarcasm in his concern. Hans smiles back, shrugging it off.  
  
"Just a bit hungry. Took a few bullets still to heal, after all."  
  
"Pft," Olivier waves this off, half teasing. It was half because oh-ho, Hans did not miss the little protective glance over to the darts table, the onceover on his Antonio’s well-being. How sweet.  
  
Why was he so jumpy? Trying to push the discomfort down, he decides to see how dinner was coming along.   
  
Oh, his sense of timing hadn’t been spoiled, clearly. As another brother of theirs moves to the opposing door the chef appears. Hans narrows his eyes. Interesting. Hadn’t the chef been a woman ten minutes before? Well, perhaps this big burly man in the petite lacy apron was a hired hand in the kitchen…  
  
Cutting off before dinner could be announced, Hans holds a hand up and shakes his head.  
  
"Apologies, mate. We’re waiting on one more."   
  
D’Grey, ever the observant one his Daddy trained him to be, asks in a passably cheerful manner, “Yes, where is Rachelle tied up? Or do I not want to know how literal that is?”  
  
Despite his good-natured chuckle of denial, this time Hans has to swallow down a skip of his heart, knowing everyone in the room could hear it. Though he has the impermanent potion - enough to run the month out if the entire pack didn’t need it - they were all as strong as him, and three present ran stolen silver potion in their veins. Even Antonio could hear, Hans thinks with a nose wrinkle as he sends the chef away. The reluctant hybrid rivals his senses now. The injustice of that boils under skin stretching in a thin smile.   
  
Hans looks to Allison’s fabulous bare back, asking in a tone that reaches for joking, “Sister? Have you done something naughty with dear Rachelle?”  
  
Though he smiles and swallows the wine as he looks Allison in the eye, Hans keeps his spine stiff. The lights were dimming as the night outside heightens, making the room seem smaller, almost sinister in the strictly artificial orange glow. Crimson tints the corner of his gaze, until he snaps fingers and curtains roll back to reveal the skylights. Moonlight streams through, a comfort to them all, or actually — it should be to them all. Except it’s a new moon, and only starlight falls through the cracks. Oh, did he sound bitter?  
  
The smirk in place grows drier by the minute.  
  
A brief glance to Ansel isn’t returned. His second was enthralled in a game on his new iPhone (was it the i16 or i17?). Truthfully, he’d been keeping aloof since the show began and Hans had been fine with that. It was likely to do with…oh, this storming out and that unanswered text and generally all things Stefanie.   
  
(Yes, he does sound bitter, but give him a break. This was wine in hand, and Hans had lost a sibling this week.)  
  
Besides, Ansel would do well to stay back tonight. Considering the rebuilding Olivier had ahead of him, he’d every intention of moving the pack on to another country, at least for a while. Yet Ansel told the brothers otherwise. They’d address that later, he thinks, not fool enough to assert dominance in public again and expect further accolades. The droll politics were giving him a headache. In truth, this celebration was more showboat than triumph. This wasn’t life getting back to normal, this was the beginning of a new kind of nightmare…  
  
That’s what’s wrong, Hans realized abruptly.  
  
"Come now," Hans says, bemused, "which of you forgot, in the…excitement of the evening, to tell me Rachelle acquired a new suitor?"  
  
Now Allison looked to Ansel too. Eyebrows snapping together with slow confusion, Hans tilts his head as his brother only holds up a finger instead of answering. There’s a  seering jolt through his chest. How dare he. Another red-hot shock seeks his heart when his fine-tuned ears pick up the ‘plink plink plink’ of an Angry Birds high-score.   
  
"Three gold stars, Ansel," Hans says, answering plink with a clink as he puts the glass on the nearest table. Taking a step predatory towards his brother Hans finishes light, "but if you want to keep that phone, you’re going to explain yourself now. "  
  
A snap-swoosh-thud answers him as Ansel ignores him to launch another yellow bird. But as Hans heart skips again, a shock of grey eyes lifts from the LCD screen to hold his gaze.  
  
"Rachelle won’t be joining us tonight, regrettably. And," Ansel says this with a sigh heavy and feigned, "I’ll be keeping my phone as well as anything else I like, Hans."  
  
There’s a click in Hans jaw, but a twitch to the vein near his eye.   
  
"What are you talking about?" Hans asks in  low-heat (a sure sign of danger) crimson suffusing the corners of his gaze. Behind them, the speaker bounces and vibrates to some godawful bass, the kind all to prevelent now. It’s like the entire music industry had lost sense of rhythm or taste; the record companies forgot the very things that made them so powerful in the first place.  
  
The grey eyes haunt a chilly smile as Ansel glances at Allison first. Then he finishes the level, launches a few more Angry birds in the digitized slingshot, lets another plink-plink-plink ring out to all these supernatural ears against the discordant bass. Hans remains poised. Even in his confusion, he would never-be fool enough to admit to it, or acknowledge the fact his brother makes him wait as he lands another near-perfect score. Closer, Ansel’s rising breath seems to echo in Hans ear, closer and closer…  
  
There’s a jimmy of a door handle and a lock holding. Hans shoots his gaze to it, realizing his good friend D’Grey had tested the living room door. Across from him, Olivier looks to his brother to yank on another door. Another lock.   
  
"What’s the meaning of this?" This time his words were the short growl of an Alpha defiant, of a man demanding answers, immediately, or else.  
  
"Calm down, brother." Ansel’s tongue clicks. "Wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself in your…newly fragile, state."  
  
Hans swivels his gaze around the room, heat in quick breath clawing his throat raw and heavy. Melissa looks dead on at him with those clear blue pearls, now standing in a pose as tense and defiant as his own — but the two she was with now look to the floor. Half the room looks like ashamed to gaze at him, red-cheeked and jaw trembling once before locking into place. Not one of them answer, not bloody one of them…they who owe their allegience, who owe their lives to him…these proud, proud fools. Jimmying locks echo in his ear -  oooh, Antonio doesn’t like that lock does he? His heart had leaped apace as apparently yanking on it twice wasn’t sufficient to realize it wouldn’t break. Claustrophic, was he? Yet even if it only is once in the new moon above them, Hans thinks, the pair of them feel the same.  
  
Or else it was.  
  
"None of you will answer me?" Hans asks, eyes glaring full red as he forces the few who dare to look him in the eye. There’s a short-out in the raucous bass; the iPod skipping on to a new track.   
  
"Won’t they?" Ansel asks as he goes to another level on the game, tapping phone on knee as he offers, as if helpful, "Don’t we all answer to an Alpha’s growl?"  
  
Ansel looks around himself now, then shrugs a shoulder, looking back to the phone screen as he says, “Guess not.”  
  
Hans feels a peculiar sensation, like he missed a step on his way over to the table, even though he hasn’t deigned to look at Ansel again, himself. Breathing in as he looks around with the unmistakable air of one pretending to still have complete control of the situation.  
  
"Neat trick," he says in a low growl with a false-bright smile, "None of you will share? Come on…why won’t you share the joke?" There’s a dangerous curl in Hans mouth as he swivels head around, calling names,"Allison, Melissa…you look so proud of yourselves…"  
  
"They should be proud. Isn’t that what we’re doing tonight, celebrating our freedom?" Ansel says behind him. Hans narrows his eyes, but finds himself looking at Olivier instead. His friend was a statue of taking stock of all the unfriendly glances in the room, the exits, the resources at hand. Yet it falls away a moment as their gazes meet, honest concern appearing for the second time that night. Something grips in his gut.  
  
"Oh hang on," Ansel seems to remember like it’ll answer everything, cheerful. "Why are you asking us, Hans? You can sense everyone in the pack, can’t you?  
  
 There’s a flash of cerulean in Hans gaze as his jaw slips again, teeth smack each other then latch on, like sliding the last piece into place. The turn in his neck to regard his brother is slow, each vein and ligature visible in his throat as he winds around, sizes Ansel up. The boy knows he’s being surveyed - the uptick in his heart rate is palpable - but first only offers a careless flash of his wrist to close out the stupid distraction of a game. The iPhone off, he slips it into his blazer pocket. Fingers brush off the edge of Ansel’s jacket as he stands. It’s a slow rise, with as much purpose as a politician preparing to give a life-changing speech — and as much panache as Ali gave the press before he took down Joe Frasier.  
  
"Go on," Ansel said, unbuttoning each cuff-link as he gestures Hans. "Where is Rachelle?"  
  
Gaze slipping unfocused as he feels another misstep, Hans digs teeth into the raw flesh of his lip and throws out every sensory talent he’s meant to have. Every wolf perk might have been snatched from lasting with Zachary’s betrayal, but he was the pack’s Alpha…he made all of them, he knew where they were (how could he have forgotten that?). He didn’t need some blasted potion. No silver poison got rid of the fact that Hans killed the man who made him in that terrible, dank cell. Rachelle had been in the same kind of cells…twice… _(I’m sorry sister, desperately, I’m so sorry…)_ but she was free, he knew that, he found her, _they_ found her…  
  
Nothing. Nothing! How could there be nothing!? A hiss escapes his lungs as he lifts  chin and resettles stance, spine stretching back as if he’s still trying to make himself grow taller.   
  
Ansel hasn’t even blinked. There’s a little tilt to his neck he levels a look balanced between sorrow and hatred. Worst of all was the sense of control in that gaze, the air of confidence his brother exudes in rolling waves. I gave you that, Hans wants to snarl, you ungrateful little -  
  
"Nothing, brother? " Ansel asks, and Hans falters with knowledge he didn’t want as a familiar growl laces the words.  
  
"Ansel…," the gasp was more piteous than he meant it to be, so he choked up his throat as Ansel lifts his finger again. He gives another hiss to words soothing, "Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing brother —," and then again Ansel speaks with sudden confidence, with a sudden command (I didn’t give you this, you bastard, you’ve taken it, taken it from me)…  
  
 ”— don’t move, just focus, try again.”  
  
That growl…  
  
 _You’ve stolen it from me._  
  
Hans shuts his eyes tense, feet suddenly locked in place, back stiff and heart pounding a warning heavy in his chest, becoming all stone and delicate at the same time. He’s trying again before he realizes it, before he understands … but there’s a sinking pit in his stomach that tells him, cold, he already does. Of course he was obeying his brother. Wolves run in packs, and every pack needs an Alpha. Alpha’s command, control and sense the others, and Rachelle was…Rachelle was…  
  
"I know. It’s okay, shh brother," Ansel’s tongue clucks as if against a heavy burden. That growl, he stole it. Hans eyes open as if on cue so he can see the bastard has tears in that grey gaze.   
  
"I know where she is," Ansel said.   
  
A hand squeezes on Hans shoulder like he’s trying to squeeze the same out of him, the ocean in his throat and behind his eyes he has bottled up tight. White knuckles clench until he gives up a gasp, but one only, one only, how dare they — how dare him!  
  
"You!?"   
  
That was from Olivier, Hans knew, and - as his dearest brother Antonio chimes in - his shoulder is released. Unclasped, the world seems to fall off.  
  
That was it. Worry for Rachelle’s sake overtakes him as he shakes, shivers and gasps out with the need to hold back rage and anguish. Control, he thinks, but how could he have that now?  Understanding of the treachery sunk deep into his bone marrow like black paint on a canvas, swallowing any other color into the dark void. How could he have control, when his brothers - his sisters - his family…they betray him?  
  
"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" Tony steps towards them. Peculiar, Hans thinks, the ghost of a smile almost appearing. Since when does Tony care what happens to him?  
  
Of course, as the boy takes a step forward, Allison does as well, across the room, intent clear in eyes changed. No question whose Ansel beta was going to be, then, Hans thinks as his darting gaze across the floor and feet settles on her gown. It was just Rachelle’s color, Hans thinks with another gasp.  
  
Ansel only laughs once. “What am I doing? Oh, no, Tony. The question is what I have already -done-?”  
  
"I think that’s fairly obvious," Olivier’s voice is stiff, thick with the clarity of anguished understanding. The tears in his grey eyes disappeared. Ansel nods, like he’s saying ‘please, go on—!’ Like he’s complimenting a school boy.   
  
Olivier’s jaw tenses in a flash of anger himself, but he still speaks measured.   
  
"You’ve become Alpha," Olivier reports, as if it’s just the weather, practical - even as he looks at Hans back, watches him wince. Daddy taught him better than showing he feels the same, Hans thinks, but it doesn’t matter - he can hear the skip in Olivier’s chest.   
  
Ansel nods again, beckoning again.  
  
"I don’t know how," Olivier’s voice is still clear, chin lifting with his own defiance, "because you all know better than I that it’s generally a matter of killing the previous one. But you didn’t do that, did you? You knew, you couldn’t take Hans on. Not when he had the pack behind him. Even without the potion," his teeth cut against his bottom lip and his hand is behind his back, the other in a fist at his side, "you didn’t dare."  
  
Olivier spits that now, but Ansel merely narrows his eyes and speaks as calmly as he had been at the start, as proud as before.  
  
"I don’t expect you to understand, D’Grey."   
  
There’s a scoff from Olivier, a twitch from his fist.  
  
"Oh, okay," he says, after shooting a warning glance at Tony, " that’s fine then, as long as you don’t expect me to understand betraying the man who made you all what you are — "  
  
Hans lifts a hand to wipe over his face as he hears that. My my, he thinks, Olivier D’Grey,  was that a sentiment of empathy?  
  
If it was, Ansel missed it, to cut out over him.   
  
"My family," Ansel says, making Hans growl again and stiffen behind him, "were nearly killed. Were enslaved, because of him." He points back at the still Hans, poised like he’s ready to lunge. "And now? He can’t turn at will - or won’t be able to soon, he can’t protect us. The -strongest- among us is Alpha-"  
  
"The strongest among us," Hans recites with a derisive snort and mirthless glint in crimson eyes as Ansel looks back at him, "with a bond of blood. And you think this treachery, strong? You think you can inspire this lot to loyalty, beginning with mutiny? Going behind my back, too afraid to face me on?"   
  
"I don’t want to kill you, Hans." Ansel says, cold. Grey eyes lock red, both tinged with blue, but only for the barest hint of a moment. Then he steels, hands turning to fists as his words cut out of his throat, "but I will, if you force me."  
  
All quavering, faltering and shaking disappears in a moment.   
  
"You think you can kill me, Ansel?" Hans whispers, as if speaking with a blunt knife. His hands change, elongate, claws appearing and suddenly — it’s like he’s thrilled with the opportunity to prove him wrong.   
  
Hans smiles.  
  
Ansel lifts a hand and points without looking at Olivier, saying flat, “This business is not with you, D’Grey. If you leave,” he nods and Melissa opens the locked door Antonio had been toying with, “we won’t interfere. This is family business.”  
  
"You despicable shit," Antonio began, teeth gritting as he took further steps forward, but before Allison or any other member of the pack could meet him halfway, Olivier was in front of his younger brother, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back. Antonio struggled against Olivier, but as he did his gaze remained on Ansel.  
  
"You don’t know the first fucking thing about family! And the only thing you’re gonna lead this pack to is off a fucking cliff, because you don’t know shit about being Alpha! I would enjoy watching him make you your bitch again but I’m going to have much more fun doing it myself—"  
  
"Non Tonio, sosta per favore —" Olivier, Hans great friend, lets out a stream in Italian as he pulls him back.  
  
Hans could hear Tony’s anger in the boy’s voice (in his heart rate), but barely comprehends. It’s the elder D’Grey he’s focused on, who has turned to look at him, and the smile falls off his face. Olivier (his oldest friend, some nagging voice whispers) stands behind the man he’d made his brother eight years ago, the thief who played at being his right hand to steal his left. Ansel might have stolen Rachelle, (where is she?), stolen the pack from under him — but Olivier knew him as a different boy once, Hans thinks.   
  
Olivier had called him a different name the first time he declared them “true friends.” It’s plain to see as they look at each other, ad the man just stands there while he loses everything, Olivier is remembering the same things. Warmth and foolish, foolish, hope had swept through Hans the first moment the man spoke in his defense. Full of angry vibrato, sarcasm and eyebrows, Olivier was firm. It’s a defense Hans knew he doesn’t truly deserve (he certainly didn’t deserve Antonio’s) and yet, as it melts, as it’s ravaged, as Olivier yanks his brother back and turns away from him — Hans gasps out. And as Olivier rubs under his eyes and takes the devil’s deal Ansel offers without even a word, Hans simply forgets how to breathe.   
  
But only for a moment. Air streams back into torn, burning lungs like fire he’s grateful for. It’s fire he kindles to incinerate every last memory of kinship, every last thought he’d ever had fond of them. They burn in effigy for yesterday (fitting, isn’t fire how all Ricards are meant to die?).  
  
Olivier is restraining his brother as the other wolves close in front of them, almost protectively, all with claws and changing faces. Hans doesn’t move. Let them posture. The fruitless display tires them and amuses him. (Didn’t they ever learn anything from him?) It sure makes a right better sight than Olivier leaving without another word.  
  
He hates them all.   
  
Legs don’t seem to work, throat revolves thirsty for blood and water like he can’t choose which he should swallow first — yet he knows he’s hanging on a thread.  Gaze sticks between the shadows of flickering candles and he thinks madly if he’s going down, he’s going to -burn them all.-  
  
"Ansel—!" There’s a touch of that gravitasse back, that alpha’s growl. His former brother turns back to him with weighty regret as Melissa locks the door on D’Grey’s back. Ansel nods, crouching in front of him, not moving either.   
  
(At least one of them listened to his lessons).  
  
Biting his tongue as he crouches, red stains over his teeth, lips and lolls on the edge of his chin. The pain is welcome, the blood sweet.   
  
"Come on," Hans says first, taking a step to the side with eyes agleam, moving graceful and wholly animal at once. Under his breath, he growls out, "Come on then, face me!"   
  
None of them move, though the youngest twitter, stepping behind Ansel and Allison and Melissa. The trio of his annointend makes him laugh, ignoring the tears in his eyes as he scoffs in grand pose, “My friends. My siblings, my one true family — !”   
  
Hans gestures at them each, one, two, three. Melissa looks away, Allison looks him dead on and Ansel takes another crouched step forward, his hand up as he hisses, “Hans, please don’t—”  
  
"Oh, do you speak for all of them?" Hans snarls, spittle splaying as if his words appear in the air and he needs to physically underline his point. "I’m sorry, Ansel, aren’t you leading a revolution? Shouldn’t you let them speak for themselves?"  
  
He clucks his tongue, he laughs, arms wide and eyes wild as he paces back and forth.  
  
Ansel’s eyes narrow, but he steps forward again as Melissa snaps — well, Hans was being generous, she gasps really, loud and brash and miserable, “You killed Zach!”  
  
"Oh, I did." Hans pauses, as if just remembering. Then he slaps both hands together, a mockery of prayer beneath bloody hands and bows forwards, "Are you going to kill me for that Melissa? Like you killed your cousin for kissing your boyfriend?"  
  
Melissa flinches and looks away, her teeth set and chattering.  
  
"I didn’t think so," Hans hisses, "as after all, I took you in anyway. I didn’t care. I even seem to recall I saved your mother’s life-"  
  
"Stop it," she whispers, her eyes clear and human, her curls everywhere as she asserts, "it doesn’t change anything."  
  
Hans lets out a shriek of laughter that may have been a sob.   
  
"Doesn’t change anything? What about you, Frank, it change anything to you, you who once had a village name you monster and set upon you every month? Or you, Alexandra, the little girl who lied? Or you, Allison? Oh, but wait, that’s not really your name, is it?  Neither is Vega. You’re as much a fraud as I am, sweetheart, but I never held it against you."  
  
(Another tear slips out and he throws it away in his rage, hand smacking his chest on the word ‘I’).  
  
"Yes, I confess it, I lost my temper when one of our own betrayed us, each and everyone of us — and I tore his heart out." Hans voice quivers with the viciousness; Melissa recoils as if slapped. But he asks, hopeless with hands wide and offered to the sky, "Did I do anything to you that each and everyone of you have not done before me?"  
  
They don’t move. He gasps again, “hm?”, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. When they don’t give him anything he suddenly shouts, voice heavy and rage-choked, his face transformed in red heat, “Answer me!”  
  
Hand swipes at the air, fist punching them palm opening to swivel at it.   
  
"Any of you! You stand before me so proud, so honorable — tell me, how are you different? How are you better? You all know the first man I killed was the man who bit me — and look at you now! Come on! Tell me!" Neck snapping so vibrantly as he slaps the air, fire bright in his chest and burning wild, he screams again, "Nothing? Then tell me this — tell me how you mean to kill me. I, who tore the man who bit me apart when I was still only a boy, I can’t be killed!"  
  
That breaks through, or maybe his voice just gave out to the tears regarding the vanity and self-righteous boys and girls he’d called family. Someone he’d called family had tried to kill him once before too. They were in the ground, right next to dear Mother and soon enough his sweet little perfect baby brother…  
  
They were dead and he still lived. Manic smirk on his face, he scrubs at his eyes before he laughs.  
  
"Enough, Hans. It’s already over."  
  
And so Hans rounds on Ansel as the boy rounds on him, remembering as he does the teenager trapped in withdrawal with bright eyes and desperate hunger for more. Oh, Ansel, he thinks, look at you now! All grown up, a powerful killer - ambitions fulfilled - yet if you’d listened to me at all, bastard, you’d already know…it’s not worth it.  
  
Hans’ fingernail is a claw as it jabs in accusation at him, “Except you! You, I never did manage to parallel, did I? But,” his voice shakes and he spits out, low, hateful, “you! Ohhh,” he laughs in a ragged way like his throat was torn to shreds, “I should have expected this from.”  
  
Ansel’s grey eyes turn black. Both of them cease rounding the other, crouching equally as their hair starts to thicken, lengthen.  
  
"Hardly the first time you’ll kill someone you love, is it?"   
  
Ansel’s growl becomes a bark (thank god) as the black-furred wolf launches after him, not a shred of the control they’d worked so hard to nurture left to him. Avenged with that thought he’d taken it from him  — blissfully, horribly lunging to meet him tooth and nail, wretched and bleeding — Hans lets go.  
  
Confession: Hans never had much control to begin with.


	81. Are You Done Destroying Things?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Are You?)

"I can get a plane ticket for you. I know you're blacklisted by the farm."  
  
Stefanie was speaking from her couch, using the colloquial language to dismiss and mock simultaneously the Pharmakeia agency. That thing that existed supposedly to keep people like him out of their quaint little uninformed countries. It's as efficient as if they put white picket fences up and a sign that said "Beware of Dog", but Stefanie has other reasons to avoid them herself.  
  
"And I'll make arrangements for -- the body." She says quieter.  
  
"The body." Hans echoes. He swirls the bourbon in hand, and smirks when she glares. How recently had she been crying? The firelight glistens on her cheeks.  
  
The Body, n, bo-dee, a word placeholder for the flesh had once been their youngest brother, but now soulless and burned, resembles -- well, what he turned their father into. One look at Steffie's face had let him know she blames him for this no less than that.  
  
"Don't be an ass," she tells him quietly in German, "It doesn't suit you."  
  
"On the contrary, dearest sister, " he toasts her in the air, "I have it on good authority that my wit is my finest trait."  
  
Stefanie rolls tired eyes and just turns back to the fireplace. When he sits, he doesn't for a moment believe she's seeing logs in the pit anymore than he does. Their father's pyre had been beautiful.  
  
(Someday he'll know he's grateful that he never saw Marcel's).  
  
"He's already in Austria." Hans tells her over a gulp hotter than the flames she's staring at. It's still not hot enough.  
  
"What?"  
  
Oh, oh!  
  
"Careful, sis," Hans points at her with the glass, "speak any sharper and you'll cut yourself."  
  
"What do you mean he's already in--"  
  
"D'Grey sent him for me." Hans shrugs, rubbing under his chin. She thinks she's going to cut him instead if he kept this nonchalance act (it has to be, she tells herself, right?) up.  
  
A silence stretches. (Her eyes with it, glassy and cried out). Stef has plenty to say to him, but she isn't going to speak on a dry throat, she isn't going to shake, she is not going to show him her weakness.  
  
"Were you," the painted nails (blue, they'd match a dress from Quarth) bite into the sofa, "even going to tell me?"  
  
Hans makes a noncommittal noise at her, then finishes his drink. Her eyebrow only disappears into her forehead by the time she's done watching his revolving Adam's apple down it.  
  
"You weren't." (She answers herself. Why bother asking in the first place?, Hans wonders.)  
  
There's a chime from his clock on the mantle. The tinny bell echoes in her mind, reminds her of the Grandfather clock in their manor house back in Austria. One night, when she wasn't supposed to still be awake watching the pretty ball gowns and people sneaking away, Hans had found her nigh on the stroke of midnight. Instead of yelling at her then, he'd danced with her, even offered her wine. But mother was still alive, and father, and Marcel, and he'd been Lawrence then so she was the only one who called her brother Hans.  
  
Another bloody lifetime, and right now she's seeing scarlet on his jacket's cufflink. It looks like a cardinals robe. What had he done now?  
  
(Stefanie had been sure if she had his werewolf gifts she'd hear him screaming inside as loud as she was. She was still sure. But now she's not sure why he was angry, because apparently, Marcel's body was a postscript.)  
  
"Of course you weren't." Spittle shakes the back of her throat with the words, scratching the sofa. "Why would I get any consideration on the matter, why should I get to be there when he's buried, he was only my little brother--"  
  
"Our, brother."  
  
"Who's speaking sharply now?"  
  
Blonde curls whirl through the air as she looks to him sitting all proudly still in the chair, finally seeing him. The empty bourbon glass is a slap in her face (there's screams and tears beneath every shard, back when liquor still effected him enough to make him feel). Hans leaves it behind for her to stew on when he moves to the table behind the couch. Fingers leaf through drafts and sketches.  
  
"You can still see him buried." Hans tells her when he finds whatever he's looking for. Briefly, a cheery smile appears on his lips. "I won't be there, don't worry."  
  
Stefanie spins so fast on the couch she thinks she might have snapped her neck (thinks she wouldn't care if she did). Her open mouth gapes at him, pink tongue flailing in the air.  
  
"You won't?" She echoes incredulously.  
  
"I know you don't have my hearing," Hans strikes his ear, fingers scrambling over it, digging in the canal as if they could clear some horrible obstruction for her, "but do tell me you haven't gone deaf--"  
  
"Stop it!" Her voice is high enough in a shriek that might make *him* deaf, come to think of it. Hans lips thin at her, his muscles tightening.  
  
"I'd have thought you'd be pleased."  
  
The mild words weren't even sarcastic. Her eyes sweep over him, trying to see if he was going to break, looking for the fault lines. There's none. He's a perfect, goddamn statue. It's the look of a wolf surveying prey; she feels the shivers up her spine to tell her danger(!), but ignores them.  
  
(Hans thought she would. Everyone had misplaced common sense fear when it came to him.)  
  
"Why would I be-"  
  
"Did you want to bury our brother with the man who consider his murderer?"  
  
Stefanie rears back, rising slowly from the couch.  
  
In a slow gait towards the fire, she looks away from him as if she's at an utter loss for how to begin to respond to that. He could have told her immediate and firm denial was a good start. When she just squeezes her hands over her eyes, digging blue nails into red skin, his patience snaps.  
  
"Oh, wait," Strained attempts of laughter and lightness haunt his jest, "I misspoke sister, forgive me. *One* of the men you consider his murderer. Have you stopped sleeping with the other one yet?"  
  
Stefanie gives him a look he thinks she likely means to look terrifying. It's more adorable than anything, reminds him of his princess seven year old sister mad he cut her doll's hair. He tsks, goes further, because Hans Lawrence Ricard always does, "Or did you two decide you'd rather do another homage from that fantasy saga of yours? Invite him to the viewing so you can fuck on the altar?"  
  
The glass he'd recently emptied shatters against the wall. Stefanie doesn't stop there (and he's so proud of her for that); it knocked his painting loose and she marches to tear it from the wall, tugging twice (thrice, Christ was she weak) before she tosses it into the flames.  
  
"Sister." He growls under his breath, with golden-amber eyebrows furrowing bushier than he usually allows. "It was a joke."  
  
"Everything is to you, isn't it?" Stefanie scoffs, her arms burrowing into the black sweater she wears and hugging herself with the sleeves until she's about to choke. She's shivering. Hans wonders at that; she's only two feet from fire, and he hasn't been cold since he was bitten.  
  
Pastels and oils melt from parchment, giving the flames a weird multicolored glow that clings to her silohette when she rounds on him again, her shadow cast in a rainbow before it burns away.  
  
"Are you done destroying things?" Hans asks, still mild-mannered and contemplating having to hide the glassware. (Ha! Maybe he just won't pack it.)  
  
"Are you?" She asks, and the words slice their way across the room, straight to his chest.  
  
Flames crackle. He realizes he can't hear her heartbeat. Or maybe that was his. He's not sure. The wind seems to be howling very loud, drowning everything else out. She's fixed on his eyes.  
  
"I asked you," Hans says, and seriously, Stefanie thinks he should have just stuck his tongue out and said 'first.' She thinks of an eight year old on the playground singing I'm rubber and you're glue before cutting the hair off her dolls. She'd always been this way, she realizes, loving someone who made her as angry as he did happy.  
  
"Though while we are on the subject, of offering each other fair warning sweet Sis," Hans continues, picking up papers and sliding them away without looking away from her. His eyes were blue where hers were glass, reflect the flames. Funny how they swapped, he thinks. "Were you going to inform me Ansel fancies himself the new prince of the city?"  
  
Stefanie shuts her eyes; a long, low whistle echoes in his ears.  
  
"Of course not, why would that concern me," he whispers harshly, and she thinks it's burrowed in her gut forever, she was never going to stop hearing that barbaric, savage hiss.  
  
There's a tear pearling now down her cheek as she asks, "Is he dead?"  
  
"He should be," Hans voice cuts, but seems to slice his own vocal chords, for no breath follows it and he turns away.  
  
It makes Stefanie open her eyes in confusion. She frowns. It's the look the gives the piano music when she hits a discordant black key or presses the wrong combination of white, loud and jarring her out of the melody.  
  
Then, just as with her piano, she realizes in a blinding moment her mistake and restarts the tune, finger on the pedal to echo in her ear,  
  
"He left. The pack left. And of course," she slaps at her thigh, incredulous and hot, "this is why you're so angry!"  
  
"So melodramatic, sister, " Hans narrows his eyes and looks to his blasted drawings, "Do I look angry you turned my only family on me?"  
  
"Only family!" She shrieks again, taking a flurry of steps towards him until he thinks she's in danger of spitting in his face, "What about our brother, who you just shipped off to another bloody country without telling me--what about me? Would you even care?"  
  
"Would I even care when," Hans asks her, in a voice that sounds like a statement more than anything. She grits her teeth at him and shakes her head slowly enough the blonde strands brush the nape of her neck, tender as it sweeps.  
  
"If I died. That...goddamn silver potion is more important to you than Marcel--would you go to my funeral?" He's averting his gaze, teeth breaking the skin of his lip as he looks away and gapes for moisture, "Or would you pack me off in a box and make more silly little jests?"  
  
Hans looks away from her and she reaches up to scratch the tears off her cheek again. Still he won't look at her. She goes to slap him, but he dodges and it's just so damn easy for him, because she has no gifts.  
  
"You know what," she slaps at the air when he says nothing to her, "I am glad. So, glad, that Harper won't make that potion for you any longer. I'd steal it from you if he did, Lawrence."  
  
That makes him look back, and Stefanie could have cried from how easy that turned out to be. But a laugh came out instead.  
  
"I'm not Lawrence," he growls at her, seizing a wrist, and she sighs out, struggling only a bare minimum. She wasn't strong enough to break his hold (yet.) But she is going to be, soon, she swears.  
  
"No, you're not. My brother wasn't...this." Stefanie whispers, another tear slipping out. It's funny how she can recognize him with all her heart and not know him at all.  
  
"But you're not alpha Hans anymore either, are you?"

 ~~(so then who is he?)~~  
  
"And you aren't my sister." He says, and lets her go. She lets him go too, and takes a step back.  
  
He watches her as she leaves, but she doesn't look back to him.


	82. Consequences Like Existences Happening.

By the time Rachelle had come to, it was pitch black. Her lips blue, she shivered as she rolled on to her stomach so she could get up easier. The effort made her groan, all her muscles sore. Rachelle knew she had lost a lot of blood, she must have for her to be shivering like this, and for her to still be in residual pain.   
  
 "That bitch," she murmured, putting her hand on the ground to sit up. When she recalled suddenly what had occurred, Rachelle forced herself to stand, noticing now that not only were her clothes in tatters, but Allison had also stolen her heels when she had made a number on her pride.   
  
 "That _bitch!_ ," Rachelle screeched, and when tears welled at her eyes, she knew she wasn't cursing Allison for taking her shoes and her dress. Gritting her teeth, she walked forward, the foreclosed mansion where Allison had lured her behind her.   
  
 Rachelle had no phone, she had no shoes, she was covered in blood that was mostly hers, and she had no idea where she was in the middle of December. Feeling ravaged by anger, by sorrow, by sudden fear of what Ansel, Allison, and the rest of the pack might have done to her brother, Rachelle unleashed the beast inside.   
  
 This time when her limbs touched the ground, they were covered in white fur. With a howl, she took off down the driveway, running in the woods alongside the main road once she reached it.   
  
 When she finally saw a pair of headlights, Rachelle ran onto the road and shifted back, standing. Unfazed by the honking horn and the screech of the brakes being slammed, Rachelle put her hand on the hood of the car to help it come to a stop. The woman inside gaped, her jaw dropped on the floor. Whether she was more shocked by a wolf turning into a woman, or that woman being naked, Rachelle didn't know or care. Walking to the front door, Rachelle forced it open. With eyes still shining gold and a throat that was having trouble forgetting it was human again, she growled.   
  
 "Donnez-moi votre portable!"   
  
 The woman yelped and quickly reached for her cellphone, throwing it to her. Dialing Hans' number, Rachelle brought the phone to her ear and waited, for what was the longest four seconds of her life.   
  
 The fight had not lasted long, though the vacationing family would never know it by the number of broken cabinets, tables, doors, chaise lounges, pool cues (the wood kind), pool ladders (the metal-into-the-water kind), towel racks, caddies, and one-of-kind paintings had been destroyed. Strangely, Hans and Ansel both managed to avoid wasting any alcohol in wake of the intent to waste one another.    
  
 Only a few minutes (torn limbs, and spilled quarts of blood in), and Ansel had hauled him into the pool. The railing bent from his struggle to wrench Ansel in after him, but it didn't matter: the scarlet matted face of fur gained a shock of consciousness with the splash. Drenched alike in blood, sweat and chlorine, Ansel transforms again, a claw digging under Hans ear. Spittle and fury spray his snarling, inhuman face -- before he's drowned again, thrust under the surface of the water. Ansel never could deign to play fair. (He couldn't; he'd never win that way). Swirling lights pop in front of his eyes, yet as Hans yearns to run towards it....   
  
 ...all was silent.   
  
 He floated back to the surface, bleeding, torn, and...left. Ansel wouldn't even finish the job, Hans thinks bitterly, letting a heart-wrenching howl out into the night. Nothing answers him. Not the cook, not the compelled waitresses -- they were all gone.    
  
 Alone, Hans had trudged back to their own 'house' to clean up, change, pour himself gallons of bourbon as he figured out his next move, tried to imagine where Rachelle might be. (I'll find you, I swear.) Ansel had left, but not without hissing in his ear as a consolation Rachelle was alive, like he thought saying so was an apology. ("Desole, mon frere," that one had been the worst.)   
  
 Halfway through the bottle Stefanie arrived, to question him about their slain brothers' body and all manner of things she can't understand why he doesn't care about but judges him quickly for it all the same. Stefanie didn't stay long, but she does manage to call him by an old name (that was right, Hans thinks, he doesn't feel much like Hans anymore) -- and then claims he isn't her brother anymore either.    
  
 Staring in her wake as he looks to his glass (then throws it at the wall), the sound of his mobile in his back pocket startles Hans. Who was calling him? The number blocked, Hans thinks ruefully of lost sheep and a certain blonde before slamming the phone to his ear.   
  
"Sorry luv, busy contemplating a rescue followed by vengeance on backstabbing lying bastards - know you hate that about me, so think we can do this later?"   
  
 Rachelle let out an exhale of pure relief the moment she heard Hans' voice, a hand slamming up to her mouth to keep a sob from leaving her chest. Until now she hadn't been willing to admit to herself that she considered the possibility that Hans might be dead. That was after all how packs changed alphas: a challenge and then a fight to the death.   
  
 She was too relieved to even care that it was obvious he thought it was someone else, and after blinking away tears from eyes that were once again back to their normal color, she spoke shakily, ignoring the whimpers of the woman still in the driver's seat with knuckles white from gripping the wheel so hard.   
  
 "Hans?"   
  
 The familiar (ravaged, hurt) voice makes him stiffen -- immediately torn between gasping in relief and the need to track Ansel down once again for making her sound so. Even knowing doing so could be considered a suicide mission -- or rather, he suspects it was Allison he has to thank for this particular betrayal. And yet there was one moment the same: the instant he hears her, he stops breathing.   
  
 Then he gasps out, "Rachelle? Luv, where are you? I'm coming."   
  
 He'd been about to say he had search parties out looking for her but of course he doesn't. There was only him, and now he doesn't have to stomach calling D'Grey for help in locating her.   
  
 "I'm like an hour outside Paris, we went south, Allison-," she closed her eyes and judging by the panicked yelp again of the woman, her eyes returned to their gold shade, and the sudden pain at her mouth was indicative that her canines had filed to an inhuman point.   
  
 "I got a car, I'll come to you, are you-," she rubbed at her face, her free hand turning into a fist as she tried to calm down, knowing that if she gave in to everything she was feeling right now she was likely to tear this woman to shreds.   
  
 "Hans, I'm sorry, I tried to stop her, I wanted to warn you, I had no idea...," she shook her head, passing a bloodied hand through her hair.   
  
 For the first time that abominable evening since informing the chef they were waiting on one more, Hans smiles. It's a brief thing not quite there for all his earnesty, listening to the anger and terror in her voice. That was terror for his sake, worry she had for *him*. Why would she stay by his side when she has no stronger reason than Ansel had, or his own blood?    
  
 "The fault isn't yours, luv," Hans insists, but the words feel strange in his throat. Who was he trying to convince anyway?    
  
 Unsure if he dare trust her concern, he stills hearing a whimper on the phone from someone else. An eyebrow cocks.    
  
 Rachelle asks 'Are you-' but cuts off asking further. Alive, he almost answers but well, wasn't that already obvious?    
  
 "I'm alone," Hans said instead, ignoring the heavyweight with which he speaks the truth. Looking at his painting on the wall, he stands where only three days before Eliza was and then looks to the fireplace. The ruinous castle he'd been building for all of then was finished a week before. Haunted by the empty rooms and quiet halls, Hans rips his gaze back to bourbon bottle and starts up the stairs three at a time. Seemed it was time to pack, move on again, as he'd done since he was fifteen.    
  
 Of course, there was that whimper. He can't pretend he gives more than the passing concern to the woman's well being -- but he does remember Rachelle's reluctance to harm the kids who hurt her first.   
  
 On the phone, he said, "Take care of your witness however you will, Rachelle, but I do implore you that another body will only weight our travels." Somehow, he doesn't think he meant physically. "We're getting out of this godforsaken country. I seem to remember I promised to show you India?"   
  
 Rachelle felt like the fault was hers, no matter if Hans said otherwise. She should have seen it before this. Ansel was the second, yes- the quartermaster of the ship but she had been the boatswain. That was her pack, and they had done all of this behind their backs without Rachelle being the wiser. She should have known. She should have stopped this.   
  
 Allison, that cunt, had mocked her so ruthlessly, that Rachelle had gotten too soft; that she had become spineless, and in retaliation, broke her spine.   
  
 Her golden eyes fixed on the woman's now, looking her directly in the eye as she considered that word, alone. Both times she had felt truly alone, she had been locked inside a cell. Now there were no bars around her, but she could feel the cold creeping in. So she snarled at it and beat it away forcibly.   
  
 "You've got me," she insisted, her voice hoarse and harsh as her eyes swam with new tears. This wasn't how she had wanted things. She had wanted -all- of them to leave, to travel, to start again. How could Ansel do this to him? Do this to *her*?   
  
 Rachelle sniffed and narrowed her eyes, "I'll take care of it. Have a change of clothes waiting for me okay? Something," she shook her head, rubbing at her face again and finished with her chin held high, "fabulous. I'll be there soon."   
  
 Her insistence in his ear twists his lip up, screws eyes up and for a moment he's glad she's not there to see his weakness. Did he truly have her? She'd have fought by his side and it almost got her killed. She also had an advantage D'Grey in that moment had not: he was concerned about darling reckless (subconsciously suicidal). Rachelle would have had the same trouble and blessing as him. Their siblings had turned on them...and yet they were alive. Hans lifts a hand to rub over his eyes hard, then growls out simply, "It seems you're the only comrade I have left."   
  
 The ability to turn at will was stolen the same day Marcel died, then Zach at his own hand. Stefanie walks out on him like D'Grey before her, when his pack -- his family -- tried to kill him. Hard to believe this week started triumphantly (or that it also contains such wondrous memories with Eliza, who now he'd leave behind too). Tears swam in his gaze as he says lower, voice ravaged and empty, "We have each other."   
  
 With that -- and her last instruction -- he smirks to himself before cutting the call short to pack. It doesn't take him long before he's gone back to the forest outside, bags against a tree, spending the time he's passing shooting spells at trees to set the aflame and downing a bottle.    
  
 Yet his mind stays clear, free and numb.    
  
 Shutting her eyes closed suddenly as the tone beeps in her ear to signify that the call was done, Rachelle puts a hand over her mouth again and cries into it. When she pulled her hand back it came with spit and tears that made her even angrier than before.   
  
 Reaching forward, she grabbed the woman by the collar and dragged her out of the car, her grip too tight. More whimpers in French reached her ears as the woman continued to plead until finally Rachelle put a hand over her mouth and shook her hard to make her shut up. Fuck! If she wanted to kill her, wouldn't she have done it already?   
  
 "Look at me," Rachelle commanded and then shook her again, growling, "look at me!" The woman raised her gaze to her and once she had, Rachelle got her hooks in her. Look into their eyes and don't pull away until you've reached their soul, then mold it to your will. Her lessons were loud in her mind, but she preferred them to anything else she could be thinking of right now.   
  
 "You were robbed, left out in the middle of the road, and the car went south, keep walking north, do you understand? You remember nothing else." The woman nodded and then Rachelle blinked again and then pulled away, heading to the car and getting into it quickly. Tossing the woman her coat, she put the car in drive again and then sped forward.   
  
 After some time, Rachelle reached for the cellphone again. She called the authorities, told them she had seen a woman walking along the road by herself and told them where, before quickly ending the call. She was about to throw the cellphone out of the car when she hesitated. Quickly debating, she dialed another number and brought it up to her ear.   
  
 Voicemail, predictable.   
  
 Her eyes immediately clouded again with a fresh wave of tears, her hands shaking as she held the phone to her ear. After several seconds of not saying anything but certainly not silence (her heart beat furiously, her breathing was uneven and her teeth chattered as she struggled to control both sorrow and rage), Rachelle finally spoke.   
  
 "You should have told Allison to finish the job, mon frere," she hissed the last two words, and hated herself for how she quaked.   
  
 "I'll never forgive you for this...I'll never forget it. And I'm going to make sure you live long enough to see everything you're working *so* hard to achieve, taken from you."   
  
 Rachelle sniffed, her bottom lip trembling. Thousands of things to tell him, thousands of things to ask, but there was only one more that really needed to be said aloud.   
  
 "Au revoir, mon cheri," Rachelle threw the phone out the window and sped up to get even further away from it, foolishly hoping she could outrun her thoughts too.   
  
 When she was a couple of miles away from the house, Rachelle ditched the car and shifted into a wolf again, both to signal to Hans that she was coming with her howl, and also because being a human felt too painful right now. Escaping it even for a little while longer was as good a plan as any.   
  
 When she finally reached Hans again by the woods, he was in the middle of a bonfire, a bottle of booze in his hand. Rachelle padded up to him, looking at him intently before shifting back into her human self. Too relieved to see him, and more anguished than before, Rachelle didn't even bother with clothing before she stepped forward and embraced him, her grip tightening tremendously when she finally had him in her arms, her eyes closing.  
  
If it had been anyone else, Hans would have feared for their life. Putting it in his hand appeared to be...less than auspicious for longevity's sake. Yet he recognized his sister - his *Rachelle* if, as truth be told she had become summary of people he knew he could count on and needs no other term. Allowing her to embrace him still seemed to take a lot out of him. Hans blames the fight for his exhaustion -- and okay, the booze, but nothing else.  
  
His shoulders fall when his arms catch her, convincing himself it was she who needed *his* strength now (And that seemed to do the trick). Pulling back, he asks only,  
  
"I believe I promised you a trip, _cheri._ "

 

+.

It felt surreal being back at Devin's place. It wasn't as if she hadn't been here since Paris, but it was the first time back with her memories. The house was usually quiet, though that had to be expected given the roaring fiery hell they had just come back from.  
  
Even at the hospital, even after finding Harper, Nadia hadn't felt much a sense of relief as she did now. There was a grand commotion in the hospital, owed not just to the Paris attack (as those injured were for the majority being treated in Paris itself), but to the previous day's attack on the yei hamlet by Caelesti. Reid was still in the hospital because of it, and consequently so were Justin, Alisha, and Reid. Irene was back in the hospital as well, but due to be discharged soon anyways.  
  
Her twin Chace was in the hospital too. It was precaution mostly, as their mother was beyond herself with worry and his doctor thought an overnight observation would do him well. So Amaris Tudor had entrusted Nadia to Jana Rivers, and told to get their butts out of the hospital and home.  
  
It was home to Nadia, even disregarding the fact it was literally down the street. The Stuart/Rivers family had been here for as long as Nadia could remember, and she'd had plenty of sleepovers here too. That was back when Nadia and Devin were still trusted to share a room together without 'anything untoward' happening.  
  
Trusted or not, parents and siblings alike seemed to look the other way when Nadia and Devin had walked upstairs hand in hand, tired and drained from not just a long day but a long couple of months.  
  
Devin had done his best to stay on topic -- on point -- downstairs, waiting for sister and father to return from the French palace. He'd even been joking about it; oh sure, Lynn, the one who never wants anything to do with politics, she got to stay but oh that one-eyed bastard had cursed him so he just had to go with their mother to the hospital. He tried to tell them all he was just fine, tried to stay, but truth was Nadia was at the hospital and he'd have been out the door faster than human eyes could make out if they tried to make him stay away.  
  
Luckily, Aunt Amaris seemed to understand.  
  
She wasn't really his aunt, obviously, but he'd called her that since he was little. When she said Nadia should stay at their house tonight, his mind had gone from relief to glee to...anxiety and excitement in the same moment, but he thinks he managed to keep all of that from showing on his face. He was less successful now, with her warm breath on the crook of his neck and the mane of brunette hair neatly brushed beneath his own fingers. They rest on the edge of his bed, too tired from the day to have gotten ready for it yet.  
  
Smoke and ash had already left her lungs from before, and now expanded normally as she breathed. She hadn't breathed this well since before that full moon night in October, when Devin had told her he loved her again. And though the nightmares would be far from over, literally as well as metaphorically, Nadia couldn't help but to feel as if she were waking up.  
  
Wrapping her arms around Devin again, she closed her eyes in plain contradiction of feeling awake as she laid her head against his chest. They had gone into that Cathedral, not knowing if they were going to come back out. Sure, she had to tell herself that there was no other option but that was a lie wasn't it? The cruelest of lies. They could have very well died; they could have very well never held each other like this again.  
  
She thought she had lost him twice before, each one a pain more unbearable than the previous, and he had as well. Of course she hadn't been able to breathe properly until right now, in his arms, away from the world for a few short hours.  
  
Nadia lifted her chin to look up at him through her eyelashes and with a soft voice stated as the fact it truly was, "You're my world, Devin Anthony Stuart."  
  
Devin grins down at her words, swiveling without untangling them, taking her hand in his as he adds, "As you are mine, Nadia." His eyes were wide with love as he looks at her like she's something too precious to be real. Too recently she didn't look at him this way. It was too easy to remember, and he wants to bury it all, kiss her numb until they both forgot.  
  
Devin cleared his throat, suddenly awkward with the realization of how exactly he was fantasizing "burying" and sits up.  
  
"Come on, let me clean the uh," he pauses, for the stains on the corner of her cheek that still were on his sleeves too were blood, even if by now they darkened to chocolate. After a quick nudge to it, he leans and kisses over the top of her head to press lips into her hair, "well, you." Smooth. Nadia smiled nevertheless, and nodded at him, eager to get all the grime off her.  
  
After darting to the connected bathroom he had with Lynn (only she wasn't home, so no worries) he fetched two warm wash clothes and brings one up to her lip, cleaning. The pressure firm, but gentle, soft scrub against her skin was raising goosebumps on tan, sensitive areas that made his throat go dry. Without another thought, Devin teases, "Might help if you take your shirt off though. So I can be thorough."

 

+

 

Closing the laptop, she pushes it away and announces ‘Done!’ cheerfully to the escort who couldn’t stop staring at his shoes. Lynn couldn’t figure out if he was gay or just that French.  
  
In her defense! (Nick often jokes now that she should wear that on a t-shirt to save herself time) Yes, in her defense, the words she types were the true and unbiased account of the Desolution of Notre Dame according to Lynn Rivers. Let Dad nitpick all he wanted, she couldn’t tell it better (or wouldn’t, but same thing). Maybe if he wanted a less opinionated police statement he wouldn’t have kept them here for three hours. Élysée Palace wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t winter; the residences were broken apart by alleys filled with chestnut trees and patterned flowerbeds she could have sat amongst with her sketch book. Even snow might have made the palace an attractive (if pompous) subject, but it melted over night. It was as if the entire countryside had burned along with Notre Dame, leaving for France a wake only grey-ash.  
  
“Oh Lynn, take heart! ” she mutters to herself as she pushes the door open and waves off the startled man, telling him she just needed the loo. As she slips down the hall, she’s sure to wave farewell with her heels, just to make sure he heard. Quick glances left and right tell her she’s alone.  
  
“You always could draw the Fleur de Lis for the ten dozenth and second time!”  
  
Without regret she pushes over the bannister and drops down a floor. Though she lands in a crouch she can’t help but think it was unneeded; the velvet beneath her and rimming the hall was thicker than her mattress. Standing and wiping her hands off with a self-satisfied smirk, it drops almost instantly.  
  
“I happen to *like* the Fleur de Lis, you know.”  
  
The gruff (oddly vaguely familiar) voice came behind her. Exhaling and raising her hands as if in surrender now, she turns quickly and bats eyelashes at him. (Damn, had she left her purse upstairs? Ah well, the guard was welcome to her Maybelline.) The smile reappears in relief as she recognized him.  
  
“I’ve counted sixteen in the hallway in thirty seconds,” she says, “forgive me, but you’re more French than you are English.”  
  
“And you’re an upstanding English citizen through and through, so you must decry the French?”  
  
“God Save the Queen.” Her recitation might have been undercut by a mockery of a curtsy, but Lynn would swear that wasn’t her intention. Claude chuckles sliding a hand into his pocket as he surveys the walls and flags before shrugging a shoulder in the only gesture she was right she’s like to get.  
  
“Is Eliza here?” She asks, brightly. The name - Eliza - cannot help but to escape her throat without a sound similar to ringing a bell and a smile like a lark. Give her a break for the poetry; it has only been seventeen hours since Lynn learned she’d survived.  
  
“With the lawyers,” he nods, distrust clear in a way that would have told her even if she didn’t know he was the girl’s father. Her hands go to her hips and feet sway on the velvet.  
  
“And you snuck out, Mr. Simmons?” Lynn feigns a gasp.  
  
Like it wasn’t what she just did.  
   
“Oh and uh — call me Claude,” he says, lifting his hand.  
  
About to ask if Eliza really was serious about staying in Paris, Lynn stalls, mouth agape as she catches a glimpse of his wrist. Blinking twice, she slams her mouth shut and hurries to him, grabbing his arm and holding it up.  
  
“…oh hold-on, hold up — that — oi!”  
  
Pressing his lips together to avoid hissing with the sting of her fingers digging into a cut, he rips his arm back, hastens to cover his arm, looks down at her, “Pardon?”  
  
It was too late though; Lynn knew what she saw. The bewildered look on his face was marginally more guilting than his indignant question and rapid French (she didn’t understand it, but she didn’t need to, his less-than-polite meaning was clear. It was called for, probably.) Pointing in haste at the arm he was buttoning cufflinks over, she huffs, “That mark. There’s more to it, isn’t there, you have it glamoured?  
  
Claude pauses blinks as he suddenly seems to see her. He starts as breathless as she still felt, “Wait, Lynn—as in —“  
  
“Secretary of the Pharma’s daughter, Jana River’s daughter, Amaris Tudor’s honorary niece,” Lynn waves her hand, flapping with the words, “yeah, yeah, pleasure, I’m sure —“  
  
“—Devin’s sister. ” He finishes, suddenly looking ashamed.  
  
That…was a less usual response. At least for pleasant reasons. Her gut responded in unpleasant twists and squirms, little reminders of the last time that was what she’d been. Devin’s sister. That’s what she was to all the prejudiced bastards at school (and okay they weren’t all bigots, but even Alcott was still a bastard). That’s what she was when Dev was in hell. She presses her lips together, holds her head a little higher as if to say ‘and so what? lay off him’ — and then says simply.  
  
“Is this why he went to see you?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Oh, fuck. Lynn swallows tightly. Claude rubs his neck again, rolling the other sleeve down too now as if to give him an excuse to look away from his gaze. Counting to ten under his breath and looking at the thirty-first fleur that was at the moment, hanging like a crossed pair of swords, he speaks again.  
  
“Listen, Lynn, — we can talk more…later, obviously, just — I have a question.”  
  
He gestures and she follows to the nearest bench that makes her think of church pews (but at least it wasn’t on fire). Claude comes to sit beside her, but makes no other move to speak. Following his gaze on her heels too, Lynn chuckles to herself. Well, she knew -he- wasn’t gay; but she makes the heels wave anyway, hoping it would stir him to speaking. When he had, his tan cheeks glowed a bit and she can tell his breath is short, like he’s ragged running to catch up with a mind ten thoughts ahead of the moment. (Lynn looks sympathetic to his plight, knowing the feeling, but honestly - if he didn’t start giving her answers soon…)  
  
His face is already arranged in a way that Lynn could only describe as “awkward.” Or okay, maybe, “his face looked like Dad’s if Dad had found the glow-in-the-dark condoms she had in her sock drawer.”  She cocks an eyebrow.  
  
“Mr. Simm—  
  
That worked. He groans, under his breath, then chuckles, waving that off.  
  
“Claude. Just Claude.”  
  
“Right. Claude.”  
  
Lynn looks away from him when she realizes he was tensing under the scrutiny. Across the way, a tall silver-trimmed door was open enough for the corner of a tapestry to be visible. Holy, was that Cleopatra? What was a tapestry of Cleopatra doing in the French president’s residence? Was Antony on there too?— Lynn leans sideways, tapping heel on the ground. Oh but she hopes not, unsure why they always feel the need to put the man alongside her — craning neck forward she almost groans. Yup, right there. Way to go, France, you were almost progressive for a split-second.  
  
France, progressive!? Ha ha. Was D’Grey on the tapestry too somewhere? Oh, yup right there, Lynn jerks her chin to point at the silver asps — then jerks back hearing her name from the still-trying-to-make-himself-incredibly-small Claude (not easy). Sighing, she nods, deciding she doesn’t trust herself to answer aloud. It would probably have been a snap (definitely would have been) that yes oh yes she knows her name bloody well if he wanted to tell her why he was so awkward that would be great —  
  
Oh screw it.  
   
Eyebrow arching to her hairline she spins to him and asks, “What is it about that -“ she points where the tattoo had recently been visible,” that is such a big deal?”  
  
“Because of what it means - , a symbol from - look,” he seems to snap to it, spine cracking in his haste, “history lesson later.”  
  
“Thank god.” Lynn mutters under her breath, suddenly alert.  
  
Claude ignores this. Instead he asks, as business like as she, “Who drew it? On Devin?”  
   
“What do you mean?”  
  
“The —“ He exhales, “look, he said it was — Nadia.”  
   
Of course it was Nadia, Lynn thinks with pride. What a clever ploy to get her to take his shirt off. Who needed memories when you had fresh-work out abs to display right? She’s about to say this aloud, but swallows, seeing the pop in the man’s jaw at her giggle. Fine, fine, she could be serious (a little).  
  
“Yes, it was, so why are you asking me who —“  
  
“No,” he throws that away, still clearly uncomfortable. Hand rubs over his mouth, and then says plainly, “I meant, who drew it on him, Nadia, statement. It’s important, because I didn’t really understand—“  
  
“Oh you mean, who is Nadia to Devin?”  
  
Lynn couldn’t have given a proper reason why she knew that was what he asked. Syntax was not her strong suit. Though she still did better with semantics than she did fractions. Of course you could half-kind-of-almost-sort-of really mean the words you say! Maybe she should try fractions with letters. Perking her chin up, she considers the question round-eyed. Holy. How was she supposed to quickly sum up Nadia and Devin’s relationship!? Did he have the rest of the… year, free?   
  
Exhaling, tiny smile for a second as he seems to get her dilemma, he verbalizes what he knew to clarify but can’t quite get rid of his own wide-eyed worry. It’s an expression Claude guesses she’s beginning to understand implicitly; the more stretched and awkward the questions, the more she was likely to grasp his dull, growing fear.  
  
“Yeah, that. I mean I know they’re dating, it’s just - it affects…”  
  
Lynn tucks a scarlet strand back behind her ear, cutting through when he trails yet again (her heart was doing flip flops every time he did that - she had told Devin it was a big deal what he was doing, she really had —)  
  
“Affects what?”  
  
“How…strong, it will be.”  
  
Was that the worry? He didn’t think it was going to be strong enough because Nadia could be a passing fancy of Devin’s? (How had she even gotten through thinking that statement? Okay, her face didn’t stay straight. Tilting her head, as she starts looking for her hair tie on her wrist, saying with a chuckle, idle - meant to reassure,  
  
“Oh, they’ve been married since the crib. I’ve already put her on my family tree.”  
  
They were fifteen. It hadn’t occurred to Claude at all this could be a — they were fifteen, but the ease with which Lynn said that…  
  
“Ah. Okay. See, that could be a problem.”  
  
Why was that the problem?! Lynn thinks, irritated. Hadn’t she just fixed one problem? It would be strong, whatever voo-doo runic Dark blood magic bull he’d gone and pulled (oh but it came from his Stuart journals, it was his family legacy, that made it all okay….pft).  
  
Claude swallows, appearing to steel himself.  
  
“Lynn, have they…”  
  
“Have they…” She asks, nonchalant.  
  
Lynn sits blinking, hand up her sleeve. Maybe she could pull a rabbit out and it would distract him from having to finish that thought. And then seeing Claude’s discomfort she suddenly understands, all at once.  
  
“Ew!”  
  
The hairband snaps. Huffing out irritated, she mutters a summoning charm, retying the useless edges with one hand and the other keeps her hair gathered up. Then she forgets about the hair tie, hitting his shoulder, “Gross, gross— it— why-“  
  
Claude had backed up as she starts hitting him, shoulders hunched and voice tight, like he was torn between abash, indignation, and relief she had guessed right without him saying it aloud. Thank heaven for small miracles, she thinks.  
  
“Lynn, I have no interest in details or —“ Claude begins drily, but she cuts him off with another smack.  
  
“I don’t care - pervert! That’s jus— gross! I don’t want t—oi, let me go!”  
  
And yes she did mean to demand that and no she wasn’t going to promise him she wouldn’t hit him again.  
He waits, apparently gifted with the same patience her father had, making it clear he was going to wait until he’s sure she won’t hit him. Damn, was he strong. This was the mark, right? Devin was like the Hulk or something. He holds her wrist, but maybe that was to stop her from hurting herself more than anything. When she huffs out and falls silent, he cocks his head, sighing, amused at that.  
  
“You done?”  
  
“Why do you need to ask me if they’ve had sex?” She takes her hand back, pleased that her verbalizing his impertinent question had made him release her.  
  
“Because.” Claude leans back in the chair, nose wrinkling as he clearly doesn’t want to think about it, “It - there could be consequences now.”  
  
“Consequences?”  
  
“Now, that he has the mark - if they -“ apparently, just because she said it, didn’t mean he was going to, “oh, hell.” Claude rubs over his face, then starts striking at his chest, searching inside pockets. Cigarettes or a flask, she wonders idly, guessing it was the former. He had a gun (she knew that much), and it wasn’t exactly smart to mix that with alcohol. Claude looked a man of mean vices and gentle spirit; his protectiveness warring with the need to innoculate.  
  
So she tries the humor that worked in old Westerns when you want a guy’s respect,  
  
“You’re trying to tell me I have to warn my brother he might have magical hunters herpes?”  
  
Ha! It worked: Claude snorts in genuine amusement, shaking his head.  
  
“Well not exactly, no.”  
  
At least there’s that, she thinks. That would not have been a fun conversation — and this one wasn’t exactly her idea of entertaining either. Why was she even answering him? Lynn folds her arms on her chest, breathing out and toying with the sapphire hanging down her v-neckline.  
  
“Then what exactly is the problem with them,” the gem plunges as she uses air quotes, “ ‘making a little magic’ ”?  
  
Claude presses his hands together, and then looks up suddenly hearing a striking set of familiar heels, hand slipping out (guess he gave the search up, she thinks bemused) as soon as he twists around. The smile that appears makes her stiffen with an uncomfortable knowledge she most definitely hadn’t asked for.  
  
He just says, “Mary.”  
  
Eliza’s mother, Lynn thinks as she pauses as she realizes the look on his face. Oh, hell. He was like a puppy all of a sudden. That was a man in love like…woah. …And then all at once she seemed to understand what Claude was having an understandably difficult time getting out. Her eyes go wide.  
  
“Cheerio Liza’s mum — one second,” she scoots around on the bench and grabs his shoulder to ask, nails bunching up the pad under his shoulder (he was wearing a bullet-proof vest, wasn’t he? sly dog!) “…Claude—“, she says in a quick low voice, “Mary drew yours?”  
  
Claude seems to relax as she says this; the pad slips from her fingers.  
  
“Consequences.” Lynn takes her hand back, lets it fall on her hip. Side-eying Claude in his relief of her understanding, “…Like, say, Eliza’s existence.”  
  
“Eliza’s existence?” Mary the mother parrots in a way that reminds Lynn very much of the very daughter they were discussing. The daughter she had when she was nineteen, Lynn knew, the daughter she had out of wedlock to great scandal of the English’s magical-royalty-blah-blah-blah because that was just so young and wasn’t she being careful and wasn’t she being safe —  
   
“Yeah, her existence, like, you got pregnant with her.”  
  
Mary’s lips twitch up as if she’s not sure if she’s being judged or teased, and settles for a smirk somewhere in between both.  
  
“I think I remember that, yes,” Mary says, tapping her chin. Lynn stands up, hand going back to her sapphire.  
  
“Right, obviously. Claude was just — I mean, Claude, wait, are you telling me that you two used — I mean, so even if they were safe, they might —“  
  
Claude only could nod once before he stands to usher a bewildered Mary into the Salon with the almost-progressive tapestry. Lynn runs hands back through her hair and snaps it up in a ponytail. Yeah, time to tell Dad they had to get out of this palace because if she wasn’t very mistaken Mum was very busy at home at the moment and Devin had been sneaking next door to Nadia’s since she was eight.  
  
Under her breath as she flies up the stairs, she’s muttering, “Yeah buddy, I think a little historical-lesson soiree is in order. I’ll bring the popcorn. And the noise canceling headphones for Daddy. I wonder if I can book Oprah on this short notice…”

 

+

 

Giggling once, Nadia refrained from shaking her head because truthfully there was no part of her that objected, and every part of her that was on the same train of thought. She remembered being on her own bed, facing each other similar to this, and asking him without knowing who he was or having the faintest idea how important he was to her about them as a couple. She remembered asking him why they had decided to wait and something about exams and man did that just seem so thoroughly unimportant right now. (Although she would never say that aloud, Nadia was hoping for at least another 24 hours without Dev worrying about his test scores, then again after everything they had been through it would be a blessing to only have to worry about that.)  
  
He echoed her shy grin of excitement when she nods; his gaze immediately dropping below her neck when hers does like pulled there by some secret force about ten times stronger than gravity.  
  
Looking down at her shirt, she brought hands up to undo button after button. The more buttons she managed to undo, the more her hands seem to shake with the effort. Go up against Caelesti terrorists, stab out eyes, chew off fingers: no problem. Take off her shirt in front of her boyfriend, something she had done dozens of times before, and suddenly she was a mountain of nerves.  
  
The thought was mutual. With each new patch of tan skin revealed, the slower the hand he has cleaning her throat and cheek seemed to move.  
  
Nadia laughed once as she looked up at Dev, and just pulled the shirt up over her head in what had to be marked as the least sexy undressing in the whole entire history of teenage liaisons. He laughed with her, nervous himself but too enamoured with the sudden sight of breasts to make any other sound. She threw it away from her with no love lost, uncaring of where it turned up and then stood, moving to stand directly in front of Devin. She could do better than that.  
  
Holy- those were jus- they'd fit right in his hand...  
  
Now his hand stopped all together in surprise, half her name slipping out his mouth, "Nadi-" but his tongue felt too thick to wrap fully around it, throat swollen and dry. His arms slip off her to rest behind him on the rim of his bathtub as he stays sitting. Devin rests the back of his thighs against it like he was going to need the support and didn't want to admit it. Nadia was standing near enough he could wrap her up in him in an instant, but he didn't dare touch yet. The washcloth lay forgotten, warm and wet in his hand as his legs inched apart a centimeter more. Okay, maybe two.  
  
Popping off the button of her jeans, and pulling a small zipper down in one quick motion, Nadia tugged the denim down her hips and thighs until they were falling on their accord by her knees. She stepped out of them and towards Devin, kicking them backwards. And, lord, if she had known this morning she would be getting her memory back and going to fight demons, and returning back to her boyfriend at night, she would have worn matching underwear. Probably thrown something with lace on, something remotely sexy.  
  
Devin couldn't seem to make his mind up where he wanted to look more, and he had the vague feeling somewhere (uncomfortably in the twist of his jeans) that when that decision became where should touch first, he damn well near may implode. Then he cleared his throat. No, dammit, nope he had better control than this. He could -not- disappoint her like that. (His legs still inch apart again).  
  
But it was all about confidence, right? Well, strange and possibly sadistic as it seemed, there was something oddly confidence boosting about killing a man with the help of your boyfriend. She might have been convinced she was going to hell if she hadn’t already been there, done that. She was with Devin tonight, and she would be with him completely, and that’s all that mattered.  
  
“Better?” Nadia asked, tracing her gaze from the wash cloth to his fingers up his hand marked with a rune she had drawn on his chest until she finally reached his own gaze, at eye-level with her own as he stayed sitting down.  
  
Devin grinned in response and both the hand with the wash cloth and the one without wrap her waist to lift her up, drag her between his legs and meet his lips to hers. Nadia gasped into his mouth almost instantly, but the sound is lost somewhere between her tongue and his teeth. There was want and hunger in his kiss, her lips soft and yielding and goddamn addicting. It had been too long, he wants to groan, way too long since he could truly kiss her...let alone contemplate anything more. Not for the first time he wonders at the stupidity he'd shown a year ago. Now he knew just her lips would have been enough to get him high.  
  
Pulling back an inch, breath heady and harsh slips out as he teases out with eyes dark, "Getting there. But you know, I think you might need to take mine off too," his eyebrows pop up as he's bringing the washcloth up to her bare stomach now, circling a low, repeated massage against her skin, the other hand gracing up her curves, over her shoulder and finally resting cupped around her neck. Fingers toy with loose strands of hair.  
  
Nadia nodded, licking lips as she catches her breathing. Kissing him left her breathless, and his touch was prone to drive her wild.  
  
His eyes stay on her stomach (maybe an inch lower) as he finished the thought, "I'm sure I have a few...things, you could help me out with too, baby."  
  
Devin would take his own shirt off, but that meant he'd have to stop touching her for a moment and ... ha, yeah, no, nope, that wasn't happening. The only way that was happening was if she asked him to stop, but luckily, they finally seemed completely on the whole page. The callused fingers, rough from learning to draw a crossbow, on her stomach dart down in a brief flick, gently rubbing over the hem of her (he swallows even as he thought the word) panties. Her thighs pressed together on their own accord as she felt anticipation growing, and as her knee moved against his jeans, felt something else growing. Devin stifled a groan, the hand on her neck squeezing unconsciously.  
  
Licking her lips again, Nadia’s hands traveled down his chest undoing buttons the same way she had her own, only faster with less hesitance. Dropping her mouth to his ear, she nibbled the lobe gently and tugged it between her teeth as she went. His hands on her stutter, shifting over bare skin and swiping warm cloth over her lower, bare back. It tugs her in closer to him, his eyes focused on the cloth over breasts. Before he could snake the latch, she’d let him go. As skin of his chest and abs became revealed to her, Nadia took another intake of breath and traced the muscles with the pad of her fingers. Pulling back to look, she left his ear a little red and pushed the shirt off his shoulders.  
  
Licking dry lips, Devin’s gaze finally met her eyes trained on him again. There was a need in her he’d never seen before, a determination of having and his mind was blank with desire to satisfy her need. If he had the slight inclination to contemplate it, it wouldn’t be surprising to him. Months now it had seemed as if the universe was directly designing obstacles to throw at them; stealing her, knocking him out, snatching her memory, putting him in the hospital. Time, and time again they watched each other stuttering on the edge and — screw it, if they were supposed to “wait”, he gave up. They’d waited long enough. Now they both could have each other, and if she was determined to do so completely he matched her in every way.  
  
Turning his hands so the back of his palm traced down her front, he took one breast and kneaded through the cloth only to see the little yellow bat-man symbol on the corner of it and grin, delighted. Oh, Nadia, he thinks, and it’s a wondrous thought.  
  
“Like what you see?” He asked, even as he rubs a thumb over the insignia and smirks, wondering how such a childish thing could do such naughty things to his body, already more than primed. It wasn’t it’s innocence, he concluded, it was how obviously Nadia it was.  
  
"Very much," Nadia sighed with eyes half-lidded as his hands continued at her chest. Her own moved to trace the hard lines and contours of his shoulders and arms. She remembered when Devin had been a tall and gangly mess of limbs that, despite his stature, had a penchant for disappearing in the back of a classroom. She had loved him then, when he thought no one could, and she loved him now.  
  
The biceps were a bonus.  
  
Realizing what he was smirking at, Nadia quietly laughed once (willing nerves to leave her body at the same time) and met her lips to his again, kissing him. Her hands, so small compared to his, took his and moved them from her chest -another gasp as he squeezed one more time- directly backwards to undo the bra clasp. She didn't think their first time should be a threesome with Batman. Devin eagerly obliged.  
  
First time, that was a scary concept. All her friends, and sisters, had told her the same thing: the first time is never good for a girl, but it gets better really fast with the right partner. Forgive Nadia for her continued naivety towards this subject, but she wasn't just losing it in the back of a car at a party because she wanted to get it over with. It would be good, it would be great and wonderful and amazing!  
  
It was also really nerve wrecking, and intense even though technically up until they have done all of this before. It was different, knowing that they weren't going to stop at just second base anymore. Everything felt new to her again: every kiss, every touch left goosebumps on her skin. For Devin, he was caught between disbelief he wouldn’t be waking up in a minute or two with frustration overtaking him (maybe they’d fallen asleep on the bed after all), a sense of obligation, and a sense of glee. Glee, because goddammit yes thank the Lord she was really touching him and really here and knew who he was and they were alive and young and on fire. Obligation, because his ears had been filled for years with Lynn and Hols telling him in no uncertain terms that he had better treat the girl right (it was almost like they knew who his first time would be with, gasp!) And that it might hurt for her and Devin really, really didn’t want to hurt Nadia. All he wanted was to make her feel as good as she was already making him feel.  
  
His fingers unsnapped the clasp. As he pushed it off his mouth came as if summoned up to her shoulder where it bared, mouthing over the bone and licking a thin line under her collar. One hand came right back to her chest (he couldn’t help himself), but Devin let the other fetch the wash cloth again as he mouthed at her neck teasing and lift it. Nadia’s lips parted with another intake of breath that came out as a soft moan when Devin kissed the skin of her shoulder and collarbone (and consequently the scar there). She tasted of salt, but he’s drowning in a heady scent of something minty-fresh that reminds him of toothpaste wars they had when they were eight, and of orange blossom shampoo he bought in bulk for her in Hawaii. The other hand still massaged her other breast as he tastes her. As he brushed the cloth over the peaked as a dusk cherry nipple, his mouth left her neck with a gasp before he followed, let his tongue take over washing with little flicks and hums of enjoyment. His eyes - open with the need to remember everything about this moment, everything about her - dart up between the valleys of breasts and over throat to look at her dark, nervous and excited eyes.  
  
Nadia’s chest rose and fell but never moved too far away from his mouth or hands. She had always been a bit self-conscious about her breasts, like a majority of women, but the attention Devin was paying them pushed any doubts she had away. All she knew was that it felt really good, and by the time he pulled away to look at her again she had a whine stuck in the back of her throat. Exhaling, she realized her hands had found their way to his head, fingers disappearing into the short dark hair.  
  
Squeezing again he finally let one go, hand tracing down to hold her hips as he pulled back an inch to look up at her. He leaves one, lingering kiss on a sensitive, soft patch of darkening skin without looking away. It glistens as he pulls away open-mouthed, lingering with a heavy breath before he said slowly, “I want to make you feel good,” and then (cursing himself because it sounded like something in those videos Alcott had given him as “a joke”) he chuckled and brings his hand up to touch her cheek. It’s reassurance. His thumb brushed up over the crown of her lips, under the tip of her nose.  It’s a soft thing, the wind seeming to whisper ‘I love you’ between his fingers as he cups her face in hand and brushed reverently.  
  
Turning her head to kiss him palm, Nadia was grateful for the care he took with her. More than just cleaning her off with a washcloth and his mouth, he was washing away the filth of these past few weeks. She was immensely lucky to have him. Even an action as sweet as this, touching her cheek, was only adding to the ache she felt between her legs. Her mind was a one way train heading south, and at a pace more leisure than she would have thought she’d like.  
  
“This is okay, yes?” He thought her mouth had already made that clear but before he went any further, he needed to know she consented wholeheartedly. He wanted to make asking her permission an art form, never understanding why he’s supposed to find words like ‘condom’ or ‘lube’ or ‘protection’ un-sexy. What was sexier than Nadia saying she wanted him? He needed to hear her shout consent, hear her say ‘yes’ so many times she was frustrated and needy and desperate below him (or above him, Devin’s aware he’s easy right now) before he’d do so.  
  
Hazy, with his words doing nearly as much for her as his hands had, Nadia nodded once and twice, and again before she voiced it aloud, “Yes.” It was an admission without regret, or surprisingly embarrassment despite the fact her cheeks flushed, along with the rest of her body. That was once, Devin thinks as he leans in to kiss her. He made a pact with himself that every ‘yes’ he heard would be answered by a kiss, and swears he wouldn’t forget no matter how mindless with pleasure Nadia made him.  
  
She presses closer to him, needing to be as close as she possibly could right now. Their bare chests pressed together, and her eyes drift close again as she inhales. Nadia had spent weeks without memory, and longer without memory of him. She was going to savor every absolute second, and store it for an eternity. Devin cranes an arm around her now to hold her waist, letting the washcloth fall back to the side of the tub. It drapes, just as he draped a curtain of her hair over his shoulder bringing her in.  
  
Nadia kissed him again, and this time she did let a whine come out as she murmured against his lips, as needy as the growing hardness against her thigh, “Don’t stop, mi amor.”  
  
“Not bloody likely baby,” Devin’s words were reverberated with a low, heated growl. Again he met his lips to hers, arm rising around her waist and kissing her until he just couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood, the jerk abrupt, and swiveled her in his arms as his lips trailed down the side of her jaw and around her head to linger on the tip of her ear. His eyes were on the mirror now, looking for hers. Nadia met them, breathless once more. The arm around her he kept, but the other hastened to his jeans, undoing button and zipper, kicking them off backwards. His briefs press against backside, groan still echoing in his chest. Biting her already swollen bottom lip, Nadia’s hips moved backwards instinctively. For all the rough haste in their lower bodies, sticking to each other like magnets, his hand slipped up to her hair with purpose contrast. Delicate, he toyed with a few strands, eyes reverent as he surveys her body in the mirror.  
  
“You’re beautiful, Nadia,” he swore into her ear, still petting her hair back over both of their shoulders so his fingers could reach bare skin. She shivered against him, the shudder traveled all the way down her back. Nadia took her eyes off his own to look at herself, trying to see how he saw her. Her lungs felt heavy with the knowledge, and she had to fight to keep emotional tears at bay. They would be happy tears, but if she was going to cry about it (Annabelle had said there was a good chance), they would be tears of ecstasy and nothing less.  
  
She looked away from the mirror, tilted her chin to look at Devin over her shoulder and brought a hand up to his cheek and kissed him again. It turned his head so he could meet her halfway without turning her around. He'd liked the view too much to relinquish it immediately--the sight of watching himself tease her hair, touch sensitive skin, rubbing until it tingled beneath finger tips. When their lips met this time, Devin tugged gently on her bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. Otherwise he didn't move, just let the kiss rest. Nadia realized this time she needed to assure herself, but the moment her lips brushed against his she knew it; she was ready. Her hands dropped again and slid her panties down her hips and thighs, kicking them down the rest of the way.  
  
His eyes had shut briefly with their lingering mouths, yet Devin felt that was a very distinctive sound (one he'd never heard before exactly and so must just be programmed into his DNA to understand that flap of fabric hitting the ground must be her panties). Gaze snapped back open, the hand he had toying with her chest started sinking as he muttered, "Nadia..." Palm flat on her stomach, he turned to press his cheek against hers instead, automatically feeling his need circling her back, pressing through the thin layer of cloth that remained. There was no helping his instinct. He pushed her between hand and hips, his other still toying with her hair almost distractedly.  
  
Her knees were ready to give with the anticipation. She wasn’t sure she could be able to stand if Devin weren’t holding her up. It was really naughty, watching themselves in a mirror like this but Nadia couldn’t, and more importantly, wouldn’t look away. She remembered (oh how sweet to have these memories again, all of them) the first time they had gone farther than usual, outdoors under a tree and thought maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised at how naughty they could actually be. She pressed back against him further, murmuring something incomprehensible as he got closer and closer.  
  
When his fingers dipped to the crevice between her legs and he felt a wet warmth that had nothing to do with his washcloth, Devin shuddered in pleasure she felt pressing behind her too. Nadia gasped, arching backwards and grabbed the back of Devin’s neck for support. Eyes dazed, but stubbornly open, she parts her thighs farther apart to give him better access. Letting out another low murmur of love, of something sweet he'd already forgotten about (or maybe a curse, it might have been that, damn she was so...just...wet, and soft (kind of squishy actually) and warm (almost hot). Her flesh yielding to his prying digits, he opened nether lips slowly, eager to explore. And thank heaven for the mirror; Devin was watching what he was doing with aplomb delight, something wholly male in his dark gaze as he pushed one finger inside. The middle, he thought, because he was already being naughty and the irony amused him as much as his awe was frustrating him.  
  
“Oh,” Nadia gasped, mouth open obscenely in the same vowel she had just moaned. Now her hips moved forward instinctively against his hand. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth again when she managed to work her jaw, Nadia dropped her head backwards against his chest. Her eyes remained fixed on the reflection, watching him go inside her. She was so wet for him, she didn’t feel any discomfort at all. It was vastly, superiorly, different than when she did it herself; so much better.  
  
As his finger sought deeper inside, his thumb flicked higher as he looked anxiously for that secret 'pleasure' spot he read so much about. Devin's nose was bent back into her hair to breathe her in once more - breathe this perfect moment in, his other hand grazed down her shoulder and gripping her waist with a little more pressure now to keep her firm against him as his other hand played. One thing was definitely certain (okay two): the briefs had to go (and her panties had to stay here after).  
  
“Devin,” she sighed, breathing heavily and audibly. Nadia shuddered against him, reaching backwards to grab his hip. She felt him hard and so warm against her back, only adding to her feeling like she would burst into flames any second now. Nadia felt so teased, despite that he touched her where she wanted.  
  
“Ah!” A sharp moan left her lips, eyes widened in surprise as she jerked with the sudden pleasure that shot through her core. In her ear, Devin released a breath he wasn't sure he remembered holding, low with satisfaction. She pressed forward against his hand, whimpering when she was stopped by his own keeping her firm against him. Moving against his length, she expressed her desires as she moaned out, “More, oh god, Dev it’s so good. So- oh, more.” Nadia met his gaze in the mirror, needy and hungry for him.  
  
As his mouth kissed her neck again and again, Devin decided 'more' was close enough to 'yes' to warrant fulfilling his promise. Yet when she met his gaze again he gave in wholly, even if withdrawing his fingers seemed the opposite of listening to her. Breathing in sharp, he let go, spinning her again, lifted with a grunt that was purely for show. Her legs lock around his hips as he buried face in neck and hair. Feet reeling back, he doesn't remember how exactly he got from marble counter to downy plaid comforter, or how he wound up as naked as her but didn't give a --  
  
"Fuck," Devin muttered unconsciously as he laid her down, laid her out on his forest green sheets. He tried half hearted to spread them with one hand so they wouldn't bunch up on her uncomfortably, but his hand returned to grip her thigh before he so much as blinked. Like she was a nymph, or a siren, singing her song to make him lose his mind. Lowered on one elbow as he crawled between her legs, his thumb dug into her skin to spread her legs further apart to accommodate him. His eyes stayed soft on hers. After leaving a kiss against her lips, he leaves them hovering half open to breathe into her mouth another question of permission. He might want to take her with every urge of masculine strength, but her voice was too sweet and breathy to not call for.  
  
Nadia breathed in and out, not quite sure of how the scenery changed so quickly but very aware of her being in Devin's bed, under him, with her legs spread wide open and inviting. She trembled with excitement, anticipation, and just a touch of anxiety. This was the absolute wrong time to be harboring any doubts, but Nadia knew that if she really wanted to stop that Devin would, and wouldn't even resent her for it. God, she loved this boy so much-  
  
Oh yes, she was ready, as the insistent throb between her legs kept reminding her. Nadia nodded, their noses and mouth brushing against each other, parted open still as she gained enough air for speech.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, arms around his back and sliding lower in not only permission but encouragement and she kissed him again, "I want you Devin."  
  
There it was, that 'yes' he'd been looking for - the short, sweet word he'd heard echoing in his dreams for months. Nodding his forehead against hers, his hand fumbled across sheets go sidetable, opening his dresser stand and pulling the square little package out. Tearing the corner open to pull it out, he finally has to look away from her - just long enough to roll it over him. When he felt her hand guiding him too, he swore his breath stopped altogether.  
  
Falling back on an elbow, Devin pressed over her, murmuring his love and how gorgeous she was and how she didn't know what she did to him and finally her name -- just, just her name, breathed half out into her open mouth with a groan as he pushed himself forward, inside. A strangled gasp caught in her throat as he filled her, eyes suddenly wide and distinct from the half-dazed look she had on before. It was a shock unlike any other. Teeth clenched together before she remembered to relax. He went as slowly as he dared, though she felt like warm silk around him, welcomed him in. His eyes fluttered back open, darting to look where his hand was disappearing between their tangled legs, speechless in awe and elation.  
  
Nadia gasped again, pitchy and high right by his ear as her eyes began to sting with the tears she was threatening to shed. As lewd as it seemed, the only word she could use to describe the sudden sensation was a pop. It felt like something had popped inside of her. Breathing erratic, she belatedly noticed how hard she was holding on to him. She only held on tighter as she rested her forehead on his shoulder, mouth still open.  
  
Devin let the hand -- his left -- he rested on lift, supporting them with just his elbow as he cupped her shoulder, gently traced a few hair strands back. It gave him a distraction while he waited for another sign of pleasure from her; aching as he was to just start moving, snapping hips and circling. The pad of his left index finger tied around a strand of her hair, his other arm coming up now after helping wrap her leg around his lower back to seat him further inside. Every action was as smooth and deliberate as he could handle, though he digs both elbows into the mattress now, takes her shoulders like he meant to lift her up into him further -- only, frankly, he's not sure how that is even possible. He'd lost understanding, forgotten where it was they separated in these few, precious moments of absolute bliss.  
  
Nadia understood why Annabelle said it was likely she was going to cry. It wasn't the pain, that was actually fairly minimal, a discomfort more than anything, it was the entire experience. All this time she had worried that she'd have to wait for it to stop hurting for her to feel good, and she had been wrong. Devin inside her, their bodies pressed together as humanly possible, it was jarring and it was emotional. Call her naive, call her inexperienced, call her old-fashioned, (you might be right) but she couldn't imagine sharing this experience in a one night stand with a stranger. Nadia felt at her most vulnerable, and yet at her strongest as well. She was exposed, raw, like a bundle of nerves she wanted him to rub.  
  
(He did, like he knew without her saying it aloud.)  
  
And she felt connected, obviously not only physically, she felt him and they were here together, and it was overwhelming. Nadia would never have imagined feeling like this in her wildest dreams, and she shivered with the knowledge that it would only get better. With a hand buried in his hair, her heel digs into his lower back as Nadia experimentally moved her hips against his slowly, and gasped again, her grip tightening. He jerked, his nose bumping hers as he tried to keep from thrusting full-force - but damn it was hard when she -  
  
"Devin," she breathed out in shuddering pants directly against his lips as her mouth searched for his, despite how much effort it took to breath, and nodded against his forehead again, "move, please."  
  
Gasping out against her, Devin barely felt her nails leaving crescent moons on her back and shoulder, too enthralled with the heaven he'd found between her legs. Damn. Now he understood why there were so many poems and songs dedicated to this. Moving with instinct and gratitude apparent, his eyes stay open on hers as they struggle in a haze of pleasure to find a rhythm. Of everything, it seemed to him that was the easiest. He and Nadia had always...just, fit. And when two play music together already -- come on, harmonica and piano duets were not easy to time, not just anybody could do it -- a rhythm of their bodies felt as natural as anything could.  
  
His name on her lips sounded damn good. Too fast, much too fast, he realized the familiar clench in his lower stomach, ans immediately froze on his elbow, wedging his other hand between them to seek out that secret spot again, rubbing an engorged pink wet spot with haste, determined to bring her over. He finished inside her before he could manage, seeing white stars pop before his eyes, but Devin didn't let his fingers stop. Rubbing hard and fast, then slower, to graze a thumb over where they were joint skin in an experimental brush, he groans out again, "I love you," as he does. He stayed otherwise still, sated and full and pleasantly feeling utterly complete. When he feels her joining him he shuddered, collapsing on top of her and fluttering kisses anywhere his mouth could reach on her skin, licking away a glistening sheen of sweat with low, heady, labored breath as he tried to calm. It felt like ages passed in the only world that ever mattered before he had his breath back.  
  
Realizing his weight would be too much, Devin rolled sideways, sliding out with an odd squealch -- and he wondered idly how such a thing could sound so filthy and beautiful at the same time. He reached between them again to peel off the rubber, throwing it without care into the waste basket by his bed and grabbing the forgotten washcloth (he's not sure how he knew to bring that out but he's glad he did). Rubbing it gently to clean where she was sticky, he throws that over the headboard without a care too when he's done. Only then did Devin crawl back fully in her embrace, tangling their limbs and yanking a sheet over them both, a pillow for them both to share.  
  
"I have got to be the luckiest guy in the world," Devin declared with a hand cupping Nadia's jaw, his thumb swiping over those gorgeous, plump and swollen lips. His smirk was tired and wondrous, lazy with exhaustion and love. Nuzzling her hair as he wrapped the other arm around her and drew her in again, he adds in a whisper before finally shutting his eyes, "I'm never letting you go."

 


	83. New Rule: Tell Me Pretty Things

"Eliza?"  
  
When there was no reply, Olivier brought both hands up to the oak frame, sighing heavily. He wasn't surprised by her radio silence the past few days, but he was insistent on her knowing he was there for her irregardless. If she wanted.  
  
Echoing himself with another sigh, he begins, "Eliza, please, if you're there just --"  
  
The door opened. A warm, pink kitchen glow outlines a blonde heap of curls that make him turn a smile up, small. It disappears near instantly, when he sees her eyes. It's a stark contrast to Olivier, who hasn't seen her without pounds of eyeshadow and eyeliner since the day he--well, killed to save her life. The paint she wore then had been scarlet. Clean of both, and of any make-up entirely, her face is -- but it was far from clear.  
  
"Hi, Oli," She puts up a smile for him, one he offers back. It's as convincing as hers is -- and he doesn't mean that sardonically. If anyone from Broadway could see them now, they'd be taken for talent, spotted instantly. But of course they were good actors. He was trained personally by Remington D'Grey, and Eliza learned from him, from Hans -- and from Harper, who transpired to be the greatest actor of them all.  
  
"I'm sorry I haven't called back," Eliza says sheepishly as she opens the door further to let him in, "I've been, uhm, --well, my Dad--"  
  
"Told you to stay away from me." Olivier supplies with his trademark intuition and smirk rolled into one. The narrowed pointed "hey" look he gets back from Eliza tells him she wants to pretend not to appreciate it, but she does. Of course she does.  
  
"Well, now that you mention it!" She huffs with a hand up, closing the door and locking it. Olivier doesn't take another step until she's moved past him, curls bouncing off her neck. He liked them, he decides easily. As unfamiliar as she looked with frizz and no-make up, in tights and and an overlarge t-shirt, he likes that she appears still that comfortable with him. He likes it as he admits fairly, that Claude Simmons probably hated it.  
  
"What, is it between you two!?" Eliza spun back around, only once she put the island between them. He let it stay there, stepping up first and letting her question hang while he hung his jacket up. He wasn't getting snow or ash on these carpets.  
  
Olivier chuckles as he spins back around. Eliza was still going, and he loves that too (even as he spies the culprit, the still warm espresso machine she was now pouring for him without asking if he wanted anything)--he loves that she's still throwing her hands up in the air, and just going on her personal little tear. Sometimes Eliza would more aptly be described as the Energizer bunny.  
  
"I mean, it's not just you. He wants me to move back in with -- well not move back in with, move in with, him and my mother. See, Mum moved out when I 'died' and I really don't have any interest in going back to the manor anyway--I mean, I got all my stuff, moved it here, my bedroom is basically a carbon copy--anyway."  
  
Licking sugar and shipped cream off the tip of her spoon, she points with the silver tip at the chair to make him sit, then let's it clatter into the sink.  
  
"Now you mention it, yes, yes he wants you to cease being part of my life. I don't understand. He loves Tony."  
  
"Yes, he does." Olivier has no trouble accepting that with another small smirk to himself. He curls his ankles around the edge of the chair and tells himself he wasn't surprised Eliza was speaking so quickly. It was Eliza. She always talked.  
  
With the door shut and back in her own kitchen, even her eyes look clearer. Olivier gets this too, though he understands why Mary and Claude want her to move out. The apartment might have been paid for her when she was killing, kidnapping and torturing under blackmail at pain of death--but it would mean more than that to her. Of course it would. It also had been a safe harbour through a storm she already had one obituary from. After a cell, after a bedroom where she slept on a mattress knowing at any moment she might be raped--this was the first place she had called her own, found safety, and it was the scene of her 'home' when she chose to turn the tables on her torturers. She chose to survive, after all. He, Hans, even Harper--they had nothing to do with the strength she found to do that. To willfully turn and decide to go undercover.  
  
(Was their an act more courageous than that? Not to Olivier. He knew the cost. He lives with it.)  
  
And it also would be a familiar, neutral atmosphere in a world suddenly much too big and overwhelming for her.  
  
"Then I don't understand!"  
  
She crosses her ankles as she leans against the counter, waiting for the machine to ding.  
  
"Eliza-"  
  
"You don't get to pick and choose one D'Grey brother. Nope. Impossible. Package deal."  
  
That made Olivier pause, having to chuckle, more humbled by the sentiment than anything-and also knowing it wasn't the point he wanted to make.  
  
"Eliza," he says softly through another smile, folding arms over the table in front of him, "I understand why you haven't called back. It's all right."  
  
She blinks, and Olivier waits patiently through the revelation abundantly clear on her face that this was where it had started, yes. It was easier to stay on her point than admit now she didn't really neglect to call because Daddy Said So. Olivier won't begrudge her that. He wonders if she was getting more than two hours of sleep a night, and doubts it.  
  
"You're ignoring my question, Oli." Eliza moves to get their espressos. When her back is to him, she continues much quieter, "But then again there are a lot of things I don't remotely understand anymore."  
  
Breath abating in his throat for a moment, Olivier shuffles his feet and looks around her apartment again. There was a throw blanket and photos; those were new. So were the flowers in the center of the table, fresh-cut daisies.  
  
"Yeah." Olivier offers with a soft chuckle, wishing he could be more helpful than that. She laughs with him, seeming to get instinctively his hopelessness at comforting her and rubbing under her eye as she smirks over her shoulder.  
  
He tries, "Your Dad--he was there for Tony, years back. I never went to him, Liza, I...I had Dad. Who Claude hated. So."  
  
She smiles slightly, then laughs out once as she moved back to the little table. She sits across from him and hands over the espresso, already sipping it as she looked at the flowers and responds, mild.  
  
"Anyone ever told you Oli, you really leave a lot to be desired in the exposition category?"  
  
The smirk on his face breaks wide open. Hand going to his chest after he takes a sip of his coffee (Madonna, that was strong, maybe he should revise his estimate to an hour of sleep a night) -- as if to say 'me?'  
  
"I'll have you know my life story is all over the papers as we speak."  
  
"Sure," she shoots back, not missing a beat, "the life story you want everyone to know and believe."  
  
Olivier shrugs, appeasing her by another minute sip of the coffee instead.  
  
He waits a moment even after the scalding hot sip, as if testing her patience. Or so it appears she thinks, in any case, as her heel starts tapping and she takes her eyes off him no less than three times, as if he'll start explaining further the moment they make eye contact again. Apparently (given that sigh), he was just a constant disappointment, wasn't he?  
  
"It's bad, isn't it?" Yeah, Eliza's intuition and words weren't helping assuage him of the disappointment notion. Her smile was, though.  
  
"Not pretty."  
  
"I'm instituting a new rule." Eliza starts, her finger coming up, but her mouth seems to stall over the words. It's strange, seeing her falter like that. Her rules weren't new to him. But she continues, brightly, "For every thing you come to tell me, you have to tell me one pretty thing."  
  
Olivier opens his mouth.  
  
"And no!" Eliza cuts him off with a high laugh, making him smirk, "Your face doesn't count."  
  
"Come on," he tilts his head at her to give a better view of his baby blues. Eliza doesn't budge; it makes pride spark in Olivier's chest.  
  
It would do neither of them well to dwell on why pretty eyes didn't sway Eliza, so he moves on. Sort of.  
  
"Well, I could tell you about when Tony took me to a frat--ah, wait!" Knowing, Olivier points at her with the cafe mug she gave him, altering with a little smirk. "For you, the time Hans and I gatecrashed a party of supermodels."  
  
"For Abercrombie & Fitch?" Eliza asks it like he knows what label that is, and doesn't miss a beat. Yes. Her cheeks were pink. This coffee was hot. And she had her heating turned all the way up; it was freezing outside, all right!  
  
"Er, no." Olivier chuckles in a boyish smirk of amusement, and Eliza looks torn between kissing him and smacking him. See, at least that look he was familiar with.  
  
"Vanity Fair. Wasn't the first time either--"  
  
Well, seemed he'd made her mind up for her. Laughing honestly after he ducks the wayward spoon, he shakes his head at her and holds a hand up in fake surrender.  
  
"All right, all right, I acquiesce to your Bill Maher-esque new rule." Though truthfully, he should have put up more of a fight. Then he wouldn't have to continue speaking. Eliza's repeating his early blue-eyed bat at him all expectent and dammit, he wasn't as accomplished her at ignoring it.  
  
"Great! Now tell me why my Dad has such a stick up his ass when he talks about you."  
  
Olivier just chuckles. Oh, Eliza.  
  
He was there for two reasons: check on her from concern slash wanting to relax a night away from the newborn vampiress, his girlfriend, and his brother (Olivier loved them all dearly, cough he didn't just admit that, and they still had him at his absolute wits end). And two, because he had to tell her about Hans.  
  
Actually, come to think of it, admitting to why her estranged father didn't like him might actually be easier.  
  
"All right." He sighs, lips flicking up and admitting plainly, "Claude gets to - as you put it 'choose a D'Grey brother' - because he's the only person left really who when he met us, he literally had to choose a side."  
  
She blinks at him, and he doesn't blame her for her confusion. It had to be hard to picture he and Tony not on the same side -- well, except for the two of them, who remembered it all too well.  
  
"You mean--"  
  
The coffee burns his tongue as he waits for her to catch up.  
  
"--you two were fighting?"  
  
"Si." Olivier decides to drown his throat with the coffee, because she didn't seem to get he meant literally, and he wasn't sure he needed to admit to that.  
  
"Well of course you were!" Eliza exclaims, much to his surprise. She harumphs, sets her espresso down and hand under her chin. It doesn't last long there. By the time she speaks again, it's waving through the air.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Of course you fought--you're -brothers-. Honestly? That's it?"  
  
"Eliza--"  
  
"So because my Dad knew you when he nicked all your toys and you put paint buckets on his door--"  
  
Olivier burst out laughing; he couldn't help it, and it was a warm enough sound she joins in reluctantly, whatever her indignation.  
  
When they stop for breath, share admits with a hand up, "Okay fine, I know what you meant."  
  
Olivier doubts that. The image of his little brother's face purple and black and red from his own fist was--well. That wasn't easy to acknowledge even for himself. So he nods, and smiles a bit when she adds pointed and high-pitched, "But it's still ridiculous. Clearly you two got past it. He needs to let it go. It's not like he's some saint."  
  
"True," Olivier acknowledges with a chuckle under his breath. Even though he never thought Claude really pretended to be a saint--and even though he wasn't sure how 'past' it he and Tony were when it came to Dad, but that wasn't what she was asking about so yeah, sure, true!  
"Though he did kill the person who hurt his sibling." Olivier shrugs. Person. Vampire. Dad's friend of a century at least, but Olivier had never liked him. He liked Tony too much. It creeped him out.  
  
Eliza'a eyes were wide as saucers.  
  
"Ah, whoops." He chuckled, realizing Claude must not have told her that yet. Nodding as he took another sip, he just offers instead, "But then again I did that too."  
  
Too many fucking times--except for the most important time, when Tony did it himself. Olivier's stomach protests that thought. Yeah, sure, they clearly were past it.  
  
Eliza slips forward in her seat and twirls a curl around her finger, clearly wanting, needing, dying to ask for further details. Thankfully, she doesn't--at least not aloud, because this wasn't his story to share. He's just glad she doesn't smile at him with her eyes all shiny again; how did Claude resist telling her everything with those, anyway?!  
  
"Anyway." Olivier clears his throat while he still hasn't burned it all with the coffee, leaning forward to her too. "Trust me when I say I'm incredibly grateful to your Dad for being there for Tony, all right?"  
  
That's about as nice as he could be right now to Claude Simmons.  
  
"And," he continues with a softer smile when she's nodded at him (with a determined look that says Claude was about to get nine million questions in a voicemail), "per your rule, *you*, dolcezza, are extremely pretty."  
  
Vibrant red he knew she'd attribute to their hot drinks flush her cheeks even as she rolls her eyes at him. Olivier tells himself he's not saddened by how hard it was for her to believe that. Or, maybe it wasn't. Maybe she just no longer knows what it meant. Her attractiveness was a point of contention; she remade herself in the mirror every morning. Without the mask of make-up on, she didn't know what being pretty meant.  
  
She spreads fingers in a quick "V" before jabbing them towards her eyes and points them united again at him. I'm watching you. Olivier just laughs. She joins, and he's proud of how warm her sound is. (And he's supposed to take that now?)  
  
But she's guessed that already.  
  
"You came to tell me something, didn't you?"  
  
"Eliza," he says when their laughter dies off, but she shakes her head at him.  
  
"He's gone, isn't he?"  
  
There's no need to ask which 'he' she meant, but Olivier does it anyway. It makes it easier to pretend their connection hadn't been broadcast to the world already, cling to pretending their connection wasn't obvious.  
  
"Hans?"  
  
"Yes."

"Just...like that?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Olivier says it so simply, like it was just that small fact. Then again, he hasn't really accepted it either. Three days had passed, but it feels shorter. It feels like he hasn't taken his next breath since Ansel said those bloody words: we've made a decision.   
  
Wide-eyed, open-mouthed and barely breathing Eliza looks unsurprised, and yet as if her whole world has disappeared beneath her feet. She looks to them. She shuts her mouth. Olivier doubts she's honestly seeing the tiny silk slippers she wears.   
  
"I should be glad," she whispers.  
  
There'd been a wildness in the gold glint of his friend that last night; a desperateness he'd only ever seen once, and that was in his brother. It had been certain for just a breath, a small space of an instant--Hans was going to set the world on fire, kill all of them, laugh while they burn.   
  
(But then they breathed, and it became apparent Hans was the one laughed at.)  
  
Eliza should be glad, Olivier thinks, not knowing she couldn't find that emotion for all her searching. There's relief in her breath, and yet her lungs tense. Those wild eyes were open books for her -- an ever present reminder of the demons that would forever haunt the complex man she'd decided to care about. Yet, strangely she couldn't remember a single reason she'd hated him, all the terrible things he'd done to friends and strangers alike. Eliza was licking her lips, too busy craving a chocolate fudge sundae.  
  
"I thought he'd go," she whispers again once her lips were wet, and she meets his gaze again. "Though I guess I hoped he'd...say goodbye."

"Not really his strong suit," Olivier jokes naturally, saying quieter, "and Eliza, you shouldn't be anything but what you are."   
  
At least with him, he thinks, grateful that he was the one to tell her, grateful she didn't have to get the news in whatever joyful manner her friends would be giving it to her. The good riddance parade and cake could happen without him, he thinks. Maybe he could stall it in it's tracks before it even reaches Eliza.  
  
"Good," she was snapping and standing back up, turning so fast she leaves her left slipper behind. There's no change in her gait as she takes her coffee cup into the living room, her huff's wake brisk and hard to follow. (He does anyway, finishing the coffee first).  
  
"Good," she repeats and falls on to the couch, shaking her hair all over the back, bringing her knees to her chest and grabbing the throw blanket to cover her feet. "I'm not glad. He shouldn't just skip town without a goodbye. He shouldn't run away just because--"  
  
"Eliza--"  
  
"Let me finish!" Her hand strikes the air. Olivier thinks Tony does the same thing when he's interrupted now. It cracks a smile across the serious weight on his mouth.   
  
"Of all the things Hans is, a coward isn't one of them. I know that. So he doesn't get to -- I mean, this is what, a noble gesture? Make me angry at him while he 'let's me go'? Like I can go back if I wanted to, which just FYI, I don't?!"  
  
The patchwork wraps so tightly around her, Olivier wonders how she is breathing. Then he hears her lungs and understands: she's not.  
  
"Finished?" He asks.  
  
"For now," (a warning) Eliza offers with a haughty head shake. Ha. He'll take it.

"Okay," Oli chuckles and sits down again across from her. A fern frond tickles his neck as it bends forward. That was new too, he thinks as he twists in surprise to whack the leaf away.  
  
"Don't hurt my plant, D'Grey." Eliza said, smile back, and not meeting her own gaze.   
  
"It hurt me."  
  
"Tickling is not hurting."  
  
"Don't tell Tony that," Olivier winks, but continues on: he wasn't going to break Tony's confidence and tell her anything more on the subject. Shifting to lean away from the frond as it fell forward again, he continues aloud.  
  
"It isn't...exactly, his choice."  
  
Eliza mercifully only lifts an eyebrow at him to get him to explain further.  
  
"The pack, led by Ansel, they...well, mutinied."  
  
For a moment, Eliza doesn't seem to breath as she hugs her knees harder into her chest and takes a sip of coffee to burn away all other thoughts. Olivier shakes his head (that goddamn fern) and tries to continue gently, "Since Hans can't turn at will and Ansel can...they made him alpha instead."  
  
Eliza says nothing at first. Her eyes and nose screw up. Her tongue is cotton again. She should really buy more chocolate syrup.  
  
"So he's fleeing, France." Eliza supplies dully, muttering under her breath, "as if Ansel was any better--"

"Any better?" Olivier asks, the words leaving his mouth before he could think what he said through. How shocking. (Actually, for Olivier D'Grey, it was.)  
  
"You know what I mean," Eliza huffs and drops her hands back to her lap, knees buckling open until she's sitting pretzal-legged and sideways. It's distracting. Does yoga really help her find peace that much? Maybe he should try it. As long as she promised not to tell Tony.  
  
"I..." Olivier fails to finish the sentence. He shakes his head, slowly. "The pack was never my business, honestly, Eliza, though I did consider a lot of them friends. At least through association. Bu-"  
  
"Why did you say Ansel can transform at will and Hans can't?"   
  
Her voice was sharp cutting him off. Olivier just looked at her. Her wide-eyes seem struck with a fly swatter, considering the nose scrunch and hiss.   
  
She says in a low voice, "He didn't have one for himself?"  
  
"He did," Olivier starts, but she cuts him off again.   
  
"That's why he was covered in blood."

Olivier said nothing. It was something he knew Eliza appreciated, as much as he appreciates that she doesn't need him to speak. She pushes her hands to her forehead and then drops it to her lap, muttering under her breath, "God, what is it with this boy--?!"   
  
It makes Olivier smile, suddenly seeing the sixteen year old who was missing a boy as opposed to anything else, and frankly, loving it. Eliza might have been taught the worst of magic for the last few months, but she's worked hard to teach them the best of people.   
  
"I think he would say he's not a boy, he's a man. Mostly."  
  
Eliza's head perks up, smile cute and propped up by her hands folded beneath her chin.   
  
"And then he'd say God had nothing to do with it, luv."   
  
And then she laughs, and rubs under her eyes.  
  
The 'luv' tells Olivier she'd heard it frequently enough to parrot pitch perfect. Hans, he wants to chide to his old friend, the hell did you get yourself into? For that matter, the hell did you get me, into?  
  
Yeah, yeah, fine, he got himself into it too.   
  
"You won't uhm...tell anyone that he and I..."   
  
Olivier gets up (he gives up with that fern anyway) and says first, "Non, never, princessa."

And then he sat down and before she could jump him, he wrapped his arms around her and surprised her with the hug.


	84. LCD Screen

(Lynn/Devin/Nadia)

+

 

She hadn't been this sore since she insisted her and Dillon try the Big Dipper. Irene was so relieved to be back in her own bed after being discharged from the hospital. The whole crisis of her failing liver when the correct counter jinx to whatever she had gotten hit with was found. Now she had some immuno-deficiencies, or something or the other which meant she was stuck gulping a potion that looked like strawberry milkshake but tasted like fetus for the next week.  
  
After leaving her window open for Dillon to come in through soon, Irene plopped down on her bed (immediately regretting it with a wince) and reached for her tablet under her pillow. Nails that were in desperate need of a touch-up entered her four digit passcode: 2319. Monsters Inc. was a favorite movies of hers.  
  
"Out of the hospital," she said aloud after opening her twitter and beginning a status update, "gonna miss those nurses' sticky buns -- oh yeah, the pastries were yummy too."  
  
Truthfully, Irene would need a lot more than 140 characters to update the world of her status. Irene leaned her head back on her pillow and thought of how she felt. Usually, Irene didn't need much thinking to know how she'd felt. She was a very expressive person,who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, or her feelings. When she was angry, she was a storm, and when she was happy, she was a party. She couldn't peg a word or emotion to what she felt now.  
  
A ping brought her back to the room. Bringing down her notifications, she saw she had a new email. Who it was from was blocked, and there was no subject on it. Curious, because spam was never that sneaky, Irene clicked on the little envelope and opened it up to read.  
  
The message was quite simple, at first glance underwhelming. It had no subject line, no greeting, no farewell, just a simple sentence. 'Thank you, for reminding me I could be better than I once was.'  
  
Irene screwed her eyes together and then felt her shoulders drop and her heartbeat rise when the realization of who could it be hit her. She stared at the words on the screen intensely for a few more seconds, as if they could come alive and dance their way into a more satisfactory message.  
  
"Hey," a voice sounded suddenly and she dropped her tablet, stuffing it down under pillow before she realized it was Dillon. Breathing out, she put a hand over her heart.  
  
"You okay?" Dillon asked her, moving closer to her bed and Irene immediately stood on her knees, nodding with a smile.  
  
"Sneaking up on a girl," she clicked her tongue and shook her head in false reproach, leaning forward to grab him by the belt loop and pull him closer, "naughty." And then she kissed him, tongue languidly slipping into his mouth, keeping him well occupied with the slow pace.  
  
And it wasn't only because her tablet needed 5 minutes before it locked up the LCD-screen.

 

+

Scarlet pencil in hand, Lynn colors as meticulously as she once payed attention to a lionesses snout (hey, that tattoo was going permanently on her best friend!). Her bedroom window was open despite the chill - but hey, Lynn always ran a little hot. Then she picks up an ink pen, shuffling socks in her beanbag chair just to finalize her invented number in the box. All her focus was on the Suduko puzzle in front of her, discarded logic puzzles resting on top of an unopened official-looking envelope, emblazoned with a red 'S.'

Hearing the latch, she smirks to herself and comments brightly, "So there's now a number called Eigfe. Looks a lot like an eight and a five squished together and can take the place of either-or! And done!"

She waves the pencil proudly, speaking to the boy she knew was a few feet behind her neck (which she cranes forward to make as inviting as possible).

"Pay no attention to the zeroes." She adds. They look suspiciously like mickey mouses anyway.

Walking in to Lynn's room, he tugs the sleeves of his sweater further down, marveling yet again at how unbothered she was by the cold and letting her window open during winter. It was the middle of December, after all! Nick didn't think that Lynn comprehended that winter in California, at least where he lived, never got colder than 50 degrees. Then of course he'd remember to convert it to Celsius because he was American and 'wrong'.

"That's cheating," he stated with a chuckle, leaning forward to look at the puzzle over her shoulder, his lips curling up into a smirk as he saw the Mickey Mouse ears she claimed were zeroes.

"Well...it does work," he teased, tilting his head to kiss her neck and then looked back down at the number 'eigfe'. Curiously, he traced it on her with his tongue and then leaned back.

"No, I don't think I drew it right, hold on," so he leaned back in and tried it again.

Swallowing giggles and mhmms as Nick starts to trace on her neck, she tilts forward, shuffling her socks under the blanket. When he went for it again, she squealed and dropped her knees, falling forward onto her pike, cheek to thigh, making him follow her. 

"Ah, ah--! Not if you're not an 'eigfe' believer," she squirms a little, playful. The logic puzzles, sudukos and envelope alike all tumble on to the floor as she swivels, tossing scarlet hair over her shoulder to look back at him, smirk wide.  

"Ooh, baby, your nose is turning brighter than my hai--are you cold?"

Grin wide on his face as he followed her forward, he began to nod his head repeatedly, "No, but I am. Then I saw her face, bum bum bum bum, now Iiiii'm a believer," he began singing Smash Mouth, a song he and anyone you her than him only knew from the movie Shrek.

"Actually, I'm auditioning for the role of Rudolph," he quipped, leaning closer to her again when he noticed the envelope now on the floor. Crouching forward to pick it up, he held it up to Lynn.

"Lynn Rivers, cold feet? What a scandal!"

Her squirming turned into a half dance under his arms singing along with the beats. So much for being indignant. He half fell on top of her, half pulled into her and she took a few moments to rearrange them on the couch, saying, "You're a shoe in, luv," happily as she kisses his nose. 

Then she lays down back in his arms, only to blink as he reaches around her, leaning them both forward to yank up the envelope. She blinks, sheepish and shakes her head insistently. 

"I didn't get cold feet!! I was...I was...waiting for you!"

"Uh huh," he nodded, agreeing, because the alternative would get him into trouble. Doing so was too close to calling Lynn a coward and his girlfriend was anything but. For example, she was still sporting some bandages around her hands from some burns she got while they were in Notre Dame only a few days ago.

"That's why you called me immediately when you got this, so I could rush over here- waiiit," he wiggled the envelope in front of her face and after kissing her temple, offered it to her again.

"You worried about being rejected, or accepted?"

Placated (slightly) by the little kiss to her temple, she wraps her arm around his shoulder and pulls back, pushing up before he whacks her with the file. Taking it just to make sure he doesn't hit her, she sighs and swivels quickly, to sit between his legs, crossed and leaning into his chest.  

Her fingers fiddle with the edge for a few moments, looking at it and pretending it didn't bother her bandages.  

"Both," she says honestly, suddenly very quietly as if she's afraid someone else was putting their ear to the door, "I mean. I want out of here, lately, but...on the other hand I'm pretty sure that my brother just went and allied himself in a literal supernatural war and I -- well and what if they didn't like the, you know I barely got any time to work on that portfolio but I think learning to wind a crossbow was important--!"

Moving so that they could both sit more comfortably, he had an arm over the couch and a hand moving a strand of hair out of her face as she explained the reason behind her hesitation.

They were all very legitimate reasons, on top of the fact that Stanford was more than 7000 miles away; he didn't know how long that was in kilometers but expected it was a 'hella'.

"Devin is more than capable of taking care of himself, not to mention, almost literally, a door away anytime. And I don't if you realize but," he gestured to the envelope with a nod of his head before smiling, "that's a pretty heavy envelope." Rule of thumb? The heavier the envelope, the more likely it was to be an acceptance.

Running her hand down his chest she lets his in her hair shush her, telling herself to listen. And he was right, this boyfriend of hers, he absolutely was...she just, wasn't--

\--oh fuck it, she was Lynn Rivers and she was opening it and it had nothing (only a little bit) to do with the weight of the envelope. Sighing, she slips a finger under the lip and crests her other to cup his cheek, leaning forward to kiss him once. Then she whispers, "Fine, but if I get rejected, I'm blaming you for getting my hopes up."

And then she rips it open, nail tearing it clean in two and pulling out what...transpired into a packet, and a brochure, which really meant only one thing could be on the opening letter. And yet it still seems to take her by absolute surprise to read the words 'Welcome, Lynn Rivers' and she squeaks, a hand flying to her mouth and her knees quivering until she's toying with his hair and the letter simultaneously, smiling wide.

"I got in! I did-- I got in!"

"I will take full blame," Nick nodded as he promised, a small grin on his face as he refrained from laughing at her demeanor. He had full faith in Lynn's abilities after all, so he was 99% sure that her envelope contained an acceptance. So, while Nick wasn't much of a gambler, he'd take those odds.

The moment all those packets and brochures fell out, Nick didn't need her to read the letter to know what it was going to say. Now he's actually laughing, in happiness and pride for Lynn and also because she was basically shivering out of her skin the way she did when she was excited (in both terms of the word ), and it was an infectious sensation.

"Told you soooo," he grinned and then leaned in to kiss her once, "congratulations!"

"You know, that is one thing I have always, mm--," she cuts off when his lips meet hers, eyes shutting as she slides free hand up his neck to grip as tight as the other holds the acceptance letter, "--loved about you," her lips smack as she pulls back a half inch. Her open eyes again. They're soft and dazed, her nails gently trailing the back of his neck. Smile echoing, she finishes, "You aren't afraid to tell people I-told-you-so."

It was a trait they had in common, but that wasn't a surprise when it came to Lynn. Nick Callaway, the chill "rad" Cali though? It would take the coast by storm to think he could be dominating -- and she loved it. She loved him.

Peeling back to squeal and look down at the paper again in wide-eyed shock, "I really did-- ohhh, look out Hollywood, Lynn Rivers incoming."

Her lips smack again as she flips her hair and blows a kiss. 

 +

The forest at night was a familiar place for Hols. Long before she had begun making her monthly trips during the full moon, Hols had stolen away under the cover of nightfall to walk among one of the most dangerous places on Earth. The excitement mixed with the fear of never really knowing what was out there gave her one purpose: survival. Nothing else mattered, everything else was swept away. That same instinct rushed through her veins now as she ran for    her life.  
  
Her bare feet smashed against the ground repeatedly with her long strides. Her lower legs and the bottom of her nightgown were caked with mud    and dirt as she ran and stumbled. It was deep in the woods, the trees were too close together to allow any light from the moon or stars to guide her way. She avoided some roots, but tripped over others, and never stopped moving.  
  
Her heart was close to beating out of her chest, her breathing heavy from running for what felt like hours. Her long honey-brown hair flew behind her as    she ran, getting tangled in twigs and branches, her cotton nightgown that she wore on warmer evenings was covered in rips. Ants and bugs bit at her calves, spurring her faster in an attempt to get away.  
  
Hols was being chased. Hols was being hunted. The lioness, a fierce predator at the too of the chain was nowhere to be found. She was prey tonight, as a snarl behind her reminder her of it. No amount of running was going to change that. Running was for the weak, for those too afraid to fight back, or too incapable. This wasn't Hols.  
  
She came to a halt, stopped running, and turned around. Immediately, her hunter was on her. Slamming her back against a tree trunk, a large around curled around her throat, gripping it firm as her chest rose up and down fighting for more air to be allowed into her lungs, pressing against the man's chest with each exhale.  
  
He brought his hand down from her neck in a swift motion and instead took her breath by crashing his mouth against hers. The kiss was an attack, a battle, their tongues serving as lances, their teeth as shields as they fought to bring the other to submission. Her hands raised to his scalp, grabbing at short hair and tugging backwards. He didn't move an inch, and if it weren't for the way he bit down on her bottom lip in retribution, she might have thought that he hadn't felt it. Hissing, she knew he had drawn blood. His mouth took her lip and sucked on it, cleaning the blood off the small break.  
  
Her fingers grabbed at his shirt, pulling it upwards and out of the way, the curve of his back being revealed to her, then the dip. She counted each vertebra as she saw it before he pulled back to throw away his shirt entirely and came back, taking the same action towards her nightgown. It ripped right down the middle, exposing her completely to the cool breeze and then to his even colder skin as he pushed what was left of the fabric off her shoulders and pressed her against his chest and the tree.  
  
The wood of the tree dug and scratched  painfully into her back, but she was undeterred as her hands slipped between their bodies and reached his trousers. Unfastening the button as dexterously as was usual for her, she tugged the trousers as down as her arms     allowed it, and then brought her feet up to finish pushing them down. The mud on her feet stained the alabaster skin of his legs and then of his lower back as he hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist.  
  
She pulled away from his mouth with a pop, his own continued down to her neck, a shiver running down her spine and a weight dropping in her gut as she knew what to expect. Nails digging into his shoulders as he ground his hardness against her, her eyes widened into saucers, gasping as his thrusted in, his fangs breaking her skin not a moment after.  
  
Locked between his chest and the tree, Hols struggled to move. Warm blood trickled down her back as she opened several cuts down her back with each movement, needy for a harder pace. Quick gasps kept leaving her mouth as he continued to drink from her, each thrust harder than the one before. Sweat, all her own, ran between their bodies, her breasts slid against the soft hairs of his chest.  
  
As her head turned instinctively, the moan that had been caused by his pelvis grinding against her clit turned into a whimper as his fangs, still dug into her neck ripped across when she moved. Blood now mixed with sweat as it flowed down her neck and chest. With a growl, the vampire pulled back, his face     both monstrous and beautiful. His lips stained with blood, he followed the trail with his tongue, drinking up the blood and sweat while holding her waist so she wouldn't move. She gasped as a pink tongue circled a stiff bud before taking it completely in his mouth, the other receiving the same treatment     until her chest was clean.  
  
Tugging at his hair again, she pulled him back to her mouth, tasting the metallic blood on his tongue as he finally started moving at the pace she wanted. Hard and unrelenting, with each thrust she scratched the tree further, splinters digging into her back. Sharp gasps and moans, and wet slaps filled her ears until she was deafened with them. Nails scratched down his arms, drawing blood only for a moment before the scratched close and the red faded so she did it a again and again, repeatedly until the red stopped fading and she had marked him for more than just a brief second.  
  
She grew more desperate as she felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge. She took his hand from her waist with her own; he didn't need to be guided to know where she wanted it. He didn't flick her pleasure, or teased it. Using two fingers he rubbed it in small, quick circles, until the friction became unbearable. She came with a scream as he sank his fangs in again, this time at her chest. He spent himself four thrusts after, and licked her wounds clean again.  
  
Pulling out, he set her back on the ground, her legs wobbling as she tried to stand upright again. Turning her around, his arms wrapped around her waist again as he licked the blood off her back. Deliberate and slowly, he tongued every scratch and rash, sucked out every splinter. Reaching her shoulder he bit down with his blunt teeth before he kissed it.  
  
"Until next time," he kissed her neck again, and before she blinked, Marcus Ellwood was gone.  
  
And Hols woke up.  
  
Alcott rolls over with a murmured, happy grunt and asks through a smirk as the back of his hands caress her bare shoulder, "Dreaming about me?"  
  
Hols startles, confused and slightly panicked (not to mention oddly sore). She rubbed at her eyes immediately as she blinked repeatedly, trying to see what was around her. No forest, no mud or blood caked all over here, no vampire.  
  
Leaning her head back into a pillow with a sigh, she murmured to herself "just a dream" before tilting her head to look at Al, only now processing his question. She chuckled and moved her hair to one side (checking her neck for puncture wounds as she did).  
  
"And what makes you think that?" She smiled before teasing, "Not enough I have you in my waking thoughts, driving me insane, now I have to put up with you in my sleep to?"  
  
Lazy and proud, Alcott turns the corner of his lips up as he glances down. The covers were a mess around her feet, strewn across her chest, but he was looking directly in between. Forefinger tapping his nose, he glances back to her.  
  
"Not much a wolf won't smell, luv."  
  
Oh for bloody's sake. She chuckled once and then smirked, nodding as she understood. There was no privacy with a werewolf. He could hear her heartbeat, her breathing, smell when she was aroused or fearful- no privacy. Thankfully, she was an open person. Somewhat. With him, at least.  
  
She sighed again and then shook her head slightly, to finally answer his question directly if not aloud. How exactly did one go about revealing a dream like that to your boyfriend?  
  
Despite the tease and gorgeous smirk that appeared on Hols face, Alcott's ear naturally twitches up. Wait, he thinks, listening without being able to help it to the rapid heartbeat trying to settle itself--that wasn't just arousal. Wildness in his girl's eyes was pretty par for course, but Alcott disdains of golf. Something else was up. Face narrowing, he straightens in his bed. Adjusting the pillow beneath her as she scrubs at her neck, he moves his hand to cup it herself. Don't, his fingers say, you're close to peeling your skin off.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
She lets her hand fall down from her neck as he cups it, exhaling again and then licking her dry lips to explain.  
  
"The dream was about the vampire that fed me his blood to heal me. Marcus." She thought the blood should have already left her system, but there were talks of what could happened when a normal human drank vampire blood. When he fed her it, it wasn't only to heal her like he promised, but to hold over her the fact that were she to die with it in her system, she would come back as one of them.  
  
Telling him that, and her apparent smell of arousal, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together to figure out exactly what the dream was about.  
  
His thumb lifts to her lips, parting them as his eyes narrow considering. Alcott might have spent half his life wanting some of his father's genius, but when you put his distaste for the subject alongside the natural disgust of vampires (couldn't help it, in his blood)--he wished for ignorance.  
  
Running the thumb back over her jaw and with an awkward 'woah' on his oh-shaped lips he cocks his chin up, then back down in an excruciatingly slow nod. Yeah. So. She was dreaming about--  
  
"Gross."  
  
"Yeah," was all she said after a chuckle at his very eloquent declaration of the disgust. She took no insult from it, she wasn't that petty. Besides, she knew it was his natural aversion to vampires in general now, as well as the fact that Marcus was a manipulative bastard, and that was from twenty minutes with him.  
  
He wished she hadn't told him. Then he realizes he was wishing actively for his girlfriend to lie to him and reconsiders. Right, counterproductive, yeah fine but, did he really need that image? Cough, pay no attention to the wolf ten seconds ago bragging about his abilities.  
  
"...I knew I should have asked Daniella more." He frowns, taking his hand back and then rubbing his own lips, turning it over in his mind. Her well-being would have to come first.  
  
"You all right?"  
  
Hols nodded, "It was just a dream." A very vivid dream. Worst of all, it hadn't been unpleasant. But still, only a dream and given that she didn't have Nadia's gift, she doubted it was prophetic.  
  
"I had one about you," she said instead to get his mind off it. She smirked as she traced a figure right on his chest with a finger.  
  
"Just the one?" Alcott quips, still turning over the phrase 'just a dream' in his ear. He didn't like it, he decided. Sounded too much like a certain river in Egypt.  
  
Hols shot him a look, slapped his chest with the hand that had been previously caressing it and replied, "yes, just the one. You were shagging me well enough in real life soon after, so." Then her nail returned to its trailing along his smooth chest.  
  
"Last year, back when we still hated each other. I couldn't look you in the eye for a week." She chuckled, not that she'd been very keen to look him in the eye anyways unless she was cursing him or at him.  
  
Stomach grumbling with his displeasure, Alcott stills, probably from the fact even as he frowns he enjoys her nail trailing across his toned chest. Zen-like with the cognitive dissonance of her remark, he exhales in a short burst. Then he does it again. He keeps doing it until it sounds like he was laughing. With a slow smile, he points out, "You do realize less than a year later you're in bed with me? Not a very encouraging stat."  
  
He'd always hated statistics anyway. He and Hols disproved all of them, as they fucking should.  
  
"Alcott Brackner, feeling threatened by a dream? A *vampire* in a dream?" Hols smirked, not bothering to even take his comment on the statistics seriously. She wasn't in his bed a year later because he'd fucked her in a dream better than half of her actual lovers. For the interest of not stroking his ego further however, she'd keep that to herself.  
  
"Actually," he adjusts on his propped up pillow, watching her nail with interest and then cocking an eyebrow back up, "dreams are rarely meaningless. Or ever 100% meaningful, you know, except for Seers."  
  
Hols looks down briefly, finding herself already agreeing with that even if she didn't like it.  
  
Smirking as he looks at her, his finger draws through the air while he continues to speak. The other hand he props behind his head to give him a better view. Goddamn, this chica all right? Breathtaking even when she tells him she had a wet dream about a psychotic vampire while in his bed. Now just how was that fair?  
  
"Something I was always interested in." He winks at her, whispering under his breath, teasing because that makes it much easier, "I live for contradictions."  
  
Looking back up, she smiles at him again and nodded.  
  
"You are the king of contradictions," she chuckled again and licked her lips.  
  
"Prince," he counters, smile softening. Neck cocking, his head hits the headboard, comfortable and warm as he offers, "King's mi padre."  
  
Was he looking for excuses to mention his father was home? Was the Silver Spears dueling club infamous for only using Aspen wands?  
  
(That's a yes.)  
  
"As long as you don't expect me to call you 'your grace'," she teased, her smile soft and wide as she saw how happy Al got every time he found an excuse to mention his father was alive.  
  
"God, no." Alcott stuck his tongue out, "That'd make me sound like some posh wanker."  
  
"Well I'm no prophet. And I doubt Nadia would want to help me assign meaning to this particular dream," she scoffed and shook her head slowly. She'd rather it was meaningless of course, but had little knowledge or what it could actually be. An expert in magical creatures she would soon be, but vampires didn't belong in that category.  
  
"Unless Nadia's the one having the dream, doesn't matter really," Alcott was quick to say, before his hand came down, seizes her wrist. Hoisting up with a smile on his face, all at once he's seated her on top of him.  
  
"Much better," he murmurs, playful.Hands settling on her hips, one circles, massaging around the sharp bone and contemplates the glory of her tan, smooth skin. See, now, *this* was something to dream about.  
  
Her hand stilled but not on her own accord. With a tug she moved to sit on his stomach. Smirking down at him, she moved her hair behind her, though a few strands still lingered to give him an unblocked view. She had very little shame left.  
  
"And by the way," he thumbs against the bone, eyes hooded as he looks up at her, "I wish I was just that easily threatened."  
  
Her hand went back to his chest, using her fingers to paw at it like a cat would a mouse. She kept watching him, only slightly distracted by his fingers on her waist and listened to him.  
  
"But," and he sighs, looking back down her front as it tends to have that calming, transformative effect on him, "I caught Dani snooping through some of my dad's old research books and well," he frowns, "I was asking her about glamouring away or healing dark magic scars since apparently," he smacks with the flat of his palm, "my childhood nan has a whole dark side to her?" fine, maybe he was a little threatened, maybe he just liked making her jealous.  
  
An old baby sitter with an apparent dark side, and that only seemed to make him cheerier. Prince of contradictions indeed.  
  
"The nanny fantasy, luv, really?" She teased briefly after the little smack, shaking her head. Her hands stilled however as Alcott reached the end of his explanation.  
  
"I have no regrets," Alcott teased. But his smirk is strained as his own heart skips with the end of his sentence.  
  
"But Dani said vampires don't often heal because the blood can cause a connection."  
  
"What kind of connection?" She asked warily. Hols had heard of the triple x rated blood-induced dreams before, but she never heard of a 'connection'. Then again her interactions with vampires had been a nil before Marcus. If she had this vampire digging around in her head...  
  
"Can we break it?"  
  
Alcott pauses his hand as his face starts to screw up with sheepishness before he admits, "Er, I might not have asked that?"  
  
"You might have been too busy checking your old nanny out to worry about me having a connection to a centuries old vampire?" She retorted in response, digging a nail into him playfully, before 'retracting her claws' to show that she 'forgave his one-track mind'. Contrarily, there was more than one track in his mind right now; he had loads to worry and think about with his father and Eliza back alone without adding her date-with-a-vampire into the mix.  
  
Look, he'd been trying to understand why she had a book that had Satanic symbols covering the front of it, and it was hugged to her chest. It was distracting. Alcott was only human. Mostly. Okay, he was only a wolf, both with fur and without, but he liked it that way and so did Hols. Hand lifting from her thigh to her shoulder to rub reassuringly, he adds quickly, "Because she just was saying it was why vamp blood, considering it's incredible restorative power, was still rarely used as such. Rarely, not never, so I'm sure we can ask. As for the kind..."  
  
He screws up, remembering the afternoon. Daniella had stalked up behind him in those fabulous blue heels that she made smack their hard wood (he swore she'd been playing the childhood game of touching a carpet meant death because it was 'lava'), hugged him, and then he'd seen the books.  
  
"I think she said," and speaking of distraction with a capital D: this lingerie-clad Spanish goddess, "...that it depends on how much blood plus how bad the injuries are, and if the vampire is aware of it or not but--oh, oh, right. So, it's a variation of newborns and their maker. That's strong, because the newborn would have had to die and come back, so talk about a lot of blood. But on the other hand, now they're the same species, same level of power. With humans, it can be like a...tether, to them, like permanent Legilmency. Ish."  
  
He bites down on his tongue, feeling anger suddenly threaten to swell in his chest and knowing it was...dangerous, for him to give in to that. Transforming into a wolf at the crack of dawn just seemed a bit preemptive and like a lot of effort. Actually, was the sun even up? Nope.  
  
Hols snorted immediately, thinking to herself she was truly fucked then, apparently in more ways than one. A vampire she wasn't, so at least she didn't have that bond to worry about (but she did smell close to one for a while as apparently even after she came from taking the end of semester exams she still smelled odd, according to Alcott). But she had nearly bled to death; Hols had drank a lot of his blood. And as far as being aware of it?  
  
A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the three simple words he'd told her in the dream, the only words he had chosen to say: until next time. Hols knew dreamwalking existed, it was mostly considered dark magic, so was her dream really a creation of her own imagination?  
  
"I'm not having my mind permanently open to a sadistic vampire," Hols decided right then with a nod, her face setting.  
  
"That's a relief, dear." Alcott teases, but the look on his face was one of honesty. Though he would never have thought Hols *would* just go along with that in the first place, he supposes it's still nice to hear the finalized, flat statement aloud.  
  
"So it looks like I've got some research to do."  
  
She ignores his snark, focused. If she could have her lioness eyes right now, she would he thinks, minds eye picturing the sharp gold hue irregardless. They're blazoned on his memory; striking to behold. A low growl of approval reverberates through his chest. Hand moving from her shoulder now as his back slides down his pillow, he brings her in to kiss her again, hard.  
  
(Call him possessive if you must.)

&.

Fingers clench on the wood as she leans far out the window to continue watching Nick, the smile softens, falling as he goes. The excitement hasn't passed-- but she wishes she could have him downstairs with her.

On the other hand, she didn't want to add sneaking Nick in to explanations owes to her father. The brochures now scattered across her bed, pages dog-earred and maps marked in gel pen class routes -- well, that may be as harder actually to explain than a boyfriend in her bedroom.

Steeling herself as she gathers the packets, print-outs and acceptance letter with a rousing rendition of Staying Alive, she puts them back in a folder and then goes downstairs. Great. Devin waves cheery at her from the island stool in the kitchen -- got a good seat, did he?

"Dad?" She asks after sticking her tongue out to her brother, then smiles nervous and sweet as Dad looks around.

The folder she hugs to her chest still, a bright burgundy beacon of a bombshell.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Technically, Shane was on a break from his work. He was in the kitchen, sneaking a sandwich before dinner because he had skipped lunch, a cup of tea in his hand and while the majority of his work was still in his study (because files were banned from the dining room table some time ago), he still had a report on the counter that he had been sneaking glances to while he had prepared the sandwich and tea.

Having recently finished a conversation with his son, Shane was halfway done through his sandwich when his daughter came in. Looking up as he heard Lynn, Shane brought his grilled cheese down, setting it down on the plate.

News from his kids so far had not been good this past year. Bomb upon bomb had been dropped on him that ended up culminating into a confrontation with the Caelestis in Paris. Lynn looked nervous, as nervous as she could ever get, and her smile was wide and sweet, the same one that had told him not to ‘freak out’ before telling him there could very well be a portal to another dimension in her room.

He didn’t even seem to realize she was carrying a folder as he asked, “Okay, what is it this time? What vampire-faerie-centaur hybrid is holding Nick or Hols hostage in the icy trenches of the Yukon? One day, just one day,” he held up his finger, “no incidents, no accidents- how- you were just in your room! How much trouble can you get up to in your room- don’t,” he used the finger he had held up and started wagging it, “answer that. Just tell me who I need to call,” Shane sighed, reaching for his mobile.

“One day, just one.”

"Huh?" Lynn starts to ask, cheeks glowing as if cast off from her hair -- but as he keeps going, well, she gets a little distracted. Grinning sheepishly as she interjects, "Faerie-centaur? That's new, I wonder.." she can't help but say -- cutting off as Devin whacks her side. Lynn wrinkles her nose, but -- oh whoops wait -- "Oh Dad wai-", but he had the phone already out and wasn't listening.

(Devin's laughter wasn't helping. No, his holding hand to his mouth was not hiding it at all.)

"Dad, hold up -"

"Too late, sis." Devin said with a grin guilty and wide.

So, blunt approach it was.

"Dad, I got into Stanford."

Lynn flips the folder around and holds it up. Her lips perk. Nail strikes the logo, rap tap tap.

“What?”

Halfway through dialing a number on his mobile, he looked up at Lynn again. His eyebrows furrowed together, feeling the words travel to him as if the air was suddenly molasses. Everything processed so slowly as he blinked and looked from his daughter back to the folder, just realizing it had always been there.

“What?” He took a step away from the kitchen counter, tea and sandwich discarded and utterly forgotten. Shane looked to Devin for a moment, as if to ascertain that this wasn’t a trick.

“Darling, that’s-“ Terrifying? Wonderful?, “wow! I’m so proud of you, come here,” he pulled her into a hug, a very tight hug. First, there would be congratulations, that’s the only thing he could process right now, the rest would have to come later, because his baby girl got into Stanford.

Devin nods to confirm as their Dad looks at him, but Lynn was just assuming that from peripheral vision as she's stuck. As if made a photograph, her mouth is in a nervous tick smile, cheeks rosy and eyes earnest. Was she breathing, actually? A little. Maybe she should breathe a little more. Leaning forward an inch, she's about to lay the folder down when she's swallowed up whole in a tight embrace.  

"Yeah -- oof, " Lynn laughs and tightens arms around him too even as her shoulders relax and heels clack on the ground. "Daaaad," she says after kissing his cheek, "breaaathe." 

"Well Lynn, you got into a college -- " Devin says, smirk wide, "--let his heart re-start first." 

"Bite me," she said, winking.  Devin's mouth only widens as he warns, "Yeah, I'm more likely to attack you -if- you bite someon--" 

"Oh shush shhh, I got into Stanford!" Lynn squeezes Dad again and then pulls back to beam at him, "Mom already knows I applied -- but I couldn't wait til she got home from work to tell you, so..."

Breathing, yeah that would help, he supposed. The breath however came out as a laugh, almost boyish in nature. Lately there had been as much to mourn as there was to celebrate, a defeat amidst victories, but this news easily changed emerging wrinkles (that Jay never ceased teasing him about) into just 'veteran laughter lines' (patent pending).

"Hey," he said with sudden authority, warningly, looking over his shoulder to Devin even if it had been addressed to both of them. Hey, no teasing each other, no joking about attacking anyone-

Except then he suddenly realized/remembered how silent the house got when one of then wasn't here and he had to refrain himself from giving them something minor to argue about.

Pulling back as she did, his next question was answered by Lynn. He didn't even know that Stanford was an option.

"I, I didn't know you were interested in Stanford," or schools in the US in general, (he tried not to wince over the reminder that this wasn't the only information he had been ignorant over because of his work), "that's...far. But good! Oh sweetheart," he reached his hands up to cup her face, her beam mirroring his, "I never doubted you for a second. Not one."

He moved a strand of vibrant red hair away from her cheeks and leaned in to kiss her forehead and then hugged her again, blinking as his eyes started stinging.

"I mean, if you would’ve gone to Oxford, I would have bought you a car but-"

"My bad Dad, sorry" Devin said immediately -- except as they looked away he mouths '-not sorry'. Ugh, he was spending too much time with Miyagi Jr. (He'd added the 'jr' to bother Tony. Bloke seemed to respect that more than if he'd bowed.) Lynn mouths over Dad's shoulder 'saw that', something that makes him beam.

Surprised only slightly to hear sudden waves of emotion in his voice, Lynn starts with, "I know I--" but she stops as he adds 'far', amending, " yes, exactly...I didn't want to worry you if I didn't even get in."

And, she thinks quietly as she's embraced again and tucks her head in the crook of his neck, I'm still not sure I want to go that far. But she doesn't say it aloud, because she didn't think she could bear lying to her father again. Unless it was about a faerie-centaur, that was.

Nodding against his chest, she suddenly squeaks, "A ca--wait, seriously though, a car!? Maybe I can get Nick to apply to Oxford still, it's not that late -- hold on, are you saying I got in to Oxford too? I know the Dean's your cousin or whatever but she's so not supposed to tell you that!! Wait, but seriously?"

"Breathe, Lynn." Devin echoes, laughing under his breath.

She does, and then smiles at her Dad again, still a little shocked.

Er, oops, he did just let that drop right then. When he backed up again, he was grinning sheepishly, raising a hand up to rub the back of his neck and then just raising his shoulders and hands in a shrug and saying, “Congratulations!” It had a bit of an inquisitive and apologetic tone at the end too.

“In my defense it’s not like I called her and asked, sweetheart,” he shook his head and then paused. Alright, he had Reese call and leave a message for Temperance to call him back to catch up and it just happened to come up in conversation!

It might seem like he was constantly exasperated with Lynn because of all the shenanigans she got into, and that was because he was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t equally as proud of all her accomplishments. It was recently made clear that his children weren’t realizing this, more Devin than Lynn, so he endeavored to say it more often; to never have it be doubted again. And getting into Oxford, his alma mater, and Stanford both was a huge accomplishment.

“But I, and your mother, will support whatever decision you make, darling. But Oxford comes with a car. No pressure.” But Stanford came with the boyfriend, and California, and thousands of miles away where even he couldn’t reach her.

Ha, sure.

Ironically, it was the very mantra that she'd given her father and which Devin had repeated now that was the best 'pro' for Stanford there was. Lynn loves England -- she loves the summers at the shore, red telephone booths, the funny hats at the Changing of the guard and double-decker buses. Hammods shopping then fish and chips on Saturday afternoon, sneaking Fullers when Mom wasn't looking -- she loves it, all of it (and oh fine Nick, she'll mention her "accent")...and she knew she was as addicted to the high-power games of politics as her brother and parents. The fight they'd been sneaking off too (most recently to Notre Dame) was in her blood. There was no denying it. Only, well, if she knew she was going to spend huge parts of her life fighting...

"Oxford might come with a car --," she says, then giggles as Devin interrupts.

"--might, yeah cause, does Mum know you're bribing her?"

"Please, Mum'll be proud of that," Lynn laughs, poking Devin's side and scooting to sit on another stool, pushing the folder towards her father. "And to finish, basically, Oxford comes with a car, but Stanford is distinctively lacking in certain, you know, assholes. And you know, a transit door would make that distance a lot smaller --"

"And be pretty blatant flouting of regulation for the secretary's family and abuse of power?" Devin points out, though he suspects another outlet exists to achieve that anyways.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Devin says lightly, patting the forearm of a certain (hiding) tattoo-mark.

"Sure," Lynn nods smirking lightly, "but Lord knows I have to be able to get here when you go off and do something _else_  stupid."

“It’s not a bribe, it’s an incentive,” he clarified and then pointed at Devin, “take notes.” Except, he would deny everything if asked about it.

Ah, Shane acknowledged with a silent nod, understanding, well as best as he could. Jay understood it better, whereas Shane’s life had been full of dealing with those ‘assholes’. He was raised in the ‘posh’ lifestyle Lynn only tolerated for the fashion (the risqué part of the fashion) and that included dealing with assholes on a daily basis. Same thing with his job as Secretary, there was just no escaping the assholes.

Actually, if Lynn could manage to get away from then, then he could support that easily.

“If there’s ever an emergency,” and Lord, he hoped not but in this family that was highly unlikely, “rushing you through the transit stations is just a phone call away. So no Lynn, you’re not getting a transit door.” Not even if he could make sure the door couldn’t be tampered with and the destinations changed.

Taking the folder and opening it, Shane began to peruse it as thoroughly as he would any other document from work. He saw the vast number of brochures, the class schedules, the campus map, the brochure for financial aid and housing and just a bunch of other information. He smiled a bit to himself, noting how Lynn had bookmarked and sticky-noted and highlighted everything in an organization that reminded him distinctively of Jana. His organization was a bit more…mental.

“Do you know the first thing I did after I learned your mom was pregnant with you, Lynn?”

“And don’t start the groaning,” he said preemptively, “yes, I’m going to go nostalgic, and you guys are just going to have to deal with it.”

Actually neither of them had started groaning -- until the pre-emptive Dad-hand-hold-up. How were they not supposed to start groaning all cued up like that? Exhaling in unison teasing, Lynn still found herself smiling and shushing as he continued non-deterred. A sideways quick look to her brother has him wave off, and she takes the opportunity to steal a fry off his plate. 

"Oi-"

"-Shhh, I wanna hear this story!" Lynn says, flapping her hands flamboyantly as anything, fry between her lips like a limp cig.

"Course you do, it's about you," Devin mutters, hiding his fries protectively with a hand over them, not honestly knowing why Lynn would want to get away when the fight was here. Still, he can understand wanting to get away from the assholes, yeah, definitely.

Finishing the fry, she gestured Dad, "What'd you do?" There was a cheekiness in her asking, "Flip out cause it was supposed to be a one night stand? Oh no wait that was Mum -- you were already in love with her."

Lynn winks, but it was nonetheless true.

This was exactly what he was going to miss, Shane realized as he watched them bicker over fries and Lynn’s apparent love of the spotlight. Well it wasn’t apparent, it was factual. Smirking briefly, he shook his head before he opened his mouth indignantly as Lynn teased him and then used the ‘I’m watching you’ hand gesture.

“Cheeky.”

That wasn’t new, however.

“No,” he shook his head. Well, technically, what he was going to reveal wasn’t the immediate thing he did after he first learned. The first thing he did was have a mini heart-attack. The second thing he did was tell Jana he was going to be in this kid’s life, he simply was. The third thing he did was take an aspirin for the sudden headache (a foreshadowing to all of the headaches Lynn would give him, headaches that had progressed into grey hairs). But the fourth thing was definitely the ‘first thing’ here.

“I walked to the bank and I made you a college fund,” he revealed with a smile, which tied to, “and I’m so glad I did because these rates for ‘out-of-state tuition’ are completely ridiculous.”

“And no, the college fund is not yours to do with as you please.”

"That wasn't a deniiiial," Lynn points out in what probably affirms his statement. Yes, well, she was a cheeky person -- she was British. Dad was cheeky too, Lynn thinks, he just was a bit more subtle about it and all. (Never. Her. Strongsuit.)

"A college fund?" Devin asked as Lynn's eyes go wide; truthfully she hadn't yet considered the cost. Stanford was not that much more expensive than Oxford, was it? She'd ask Devin later: he wanted to go to the school (something their Cambridge alumna mother swore only hurt her a teeny bit in jest). What she had considered was that her father might still be respected by people in the US, but he wouldn't have the same pull at Stanford. Less people would know who she was. 

Smiling, she reached over to squeeze his hand in gratitude and then pointed out, "What I want is a degree, so, that pleases me more anyway Dad. And! They have extra courses I can take through one of their secret societies for Pharma so, you know, they can teach me -not- to make portals in the living room."

"Plus," Devin said happily, popping another fry, "you can go to Disneyland."

Lynn smirks, pointing at her brother with the same 'I'm watching you' gesture. It was a relief to hear her father talking about this seriously, though.

"Although just so you know, the head of the society at present is a vampire faerie-centaur. She's been blood-free since 2016 though!"

"Lynn--" Devin was torn between laughing and groaning, at least until she through in, "more than I can say for your sensei."

Yeah, he probably deserved that for the earlier crack about attacking, so Devin just shrugs it off. (Especially as...well, he didn't think Tony had been blood-free since yesterday with a certain blonde but shh not the point.)

Lynn smirks.

Shane nodded, smiling despite the fact he was talking to his eldest born about her leaving home, and getting a degree 5000 miles away. If her color-coded organization had anything to say about it, Lynn was obviously very excited about the prospect.

And yes, there it was, the extra brochure included for Pharma students. It wasn’t only just classes but also clubs and activities. It was pretty impressive, he had to admit.

“Day trips to Disneyland, now it all makes sense,” he nodded, agreeing with Devin as he winked at his daughter, leafing through the Pharma booklet with a snort, shaking his head about the vampire-faerie-centaur hybrid he had invented just ten minutes ago.

“You know for some shocking reason,” he began with an overabundance of sarcasm on one word, “talk of blood-drinking does nothing to help with –my- high blood pressure.” Shane shook his head and then as he put down the brochure (no mention of any kind of faerie-centaur hybrid), he reached the athletics section.

“Are you going to stick with football?” He asked curiously, realizing he didn’t know, “And more importantly, have you mentally prepared yourself to hear it only referred to it as ‘soccer’?”

"True, but," Devin postulates, "long as we act like it's taboo to mention, it just is gonna continue to have power over your blood pressure anyway, isn't it?" 

Lynn tilts her head (and swivels on the chair in a manner very similar to how she did at ten) before saying, "Is this a hunter thing?"

"It's a psych thing, actually."

"Ooh, I se--soccer!?"

Sticking her tongue out at the thought, Lynn screwed herself up to consider the question. Actually, she had a fair few amount to consider, even as she continues finding herself fighting down excited shivers at every new mention of what may very soon be her school. 

"Well, I'll always _play_  football," she says with a shrug, "and...well, I..."

Trailing off as she looks up, Devin gives her a few moments, chewing fries as he was. Okay but he only makes it through half a swallow before he adds, "Cat got your tongue, Lynn?" (If he whole swallowed, he might not have had the chance to say that.)

"I just haven't officially decided what I'm doing, that's all. It looks...amazing. And wonderful. But it *is* far...so," she steels herself with a breath and looks at her Dad square on again, then flies off the chair and squishes him in a hug.

“You both have the subtlety of your mother,” he commented with a chuckle and a shake of his hand. Yes, the same was even true of Devin, who threatened one Julio Cortez with destroying his head with a highly explosive substance. Chace had given quite the avid description.

Still, his son did have a point.

Truthfully, Shane was comforted by Lynn’s doubt. He realized that if his daughter had been too certain, and knew exactly what she wanted to do for her continued education and eventually for her career and to an extent the rest of her life, and he had somehow missed all of it, he would have been sick. As it was, he was only a little nauseous.

He hugged Lynn again, now it being his turn to exhale with an ‘oomph’ that he let eventually fall into a chuckle. He rested his head atop hers and swayed in the spot as he hugged her, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“You still have time to make a decision, Lynn. You can do further research comparing the two, talk about it more with your mom and I both, we can schedule visits to both campuses. I can find some time, it’s probably too late in December already for tours but maybe early January, we can take a weekend, all of us and go check them out? Also, your grandmother probably knows you’ve been accepted too so, just a heads up.”


	85. (Re)Introductions

+.

Dim lights did nothing to obscure the view laid before him. A young man, barely in his twenties was pressed between two bodies, a man and a woman. The man stood at an impressive height, a head and a half taller than his companions. Pale of skin and hair, he kept the young man standing as well as provided a sturdier anchor for the woman than the young man would have proven to be. Long brown hair styled in curls at the ends easily appeared to be half of the woman's weight. It obscured her shoulders and back as she buried her face into the young man's neck in what would have been mistakenly taken as an act of passion. Normal lust wasn't the factor there.  
  
Their venture tonight was one of instruction. Raina had died with vampire blood in her system recently, now it fell onto him to ensure she was properly instructed, lest she cause something of a panic in the world up above. He, and Theocles, that was, who volunteered his efforts as well as his current human. The man had something of a soft spot for young vampires.  
  
That was how Chantel knew of his location with a certainty this night. She was never without a clue, but He did have a habit of wandering even in one city. Tonight, however, he'd had a specific agenda, one he added speaking with a certain young model to after Chantel's phone call. Above them was a warehouse, outside the room a nightclub. The bouncer had already been informed to direct young Ms. Ricard to this room.  
  
The fast thrumming of the noise people referred to as music these days vibrated through the walls, but He had long learned to block any unwarranted noise. Their young vampire had not yet learned to do so. She heard every heartbeat outside, every drop of sweat as it fell on the floor, smelled with clear distinction all the different types alcohol in the air, the smoke, occasionally the sick from some poor man or woman in the bathroom. All things which spurred her feeding faster.  
  
"Arretez," Theo spoke, revealing that after a more than a century of speaking different languages, his Scandinavian accent was still present, out of choice, he knew. Raina didn't seem to hear him. Hearing the heartbeat slow considerably, he looked at his male companion as if to remind him the heart stopped after a little less than half of it had been removed from a person, and Raina was inching her way to a limit. He knew Theo would be cross for weeks if he lost his his current, ah, 'flavor of the week'.  
  
Theo pulled back on Raina's heavy hair, baring his own fangs in warning until hers had retracted. He let go of her hair and retracted his own fangs graciously, before leaning in to lick the young man's neck clean, after healing the puncture marks directly with a drop of blood rubbed into the wounds.  
  
"Very good, Raina," the vampire watching them complimented after reaching for his drink and offering it to her. She downed it in a shot, making him chuckle and then call for another from the bar at the end of the room. Noticing Raina pause, the vampire in charge lifted his chin and smelled the air. _Yes, they were about to be joined._

 

 

++

When she reached the room downstairs, Stefanie blinks at the sight in front of her -- the live feed and sex exhibition. Yes, she finds herself thinking even as her heart kicks up again--they're performers, and beautiful, and erotic, and the last thing they were in the world? Was helpless.  
  
(Marcel's favorite book as a kid had been Dracula. Stefanie had hated it then, but now she can't remember why.)

The vampire's hand snaked slowly around Raina's wrist to keep her from pouncing on the young woman like she wants to. His thumb caresses the spot where the blood used to pulse the strongest on the wrist before indicating with a nod of his head she should join Theo and his human, Bruno, now seated. It was only a few feet away, but it made all the difference as a newborn.  
  
Leaning against the wall as Stefanie watched with wide-eyes, she just tilts her head, breathing even, the flush in her cheeks soft. She nods to herself, and then asks, expectent but--well, wary,  
  
"So I was expected? Shame. I love the opportunity to introduce myself."  
  
(Steffie craves it at this moment, you could say, needs it more than she needed life itself.)

Standing as Raina retreated, he regards their guest.  
  
"No one's denying you the opportunity, we still lack proper introductions, after all." Call him old fashioned, but he still preferred to do things face to face. Therefore, despite their brief exchange in a phone call that wasn't meant for him, he stepped forward and offered his hand to reintroduce himself.

Stefanie had no intention of doing this to become a monster of some kind. The man formerly known as her brother was the one who refused to stop destroying things. If she was in control, and wasn't so damn breakable...maybe soon enough she'd be able to use those abilities for good. Make Ben Parker proud. Her eyes flick back as the man introduces himself with clear old-world gentility and a smirk that was making her knees weak. If she locks them, she'd likely fall over. Right. Pheromones.  
  
Eying his hand for a moment, as if she's afraid he'll use it to pull her in and end her, she takes it only by the very tips and shakes once.  
  
"Stefanie Ricard," she offers, and he returns in kind,  
  
"Marcus Ellwood."

 


End file.
